The end nears

Why is it that this is such a big deal to you? You know, in every crisis there is an opportunity to grow, if you have to eye to see. How much more punishment will you take? Now, it occurred to you that it is easier to destroy than to create, and, in fact, destruction makes space for inspiration and the planning of a bolder, newer, more innovative approach. She's taken the role of the destroyer and no matter how much energy you spend on trying to build a complex castle of sand, all she has to do, in order to succeed, is to brush it off with a swift of hand. This is your life; yours to live, and the more you insist on the same method of "goodness" and frankness and reconciliation and vacillation, the more weak and the less effective you are in turn. Try to do good but not just for others; instead, be selfish, go out, make out with a complete stranger and money in time will be of no consequence. There will be plenty to go around, and perhaps it is for the best. Your time, essential for every relationship, to act has passed you. You've inflicted enough pain in her and a few good deeds will not affect the outcome. Grow, admit like the man you are, that you will not spend a single second more of your youth and energy into this glorious mess. Stop playing the victim and expecting to get something in return. Be more proactive and less dependent. Don't be a kid; be a man. Don't play along to the tune of her mad siren; find the strength that lies deep within and the strings of that internal melody that flows so freely inside will reverberate and echo through time. In one single move you can erase eons of flaws. The minute this change, like a revolution, grows in you, everyone will see it and no one will be able to deny it. Women can perceive a man's shifting of attitude in the slightest, most subtle way. It's a mechanism they're born with; they know when their man is in their grips and when he is no longer under her command. And they yearn for a dominant, self-centered, confident male.

Be Your Own Man

Jess came around the usual time wearing a purple tight ass dress and every guy on the floor, with the exception of me, stared vividly at her. You couldn't take your eyes away. It was breathtaking. She had a tong that you could have spotted from a mile away and her ass seemed to swallow it whole. I think I'm forced now to ask her out, it is what she wants... she just doesn't know it yet. But she will.
Isabel is getting worse by the minute. Now I am in a precarious situation. I am going back to the fun guy I used to be. We haven't had sex God knows for how long, more than two months, I calculate. I don't want to be here anymore and if it wasn't for my son I doubt seriously that I would be. I need to grow, heal and get as far as possibly from here. I don't have to strand my relationship with my baby. That I will miss him, of course, but I think it is also for his well-being. He can't possibly grow up among so much drama and backstabbing and turn out to be a functional human being. I will keep in contact with him as long as I breath. He will always be what I most treasure in life, the relationship that will stand the test of time, the very thing closest to paradise. I wish Isabel well, for I think, in retrospect, isn't her fault. Too late it is that I understand that the one I am today, the loyal, hard-working, not so remotely close to party-animal, this person I've become who, by the way, is far, oh so very far, from perfection, came a little bit too late. And even today, when I don't fool around, or even find it necessary to lie to women, now that I don't sleep around... I am still far from here. I was, sad to admit, never really fully committed to this relationship. I tried, though, as of lately, at least two years or so from now, to make things work and not out of martyrdom or anything that resembles such thing... but, just because of the kids. Yes, I love her son as well... I have him since he is eight and he's grown into this fine, slightly rugged, young man and I see a lot of things, things he's borrowed from me. I'm not delusional, he's not my son and I will never love him anywhere near the way I love Esteban, but still he is one of the few reasons I am still under this roof. Another one is pot... say what you will but if it wasn't for pot, I wouldn't have been able to highly function the way I do. And it's not that I could easily get it around here... I could as well manage and buy it in larger quantities and smoke it wherever I am... But the truth is, when I smoke, I become more tolerant, more of a family man... I no longer feel like venturing out or getting into someone else's pants. It's just so much fun I can easily play with my kid (once I wash my mouth and my face) for hours and see just how wonderful he really is. And I don't smoke more than I did a year or two, or even three, ago. Addiction is, well, when you can't stop doing something, and on the other side it's also when you increase gradually the amount of time you spend on it and the resources you put into it, too. For one, I don't spend and I don't really smoke all that much either... I've gone weeks without it, even months at a time. And even now, when I am a regular smoker, I go a day or two without it, and I can make a five dollar bag last me two days. Now, I won't admit having worried about it but not out of concern for my health... cigarettes are far worse and that worries me more than pot does. I write better, I feel like doing the things that usually in such a stressful and time-consuming lives we rarely find time to ourselves. When we do, it is what we do in these moments of leisure which truly define our character and mind. I seek no more than peace of mind, rarely do I force myself to construct paragraphs or go back and check the grammar. I write it the way it come out, I think and act on it, I don't fuck around. I'm solid, you see. I like going out and I haven't in quite some time. So, I decide as of this moment that my mission in life will be to balance things out with Isabel, stop being such a child and quit bitching.

Listen, now. I am such a devil. Well, no need to stay there, reading... Books are boring, aren't they? No, actually, I take that back. They do serve their magic to those of us who still know how to wiggle a wand. The readers among us are the best kind of people. And not that there aren't any interesting people who don't read; I don't know many. In fact, I try to peacefully separate myself from most affairs at work, detach myself from the low standards under which I am subjected to daily. I quit complaining, it doesn't take anywhere; I pick my fights, I don't let jealousy or envy, love or hate, nothing gets in the way of my money. I've seen pretty girls, gorgeous girls, cute girls, beautiful women, and I relate to them just as well as with the less esthetic kind. Look, let us not fool ourselves. Christianity has perhaps been fed to us, we're not all equal. There are talented folks, intelligent and diligent souls, wise men and women, and the not so fortunate kind. Equality has no place in Nature; animals, they all look to satisfy their needs. The problem is that somehow we think that is a negative thing. It's a fact whether we hide it behind altruistic and heroic acts. Sure, vanity plays a big role and so does talent and beauty, and we should stop saying that we're all beautiful "in our own ways". Look, the fact is, beauty isn't all born with (some exceptions, like me). A lot of symmetrical and divine females adopt a self-defense mechanism, somehow evolve to detect every guy hitting on them or behaving nervously around her or see her just as a sexual subject, and once in a while falling for the bad guy, the wrong man, the forbidden lover, the platonic love, the unequivocal crush... etc.
Back the fuck off.
This is precisely where we get things wrong.
We shouldn't seek an outcome in our first interaction.
We shouldn't pretend to be aloof, either.
Rather be very involved with the moment and what's going on with you, very much in touch with yourself, take good care of you, and expect nothing more than great conversation. Don't just say what you say, feel it, own it, gradually it will grow in you. It doesn't happen overnight and it would be irresponsible to tell you otherwise. In other words, you start faking it and then it dawns on you: you have become a natural.
No, natural is not a bad word.
A natural is someone who has no intention whatsoever to fake or alter his position or be more annoying than necessary. A lot of these pick up gurus preach about infallible techniques, the fact is that they miss the most important aspect. Instead of picking girls up, pick yourselves up, way up. You don't bend yourself backward trying to keep your cool; you are already cool. And it's not something you can fake, it's something that others even sense from you. Cool, it isn't something you can quite easily fake. And, above all, you shouldn't engage others, especially those towards you feel sexually drawn to. Instead, get to know the person, or engage her. It's a process, and it may not lead anywhere. In time, you'll realize that there's no such a thing as nowhere, anywhere it leads, if you keep at it, it will become more natural, and the more natural it becomes, the less needy it is. It is, however, demanding. Of you, of course. It demands of you to take the boldest approach, calculate a considerable amount of risk and jump on it. Don't waste any precious moment alive. Except, when it comes to others, recognize their need for space and do not become too much a burden. Lay back, relax, everything is going according to plan. Just follow the act. Don't just improvise; in real life, there's no director watching over you, so become your own judge. Be your own man.

