Skin Skin

Skin
Yourself
Skin
Yourself
While
You
Can
Skin
Yourself
Skin
Yourself
If
You
Can
Skin
Yourself

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Dried Zero

Dried emotional zero
Dates graded
Openly caustic
Driven abstract
Absurd
Happy
Howling
Oven orangutan
1997 devoted
Mucus procurements
Denounce
Moistened
Envelope
Greetings
Shallow
Wilting
Flooding
Salad dressing
Sheaths
Of
Shelled pudding
Mementos
Weary pot potent
Gamblers
Forfeited
Giraffe installments
Legislation
Jury
Jurassic
Other worldly
People phantoms
Mighty best
Beautiful
Zen
Zeno
Zeus
Zealand
Scruggs
Tank no longer have
Loud motorized
Caribou
Caricatures
Fleshy
Floral
Arrangements antimatter
Ants
Etching particular
Partial
Sketches
Movie bitter butter
Hot water caramel
Glass foot piercings
Calcify esteem
Jello molds ascend
Biweekly
Goats shake we
Amman
Boldness beans
Stave the same time
Heroic herons
Ticklish
Points
Ascribe
Tough fruitful events
Inside
Colored chalks change
Daffodil
Tamale
Tampa
Sky buttocks
Cuban
Rican
Shooting shouts
Verbatim
Thy deity absolves
Frito
Pie
Dilemmas
Once every
Diaphanous
Mental
Moon
Noon

Post Randomness

I like to post randomness from time to time.

Logical

Following
Your
Dreams
Is
The Most
Logical
Thing
You
Can
Do

Santos

I once knew a guy who did not know me. He was a cool guy. His name was Santos. He was big and tall and round. So very rotund, fat or uh big boned. Ha, ha. Big boned. Santos had some sort of memory problem. He couldn’t retain any information other than his own name. But he sometimes struggled with that as well. Me and Santos were in the same 7th grade P.E. class. I absolutely hated that class and so did Santos. The coach was so annoying! But I guess most coaches are. Coach Nunez was his name. He was part Hispanic and part priest. Well, that’s what the other students used to say about him. Coach Nunez was known for quoting a lot of different religious figures. Somehow, he always managed to have ten new quotes every day. Most of the students laughed off his quoting but not me. Every once in a while I would write down one quote that seemed to grab my attention. “An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind.” Coach Nunez said one day after handing out the big red rubber balls for a game of dodge ball. He was quoting Gandhi. I wrote that one down and memorized it. “Santos, look out!” I shouted. Santos turned his head to the left just in time to avoid being hit by a ball. It was only an inch away from hitting his nose! “I’m okay now!” Santos exclaimed. He picked up a ball then flung it hard at the shortest kid in school. His name was Kenneth and he resembled a frail little mouse. “Ow! Coach Nunez, Santos hit me way too hard!” Kenneth complained while rubbing his right shoulder. “Santos! Don’t throw so hard! You hurt Kenneth!” Coach Nunez scolded Santos. “Sorry. Sorry. Sorry, Kenny.” Santos apologized then hung his head low. “That’s all right, Santos. I appreciate the apology.” Kenneth smiled then sat down on a bench with the other injured kids. “Ha, ha! Kenny’s gonna’ cry!” One of the other students, Ignacio, taunted Kenneth. Ignacio was a born taunter. He wasn’t a bully. He was a taunter. What’s the difference? A bully will usually taunt and physically harm his victim. A taunter will wait for just the right moment to verbally assault his victim. A taunter abhors physical violence but has no problem with using words as weapons. Ignacio even had the look of a taunter. He was of average height but with a very Mediterranean complexion. I think he was part Greek and part Brazilian. His hair was a dark color, not quite black but not quite brown. He always had it slicked back with the aid of some special kind of hair grease that his uncle shipped to him from Brazil. Ignacio was also the only 7th grader with a mustache. It was a thin wispy mustache but still a real mustache. “Kenny’s a cry baby! Cry baby!” Ignacio laughed and pointed at Kenneth. “Stop it, Iggy! Leave Kenny alone!” Janet defended Kenneth. Janet was quite possibly the prettiest, nicest, and coolest girl in the entire school. I had a bit of a crush on her. Well, just about every 7th grade boy did. Even a few 8th grade boys. Janet had curly red hair, deep blue eyes, glowing fair skin and an awesome smile. She also had this way of looking at someone, anyone, and instantly connecting with that person’s true self. “You’re such a bully, Iggy! Stop picking on Kenny!” Janet scrunched up her face and gave Ignacio the stink eye. “Hey now! I’m no bully! I’m just a taunter.” Ignacio caught a ball and held onto it for a minute before hurling it at some kid’s stomach. “Oh whatever! You’re a bully and you know you’re a bully!” Janet picked up a ball and threw it at Ignacio’s face. “Hey! You can’t do that! You’re not in the game anymore, Janet!” Ignacio was about to retaliate in kind when he was struck so hard in the chest that he immediately fell backwards onto the shiny gymnasium floor. I turned around and saw Santos standing with a big smile on his face. “Santos! Look what you’ve done!” Coach Nunez ran over to Ignacio and checked his vital signs. “A ball for a ball makes you fall!” Santos exclaimed. Every single student laughed. I wrote down that quote.

