The Drive to Find Her

It occurred to me that I have a degree of bad luck when it comes to girls. On five separate occasions I've told a girl that I liked her, but she denied me. She gave me the "best friend" speech and left things at that. I always found myself gritting my teeth and kicking myself after it happened. Although, three out of the five are still my good friends, it's just one simple question that has been irking me:

Am I boyfriend material?

But what on earth is a boyfriend? Isn't he the guy you can turn to and tell him your troubles? Isn't he the guy that you can trust and count on? I mean, you can come talk to me and tell me your troubles, I'm a great listener. I'm trustworthy and accountable. So, why can't I be a boyfriend?

But don't get me wrong, I'm not whining or crying over it. I'm just analyzing it a bit. You know what I'm saying? For years I just could not find the answer to the question. I've even jotted down some good qualities about myself:

1. I'm a gentleman
2. I write poetry
3. I'm a good listener
4. I try my best to make a joke for someone to smile
5. I dress nicely.
6. Did I mention that I write poetry?

So what makes a boyfriend a boyfriend? Is it the drive? Do I have to post up a sign saying: "Girlfriend Needed"? I do have to admit that I'm shy, but not drastically. Once we find common interests with each other I'm sure we can hit if off.

Hm, maybe the girl is waiting for me. There's an idea. I should build on that, but who?

Burning Sin (Poem inspired from a song "Burn it All")

Let's rise from the ashes,
so life came begin again.
Let's open the door to our blacken hearts
and let the light wash in.

Unaccounted for, Unresolved,
terrible reasons that are Unforgiven.

Let's revolt
and fall together
We can try what we must,
but who can resist it anymore?
Because everything is evil,
and must be repented for.

Unexcused, unexplained,
wrongful choices that are unrestrained.

Say what you see,
but don't believe it.
Break the chains of normality
and you are then free.
Because no one is stopping you
from burning it all.

Tampered Heart

The newspaper came this morning.
It said: "Local Man...Heart Stolen."
The reports say that they couldn't find the thief.

But I bet it was you.

You sleep with the night, you travel with it.
You entered my life and made headlines.
Stripping me of my pride, robbing me of my passion

I know it was you.

Now I lay here, broken.
My ink faded from your lies.
My pages torn and thrown with the wind.

I just know it was you.

The Nightrunner Taxi Driver

He spoke to me in the quickest fashion.
Slang, curse words but with passion.
He told me he goes to work at 2 am.
There were nothing but crackheads and hoes till 5 am.
But here he is: Picking me up at 6:20 am.

He pulled up with one honk.
"Hempstead man?" he said.
Hempstead Man? Is he talking to me?
"You goin' to Hempstead?" he asked, much clearly.
Oh, yes. Hempstead.

Driving along he goes.
Onto his crackheads on hoes.
He told me that he was suppose to clock in at 5 am
Where his boss was waiting for him.
But here he is: Speeding down the turnpike.

He slammed on the gas.
"I'm kinda in a hurry no?" he said.
No? Is he serious?
"I'm late for my clock in." he lit his cigarette.
"I'm trying to fucking scrap up a few people before I go in."
Oh really? It's hard to tell.
"I work the night hours. Nothing but fucking bitches and pricks."
Cleaning up the streets are we?
"Like, what is this shit? 3 am in the fucking morning and you're sloshed out of your fucking mind!"
It happens.

We get to Hempstead.
5 minutes flat, no less than.
He told me he'll make one more round.
He told me to fuck his boss.
And there he is: Speeding out of the drop-off lane.

He's the Nightrunner.
Fuck the crackheads and hoes.
When will he stop?
No one knows.

Thank You

I just want to take the time to say "thank you" to those of you have read my blog. I mean, even if you were just browsing with the thought "Is this guy good enough to follow?" Thank you. It means a lot to know that I have people reading my work. Even if you don't like what I write, thank you for taking the time to skim through it. To the people who comment: Thank you. Your comments mean a lot and I take them into consideration to help me become a better writer.

Again, thanks for reading!

NaNoWrMo

Yeah gang! November is National Novel Writing Month. I'll be participating in it as well for the first time. It's where you write a 50,000 word novel in one month. It's most definately a challenge for me, but everyone needs a challenge. I encourage all writers to do so, because you can see what is your limit with length.

Wish me luck and thank you for reading my blog!

