A Late Introduction

A writer that is a watered down version of Jason Schwartzman from the show Bored to Death. Unlike him, the chase for purpose is second nature. This doesn’t mean that when writing is taking a back seat, moonlighting as a private detective on craigslist is an equal substitute.

“Praise me I’d rather you not, cause it’s driving me crazy.”

- Mac Miller

I’ve had the praise. I’ve had the support because my voice is an ever-changing form of debauchery that is only lost in whim because the manic side becomes another fucker trying to show face. Like Jonathan Ames, the struggle has come from trying to realize where I belong and what is next for the lost.

It is like when being given the choice between melancholy or rampant obscurity, trying to take the right path is all dependent on where the mind is at.

It may have been due to being on probation, that a lack of smoking marijuana has left a hole in an already stimulated mind that could only be replaced with any form of white wine. I was trying to find something to be an escape from the inevitable tyranny that is my woeful mind creating destruction.

The wine may have been a benefactor into a new resurgence sparking the neurons to keep the fingers flowing to a point that I would just write and write with no contextual after thought. I wasn’t truly content with who I was becoming as a writer.

I began to realize I was consistently trying to write to stay relevant and not because I love creating worlds for those reading. Eventually I’d realize I was never true to myself. I told myself no more of those simplistic ass fuckery that culminates from being fake.

“No subject is terrible if the story is true, if the prose is clean and honest, and if it affirms courage and grace under pressure.”

- Ernest Hemingway (A Movable Feast)

It is as if, for me, the prose would ring true whether sober or inebriated, as long as it comes with the right intentions. There are ideas that seem so crazy and others that seem sane, never in-between. Options are vast and desired when trying to become the person you are meant to be in with your love.

A friend once told me, my stories are interesting. I have more to offer. I could have been a comedian. But I stuck to my gut and told my stories as a way to express regret and lessons to those around me. Of course they laugh and it is fine that they do, my life isn’t short of whimsical.

As a writer, I’m never willing to take away from personal experience. But trying to be weird, crazy, and purposely pretentious has made it harder for me to understand my voice.

It is like the real me took the ejected seat when pretentiousness wrote a screenplay and the composite me took the wheel leading it off a cliff.

Synopsis:

A man, color-blind and angered at the world, goes to get drunk at a public woods-like trail that acts as a disc golf course. He trips over his own two left feet and hits his head, only to be awakened by a man in a squirrel suit. This squirrel guy leads him to a corner where eventually he is murdered for littering.

End synopsis.

You start to wonder… what the hell is going on? Why does this even exist? It’s simplistic and yet confusing and unnatural. It brought about a lot of questions from me, when I was getting considerable praise from the readers.

But as I’ve deviated from the originality of the oblique, I’ve stylistically become a truer version of myself. I’ve reacquainted with a former love, poetry. It allowed me to see the bigger picture.

I am just another Colombian-Ecuadorian schmuck trying to find reason in my writing and understanding my voice is truly similar, but not parallel to, Eddie Island from American Idol.

Just trying to be a lax, fun, dude that brings out the lavender scents in life. I want to be everyone’s friend and express love for everything I do.

I’ll scope the stratosphere to give you my best.

So unless you want to hear about a one night stand that involved me walking out to three drunk female friends chasing me, while I hold my pants up to hide my dick and run away from the inevitable story that I have to tell them, find me in real life.

Peace Out Homies!