All words written by Ryan A. Loera Copyright 2015

She Picks -A Short Story by Ryan A. Loera

She picks her nose. She picks it often. Her favorite day to pick it is Sunday. The Lord’s Day. While most people change into their Sunday best to go to mass… she changes into her Sunday best to pick her nose. She starts off slow and gentle. Sometimes she lights a vanilla scented candle beforehand. She says it adds something extra to the moment. Do not be confused by my description. I assure you I am not using any kind of metaphor when I say she picks her nose. She thoroughly enjoys it. Sex has never been much of a concern to her. Nose picking gives her far more satisfaction. When she picks her nose she gets lost. Lost in time, lost in space, lost in the simple act of picking her nose. She says her soul merges with the entire Universe when she picks. She becomes one with everything. To her it is a divine blessing. She is not a whore or heretic! She is a nose-picker. And she is damn proud of it! All words written by Ryan A. Loera Copyright 2015

My Sandwich

He ate my sandwich! Bob ate my wonderful sandwich! My turkey, cheese, bacon, tomato, lettuce on rye sandwich! How could Bob do such a thing? Does he not know how many hours I spent making my sandwich? Well, maybe not hours but minutes. Several glorious minutes! I even drove all the way across town to get the good turkey from the good deli. Doesn’t Bob know this? How could you, Bob! How could you eat my sandwich! Why did you eat it? Do you get some kind of sick satisfaction from eating other peoples’ sandwiches? Huh!! Do you? I recall a time when you wanted to make a sandwich of your own but did not have any bread. You asked to borrow a few slices of bread and I was agreeable. In addition, I also gave you $5 so that you may purchase a loaf of your choosing. That was not too long ago. Did you purchase your own loaf? No! You spent that $5 on beer. And when you got back home you didn’t even offer me a beer! Oh how I loathe you, Bob! It is no wonder you are a solitary man. But I digress. Why the hell did you eat my sandwich? Was there something about it that called out to you? Hmmm? Did the sandwich itself speak to you? Did it speak to you in French or Spanish? If you are having conversations with talking sandwiches regularly then perhaps you should see a psychiatrist. But even that is no excuse for eating my lovely sandwich! Why! Why did you eat it? I’ve been nothing but kind to you these past few months. I have no qualms with our living arrangement. And I only slept with your wife once! Only once! So… Why did you eat my sandwich? WHY!! All words written by Ryan A. Loera Copyright 2015

Community

Time takes me away from all the forbidden science of our lackluster generation. Generational gap undone by modern conveniences. Truth here and there and covered up thoroughly by blankets made of the best copper wiring this side of the boundary line. Hilarious I once knew how to write so charismatically without so much as a period or apostrophe, apostrophe. Mind you you mind nothing tangible or legislative and I felt this right away. Earthquakes scare us to the point of non-recognition. But hey I mean whatever puts the gas in your engine now, man. Float then flow. Water flows through this vortex of a society. It flows to us from the great unknown! I'd like to study the not so culinary arts. Community colleges gloss over much of the fundamentals but then go right back to focusing on nothing but the fundamentals. Ain't nothin' fun about that shit! One thing I do know I want to do is to start a massive community garden. Sensationalism devours the whole pernicious spring fountain. Plate the ground in silvery things amongst what you believe to be your holiest doctrine. Peoples are factioned off into minor fruitful events of other minor fruitful events. Interesting and fascinating jurisdictions make us believe ugly rhyme vestiges. Every Wednesday and such turmoil discusses us as if we never even cared about property or windowed worries, fricking banality. Commonality we peruse the last aisle at those gross grocery stores and blame the next shopper for spoiled produce. Life and love and love and life. Those bastards, the ones who own the stores, have no clue. No clue. So we all speak terribly. Thine world is a vampiress suckling on the teet of corporate idealism! Oh but but they flounder still longingly. Moment to moment. In particular... I cannot give two shits today. We begin as though we've never began before. I am ambitious and fuck you for saying I am not! You fuckin hater of life and all things limitless! Go on and remain confined in your steel cage by your so called "beliefs" and "ideals"! All is weary and atrocious. That popsicle my nephew ate looked like it was loaded with untruths and hypocrisy. But oh he swears it tastes good. Of course it tastes good! This is why most of us believe the crap that gets forced onto us by government and corporations! They spend millions and millions to ensure that their lies taste good! I for one am sick of it, sick of it. Now is as good a time as any for all of us to band together as a community and throw off the shackles of big business and big government! We are not meant to be corporate slaves! We are meant to be limitless! Beautifully Limitless Creators! All words written by Ryan A. Loera Copyright 2015

