Tuesday, November 2, 2010


Reminiscing I can't help but feel chilled to the bone, I remember it so well. When I lost my age and became a child. A child with nothing to lose and everything to gain in you.

Cold. It was so cold out I could barely stand to move, but you, always full of life and energy, the kind that I never have felt before- I was always told I have an old soul- you were running and bounding through the plush snowbanks. I wasn't sure if I should fake the energy and play a long, or just stare in wonder. The captivating site of you springing between the thickets who had now lost their leaves, and the trees that had shed their covering to reveal the dullest of gray bark. I watched as the chilling air split your bangs across your face, and I watched as your green eyes, not the deep dark emerald green, nor the dull green of algae washed ashore, but just....a unique shade, one that surely not many can have, peered up at me sporadically as you looked down to watch your step then back at me in a sheer childproof manner. The snapped tree trunks made for obstacles as you sprang between the trees an the shrubbery. I wandered how the trunks had gone from full fledged trees, to snapped and splintered remnants of what they once were. In my own way I felt like the shattered remains, I felt as though I had never been seen by anyone when I was in my prime and now I am nothing left but a fragment of a former self for people to leap over and beyond without notice. But you, you noticed these, you took time to peer down at each and ever ruin of what once was an standing example of life on it's own, left to grow as it pleased. You noticed them- you noticed me. Maybe that's what it was, you noticed me, and you understood what I was, and more than that, understood that i am more than I realize and I could be more than either of us will know. You didn't care how fractured or splinted my foundation was, you just noticed me, and smiled, and that is all I needed.

I could hear the gentle rustling of the pine tree branches, ten, twenty maybe even thirty feet above our heads, and as I looked up to find the source of the noise I became enthralled with the overcast sky. The almost seamless sea of gray clouds blanketed us from the view of all others, we were alone and we were ourselves. The darker gray lines, faint as the were outlined where the edges ended, or maybe where they began....who know, but they were infinite in nature and pleasing by default. I lowered my head to the horizon to find you running far ahead, and without warning or even a though of cause you would stop, letting yourself slide across the ice of a frozen pond. Maybe it's the old-timer in me, but my immediate thought was "you'll hurt yourself....what if the ice breaks? What then?" But the longer I watched you in your blissful glee, the more my old-timer self began to feel.....a spark, a spark of what I had let go of, what I had given up on as a hopeless dream of a young man lying awake in bed, unable to sleep. I felt something again, be it a new light, or a young burst of energy. I'm only 24, but if I were to view us from the outside I' see an old man watching a young girl run and play while the old me had the tale tale signs of remembrance of when he was able to perform such feats. You would laugh as you fell on the ice, i would smile. I couldn't help but be taken by you and how freely you acted. 'Obedience, proper appearance, don't be a nuisance, mind your manners', all the things instilled in me as a child meant nothing here, you were bringing me out of my shell......and I think you knew it. It was fun for you. Fun to watch a true introvert smile and take his first baby steps towards being extrovert and having fun without a mind for the consequences.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

inEpitome - The Beginning is Here

I had the privilege of watching inEpitome end peoples 'stigma' they have on local music with progressive genius and harmonious rhythms that can only be accomplished through the masterful combination of Jay Estrada(bass), Adrian Estrada(Vox & guitar) Donny Marling(drums) and Corey Adams(lead guitar). There are a few select words I would use to describe the intrusive(use the word in the best of contexts), attention demanding and show stealing sound of this well oiled machine, but for the sake of your attention I'll keep this brief. The sound of music that typically pours out of this area (Midland/Odessa) is generally the same genre with each band, hardcore, metal......tejano. However, the rules were broken with the forming of inEpitome. As stated before and excuse me for repeating myself, there is something to the driving progressive rock sound that puts to rest the former expectations of the local music scene. The melodic sound sound of the haunting guitar riffs dreamed up by Corey Adams will lure you into its snare, and just as you have found yourself content, the progression begins. Overdrive and flanger wrap it's distorted fingers around your ears and forces you to pay attention. The melodies are only amplified with the jazz-esque, chest rattling sound of Jay Estrada seemingly playing another song in side the one you are already trapped in. With Jay comes Donny Marling, the connection between musicians is pivotal in the creative process of a band, and I can tell you now as honest as I'll ever be...You will never see a more natural connection between two artistically driven musicians as there is with Jay and Donny, they match note for note and mesh their styles together perfectly to form a singular sound that will not soon be replicated. With all of this sound pulling you deeper into the strangle hold of inEpitome, you are confronted with the vocals of Adrian Estrada, whos lyrics will not only begin to resonate with who you are, but also give you a brief glimpse into the world of this man.