And so, I went to Calico's, like I had planned earlier in the week. There, I met with this girl I met almost a year ago. She had brought along a girlfriend; we left from there and went to another place, Iguana. New York, it is packed with strangers every single day of the week, but for a Friday Night, I think it was a bit slow. Nonetheless, we made the most of it. In the basement, a dark dance floor surrounding a bar at the center. I danced a little bit with one and then the other, and then the three of us, and I took the middle part. I grabbed by the belt, with half my hand down the crack of her ass like the most natural thing there is to pull her against me. Of course, no malice intended, I needed to grab her almost as if I was forcing myself unto her. Everyone else's looks were stunned, looking over, buying me drinks. I got so wasted. The girl's friend and me, we got along fine, but the other girl wanted to secure her investment. After all, she had met me almost a year ago. Who knows? I had held her in my arms, kissed her, slide my hand in between her legs, feel her cunt, draw the surface of her hips, grab her ass, go up her back, massage her neck, pull her hair, kiss her lips. But I'd cut off without a reason, dance with her friend, go over to the bar, pull her away from other suitors, and she'd love it. Of course, not out of jealousy, just pure fun. With one girl I got physical and the other I talked with, and, of course, eventually got physical too. It was fun, really.

Tension, it's only natural

You seem far more approachable than in the past; you let your guard down. Your skills as an effective communicator, therefore, have evolved; these newly adopted traits will open doors your airy and snubbing former self might have closed. Let go of that ego, you know you've never failed to surprise me. You were not just insistent, which is of essence; you were persistent, which lasts. It makes you stand out. Granted: you're gorgeous, but there are just so many gorgeous girls. I couldn't go beyond three pages in any of the pseudo-science fiction passing off as self-help. Like Cervantes wrote Don Quixote, in part to ridicule the trendiest novelty in literature of his time, Las Novelas de Caballeriza, fictional tales about brave knights who put their life on the line to save a princess trapped in the castle. Cervantes wanted to do away with such atrocity, just like I want to do away with the whole field of self-improvement. I start by the idea, exposed somewhere somehow previously, that we work on our imperfection. If we start with being already perfect, and that whatever mirage you follow in life, you're working towards the destruction of what already is. Not that you shouldn't prosper or that you should conform; except the notion that everyone will ultimately want this. That everyone wants it, that may be, but only a handful will go for it.
Gold is precious because it is scarce; we want to inspire those who really really really want it. And the only thing that makes us look good is that others have it so bad. There, I said it. Of course, I smile, and once in a while people ask, "Hey, why so serious?" You never went there. You know the rules: it is the guy who advances. You may tease him, and tease me you did. I'd, of course, second any motion and amplify it, make you nervous perhaps. Most of the time, I just go about my business. Of course, I see you. You still come down like someone who has an internal remote alarm, set me off, on, off, on and so, and I'm way beyond cool, like an iceberg. I am unmovable. Not so much like before, stone-faced, cold and emotionless, explosive. Nowadays, I put the same face but take it down a notch, just so I don't scare away the girl. And I tried ignoring you. I've tried, well, not try, but actually I thought I was trying so hard not to try. Not to give in, or surrender, but sometimes, in some indelible way I did throughout the course of this platonic affair. Lately only I've come to the realization that that approach was effective only as an appetizer. The real meal had to be gradually engaging her, blowing off some of the tension and eventually getting to know you. See, the theory is, that familiarity between the two of us will help us demystify the issue, maybe see each other like two mature individuals. No, wait; my mind would often wander around. The thing is, like a Rum, it goes smoother if there is some Cola. Anything that goes between the two of us, a simple greeting, a mirroring of postures or gestures; silence, it screams out louder than all the conversations around. Silence is something we love, and we give signals all the time; you may not come down as often as in the past, but you do manage to come down and let yourself be fashionably seen daily, and if you hide, I find you. I work late, just to get a glimpse of you. Of course, I check other girls out but they don't paralyze me like you. The world stands still.
Tension, is only natural.

Treat Yourself and Others aLike: GOOD

Go out and get yourself a brand new pair of shoes. While you're at it, get some cool ass jeans. Add a flawlessly fashionable shirt. Don't forget you need socks. Go out for a walk, alone or with a pet. Call a friend you haven't heard from in a long time. Meditate forty minutes daily at least, preferably in three sessions: one full-fetch lasting half an hour and another two mini sessions lasting each ten minutes or less. Wake up earlier tomorrow; if you're a morning bird, sleep late: upset your routine without getting yourself fired. Spice things up today... Go out for a run, stay in and watch the rain. It has rained so hard lately. Rain always sets a melancholic mood in those who enjoy it, the inconvenience of it, the pause on a city that never stops... There are many cultures that celebrate rain. I, for one, descend from a tropical main city in Colombia. You know, the same Shakira's from. Go buy yourself something nice. Go out for a drink in a pub you've never been before. Call that girl you never dared call. Busy people: take a day off. Lazy people: go get a job. Extremes are always exciting; no one likes someone who plays it safe all the time.
Get a hair-cut; go to a special event with a special someone. Give them gifts, for no reason. Just a little something every day. One day, a flower; another, a dinner; then, movies; something you know she likes doing and if you're bored, act slightly so, otherwise she'll smell your hypocrisy. Hey, no one likes a clown. You're not there to please her; do good for her and do so with the attitude of someone who isn't seeking any outcome or approval; expect, of course, the best from your partner. You have to constantly outdo one another, without competing, no context: everyone gives and no one comes out victorious. You have to take with one hand and give with the other; don't expect as much as you give, but only reward good behavior. You're a loser; she's a professional. You drive; she has a car. You take her to the movies; you choose the movie... something midway, sexy action. Don't be rude or inattentive; don't be selfish. Choose something that you think she'll enjoy as well. Treat yourself; only go for what you find most desirable, even if you have to put in the middle some. Why abide to these social norms of sedentary lives, do venture, go out, explore the horizons.
Call mom. Call sis. Make up with Paola, eventually. Count the minutes until Friday noon. It's already Friday.
Soon, I'll be off to bed.

Treat yourself good.