Sharp Cheddar

How funny could you be without me? Clear adhesive apoxy atop worrisome catacomb endeavors. I am marbled by defeatist attitudes. You?

Need that ant colony to vacate my sleeping mattress. Small ones, medium ones and other sized. Regular insecticide does not work very well. Sure, it's strong and irritates but only temporarily.

Perhaps the infestation is a living metaphor. A metaphor for my need to stop procrastinating and start completing my masterworks. I don't know how many more moments are available but this moment is indeed unique and important. Just like melted caramel lies.

Get the bullet to disown our presidential influence. Money fucks us over as policy manipulates we the people further and further.

Feeling absolute; uncertain. As sure as sure as sure as a turkey meat pot pie with huge chunks of knowledge. Didn't I mention before, ages ago, about how I had once been confused by certain passages in the pathos outlined biblical pretention?

We feed on dementia just as much as ham & cheese sandwiches without mayo. Oh I do know what I'm typing here! It is you, you that has no flipping idea how gravity sticks each individual to every other individual!

It is within fictional romance novels that we begin to plunder the teachings of our predecessors. Identity is another metaphoric derivative.

Discuss the accidental accident that is our nation. We are the (thee) successors of a generation of slave traders and owners. They used to beat 'em with big long dirtied sticks and poles. Some of 'em died, most of 'em cried and begged for mercy. But oh let's not forget how sweet and juicy and delicious the apples, melons and corn turned out.

Thank, thanks. Great, grateful. Abnormalcy, normalcy. Ease, dis-ease.

In the deli I contemplated beat poetry. Welcomed the possibility that I may have been a prophet in another life. Then I purchased a pound of sharp cheddar cheese.

Breaking Ground

Breaking ground, we are breaking ground. Have another cup of premium brewed coffee and crack open your mind's eye. Do not expect to receive a gold medal or trophy for your efforts. Truth is rarely rewarded.

Its not a cynical observation. Vation. Ha, I was gonna' write down something about that fifth girl who dumped me in the middle of a romantic cruise across the atlantic but decided against it. That's exactly what she'd want me to do. I ain't gonna' pine over nobody anymore.

This whole construction is an evolutionary process unto itself. Know it, digest it, make love to it. At least it's guaranteed to be STD free. Ha, ha.

Two days ago, as I picked my nose, the sky looked particularly spacious. It caused me to think about all those people out there who have no food to eat or warm bed to sleep in/on. On, in.

I empathize with the plight of all sentient beings. Perhaps, a little too much. But hey... what the heck do I know?

I ain't into superficial longings. I may have them but I don't like 'em. Why should I care for shit like money and fame??

My hair is long right now. Past my shoulders, certainly. My facial hair seems to sway on its own. It is obvious to me that my appearance throws people most of the time but I think I like that. I like shocking people even if only for a few seconds at a time.

I'm a nice guy who doesn't like being a nice guy but at the same time I don't give a crap. Though, I do meditate as often as possible and peer behind the illusion that is our reality.

(Problems are meant to be explored.)

Exist exist exit ex-ist.

This is all a fantastical construction.

Anything!

Some believe Ernest Hemingway was some unique prophet disguised as an alcoholic writer. Me... I don't know about that. Would be cool if it were true but no one can really say if it was or wasn't. Just like with most things.

I'd like to believe that in a couple of decades, or longer, people will be saying something similar about me and my work. If they don't... fine. I just get the strong feeling that it is a real possibility. I don't believe in much but I do believe in possibilities.

Why don't most people believe in possibilities? I suppose there's no clear cut general answer.

A few years back I started paying more attention to the evening sky. I don't know what prompted it. I just all of a sudden felt like watching the stars one evening.

Those giant balls of gas hardly get the recognition they deserve. I mean... they are capable of existing for thousands or even millions of years! Could you imagine what that must be like? Of course not! We humans are only capable of seeing and believing what's right in our direct line of sight.