Cubist Interaction

Overlapping one another, these paintings describe a feeling.
A sharp, angular structure that depicts an emotion.
What does it mean? What does it do?
But rather what do you feel?
An interaction unlike any else. What do you feel?
Dim colors that trigger the mind.
Images to hard to picture. What can you see?
These are the questions you ask...
in the middle of your Cubist Interaction.

Mental Idleness

What brings me to this place?
This corner of my bare mind which holds needless questions?
These problematic scenarios that I cannot overcome.
Why must I feel this way?
Trapped. Cornered. Sick.
How can I make this go away?
So I can free myself from the shackles of regret.
Burdened by my own doubts and sin.
It's hard to know where too begin--
If there is a beginning...
Endless tracks of terrible reason,
but the ends can justify the means.
Let me resign in my own mental despair.
My own mental idleness.

T-Mobile

They said that I was 63 in the queue.
They thanked me for my patience.
They said an agent would be with me shortly.
They thanked me for my patience again.

They said I was 59 in the queue, the next available agent would answer my question.
Again, they thanked me for my patience.

T-Mobile...I'm running out of patience.

Choice vs. Fate

The struggle between the two can be devastating.

Do you believe in fate?
Is it a belief where some abstract, celestial object that plotted out the cords of your life? And you're just the electricity flowing through it nonstop, until it pulls the plug and it's light's out?

Do you believe in choice?
Is it a belief where YOU have the option to plant out the seeds of your life? And when you grow you have the time to change the color of faded leaves?

Is fate a trap?
Is it the predator that lurks in the darkness and waits for its time to strike?
Is it a complex compound that defeats the paths you've made and reveals you as senseless elements?

Is choice freedom?
Is it the wind that blows the leaves on your tree to new ideas and destinations?

Do you have the Choice to believe in fate?

Hardy and Jimmy: A Flash Fiction

Once upon a time, there lived two brother rocks. The eldest rock was Hardy. He was nice and big. With smooth textures, Hardy was the “good rock” of the family. He would always stay with the other rocks, helping them with channeling the rain water to the underground veins. His younger brother, Jimmy wasn’t like the other rocks. He was small and rough. He had sharp edges and no one wanted to sit next to him. But Jimmy didn’t care, he wanted to cause trouble. He wanted until the humans walked over the gravel and jump inside their shoe. His favorite spot to stay was near the toes. When he had bothered them long enough, they would tear off their shoes and toss him far.

One day, Jimmy and jumped into a sandal of a young girl. She was happily skipping to the playground. He was on his way to his favorite spot, but his timing was off. He landed in the middle of the sandal and she stepped on him.

“Ow!” she screamed. “I must have a rock in my sandal.” She knelt over and pulled off her sandal. Jimmy tried to move, but the girl saw him.

“No, please don’t throw me!” Jimmy cried, sarcastically.

“I’m not going to throw you.” the girl said, smiling devilishly. Jimmy felt concerned as she carried him to the playground. She walked over to the fountain and loamed over it.

“No! Don’t put me in there!” Jimmy cried. He heard stories of fellow rocks being thrown in here. Only to see who can make the biggest splash.

“This is payback.” the girl said, cradling Jimmy in her palm. Jimmy tried to roll off, but the girl kept him still. She brought her arm back and tossed Jimmy into the fountain. As Jimmy’s life flashed before his eyes, he noticed he had been a bad little rock. He realized why he was called “pebble”. Pebbles were the lowest of rocks.

Jimmy made a small splash and slowly sunk to the bottom. As he landed on the fountain surface, he can still see the girl looking over the fountain. He turned to see his fallen brothers. There were different shapes, sizes, and colors. He knew no one will come after him, no one came for these rocks. Jimmy thought about his brother Hardy. I wished he could have been like him. Big, well rounded and good. He just remained motionlessly, like a good rock should.

When Life hands you Lemons

When Life hands you lemons,

Don't take them sitting down...

Get up, stretch a little, and SHOVE IT IN LIFE'S FACE!!

'Cause, you have better things to do than to make lemonade!

Something I wrote for September 11th

I remember that fateful day,
Looking around my lunchroom, confused and nothing to say.
In matter of fact, we all were.
Mouths agape and our wits a blur.
Why did this happen? Or rather, how could it?
We tried to make sense, but the details would not fit.