If you are a progressive rock fan or just someone looking for something new to freshen your ears with I would suggest you take note of this band and buy their album and keep a steady eye on them. This isn't going to be a one trick pony band and certainly not a pony that will be hitched to Midland forever.

www.inEpitome.com also available via iTunes.

Tuesday, June 29, 2010


My distorted view of life, people and the world as a whole isn't as cynical or narrow minded as you might think

Monday, June 28, 2010

Well alright...

The blog is up to date. Lets take a break.


The Land Between

The air is still, yet the hairs of my body move in the tiniest, sporadic motions. I suppose it's the sway. Suspending in time, yet still in motion, the thought process begins.

I begin to traverse the corridors and various rooms in the over grown, constantly- until now, expanding warehouse. This isn't how I thought it'd be. Walking from room to room, rummaging through the various boxes both old and new, some of them barely holding together and the contents of which are deteriorating. No matter, i still of the ability to piece most of the fragments back together and have a vague understanding of what it once was. As I come across the more recent, pristine boxes, I can barely stand to crack the seal of the container without falling apart myself..... I know there was a reason I refused to open it. Every room contains different boxes of various nature but still correlating to the purpose of the room.

Some I don't mind so much, such as spending countless hours with my closest friends both pre and post marriage or perhaps the many times
I would stay up late watching my favorite movies with the company of the fore-mentioned individuals, or be relentlessly tickled by my uncle, the times i spent in Delaware with my oldest brother or when my sister was ready and willing to fight for me at any given time and even the times just sitting and drinking far more than I should have with my middle brother.

Those are some of the older cases. There are also the ones that I refuse to open but
what is the point now? It's not as if I will get another opportunity to view such unique relics, even if I wished they weren't so. The shattered pieces of a mirror, with faces of a million same, the ones whom I'd never be able to look on again. It isn't something I'd like to see right now. More and more boxes and cases and containers.

One I swore never to open again. His face along with their faces, the words that were spoken and long forgotten are now etched into the frame.
I wish more than anything to burn this entire room to a mere pile of ashes and stand in the middle of the flames with a smile of accomplishment as the room falls apart. But things just never go the way you want them to do they?

The minuscule breeze created only by the movement of the sway is dwindling as I become truly suspended, motionless and and content. It's hard to put into words something like this. Most would probably frown upon what I have done and tell me I was wrong in doing so and that I am doing more harm than good.... but they aren't in my shoes and nor have they lived a single solitary moment of my life. If I could make a deal with God to trade our places, you might understand.

I take a sat in the main corridor of the warehouse, thinking back on the rooms I had just visited. The ghosts and apparitions begin to cloud my vision, walking back and forth paying no mind to me, their creator, sitting in the middle of the dirty, dimly lit hall. It's almost amusing watching them go about their business as if they have a future.

One by one in slow succession the rooms are liquidated and emptied and the lights of each is switched off. I won't try to hide it. I'm smiling. I am also hurting, hurting
because there is an empty room, just ahead of me, the last door on the right.

The light of which has never been turned on in my life, nor has anything ever been moved into it.
It's virginity was never removed. It ever fulfilled its intended purpose or filled with what I wanted to store of all. I smile as I watch the apparitions slowly fade and reveal an empty space as if they never existed but with but with each glance at the empty room my heart grows numb and laden with hurt that there were never and will never be a ghost to haunt its space.