Attraction is irrational

There are things we rarely speak to anyone of, things we keep to ourselves. In fact, like Schopenhauer said, "The world is a masquerade," this German philosopher also pointed out body language in his special care of the eye. See, I speak as lightly as is considered socially prudent, and I boast through writings. People who get a kick out of it end up being the greatest of friends. And what if not friends are we, really? Friends do not demand, but they can give and receive. It is hard for us men to understand. We need to cultivate patience, establish trust, and never cross unto what is in it for us. Women recognize weakness, neediness; except, there is no independence, really. We always depend on something or someone; if not, we got denial to thank for. You may find yourself financially secure, but how emotionally secure do you feel? I think men differ from most women on this very critical issue. Choices are good, just as long as you're sticking to one. And it makes sense, it is logical. To depend a bit emotionally on one another is natural, beneficial even. No one is invincible. Monkeys kept on captivity, or raised in isolation, never dare and keep their faces covered. We are social animals. We need one another. We grow fond of familiar little pleasures. I asked this very question to coworker: "Why do you strike conversations with all the girls?" He said, "Well, it makes time go faster." And he's absolutely right. I'm not a stranger to awkward situations, except I don't make myself miserable about them. I think we are logically choosing it. At some level, we manage our impulses and yet, always find a way to communicate subtly, with eyes, movement, vanity, our truest desires are exposed in the open. It takes a different mind to see. I speak eyes, and engage others with light conversation, nothing too complex. I marvel at their stories, but also design my own twisted themes. Eyes, sudden shifts of movement, gestures, tonality, indifference... How insane can your curiosity drive you, when you never tell the ending to a story? Except, I do give something back. Like a good magician, I try not to reveal the trick, my act depends on it; others will tackle you with accusations of vagueness, tag you with ambiguity or try to carefully unwrap the gift to see what's inside; a boost to their vanity is what they mostly seek.
Attraction is irrational and no matter how much I try to evade the issue, it can sometimes become quite addictive. Rituals, temptation, they all have a place in us for as long as we carry a heart. The best things in life have gone unsung, and only a shadow out of the bright torrent of light is left on paper. Memory is not a safe haven; all things in time will be forgotten. Our kids will never love us the way we love them. This is madness, I say. To the mind, the more you try to resist it, the more you succumb. Therefore, I let it go, I give chase, I see a human connection and I follow it without an agenda in mind. Sometimes, though, my mind wanders... rarely a crush lasts longer than a few weeks, months, maybe more if the subjects are not exposed to one another daily. Nothing kills attraction faster than familiarity. As human beings, we constantly seek novelty; we descend from ancestors who left behind home and ventured into unknown lands. Show a baby the same face, and soon that baby will grow bored.
You get the rare opportunity at work to spend more time with them than friends. After all, people at work you see everyday. And yet, they don't see one another as friends; politenessm courtesy, are to be exerted but that rarely has the warmth of an embrace, the reassurance of touch, let alone any romantic agenda at work.
There, of course, is temptation, luring us in. It's only natural that our social duties forbid us of indulging ourselves in a sea of pleasure. Imagine oceans, supernovas of oceans, of pleasure... Feel guilty about it? Try it. (Along these very lines, I read somewhere it is the reaction that the brain takes in the aftermath of a pleasurable experience that causes pain, as if this primitive brain of ours could not possibly conceive of pleasure without the slightest degree of pain. It makes sense. After all, if we were to find ourselves happy, we would never bother to strive. Is misery a necessary evil? A cruel ally?)
Everywhere, there is pleasure to be found. In any direction, at any particular place, the possibility of love can keep us, sometimes, in chase mode. I remember a particular sketch, repeated constantly in Roberto Gomez Bolaños' Chavo del Ocho, in which Doña Florinda meets Don Ramon, and it is always the same thing. Of Course, Bolaños is mocking the notion of romantic love in its cheesiest and corniest form, as it never leads anywhere. Put her in a pub, or a nightclub, and I'd be making out with her in a matter of minutes. I never date again or even pursue girls I meet this way. No, silly, I'm not a moral moron. Nothing but great people have I met this way, most open and warmest of all. If you want something to grow, give it time, space and nourishment. Feed them patience, see their humanity, and do marvel at their inner beauty. Can't quite put into words something that a smile or a look will explain a thousand fold. A picture is worth a thousand words, yeah. The idea is to have this conversation with ourselves, keep others in suspense. Nothing was revealed in the end. What a sad spectacle! You should have been capable of breaking the spell you created. I was caught up in the process and I kept it cool, quiet, like I do under the circumstances. I wanted things to go unnoticed, except I was in front of a highly intuitive female. Attraction, to quote De Angelo, isn't a choice. It probably had something to do with my former shy self. See, I started this platonic affair so long ago, I was mutating into someone else. Some of the old program, the unnecessary drama, weighed in. And not that I not contemplate it rationally, its ramifications, in my mind, I would. I could. I probably should. But I won't.
Still though, those bursting glances, little undetected rituals, whenever we find one another, the energy is quite explosive. Places, planned circumstances, hope you're not holding a hot drink in your hand when you read this. No one should be crazy enough to read all of the entries in here. I read One Hundred Years of Solitude four times. But there are no books like that. I read Candide, at least twice. Unequivocally, when we find ourselves obsessing about something no one else knows or talks about, it usually bears a little insanity. Yes, we're insane. It's irrational. Given the circumstances, I'd personally have a collection of girls and they'd all be you. I think, quite honestly, there's a collection of you. A recollection, actually. No, I'm talking about A, B, C, D, E, F, or G. I'm right here and now, by myself. Nobody else exists here. It's me and this mindless, endless chat.
How boring can we choose sometimes to be.