I remember going make home and running to my terrace.
26th floor, people crying, people sighing, the hurt was relentless.
I stood there in shock, as I watched the deep black smoke fill the air.
I could see it clearly, but the smoke was everywhere.
Preventing me from coming to a conclusion,
Filling our heads with confusion.

I remember the fire trucks rushing down the street,
they came quick, fast as a heartbeat.
And I hoped they made it on time,
Uptown to Downtown, that's one heck of a ride.

I remember the people praying.
I remember the people hugging.
I remember what the news was saying.
I remember the people running.

But we as a whole have to remember: Be strong.
Despite who was down there, they were all covered with the same dust.
The dust of pain, the dust of sorrow, and the dust of strength.
Let's not forget the people who rushed down there and helped out.
It's was beyond the job, some felt it was a natural duty.

I remember the people praying.
I remember the people hugging.
I remember what the news was saying.
I remember the people running.

We all remember September 11th.

Why the Critics?

It seems to me that every time I give my opinions on life and how I feel, I get heavily criticized for it. Like, why? Why must you open fire at me because you can't stand the way I view the world? Everyone has there own takes on life? I have my opinion and you have yours. You don't have to like mine, because I don't like yours.

Just a small rant. I could go on with the specifics but I'll only hurt my keyboard.

Preparations for the Freaky

I've been given the task to become...one of them.
The ones who talk to themselves,
The ones who stare at their respective corners.
The ones who look at you with flaring intensity.
The ones who are...Freaky.

They can drill a hole in any inner wall.
No matter your mentally capacity, they tend to fill every inch of discomfort.

The ones who would streak without a second thought.
The ones who talk about bodies falling apart.
The Freaky. The Weird.
...
....
I have been...given that task.

Capacity Decreased

Muffled screams,
Shriveled moans.
Thoughts obliterated
Into a cloud of nothingness.

Patience cracked,
Time frozen still.
My very essence tortured
Throughout the void.

Silenced cries,
Muted sighs.
The inner me caged
With its own confusion

Improving Your Writing Skills..While Depending on Yourself

We all can turn to writing guides and experts to improve our writing. That is a good thing, I have done that myself. So, what if you didn't have those resources? You have to fend for yourself right? Well, I came up with some tips that can help you. First I would like to give a scenario: You have completed writing your first novel. You have done all the editing you could and you feel confident in it. You ship it off to a publishing company and they reject you. What then?

Tip #1: Don't cry.

Your first rejection isn't the end of your writing career. You get up and try again. There has got to be something that you've missed, OR, the company simple wasn't accepting your type of genre. The sadness and pain that you feel on your first rejection should be used for good. Adversity.

Tip #2: Allow yourself to accept criticism.

After you have soaked in your first rejection, let's call them boogies, you should sit down and look over your work. It may look good in your eye, but what about others. [Note: There are some people who say don't worry about what other people think, your story is good either way. I tend to stray away from that saying. I write for people to read and like, but if they don't like it, my story wasn't good.] Have your work read over by someone more experienced than you, or even some friends. Get their feedback and choose whether to take it into consideration. There are people who will give you harsh criticism, but don't wreck yourself over that. Take their criticism apart and pick out the bits that you need. We all have egos and self-esteem faults, but be open-minded.

After you have gotten some feedback, think to yourself: How can I use this? Some might have said that your punctuation was wrong, other might have said to watch your grammar. Those small little things can get you and I, myself, have been guilty of that.

Tip #3: Don't change the way you speak. Your style.

You are your own author. We all have different ways of conveying characters and presenting plots. To preserve your own soul, you must not change your tone or style. Running mainstream, or copying some other author's tone is just unnecessary. Be yourself, not Stephanie Meyer or James Patterson.

Well, I'm actually fresh out of tips. Haha, only three right? If you have any more, I would gladly add it to the list. Thanks for reading!

The Way We Think

It seems to me that...certain individiuals have a problem about how I think. They each say that I think "too much". At first it didn't bother me, but then they asked for my opinion the second time and critized me again. Is there something wrong with the way I think? So, they "test" me on it. They ask this question: "A cat is chasing a squirrel and the squirrel runs up a tree. What does the cat do next?" So, I thought about it and answered, "Well, there are a few things the cat can do at that point." Quickly after that, they all start laughing and cry, "It's common sense." "The cat chases the squirrel up the tree!"