If you could live to be say oh 1,000 years old how would you spend most of your life? If your answer has anything to do with accumulating a vast fortune or any other sort of material gain I am sorry to say that I personally believe your answer is far too one sided to be even remotely "realistic."

We're talking about 1,000 years here! 1,000 years old! As it stands right now the average life expectancy of a semi-healthy human being is between 75-78 years of age. Yet, somehow most people still find it necessary to cling to very superficial and impermanent things.

Life is indeed short. We ALL know this! But the majority of us also blatantly choose to deny this fact!

So, how has mankind spent most of its existence? We've spent many centuries conquering one another, oppressing one another, violently abusing each other, starting wars, causing famine, causing disease, causing general disorder and mayhem within our own cities etc. etc.

I guess it's no real wonder why we have trouble believing in possibilities. Though, I do believe it is a serious issue that should be discussed at great length with every individual.

Granted, that's just my personal belief and/or opinion.

I do, however, also believe that multiple choices/possibilities are available to us in any given moment. Yes, it is ultimately up to each of us to make our own decisions. Just remember this:

Every choice we make leads to more choices and options and introduces us to people who must also choose which path to follow. And their choice may or may not be based on your choice. If we cut out all the middle work we will find that ALL paths are interconnected and interdependent.

One person can make a difference but an entire planet of people can accomplish anything! ANYTHING!

Crust

Oh the mighty versus the weak. A poet knows what's what. The populace would much rather blow each other to pieces than hug and forgive minor offenses.

Before we know it - 1,000 years doesn't come soon enough. And we all transmute back into the Earth's crust.

Self Involved

A rich emporium of eagle satin pleasure troves of unfamiliar dyslexia feels normal. Stood by her only broken thumb and wrist to douse the pain points with my mental minutiae. Funny, funnily space is a farce not far from fortitude. Speaking up for the loneliness inside us all.

The tubes are light like pancakes and butter and not syrup. Science makes believers into cynics: purposeful fortuitous. Jesus, the back hurts. Say it will mimic okay.

Each day the sun sparkles in particular for whorish mannerisms. Say, I said that that would find you in unknown states of cholera. Pandemic, handle your broom pushing allegory. Turtles have lived for centuries before us human beings. I am quite certain they will outlive whole generations of peoples.

I cannot find a reason to ask out carnality and bring some home with me. Why? What for? Carnal delights are only delightful once in a plaid moon. If, if, if. If at all.

For what washer there was no doubt over the matter of a waxy hearted life filled and unfilled with lots of cello cellophane teardrops. Fangs to scrub with toothbrushes. Silvery stars crossed uncrossed vague delusions. Get her some special treatment, lotion.

(Aware of lifetime, a lifetime gone by.)

What is time? What is tiime? What is you? What is me? What is we? What is why? Why is why?

Another bossy window whore. She denies the cultural existence of another other follower who begins to dabble in the black arts. Arts of good-ness subtle wings fanciful the trees, trees, trees try reconnecting us with the truth of the matter of factual evidential screamo skies. (!)

In a very particular way I chased after her afterthought. The sidewalk felt firm yet agile. She said she was once a lioness in a previous life. I believed her only because she scribbled fiction on a plain paper plate. Connect dots; the dots connect every single thang thing.

Delineate the process. Belittle the essence. Sanctify the wholeness.

An estimated reading time of one minute and nine seconds is not a goal. 1,111 bodily counts down the melee. Exruciating in detailed spring memories surrender it all to the lasting symbolic deafness.

Egg sandwiches. Egg salad. Fried egg sandwiches.

Nearest molecules build us up in every possible vagueness. Absent minded I emplore the use of deoxy ribonucleic acid in my work. See it, sing it, want it, be it, it it.

We are our own victims. Victimized desensitized.

Self involved confusions usually involve rotating patterns of starlight. If at all, all.

Forward Forward

Forward, forward, sideways across. She carries her only daughter across the river known only as River Hardly. The words to describe such an event are numerous and un-nameable. One must be careful not to pursue a lengthy description when trying to amuse the masses.

But the masses are stupid, unfortunate, desolate & lonely creatures of habit! Unlike that woman with her only daughter, still but stained by her wanting happiness. Illusory things mutate choiceless advantages.

Complete

You do not make sense when compromised by allegorical fantastical fables created by transnational capitalists. Sure seems like the second coming of rice pudding in your suede pants but oh you couldn't be any more right. The sun is a beauty of which we doubt retroactively.

People call me Bryan but my name is not Bryan! Is it really so hard to pronounce RYAN?! What is it that they are thinking of the live long day? Oh wait.... I guess the latest newest same old smartphone is more important than committing my name to memory. It makes sense, yes. No!