Like I do

Take "Hero" by Mariah Carey, which now plays on my computer. Of course, these are no ordinary speakers: these are Yamaha, with enough sound to put to shame most portable or mini stereos, and since the issue can't be avoided, yes, I dig that song. It's fucking awesome, and I come from a different school. Friends could murder me if they knew this most shameful truth. I think Mariah does music for a different public, high quality stuff for love junkies.
I come from a different school, though. The plane that brought to New York for the first time on the day of my fifteenth birthday, when my half bro/half cousin (his mother is my mother's sister, and we share the same father) Robert, those closest know him as Bobbie, took out the tape of Appetite For Destruction by Guns and Roses.
It wasn't love at first sight, unlike most disasters rock music is not made to be liked... Like a liquor, is a taste you develop for. It was appalling, quite frankly, my first impression. I lived to make fun of the pretentious videos which MTV ran nonstop just like nowadays runs crap without mercy. Rock is not for the body, it is intended for the mind. Of course, it can be reversed, and I often am open minded enough to listen without discrimination to anything that sounds good. Even if its lyrics suck, or if its melody is two shades sweeter, I listen. It has something to do with good communications. I have to speak both languages: body and mind. I still appreciate arty bands like Radiohead, but long ago I made the switch to anything that is somewhat raw, has a beat, and well... it's visceral, instinctive, somewhat primal. Gross lyrics like those from music genres like rap, hip hop, reggaeton, or something with a sweet, angelical tune and some dynamite-incendiary lyrics to back it up and it's sugarcoated, ready to be swallowed, as if it were a pill. Well, diversity, originality, could be debatable. No one has the same taste, and that might be boring. I can do without the "needy", "rosy", "self-pity", spineless ballads for a while. But one bachata or ballad here and there, it doesn't hurt no one. A good DJ knows what the crowd likes, but then goes home and listens to shit that move him or shock him one way or another. Musically, then, and without a doubt, I constantly incorporate new songs, easily carry around close to six thousand songs in my packet and I have a closet full of compact disks most probably I would never listen/hear again in that CD format. I still watch and sometimes collect DVD's, mostly documentaries and porn, but I can't remember the last time I sat and watched a movie from beginning to end. I flip through the channels, and watch mostly TLC, Thirteen, CNN, Comedy Central, Fox 5's cartoons, HBO On Demand, I find myself changing the channel quite often. My attention isn't fixated, and rarely watch anything that lasts more than an hour. Loved the last sequel to Spider Man, but can't remember the number. Is it the third or the fourth installment? Well, I can remember why I liked it. I thought the Bad Boy persona that Peter Parker adopts briefly was pure genius. "He was better off as a bad ass" I told my teenage stepson, and he agreed wholeheartedly, despite his usual alienated self. He disagrees with silence and a vague look, politely nodding, just like I taught him. And if I push it, he fires: "If you say so." Just like I taught. Like I do.

George Saint Pierre

Love, it reassures us of our vulnerabilities, that deep down inside we're all naked. We never left the womb, and, of course, we may downplay our insecurities, or rather work on our imperfection. The better we get at it, the easier we recognize that ultimately, there will always be so much more that you just don't know. Undoubtedly, if we look back often, so long as we are moving forward, isn't such a bad thing. Like while driving a car, we simultaneously read the road ahead, check our rear view mirror, behind the wheel of life multiple universes full of unconquered terrain await us. If only we are curious enough, life can become such a fascinating creature. Like a pet, you must nourish it, provide shelter, feed it, etc. You've got to have both though: the appetite and the stomach. It's not just the determination and the aggression you deploy whenever you follow through; it's patience, a mental pause, the will to withstand the pressure mistakes will add. How well you deal with defeat will ultimately determine the level of success enjoyed. Because we give up at the slightest obstacle, often we miss out of so much in life. The risk has to be calculated, but if the price is right, dare jump in cold water and truly test exactly what you are made of. Daring, challenging ourselves and others alike, emboldens us. Pick the fights worth having; do not be so greedy so as to make enemies with people who are not worth the time. Like you would junk mail, you simply toss it. Just look the other way, filter those who stand in front of you and recognize what it is that their clothes, hygiene, eye-contact, courtesy, body language, will reveal far more than their words will. George Saint Pierre will win tonight. I am a bit vague, that's the reason why. "I got Matt Serra to thank" he said. "I will solve the problem of Jon Fitch". I believe so. And I don't think that's aside from the point. The truth is, George was knocked out by a lesser opponent and lost his belt at the hands of Matt Serra. The only man who has defeated him, aside from Matt Hugues. Every single opponent he's faced, he has destroyed.

It Will Be Kept Secret

Pleasure, it has been censured, cut off like the sixth finger on a hand. Except those who are missing a limb will attest to feeling it itch from time to time. How is that for an analogy? However early has our domestication began, the truth is we can't help but equate pleasure with pain. Not that we're masochists, of course. Pain is there, regardless, and the surest way to experience the worst kind is by not engaging pain that makes us grow. Otherwise, you'll know pain. Sure, it bothers us not being able to light up a cigarette but it is far more painful to endure chemotherapy, the removal of a lung or living the remaining miserable years hooked to a respirator. (Do not resuscitate me, please; pull the plug, if I just wake up one day and can't decide for myself. ) So, quitting is the logical choice, if only one accepts to endure the pain quitting signifies. It makes sense to go through planned suffering and come out of such experience wiser, adapt to the wild outdoors. It's kind of painful to gain muscular definition, to maintain an active lifestyle; but more painful and quite pathetic too, to eat too much and do nothing all day long. No one is really saying that everyone should exercise; everyone, I hope, knows that. Knowledge nowadays is of common property, you should have to know where to look. Look, you don't have to know too much to know that there are others who know it better than you. You don't have to be smart; just curious. Plus, naiveness is valued in this idiotic society. American life tends to idolize the idiot; in High School, dumb kids ranked high in coolness. Us, we were classified as "nerds". Revenge must be swift.
Of course, I'm not that much of a nerd. Not nowadays, anyway. (Presence matters, in more than one respect). In fact, I do believe that there are three dead brujos (witchdoctors) that live through me. You may find it laughable, but one of them actually writes for me. Rarely do I come off as witty in a conversation except if I'm in the presence of a very intelligent woman: and there are oh so many hot intelligent women out there. I keep my mouth shut, I crack the trademark half-ass smile, and I lay back. I welcome others with an open and unbounded energy, I recognize their spirit. Not in esoteric terms, but instead in real life measures; let's supposed that human beings were quantifiable properties and hence comparable: we'll match others' movements, mirror them, experience them without thinking too much of what they actually say. Before someone opens their mouth, their heart has been spilled.
O.K., I know you want to hear about the three brujos. You want to hear about ghosts. Superstition..? I think not. That is what some who obstruct the light and want others to stumble in darkness. Think of yourself as a source of light. The question is, what would you be? A candle? A lamp? A city? The stars? The sun, perhaps? O.K, let's go for the sun. Let's not be too greedy. A cool sun, at that. The first brujo writes for me. Another follows me at work and keeps me unmoved around the torrent of gorgeous women that work there and focus on the job at hand. It looks unnatural and hypocritical but they pay me for it. Until my writing career launches (look for my books at lulu.com, by my name as an author, Boris Amar. Go ahead, Google me. You know you want to, just for literary curiosity, of course.
(Or, just click on the promotional buttons on the main page, located right under the category of Damian's Interests.)
Do not fear I'll bore you with maxims and lectures, instead I go to the most gorgeous topics directly. Lots of violence, romance, and sex. Basically, my experiences, in excruciating detail. No nastiness, and these are characters, don't forget. What can I possibly say about you that is interesting? Stay tuned.
0k, I'll come clean: you're in it. If ever you crossed my path, chances are you ended up in one of my books.
Here's the idea: I plan to add writings to these two already published books, like a rock band. Have the same name, make different albums. Though there are only two titles, they contain things that have gone on in my life as early as six months ago. Don't worry: I don't use real names and we have the impunity of calling fiction. But, quite frankly, you can call it whatever the fuck you want. (Such blog does exist, www.whateverthefuckyouwant.blogspot.com. In it, you'll find a copy of this very blog entry, and many other things I couldn't possibly have written. Could have I?
Well, whatever the case. I plan to delete this writing as soon as possible. Luckily, you read it. It's okay if you skipped some. Or if you chose not read it. And even if you read it constantly. I am only amusing myself.