Well, last time I checked, cats don't chase squirrels. Second, not all cats will chase the squirrel up the tree. What if the cat decided to turn around and do something else. Or maybe the cat decided to sit there and wait for the squirrel to come down. There other possiblities. But they insisted that there was only one solution and I was stupid and had no common sense. It angered me, but I kept it inside.

Maybe I do take my thoughts to a higher level, don't critize me that you can't think on my level. All I'm saying is: We each think differently and there are more than one solution to problems.

The Art that I Took Up

Recently, I started to do something that I thought I wouldn't do. You know, I didn't do much in high school, instead become a "nerd" to the people's eyes. I wanted to make a name for myself in college now. But how can I do that? I'm shy and have no idea what the people would think of me. "But it's college, no one will pay attention to you like that." I said to myself. So, I agreed and continued to plan on how to make a name for myself.

So, one day, while in my Creative Studies class, I agreed with my professor to do something spontaneous and free. "This is the perfect time." I said to myself, once again. And to my great expense, the school's Halloween party was coming up and I wanted to be Westley Snipes in Blade. So, I searched the internet and looked up the design he had in his hair. I found it and wondered who can put it on my head. So I strolled over to my barber and he said he'll try it out. Little did I know that he will become my "hair artist". This was the result:



You can't see the Blade design, but the star my barber added for his own touch. Here are some others that I have gotten:





I like this, Hair Art. I get some welcomed attention and people like seeing this. A smile when little kids on the bus point and say "Look mommy!"

Never inspired by my trip to New Orleans

Never by Travis G. Williams

Never would I have imagined,
To be in a place stricken by horror.
To be on a foundation that was once someone’s shelter.
To be on someone’s porch, a place for their comfortable afternoons.
Never would I have imagined,
To be in a place haunted by water.
To be in a home that was ruined: paint to sheet rock.
To be on a roof that was someone’s last resort of safety.
Now, I was given the chance to give back.
I put my heart into that chance.
I’ve given it my all.
It was the first time I was able to say: “Fatigue is a good thing”.
I was able to sweat for someone…
Able to cry for someone…
Able to feel for someone…
Able to help someone.

Within the Counteract

So this is what has become of you?
You've lost your freedom and your innocence.
Caged within his wicked grasp, nowhere to run.
How long did it take for you to be held captive?
Did you fight with all your heart? As if your life depended on it?

Now insanity crashes through.
Hitting your weakened mind with unmentionable pain.
Can you withstand the torture?
Can you breathe through its thick intoxication?
No, you can't. Because it's too late.

So this is what had become of me...
I've lost all my feelings and love for you.
Caged within my own anger and foolishness.
How long did it take me to come to this realization?
I've tried to fight it, but I lost in great depth.

Now loneliness shines through.
Burning my skin with undesirable attention.
Can I hold on to my affection for you?
Can I breathe in this sea of sorrow?
Yes, I can. Because I still love you.

Being a Gentleman, it has it's perks

I was at the store the other day and I opened the door for a middle aged woman. You know, I was being nice, I was being a gentleman. That's what I am. But as she passed through the opening she turned back and said, "I don't need you to open the door for me. I'm not crippled." The words crossed my mind pretty quickly, leaving me standing there with my mouth agape.

What did I do wrong?
Was she serious?
Wasn't I being nice?

I wasn't expecting that from her. Or anybody. But there I stood, trying to sort out those words that the woman had told me. I didn't get it, it confused me. But later, after I bought myself some Sun Chips and Arizona, I noticed that it could have been pride that made her say that. Too much pride in that case. But I will still be a gentleman to the best of my ability.

The Battle of the Decade

I swiftly ran past the limp bodies.
Covering my nose from the thick, black smoke around me.
I turn to see my greatest rival,
standing tall and firm, waiting for my arrival.
"So, it has come to this." I say.
"Yes, it has come down to this day."
"Must we fight? What can we resolve?"
"There's nothing to solve!"
I sigh heavily and draw my sword.
"You won't get anything from that, you have nothing to afford."
I stare him in the eye, I swore I would make it.
We clinch together, The Battle of the Decade

Russo's Fun Questionnaire

As my professor's former "guinea pig" I have succumbed to the pressure of blogging again. But who am I to complain? I like blogging. I have participated in a college program at Molloy called Whitman's Creative Studies. In this program, I have learned to express myself in more than one or two ways. I learned to enhance my writing skills and even learned how to take a good picture (despite my hate for it). But it was worth doing, time well spent. So in acceptance of this program, I will answer his 29 question questionnaire. (He should have made it 30, I mean come on; make it even. He's such an odd man.)