The breeze has a faded now. The sway has ceased and the bright light of the halogen bulb is twinkling in my eye......it's not that bright anymore, if anything it seems to be fading in relationship to the little bit of me that is slowly slipping away. It's okay, I'm okay. This is what I want, this is all i have. I am content.

still sitting in the expanse of the walkway, the final room is emptied and its ghost fades. The light in the door way has gone off and one by one with an elctro-mechanical thud of a sound, rows of industrial lights hanging over head go out.

I am alone, in the dark.

I am alone under the flickering light.

So as I stand to walk through what was once my own personal storage space I realize it is nothing more than a vast expanse of emptiness and a void abyss.It's funny how
"why" you tried to escape is what you become after the cross-over. Empty, void and blackened....alone to wander until something new comes around.

I've stopped moving and I see the last flicker of the halogen lamp fade to black as I exhale and relax and become one with what I am to be. One with what you will never know until you to have stepped beyond the void and crossed the barrier between your life and it's after.


To Swim (subjective)

Outwardly expressing and inwardly regretting.
I can tell where this is going, I can tell where I will be again once it is all said in done.

There are only so many evenings left in me that I can manage to perfectly (in my mind) express my feelings towards a current situation in such an articulated manner that whoever reads this will feel exactly as I do now, or how I will shortly into the future.
Please, don't get the wrong impression here. I am not assuming all will fail and I will be left in the situation I was in shortly before.
I've swam in a deeper ocean and inhaled greater amount of the salty ocean in times past, but the salt is corroding my throat and I can hardly breathe on the shore these days.
The idea of plunging my self into the tide and letting the undertow take its toll on my body again is hardly a thought I can bear to be content with. the powerful pull of the tide is drawing close, with more force and and intensity than it has had in the many times I've stood on this very stretch of sand. This may be my very last attempt. the last time my body can with stand such an asphyxiation, a wiling suffocation. I won't return from this endeavor the same- not that I ever did, but after this last.

It's always the same now that I think about it. The song of the siren is luring me, showing me what could be- what I've always wanted and longed for and so I run blindly into the dark waters that seem to have no end, and the harder I swim towards her, the further out in the growing waves she seems to become and after too long my arms grow weary, legs take on fatigue and my lungs slowly fill with the salt, cold, choking water of a dream of what i want but will never be able to attain. My own drive for the ideal future is exactly what is continuously putting myself into an unconscious state near death. It's impossible for you, the reader to understand and so I try in futility to paint an image into words so that you will someday understand what it is I struggle with, but I am not sure my writing will ever be more than a vain attempt at project emotions to another. That's what it's all about right? Cause one to feel? Spar a thought process? Maybe I should broaden my attempts and just create an interest in you to read, to divert your attention to something other than the mundane and the ordinary. with all the years I've considered myself just a notch below ordinary, I may not be able to achieve this. I have gone far off course now.

I will swim, and will pursue....but I will take a breath of sodium and mire. An inhalation of the dark, muddy water just as I always have. If i do not reach the shores of the siren I will surely perish and float lifeless in an almost serene body of water, a slow decent into what will be my final resting place, a pillow of sea weed and a blanket of muddy ocean floor. I will be happy there.....because anything is better than suffocating and finding myself on the same shore over and over.


Here in this windowless room—not sure if it was the pale blue florescent lights—but I swore there were four of you. Anyway, we had a conversation, me standing and you—ever the lazy one—lying on the floor. I spoke and I spoke, and you listened and listened. I cried out to you and told you my story. You’ve always listened, you've always been there. However, you never respond. That's okay. I'm not much of a conversationalist anyway. You've seen me at my absolute worst, you’ve known all of my secrets, and still managed to stay and grow with me. Just when I think I'm hard on my luck and everyone’s gone, you’re still here, watching me, listening to me ramble, lying beside me and my vomit after a night of self-loathing and binge drinking. You just watched, like a never ending evaluation, drawing a conclusion one day of what a skeletal wreck I've made of myself and on another day, how much I've accomplished. I suppose, once my bones are old and weary and this heart of mine finally beats its last little tick, you'll stand up from beside my death bed, lean over and whisper, "You did alright in this life." And as the mist of my final breath passes through my old, cracked lips, you’ll leave me. Until then, you'll always be your lazy, examining, listening self, while I spin out of control or have the time of my life.