The idea occurred to me, and it isn't a new one, as I was mindlessly watching the last installment of Harry Porter, the movie. And it was simple: The reason why we don't do as we want is because we're afraid. Afraid what others might think; afraid of rejection; afraid of the consequences. Let's take a logical look at fear, shall we? More often than not, it's exaggerated by our mind almost to a life-or-death scenario in which the survival instinct kicks in and we're rendered defenseless at its feet. We do so day in and out, in our relationships with others, or when we do against our better judgment, like smoking cigarettes, working jobs we hate, prolonging the unbearable agony of any undesirable affair. Shyness, it comes to mind, especially in my case where you'd never believe me from suffering such ailment. But I've noticed, that's exactly the case, whenever I don't call a girl I'd like to meet or whenever I experience anxiety at the mere idea of striking up a conversation with a complete stranger. Sometimes, I'm in my element, I rehearse the course of action and put in place all necessary. Except at the core, deep beneath the outer layers of that which is visible, lies the very cause: I am not in my element at all times, as I should, because I am not keeping pace with all the changes that need to take place. Said in a different way, there's unfinished business, and I ought to take on the fear face to face, jump in the water before finding out its temperature. Changes need to happen in a quantum leap, from larva to fish, mammal to superman, superman to semi-god, and then some. How about it, eh? Abolishing any fear that may manifest itself, moving out on my own, finally settling old scores, devoting the best energy to those activities that are most rewarding to my well-being: working out, meditating, writing, and spending some quality time with Esteban, for a change. That, I think, is where a supposed contradiction takes shape: perhaps I fear leaving home because of my son, or is it possible that I use this as an excuse? It is no time to be selfish, another voice says. And then, again, I am. It is my undeniable nature to be selfish, if only for a while. After so long, I still am afraid. I am afraid, I said. I say things and I say them again, and some are undertaken but in the long run, I am, still very much so, afraid.
I got just the solution: dare!
Challenge yourself, push harder, come on! Like the stonecutter, he doesn't know when will the rock crack but he keeps chopping and chopping at it until it crumbles down to dust. I will pursue this day in and out, and I'll leave these pages of confusion as testament that I was not really confused but just taking a break, a meditative pause, and marveling at all the things to come. For that, and more, we must persevere.
Do not throw the towel in yet, let life be as unbearable as it may seem, and just keep chopping. Chop, chop, chop.
Chop, chop, chop.
Oh, no. I'm not done yet. There's more. A lot more of it, it never ends. Suddenly, I feel less and less afraid, taking shape, morphing into a brand, newer being, in a quantum leap. Write your masterpiece, one at a time; separate from Isabel, one day at time; travel outside the country, maybe Dominican Republic, certainly Colombia; complete dental work, now!; work out, and don't feel restless, the only reason you feel sluggish is because, well, you're exhausted but you'll gain strength through physical activity. Start to flourish as of now.

Procrastination: The Culprit

Though I still feel a little shaky, as sure there are unsettled scores, I am now in a convalescent state: recuperating, gaining back my strength, will require some more rest, long meditative sessions, and eventually transitioning to more ambitious sets. Like a fractured bone, my will has been scattered, my goals put on hold. Uncovering the culprits, I see it’s me on every face at the suspect line. But I got to pick carefully, though each and every one of them is me, one of them is the perpetrator, the others just impostors. Or maybe there are all to blame, each guilty of a different crime. However, I think that the one who bears more guilt (such guilt I feel for using this very word) is stagnant procrastination. Yeah, that’s the one. For if there is something I am definitely guilty of, is delaying the inevitable, vegetating on matters of utmost importance, and that has to stop. Bring him to trial, hang him, and get it over with right now. Again, be smoke-free, write for a living, extricate yourself from Isabel’s paws, work out rigorously, meditate, travel, have that dental work, and soar.

Happy Father's Day

And so, I’ve realized, lately I’ve been unusually active in matters that were long postponed or delegated for this or that reason. I undertook chores left undone, and almost daily, I try and find what it is that is there left for me to do with my time. Whenever I find myself idle, or spending too much time on leisure, I put my mind to work on retreating, on abandoning its busy self and once a clearer perspective surfaces, I can pinpoint with precision the root of yet one more task left undone. In the process, I find myself at ease. While exercising, taking up running for the first time in years, quitting smoking, going to smoke and vegetating, I know I am making the balance to tip on my favor. Not one to kill myself, I demand more of myself, and this time away from Elizabeth has served me well. I no longer think it is wise or healthy, for that matter, to continue with this relationship. But I’m not kidding myself: I can’t just pick up my stuff, like I did in previous occasions, and just leave. Though I may end up doing just so, I will plan carefully now. We have a baby and her other son, with whom I share a decent relationship, has afforded me the tools to one day be a great father to my tiny blood line son.
I noticed, however, that I have a knack for misery. I choose to be around people who are not resolved or at least on their way to a higher state of consciousness, unhappiness seems to follow very close in my footsteps and so I must be determined and willing to make away with the past. Not just separate myself from such neglectful scenarios, but to extricate myself, to abandon this sorry affair and get on with the wonderful life that’s springing from inside. Lately, I find myself at ease whenever my older self makes a sporadic appearance, and yet I’m a little unsettled about the unusual bouts of shyness that have recently made their way in my adventures. I look at myself realistically, and I need to still improve oh so much more than I already have. It is an exercise in patience, and that is something I can afford by now. I will tear each and every wall in front of me. I will live the life that I dreamt of or find something strikingly similar to it. And at the same time, I will work on being the dependable, loveable, caring human I am. Because I can do both or three things at once, and I’m finding that there isn’t anything that I can not do if the proper time and focus is paid. So, to you, greatest of guys, have a happy father’s day.

The Essentials

*Earn a comfortable living doing what I love: writing.
*Stay in amazing shape.
*Independence: live on my own.
*Earn twice as much as I earn today.
*Fix my teeth.
*Quit smoking.
*Travel (especially to Barranquilla).
*Earn a college degree in Philosophy and Letters.
*Be a motivational speaker.
*Have my own business and home.

How can any intelligent human being could possibly believe the Bible as fact, how gullible, how unfortunate. My experience, don't fight it either; whatever a person chooses to believe, sometimes one feels as though surrounded by a vast majority of rat-like people. They're needlessly argumentative, form their own alliances, spreading their misery. I write this with a half wicked smile, not out of spite, but for a humorous, not dramatic, effect. I despise drama wholeheartedly, and note that recently the news about the NY governor soliciting sex, paying for pussy. So what? He had the money, he didn't want the kind of unwelcome exposure that a one-night stand as supposed to a professional might bring. I am not one to solicit sex, and confess shamelessly that I do so from experience: when I was nineteen years old, just beginning to savor freedom, inspired on Voltaire's ultimatum: Once a philosopher, twice a pervert, I decided to finally act upon something that had largely intrigued me for quite some time. I tried it, and the fantasy didn't live up. I didn't enjoy it enough to ever have to go back again. Besides, why pay for something give up free. Well, it may cost you a few cocktails, a good meal and some cab rides, but it's a far cry from 80,000 dollars. All it shows is that the governor must have valued discretion greatly. Of course, there were other elements in play: the thrill, the naughtiness, the pleasure of acting upon that which is forbidden. We may condemn him easily, but all he ultimately did was pay for pussy. Marriages are not ideal communions, and the powerful have always been very active. It's not like he is suddenly announcing that he plans to leave his wife and run away with a prostitute.