1. Describe yourself in three words.

Unassuming, Creative, Intelligent

2. What one thing about yourself that you like the most?

I like that I can express myself greatly in writing; i find it very comfortable.

3. What is one thing about yourself that you like least?

I don't like the fact that I'm extremely shy around girls. I mean, honestly, its the opposite sex. Don't get me wrong, I want to be married one day, but jeez!

4. What is your favorite color?

Red. Thank goodness he didn't ask me why.

5. What physical features of the opposite sex are you attracted to the most?

Hmmm, I will have to say the butt. Since I look down often, it's the first thing I see. But I'll be an ass if I judged a girl by her butt.

6. What is your favorite movie?

I'm going to cheat, b/c I like both of these movies equally: Shooter and the Matrix Trilogy.

7. What book are you currently reading?

I'm currently going over my novel. :) How egotistical of me.

8. What is your favorite curse word?

I rarely curse. But when I do cause of anger, I happen to utter "shit"

9. Do you have any piercings? Any tattoos?

Yes, one piercing. And I would want a tattoo soon.

10. If you could go any place right now, where would you go?

Hmmm, Africa. I need to learn more about my roots.

11. What is your favorite hangout?

The library. It's my second home.

12. What is your favorite song?

Got the Life by Korn

13. What is the worst thing you've ever bought or have been given?

The worst thing I've given was a pair of 99 cent earrings. How horrible and cheap of me.

14. What is one thing you always bring with you?

My ID card. My mom has always said, "You'll never know when the cops will stop you."

15. What is your favorite thing to eat? To drink?

My favorite food is pizza. My drink will be cold water.

16. Who do you think is the most beautiful woman in the world?

Wow, I would say it would be Carmen Electra.

17. Who do you think is the most handsome man in the world?

Since I'm comfortable with my sexuality I would say that Barack Obama is a very good looking man.

18. What is your hidden talent?

The top of my ear can push in like a button. Weird ain't it?

19. What is your dream job?

Sitting in my apartment working on my beloved novels.

20. Describe your ideal partner.

Straight, long or short black hair. Brown eyes. Very loving and caring. Forgiving in a my faults, as I shall be with her. She shall be smart and clever. Unassuming like me and trusting. There is a lot more, but how can I ever fulfill my darkest fantasies?

21. What are you afraid of?

To be honest, not having any children. But in retrospect, how far have I gone away from my shell?

22. Are you a optimist or a pessimist?

I'm an optimist.

23. What would you rather have: brains or beauty? (BE HONEST!)

I would have brains. I've been picked on about my "beauty" since I was small. My confidence had decreased and slowly increasing. But I think you must have the brains to think of a way to be "beautiful" in your own creative way.

24. Are you a giver or a taker? (BE HONEST AGAIN!)

I'm a giver. A BIG GIVER.

25. What turns you on in life? (Intellectually, emotionally, spiritually)

Intellectually: Books and learning from my past and others' past.
Emotionally: Seeing a girl loving who looks beyond the outside.
Spiritually: My dreams.

26. What turns you off in life?

IGNORANCE! BY THE GRACE OF HEAVENS I HATE THAT!

27. If your house caught on fire and you could only save one thing, what would it be? (NOTE: your family is already safe)

I would take my poetry. If anything that I can turn back to and smile, it would be my poetry.

28. If you could go back in time and change anything about your life, what would it be?

I would change the fact that I let words get to me. But, that would be pointless b/c it made me into who I am now.

29. If you could choose your own death, how would you go?

Reading a departing poem to my wife and kids, and family.

When the time comes

This is a need-to-know basis.
Whatever I have to say to you, will be thoroughly planned out.
Nothing too extraneous, nothing to worry your little mind over.
Just the things that you need to know.

((When the times comes, I'll finished this blog :) ))

When Was the Last Time I'd Said Sorry?

I've hurt you several times...
Didn't I?
You've cried several times...
Didn't you?
But I apologized..
Didn't I?

I can't remember the last time that I've uttered those two words.
Since way back when, I've been an insensitive fool.
Now, I'm paying the price with your isolation of me.
Cutting me off from the very source that I need.

I've hurt many times...
Didn't I?
And you've cried way too many times...
Haven't you?
But I apologized...
But when was the last time I'd said sorry?