You my friend, are the most useless thing in the world—but ironically, the one who knows me


Standing there, alone and confused, I wasn't sure what to think.

God this water used to be so cold

I was scared. I almost died here once before ya know...I wasn't sure if it were possible to be here again, but I figured after some time, the old water had washed away, this was all new....different. I wondered what it would be like to try again.

Three steps forward and the sand went from the massaging dry granules to the deep sulky mush of wet sea bed.

The cool salty water receded and flooded in again. With each new tide, a new thought, a new anxiety or a new fear. I had thought about it once or twice before. Just run and see where it takes me. The tide that is.

The warm water recedes again.

Maybe if I could catch a glimpse of my life and where it will be in a year, the next rolling tide would hold more comfort.

The tide came in again, and the anxiety with it.


The tide receded.

I felt good, despite the anxieties of the future and the frustrations of the day, I felt good. I liked it. It was the best I had felt the entire day, granted it was merely half over and any number of things could subsequently happen later to obliterate this feeling, or enhance it, at the time, I felt good.

The tide in its ever so punctual timing rolled its way over my ankles once again. The warm water felt like a blanket slowly being pulled over my legs.

I like this. It's comforting.

The way I saw it, if I were to see the future, it'd ruin half the fun but maybe save a lot of trouble and pain. But who's to say there would be pain involved? It was one of those times I wish there were a way to reach inside of my head as if it were a piece of machinery and remove the cogs turning the wheel to thoughts like that.

No, no, no too soon come back!

I suppose by now you can figure out that the tide had receded taking its comfort along with it, I wasn't ready for that to happen. I needed more time with it. It's one of those bitter sweet things you have no control over and can't do anything to make it last longer.

I'm wasting my time

Clock work, just like g*d damn clock work..

The tide was back, and to my bewilderment brings twice the soothing warmth that had its infamous habit of snaking along my ankles. I figured this is what the life of a river tree must be like. Nothing but standing here having one of the most powerful forces of nature - water, gently slither its way around you in the most gentle of ways.

Not this time..

And like that the tide was gone; it's little teases of joy snaking away in the infinite.
And I was no longer happy with my serendipitous moments of joy, I ran leaving my 'comfort zone' as some call it, chasing blindly something that almost killed me the last time I was here. But as the undertow took me along for a ride the feelings of comfort, warmth, serenity and total content surrounded me. The tease of a blanket I had felt around my ankles had now covered me from head to toe, I was impervious to the fear and anxieties I remembered.

I was comfortable. And that's all anyone really needs isn't it, to be comfortable in the given situations at hand. Finding the comfort; however, I've learned takes steps and risks into something you're scared of. Hmm, it turned out for the better this time.

The Powers That Be

Have you ever considered that there are forces, greater than yourself at work? Have you possibly considered that the world we live in, the people we see the roads we travel and trails yet to be blazed are all in harmony with one another?

The cars racing across the man-made path to whatever may be. The people existing among themselves lost in their moment, having their own personal 15minutes of fame, to create a special memory. The birds making the daring dive through the traffic, though there is an endless sky above, down to the beggar on the corner, pushing along his rustic antique of a bicycle with matching flat tires. No one knows one another, no needs to know the person behind them in line. No one pays mind to the sparrow making its rounds. And of course everyone will turn a blind eye to the beggar making is way down the road.

They are in their own individual worlds, making their own tune.
Everyone has their harmony, everyone plays their notes. Never mind what the melody of the beggar is, and the birds cant possible be of enough significance to hold their own.


Don't finish that thought.


More so, feel.

The tune of the consumer, the beggar, the passer-bys, the distant call of the train- even the conductor. The vehicles and their passengers.