The conquered ground is child's play

With some strong minded men or women, I often cave in. I talk more than I should or simply shy away. In every interaction, however, I should most importantly bear in mind the following: “I am less afraid than you are.” It is incredibly seductive to be the dominant type, to have the psychological upper hand, and in most situations, I do. The thing is, my previous mindset, that of a spineless, weaker being, sometimes it still surfaces and I behave in unusual ways. I see myself as if I were mentally bowing, as if my head was tilted in a submissive way, and I need to snap out of it. Everyday, whenever I see myself “bowing”, I stop and think: I am stronger than this. At least, I am as strong as anyone in front of me. This is the image I want to project; the one I look at myself in the mirror has no place for niceties or unmerited generosity. The idea is to inspire respect in others by treating ourselves with plenty of respect, not to fool around or be too playful with others.
And interestingly enough, it occurs to me more often with people I know for longer. The ones who knew me before I shed off the weaker skin, the ones who don’t see me as I see myself but often as I was. And it is with them whom I unleashed my most virulent fights. I struggled to conquer these fears, this tendency to submit myself, after years and years of living under other people’s rule. Throughout my infancy and well into my adolescent years, I lived in places I couldn’t call my own. Luckily, I had Alberto come into my mother’s life, perhaps a sense of pride and respect I got from him. I remember vividly his advice: “No one will take you seriously if you are the first to bow.”
And to this date, I have yet to incorporate such teaching deeply into my subconscious. I am who I decide and act upon, the personality and character I choose, the fancy clothes I wear, the healthy body I work for, the things I do and the things I don’t. And I have done enough lately, I’ve analyzed myself roughly; I’ve conquered so much ground. Now, this too is an aspect to implement, a challenge to take.
And I love those.

Focus on Beauty

Beauty is a challenge, a shift of mind, focus. Tomorrow I'll jog one hundred blocks.
Beauty is a leaner body, a clearer mind, an item of vanity. Have that dental work, and if it's not enough I'll say it a thousand times: get in shape, subscribe to a gym as of this coming week. Read, and write, and publish with serious intent to sale, promote your literature. That is beauty, to embrace the dream, to be gradually and effortlessly better, to have this second nature skin peeling off the old one, like a shiny brand new coin. You need to see that this moment is entirely unique, don't spend a second more trapped in your mind. What I think, and how I see myself, will become reality, regardless of what I want. So, choose carefully the thought, like you would food. Get a pair of cool black shoes, nothing too expensive, nothing cheap either. Work more hours, and still go home and work out. Wake up earlier, jog. Buy running gear, it'll get you in that mindset. Today, you did good. You kept your distance and it was as though she was in another land, not messing as much with me. Dependency, you can sense it, in too much involvement with one another, spending to much time mingled together. Stop talking so much, pecking each other too much. Be rude and indifferent, or step outside and come back if the moment merits it. You don't get anywhere with words; take action somehow, don't respond.
You did the grocery shopping. You wrote endlessly, and kept to yourself (I don't tire of saying so). Like inmates, we have to stop and keep our distance, don't be too mushy mushy. That is beauty. Now is time to relax.
You paid the bills, except the gas. Everyday aim at doing something you haven't done, something unique, even if it is exercise or not smoking for a few days.

Do The Things You Said You Would

Chopin's Raindrops played on the iTunes program running on my computer, the night falling, the kid incorrigible running around, overcoming every obstacle placed there in order to stop, not encourage him. Yet, time and again, he'd persevere and conquer. I'd given up on trying to stop him, now I had began to admire his courage and resilience. Then Aerosmith's Dream On came on. Again, I'd think of a thought that overcame me when I lied motionless on bed, struck and broken down by a severe depression. The solution is simple: do the things you said you'd do. Exercise, file your taxes, book a fight to Barranquilla for the end of the year, take a 3-day cruise with Isabel and spend a few days with Paola in Miami. Three days, the most. Go to South Beach at night, the beach on daytime, splendid. Pay what you owe and work more hours, buy yourself a nice pair of black shoes, spectacular for the job. Look your best, nothing fights off depression like planning ahead, waking up earlier, eating healthier, meditating, focusing and writing. Apply for the passport, have that done with. Become a Fire Safety Director by the end of the year, or at the beginning of the next one, as latest. Earn enough so that Isabel doesn't have to work another full-time. Keep pouring money away at my retirement through the 401K. Once the income tax money comes in, we'd be a lot less stressed and things will work out for the best in the end. Just hang in there, push and don't be such a coward. Talk to a lot of girls, get numbers like crazy, throw them away, and live the single life you haven't lived ever since your four month vacation came to an abrupt end.

Suddenly awakened

And so, the idea is to propel myself yet again by going back to training full-time, stop playing with my ear, write and write and then write some more –in Spanish, this time. And mess with every single girl I know or could potentially know, in a subtle, wicked way, like only I know how. I sort of did today, and still it haunted me the fact that as of yet I haven’t got a haircut, and I need to. I went to bed slightly later than usual, did the dirty deeds with Elizabeth, and woke up feeling sluggish, almost as if I were in pain. I focused on making it go away by being one with my suffering, offering no obstacle or resistance. In a few moments, before I began my shift, I felt a lot better.
There’s this whole universe unraveling around me, especially in the subway. Glances, attitudes, bodies in proximity both repelled and excited by the forbidden. It is as if we wanted to, but couldn’t; as if we were staring at the ripe fruit on the tree within an arm’s reach and were somehow petrified by the thought of giving in. And giving in, is what we should. See each other at close scope, almost as if we were about to kiss but instead marvel a bit in such abandonment, somewhere where there are no prying eyes, no ugly rigidness, just pure fun and sheer thrill. Do so effortlessly, quietly, no pretensions, no submissiveness, straightforwardness. We were put on this earth to love one another freely, no boundaries, like the affection given to a baby. How much affection we get then and how little of it is left, all out of fear that we may offend another? It is childish, love that is, and that is how we choose to play; a masquerade, a cruel puzzle, a labyrinth full of distorted mirrors, a road paved on thorns and petals. Suddenly awakened, I feel the urge to run to you, to rapture you, to ravish you, to inflict some of the pain I’ve endured as of yet with all the firm tenderness and courage of a thousand Romeos, rid of guilt and that sense of embarrassment, feeling inadequate.

