You look out the window. It’s not yet the end of the world but you can see it from there. You know you’re all alone and no one’s around. Your eyes gleam lunar wild and you lock the door because you start to hear the gremlins and goblins come out. Suddenly you notice that the rug is actually made out of Ewok fur and you hear the cat outside, plotting your demise because you haven’t fed it for two days straight. You feel the rush of natural morphine, seeping and swelling in your veins. You feel the circuitry in your brain sparking and glitching. Soon you begin talking to yourself, arguing and changing sides. You’re sampling again, medicating in darkness, invoking secret passions and fears, and becoming conscious of the level of sex and rage you’ve tried so hard to lock in. But despite all of this you feel safe in the danger because you know that it’s all yours. In fact you think it’s wonderful, freeing and necessary. You hiss and fret and laugh, and soon you’re happily greeting the madness with bared teeth until someone knocks on the door and the shadows slip away. (more…)
Maybe it’s because I’m a child of the 80s and a teen of the 90s that, sometimes, when I look out into the vast realm of the internet, I get disgustipated.
I mean, suffering fuckballs what the hell happened?
I know this is an old man rant, but holy shit. Generation “meh” is now Generation “waah.” Nevermind the repackaged, repurposed, rebooted, race-swapped, and gender-swapped IPs. When tasked to come up with something original, they dish out something like this:
Harsh mouth, foul scent, lurching, slurring, and stumbling. Needless to say, I am hammered beyond salvage and absolutely embalmed to the gills.
I’m in my car trying to find the steering wheel, driving home with useful terror. Because, y’know, you always give your heart to the future ’cause the present is where you hustle.
‘Cause pints of Guinness gets down to business.
I let moonlight pour into my eyes before tomorrow’s sun bakes it raw. Somewhere in my head my brain is telling me what to do. But sobriety is a distant jewel, ghost beyond ghost, holding on to dear life while looking for little deaths— something cute, something evil.
Funny thing about this whole ‘rona situation, with all this time in our hands, is that it gets us looking back at the things we’ve done (the good and the bad). But mainly the good because this is what we need to look forward with more hope at an indefinite, undetermined future.
Below is a compilation of the work I’ve done in collaboration with indie film companies and artists here in California (list on the actual vimeo vid). From series to shorts to commercials to music videos, I’m very thankful I have the opportunity to see imagination materialized in tangible form.
Truly crazy and miraculous if you think about it, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
From writer, director, AD, sound, to a PA grunt, I’ve worked the war rooms and the trench lines and I am happy I have these under my belt.
Next up, I aim to scale that magical mountain and hunt that elusive, mythical dragon called “feature film”. I’ma slay that bitch one day 🙂
Till next time!
Be cool and be safe.
It’s a weird relationship we have with our dreams. At a young age it nurtures us because dreams can still become a reality; but at a later stage in life, it eats away at our souls as it slowly starts to resemble the many things that will never be.
Because you don’t see it coming, do you? Just one day, all of a sudden, the storm arrives and the tides turn.
Gone are your panache and pizzazz. Gone are your audacity and affirmations. Gone are the fun and fuckery of waxing poetry. Because sisi puede is now no bueno. (more…)
What does one reflect about in these corona-times?
Well, first off, fuck China. As if Birdflu, SARS, H7N9, etc., is not enough. Now they’ve taken away our plans and pursuits; our daily routines and jobs; and have placed people around the world in body bags, urns, and six feet down the dirt.
That’s right, I said it.
I mean, why the fuck would you drink bat soup or eat a motherfucking pangolin? Have you seen these things? I mean, look at this animal.
You know the feeling. You had a great night. You got the job done. You closed the deal and now you’re lying next to someone you thought you could never get. (more…)
So how did it all start?
Well, it started out just like any disease, just like any obsession—with a headache and a heartache. It happened when I saw my whole life ahead of me, cliched and predictable like a bad novel. And like bones grinding the nerves away, the closer it got the more paralyzed I felt. I became afraid. Then somewhere along the way I found an escape. Eventually I began to do it little by little, just enough to get me by. And the next thing you know I was already long gone.
Was it hard the first time?
It’s always hard the first time because everything’s new, everything’s speculation. That’s why—good or bad—there’s nothing like the first time. After that, what you have to look forward to is the last time. But there’s no way of knowing when the last time will be, that’s why I try to do everything as though it is my last.
Do you have a preferred method of execution? What’s your inspiration?
Everybody does what works for them. I personally have no attachments to any “method.” I do what works. Sometimes it’s necessary to use tact and wit, sometimes with an axe and a sickle, sometimes with poison and charm. You have to remember, the weightlessness of imagination is the only thing exempt from the gravity of life. Other times I sit in the toilet, meditating and feeling my testicles for signs.
How many victims have you had? (more…)
So this happened last weekend—my very first table, my first ever “con” (is that how you say it?). Granted I’ve never been to a convention before and my very first one was tabling and promoting my book—in other words I really had no idea what to expect or what to do! Luckily I had angels to guide me and help me get out of my dungeon and be a social butterfly for at least three days.
Not gonna lie. Thinking it was a comic book convention (and not a novel convention—do we even have those?), I was really only expecting to sell maybe 2 or 3 books if I was lucky. But alas, to my surprise, I sold almost all my inventory.
So thank you for all your support—both old and new—and I promise I won’t disappoint (if I do you can always firebomb my place, I don’t give a shit I got renter’s insurance). (more…)
Writing is like spending time on the cross, when you die painfully every moment; other times it’s like the resurrection, when you feel fresh and alive and brand-spanking-new. (more…)
The imagery that surrounds us today are all worn-out, played-out, out of touch. It feels the same every time—every visual, every texture, every sound—to the point that we don’t even blink anymore. We just go through the motions because we know exactly what to expect.
And we start loathing it and we stop caring.
Today whether you go to the movies, you listen to the radio, you turn on the TV, or turn to speak to the person next to you, it seems like they are all saying the same thing—the same stale and sterile, tried and tested, mass produced and mass consumed opinions.
Twenty-first century media might have brought light to the world, but it doesn’t bring fire. Cautious objectivity is the job of machines and scientists, but we are a different animal. Light may illuminate. It may even bring peace, clarity, enlightenment; but light doesn’t bring fire. Fire is different. Fire burns. Fire is passion. And just like the fate of the rebel Titan, Prometheus, fire is something that is forbidden and something you can get punished for. Simply put, fire is truth because fire is risk. (more…)