It's all together now. Stop. Hear it. Feel it.

We require each other. I don't need to know your name, I need to hear your melody.

Feel it.

We write our parts, we emit our melody, and in the grand scheme of things, when you let go. When you refuse to think of your own existence and instead, consider the definition of existence, you will-


That we all have a harmony in our daily lives.
When you detach, you will see that together, we are an orchestra, we are the beauty that was set in place and meant to be. When you find yourself capable of seeing, hearing and feeling the spectacle, you too will be flooded and overcome.

I could cry.

I could scream.

I could laugh.

I am all emotion that can be.

I found myself in the middle of a crescendo, and at that time there was nothing in this world more beautiful then the existence of any form of life. The creation that has been made was created for more then to merely live our daily lives until the last breath makes it great escape into the atmosphere, we are to be in unison, to be a beautiful masterpiece that we cannot comprehend ourselves.

I honestly cannot give you the words to describe, depict or make you feel how I felt in this fleeting moment of time. But I have a greater understanding in the incredible design of this world.


I don't really know what to call it besides a memory, even though I have yet to set foot on anything passed New York. It's like the childhood memory you cling to because you remember how you felt, you remember the atmosphere, the smells, the tastes and you want to go back to it so bad it almost breaks you down. It's something like that, but the odd playing factor is I have never been, but it makes me feel like a kid again just thinking about it.
I see myself standing in what at best can be describe as a field of wheat. The time of day isn't certain but the sun is setting and the the sky is a brilliant mix of red, a certain burnt orange color and faded shades of pink. The wheat, normally that ugly spider's back brown is transformed into small pillars of fire catching the colors from the sun, and like a perfect reflection lower down the stalks the color fades into the darkened orange. The air is still, and has the smell of a fresh cut lawn and clean linen. The scarce haze in the atmosphere reflects at just the right angle to make you think your dreaming, and the insects flying around the lingering specs of wheat caught in the air is makes me wonder what time of year it is, the air is warm, inviting and calm and the one thing that stands out is the large tree just to the right of my vision and the best part of it all is it feels like home, like where I am supposed to be.

Just so you know. This is a real occurrence in my head. Not a short story, not a song or anything along those lines. That is why I really do not know where it comes from.

Etc Etc.

That's when you know. When the smallest bone in your body feels like a spiral fracture, that's when you know. When you look over your calloused hands at the end of the day. When you pick at the blackened mulch of dirty and oil underneath your fingernail only to have it seven fold the next evening. That's when you know.
What is it that consumes you? Is it your life? Or what you do in your life? After years of waiting to get to where you want to be, are you all that you hoped you'd be? There are times when you realize"hey, I'm still young. I shouldn't be feeling like this" and you want to get out an explore the world, and that is when the small fracture in that minuscule bone spreads to dislocated vertebra. Or severe head trauma capable of leaving you in position where sympathy is given to you just because you cant keep your jaw closed long enough to with hold the copious amount of saliva seeping down the side of your chin. That is when you know you are undoubtedly. Well. Fucked. When you realize that what your life is about is what is controlling the life you want. When you realize that what you are and who you want to be have somehow gotten pushed head first into the log trimmer and the reciprocating blades in the metal tunnel tore the two ideas to shreds and pieced them back together on the other end. Only your head is your ass and your ass is you knee. What do you do about it? You pick out the blackened sludge under your finger nails, file down your callouses and do it all again. Only this time with the hope that the following day will be different. not that I'm trying to be pessimistic or critical of everything. But you better buy a value pack of files, and an over stock of toothpicks, because the sludge is getting thicker and before you know it that callous is your sixth finger.

One day. Maybe.

You will clip the finger nails.
Wear a pair of gloves.
And change what you call your life.
If you cant seem to be pleased when you look your name up in the dictionary. Maybe its time you put out a revision and change something. Otherwise people will forever see your name in the definition of miserable.