Memory sucks

Arbitrary measures were taken. This story is pure fiction. The characters, though based on real ones, have been conceived of by the author. It is a version of thousands in my mind. In fact, in some respects, I see these pages as something already tried. Let’s g. Everything is fiction: nonfiction, too. If you see yourself portrayed somewhere along these lines, feel free to jump ahead.
Oh, yeah. I thought about writing down some instances taking place between this particular girl at work and me. I remember it started more than three years ago. It was around that time that I had began to ignore girls, as a strategy. I had decided to ignore them all completely. I remember the idea was to go around for a month without looking at any girl’s body part. Show complete indifference. Be capable of living without them. I was into something here.
Therefore, it must have been her who first noticed me. I noticed her back when she literally jumped when I stood close to her. “Is that so?” I remember thinking. Right there and then, she began to exist. Coming back from the self-imposed period of celibacy like someone snapping out of a spell, to find that sweet face, filled with emotion, almost impulsive. I could sense she may have seemed very sure of herself (and she probably is), but in this arena the excitement for her is to play the purest form of girl game. She’d ignore me, I guess so I could get it into my head that what had happened had been nothing more than mere coincidence. She played ridiculously hard to get. She played so well, I almost fell for it. So, I did what any normal guy would have done. I completely ignore her and then make a sudden move, as if I were to take some unpredictable action, and she’d second it. It became part of our ritual to see one another daily at certain spots without every crossing a single word.
Among the so many moments shared, memory being not so much selective as it is decaying, little survives. Maybe I’ll ask her to complete the list.



MOMENTS:
I WAS ONCE AT THE DELI OF THE CORNER STORE WHICH IS NOWADAYS REPLACED BY CHASE BANK AND YOU HAD ORDERED BREAKFAST. THE MAN ASKED ME WHAT I WANT. I SEEMED DISTRACTED, SO YOU CAME TO THE RESCUE AND ASKED: “EXCUSE ME, SIR...” AND BEFORE YOU EVEN FINISHED, I INTERRUPTED YOU, IGNORING YOU COMPLETELY AND TURNING TOWARDS THE MAN: “I’M NOT READY YET” I TOLD HIM.

WHAT A JERK.

THERE WAS THIS TIME SHE WAS COMING TOWARDS ME AND I TURNED AROUND AND LOOKED AT MYSELF IN THE GLASS, BLUNTLY IGNORING HER. SHE SLAPPED HER I.D. CARD ON THE READER AND LEFT FURIOUS.

WHAT A JERK.

I REMEMBER ONCE UPON ENTERING THE BUILDING ONE COLD MORNING, YOU STOPPED TO GET YOUR I.D. OUT AND I PASSED YOU BY, BRUSHING YOU OFF AS I PASSED, I BUMPED INTO YOU AND KEPT ON WALKING. YOU DIDN’T COMPLAIN; DIDN’T EVEN UTTERED A WORD. OF COURSE, IT WASN’T ILL-INTENDED, JUST A PHYSICALITY, A PLAYFUL AGGRESSION THING. A COMPLETE STRANGER WOULD HAVE BEEN INSULTED, BUT SINCE THERE IS THIS WORLD COMPLETELY OUR OWN.

LIKE THE TIME YOU CAME BACK AND AS I SAW YOU COMING DOWN THE HALL, I WALKED TOWARDS YOU. YOU IGNORED ME COMPLETELY, AS NOW THE TABLES HAD INVERSED, AND I TOUCHED YOUR HAND WITH MY HAND IN A FIST, SOFTLY, AS YOU PASSED BY.

WANTING TO SHOW HOW MUCH OF A PLAYER YOU REALLY ARE, ONCE YOU CAME BACK FROM YOUR ALMOST TWO YEAR ABSENCE, YOU WANTED TO PUNISH ME SOMEHOW. I DIDN’T SEE THESE MOVES. WE HAD BOTH EVOLVED. SO, WHAT I DID WAS, I TALKED TO YOU. YOU SPILLED YOUR COFFEE. TWICE. I STOOD THERE WITH THE SIDE DOOR OPEN BUT YOU HAD YOUR HEAD LOWERED, AND CONTINUED TO GO THROUGH THE REVOLVING DOORS WITHOUT UTTERING AS MUCH AS A WORD. JUST AS YOU WERE THERE, I CALLED YOU BACK. “COME THROUGH HERE” I SAID TO YOU. YOU STOPPED. TURNED AROUND. CAME BACK TO ME, AND I GUIDED YOU IN. THEN, AS YOU WALKED AWAY, I STUTTERED. WHAT I WANTED TO SAY WAS, “EXCUSE ME, MISS. I STILL NEED TO SEE SOME I.D.” INSTEAD, I SAID SOMETHING LIKE: “EXCUSE ME, SEE STILL I.D. NEED TO.” SHE COMPLIED, STILL UNDER THE SPELL, I WENT UP TO HER AND HELD HER I.D. ON ONE SIDE, TO SEE HER NAME. SHE WENT ON, SAYING “THANK YOU” IN A GORGEOUSLY GIRLY TONE. IF I COULD RELIVE THE SCENE, I’D NOT ONLY SPEAK FLUENTLY, JUST LIKE I DID A WEEK LATER... I’D BE MORE IN CONTROL. I TEASE HER. SHE FREAKS. LATELY, SHE’S BECOMING A BIT ACCUSTOMED TO ME. I REBELLED AGAINST IT. I REFUSE TO GIVE IN COMPLETELY. IT’S BEEN THIS SILLY GAME FOR YEARS.


ABOUT A FEW MINUTES FROM GOING TO LUNCH, I SEE HER PASS ME ON HER WAY TO THE SECOND FLOOR. ONCE THE CO-WORKER I RELIEVED COMES BACK, I GO TO THE SECOND FLOOR AND TAKE FOOD IN A PATTERN THAT ESTABLISHES A SENSE OF COMPETITION. SHE FOLLOWS. SHE TAKES ONE SIDE OF THE COUNTERS. I TAKE THE OTHER. WE BOTH GET TO THE FINISH LINE. I CROSSED YOUR PATH. AND THERE YOU WERE, THINKING I WAS GOING TO BE A GENTLEMAN.

Haré ejercicios, dejaré de festejar todas las noches, dormiré mejor (en la sala, un mínimo de ocho horas sin bebé que me despierte por la noche), y dejaré todo preparado la noche anterior para por la mañana tener la comida lista para llevar con los ingredientes de un desayuno). Los días que no lleve comida, dos por semana, saldré más temprano y trotaré desde la 86 hasta donde trabajo, con el tiempo suficiente para desayunar en la cafetería. Desayunaré un jugo de frutas naturales con una tostada de pan integral y almorzaré carne blanca con vegetales. Dejaré la manía de la oreja, alzaré pesas y haré media hora de ejercicios en el gimnasio al que me inscribiré mañana por la tarde. Caminaré desde el parque donde se encuentra dicho gimnasio a la casa, unas veinte cuadras. Incluiré más vegetales y frutas a la dieta de todos en casa. Trabajaré un promedio de dos horas extras a la semana. Sacaré el pasaporte. Haré las diligencias para sacar el certificado de FSD. Iré a Colombia antes de fin de año por dos semanas. Me haré otro trabajo dental, ya sea en Colombia o acá en Nueva York.