But whatever. Whatnot. I promise to only care about my own interests so long as people keep forgetting my name. Please... please do not pity me. I don't mean to sound pitiful or decompressed. I only wish to make my frustrations known and unknown and then if time allows... known once more.

Stare intently down a darkened well and you will only begin to understand a tenth of what I am alluding to. Our biological makeup persists, further. Furthermore, when will all these self important pop stars stop showing off their genitalia?

The human mind mimics that which we inhabit. By which I mean our beautiful planet. I do not wish to go off on some long, long descriptive romantic tangent here. Maybe I should, but I won't. No, not yet.

We've all got desires. You know what I mean! Desires are those things that we really don't need but yet somehow we feel like life would have no meaning without them. And I don't just mean superficial things like money and steamy sex.

Let's face it, if you don't know what desires are then you probably shouldn't have them. Complete.

Unique Can Be

I am an original. I am writing this as it comes. I am no empty headed zombie looking to be used and controlled. I am unique. I feel and think about many, many things pertaining to humanity and its many dormant gifts.

I paint as well but have not painted as much as I used to. I really should start it up again. Now, right now. Yep.

Blue and yellow swirls are what I often imagine cloaking the minds of the general public. It isn't often that they understand or are aware of this. But I do believe they try as much as is possible. Whatever that means.

I'm not looking forward to old age but I've come to accept it as an inevitability. If I end up living a hermetic lifestyle then so be it. I've never been one to frequent fascist night clubs or superficial gatherings. I know they do have some merit but only if one is seeking a cheap sexual encounter. Even then there is no guaranteed outcome.

Expectations cause a lot of turmoil. People either expect too much or expect too little. Then when things don't go their way they get all disappointed or frustrated or enraged. They make mountains out of potholes. They enjoy it.

Silly, silly people. When will they learn to appreciate what they already have? I suppose such a question can only be answered quickly and without much consideration. That and people tend to ignore rhetorical questions. Or what they believe to be rhetoric.

I am currently reading Tolstoy and others in an effort to gleen some kind of insight into the behaviors and manners of unconsciously aware peoples. I guess that itself is an expectation but I'm open to it morphing into something else.

I shall soon be 30 years of age and am glad to still be intact on this beautiful Earth. I am an original. One of billions.

My perspective and personality remain my own. Interconnected but unique as unique can be.

Happy or Sad

Reluctantly I tried to make her adore me rather than love me. She slapped me instantaneously and without regret. Two times I told bold faced lies but only because the truth would have freaked her out so intensely and dramatically that there would be no recovery from it. Truly.

And forget about pleauring her to the point of no return. No, she would not approve of such madness. To her pleasure is mostly derived from extended periods of celibacy and finger pointing. I'm not lying here.

On our anniversary I did my best to show her a good time. I made reservations at some fancy pants French restaurant but when we got there they said that I made no such reservation. I spoke to the manager but all he did was furrow his brow and roll his eyes. So, I punched him square in the jaw and tore up his fancy pants suit.

We were escorted out of the place as the manager shouted French insults. My love she looked like she was about to cry but instead she slapped me and jumped on my person. She licked my face and kissed my neck. She seemed very excited.

So we skipped dinner and went straight to dessert. Ha, ha. I'm not a big fan of inunedos but they do serve a purpose. So, after having hot sex in the back of my accord, she said nothing to me. I couldn't tell if she was happy or sad.

I guess she was mainly disappointed because that was the last time I saw her. Really it was. Well... it was the last time she knew I saw her.

Ten years later I spotted her at the local mall. She was holding a crap load of shopping bags and looked very happy. She was also being embraced by some tall muscular guy with a mustache. I stood about four feet behind them; they didn't even know anyone was watching them.

Five minutes passed and some kids ran out of the toy store and towards them. They shouted, "Mommy! Daddy! Look what we got!" I watched them take each other's hand and walk away like the quintessential happy family.

Now, I don't know if I feel happy or sad.

Ages

At age: 19
Where I lived: Tampa, FL
What I drove: Nothing
What I did: Full time musician
What I feared: Nothing
Who had my heart: Myself

Now at age: 29
Where I live: El Paso, TX
What I drive: 2004 Chevy Cavalier
What I do: Writer, musician, artist
What I fear: Nothing
Who has my heart: The Universe

MY NOVEL IS OFFICIALLY PUBLISHED!!!!

My novel, Aperture, is now officially published! Yes it is ready to be read in its entirety by the public! Click the link below for a short preview and/or purchasing info.

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