When the stars have said the prayers and the moon has gone to bed, I will rule my world as though I am the only one. I'm a car crash away from a healing and breathe away from my asphyxiation. The beggar asks for a first as we line up for our third. Your frail body is obese with your decadence and gluttony for the next best thing. So as you lay in your bed tonight, remember your last that before you wake, it may be the last of your own before you've materialized your mind.

As I sat motionless in the myriad of fragmented shards of glass that seemed to hang in the air as if time had stopped just for me, I had my thoughts bottled and placed in a safe place. As the fingers of the glass made a slow march for my face, I continued to box my memories and place them on the top-shelf labeled 'Save for Later'. Soon the first sliver of what had been one seamless object made its way to my jaw, moving in the slowest, most graceful manner i felt the tiny scales that layer the skin across my face begin to slowly split up with the tiny caress of the glass particle, it seemed to take hours for the one shard to make its way from my view to my cheek. I moved on to my emotions, sealing them tightly in a small steel canister and moving them to the vault that had since its last use gathered a generous amount of dust and its fair share of small critters who had come and established their families and and long been gone. As I cranked the 4 bar lock of the vault the metal clank of the door indicated that it was not sealed. I sat in the farthest corner and struck up my last cigarette and stared out of the only window in the room. Without a moments notice time crept back to where it should have been. The glass moved from a near stand still to soaring through the air, each piece making its mark on my skin. The last thing I saw was the wheel. My world has gone black, but at least all I needed was safe and secure, in the place that only myself will ever visit


Sleep. It comes at a small price. The price of your conscience and mental awareness. 4x4, 5x5, 6x6 and so on, you get what you give. But if only 'they' would take an advance and allow me to trade the next 3 days of my awake self for 3 days of sleep. So I wont be aware of anything that's going on. So I wont have to listen to someone complain to me about who is saying what and whats not true. I could finally feel like I did before, free from other peoples (for lack of better words) shit.

This weekend (as of Friday morning to now) has slipped by me in a haze clouded up by broken thoughts and a memory of what it feels like to be completely disconnected. Anxiety from the moment my feet land on the less-than-soft carpet of my living room to the time my head falls on the mass of cotton lump in a case. I have felt disoriented, disconnected and utterly confused, doing my best to hide it all and keep a positive attitude seems to make the anxiety hit a peak towards the end of the night. I went to see a movie with two good friends. I can barely tell you what the movie was about or any of the dialogue. I just cant remember, I vaguely remember laughing only when I heard others laughing so that I wouldn't look crass, bored or just different. It wasn't that I was lost in some deep complex thought process of linking memories or ideas....it was the opposite, it was that for once in a long time, my mind had shut down in the most uncomfortable way. As if my body were a hollow shell and my eyes were a type of security camera sending the monitored signal back into my brain, i felt empty and drained of anything resembling human life or emotion. I think I'm just too exhausted and its playing tricks on my mind, making me just exist and fool me into thinking its for no reason, but let me tell you. The last couple of days, have actually felt as if they were a dream, my dreams held more materialistic reality and substance than what I can remember from reality. This all started when I had a horrific dream that I cant remember 2-3 nights ago, all I remember is I woke up with anxiety and in a mild panic. It was one of those dreams that seemed to captivate your subconscious to the point of fool the bigger brother of your brain (your conscience) into thinking it was real and by some hidden force of nature at the end of this sequence you were somehow in your bed with no recollection of how you ended up there. I can tell you this, that there is nothing emotionally or mentally wrong with me (physical is another story lately)
Speaking of 'happy' I forgot to mention (unless I've already forgotten) I am happy, I am extremely happy, I am just trying to explain this peculiar strain of events that seem to be a foggy memory. I think at this point I am just writing and rambling and none of this is ever going to make sense to you to me to anyone. But its the first time that I've sat in front of the keyboard and the mental floodgates opened up to a wave of thoughts that seem to just posses my fingers and pour themselves out in a long, long, long time. And this is probably going to be private.

I just want to sleep.


This is going to serve as a place to log my thoughts, my emotions and fictitious works.