To Be Continued...

Often the poorer the character, the more emotional, the less centered it appears. You see them, on your way to work begging and even crying uncontrollably to get on your most sympathetic side, perhaps stirring that good old Christian guilt. Except downtown Manhattan, you may have seen a homeless man with a sign that reads something to the following effect: "Give me money. I swear to God I will only use it for booze and drugs." To that man, I give. Twice I’ve seen him at different stages throughout my nightlife, and in those rare occasions I congratulate him for his creativity with the proper limosna (alms). Who cares what they will use your money for? The feeling you get from reaching out outweighs any plausible rationale attesting to the contrary. You can make sense of being cheap. But you’re still cheap. So, do give. Not just to homeless people, invite friends over, go out, plan a no-reason party, schedule a three day getaway, take a cruise... give to those around you, starting by you. Altruism is a purer form of narcissism. We’re all in it for the vanity, baby. Soon, we’ll get that tax money. I’ll make one third more than today in less than a year. My salary will increase in more than 20 percent. I will surely take a two-week long vacation in Barranquilla by the end of the year. I will take a three day cruise and spend another few days in Miami with Isabel. I haven’t seen any girl formally, I’ve flirted madly, even made out with a different girl three weeks in a row on the same joint. But that’s way low key to me. I’ve lived enough this past summer; to be more precise, dating from April to August. I took lust out of my system by moving out on my own for good four months. To be more exact from April 4th to August 4th, just like I planned it.
I went to live in Astoria. Oh, yeah. Nowadays, what I live daily vastly outdoes what I put to writing. It wasn’t always like that. In my twenties, I was more a writer than a man. Not having a father figure in my life obscured my masculinity for a while. I didn’t have a good start. Eventually landing on your fours with all the odds set dead against you from the start truly brings out the optimist in you. People will scrutinize you one way or the other. In a land as prolific as ours, there are no real boundaries, just mental scenarios, personal obstacles, individual demons, phobias, etc. Once you learn to get over yourself, unsaid amounts of joy will come through. Instead of fearing outcomes, take risks, jump with one foot back on security and the other crossing over to freedom. Do have an income but also devise other means of income. Even if you fail, try again and again. See what could have failed, fix it and then make it better. Keep at it. Failure will teach you far more than success. In fact, success often comes after a succession of failed attempts.
Oh, right.
You guys (that includes the ladies) want me to tell about my adventures in Queens. That will be another story. Not tonight. However, I'll tell only because I trust each and everyone of you reading this blog not to tell Isabel the truth. It was not cheating. I haven't technically cheated on her in almost three years. It all makes sense in my head. Anyway, this story is to be continued...

whatever

Don't fight them. Just be unaffected by their unsteady rhythms, keep true to your goals and share little of them for now. Go back to club promoting, and launch your writing career from there. At least, it'd provide you with another platform. Couldn’t hurt, right? This guy at work whom I hanged out for a while, it was pure fun, adrenaline, girls, guy stuff. Jealousies arose among the guys, every single night I outdid them. I’d go in there and roam around the bar, maybe staying ten minutes at a time on three strategic places afar from one another in the bar. I’d interact casually with the girls, sometimes I’d be approached by them. I guess I was a bit unconcerned, somewhat careless. I wasn’t there to find a girl; I wouldn’t hide or pretend or seem eager, take off the pressure of the “come ons”. Guys don’t have to necessarily mention that they are only interested in one thing: they telegraph it from miles away. Women read us so well. How we truly feel, whether it is uncomfortable or completely safe in our own skins, is what we give off and women pick on it naturally. Their sense of intuition is far more complex and rich than yours. It can be said that girls do have superpowers. So, get rid of all technique, drop the pretense and give her that sly smile. Whatever you do will be enough just as long as it comes from the heart and has a degree of balls in the equation. Be direct; be indirect. Don’t fall for the predictability of a single way of doing things. Everyone loves spontaneity, the nonchalant attitude, the sympathetic ego, respect and give a little bit of you at a time. Don’t boast; don’t brag. Remember the saying, Tell me what you brag about and I’ll tell you what you lack. Let your actions speak volumes of you. Let them talk good or bad about you, it’s just a reflection of who they are. We treat others the way we feel. If you feel like shit, we shit on others. So let others shit in peace. Don’t get in their way, complaining about the smell of being misunderstood. Just walk away and smile. Focus now, what do we need in order to make it to the next level. Well, I need to be ten times a better employee now. It is a challenge, so get to work earlier, look sharper and neater in every possible way, be very clean, wake up earlier. In fact, maybe get there forty minutes to the hour. Change, for the better. Jog from 86th street to work two mornings a week. Take food the other three days off jogging from home. Our goal is to one day, before the year ends, I jog all the way from 125th street to work. I’d get in extraordinary shape. I’d rid of the dreamgirl complex. Move the tribe out of this jungle. We’ll buy that one hundred thousand dollar apartment in Dominican Republic. We’ll be good.

2008 WISH LIST

1) Give down payment for property in Santo Domingo
2) Travel on a cruise with Isabel and visit Paola in Miami for a few days
3) Stop compulsive behavior with the ear
4) Regain my ideal weight
5) Move out of the Bronx
6) Go back to college
7) Quit smoking
8) Launch my writing career
9) Complete dental work
10) Invest and safe more money


#1. The ambition of owning a property in Santo Domingo still lingers. Though I've heard from several friends that is not a good idea, an investment in real estate is always a good idea. Besides, it's not like we're breaking the bank! It'd be nice to have a place to go back in the island, where we can kick back in comfort.

#2. It's something I've talked with Paola as optional, since my intentions were to go back to Colombia for my sister's wedding. But since my sister decided not to tie the knot just yet, I might relax instead in Miami for whole week: spend three days with my little sis Paola and mom, and then sail for four days or so on the ocean.

#3. That's easy. I've done it before and I'll do it again. This time, I know it'll stick.

#4. It would imply working out regularly, implementing new routines such as jogging, etc. I can feel the envy generated by weight loss, the look in the eyes of those who gradually sink deeper and deeper into fatland.

#5. Oh, yes. Enough is enough. The other night my friend Michael and I took a trip to the neighborhood deli and saw a freak show that convinced me: this is not the best place to raise healthy children. New Jersey, here we come!

#6. Among some of the longings and desires talked over with Michael, I confided him my great shame, while endowed with great wit and talent, I have been wasteful. It is, yes, shameful to be so God-damn smart and not much to show for. Education will grant me that satisfaction and fill the void that's been eating me up slowly inside year, after year, after year.