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Jurassic World Movie Review by Ryan A. Loera

http://loerareviews.blogspot.com/2015/06/jurassic-world-movie-review-by-ryan.html?m=0

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Thumbsucker Movie Review by Ryan A. Loera

http://loerareviews.blogspot.com/2015/06/thumbsucker-movie-review-by-ryan-loera.html?m=0

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Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Movie Review by Ryan A. Loera

http://loerareviews.blogspot.com/2015/06/teenage-mutant-ninja-turtles-movie.html?m=0

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The Extra Man Movie Review by Ryan A. Loera

http://loerareviews.blogspot.com/2015/06/the-extra-man-movie-review-by-ryan-loera.html?m=0

Click the link to read my review of The Extra Man.

A Werewolf In My Pocket -Short Story by Ryan A. Loera

I was sitting at the breakfast table enjoying a big bowl of cornflakes. I began to feel something wiggle around in my right shirt pocket. Then I felt a sharp pinch.
“OW! What is that?!” I asked.
“Oh, sorry. I just wanted to get your attention.”
I jumped up out of my chair and scanned the entire dining room. Where did that voice come from? Was it me?
“Uh, who’s there?”
“It’s me! I’m in your shirt pocket!”
I carefully took a peek inside my pocket and saw what looked like a miniature werewolf. He was no bigger than a quarter!
“How’d you get in there?” I demanded
“I’ve always been in here. You’ve just never noticed me until now.” It blinked its yellow eyes at me.
“Uh, okay. What do you want?”
“Oh, I was just wondering if I could have some of your cereal.”
“I guess. You want milk too?”
“No. All I need is one small piece.”
“Okay.” I picked up one cornflake and stuffed it into my pocket.
“Mmmm. Yum! Thanks! I appreciate it.”
The werewolf inhaled the cornflake. He made some weird noises while he ate.
“So, are there others like you?” I asked.
“You mean other miniature werewolves?”
It was now licking itself.
“Yes. Are there any other miniature werewolves?”
“Oh, my yes! We are in just about every available pocket.”
“And why am I seeing you now?”
“I don’t know. Only you know the answer to that question.” It proceeded to lick its tail.
“Uh, okay. So, what exactly do miniature werewolves do?”
“We can do lots of things but mostly we help keep away the lint goblins.”
“Lint Goblins?! There are actual Lint Goblins?!”
I decided to finish up my cornflakes.
“Yes. Of course. If the lint goblins had it their way they would just consume every piece of clothing in the world!”
“Really?!” I don’t know why I found it hard to believe in lint goblins. After all, I was talking to a pocket-sized werewolf.
“Okay. So, suppose I were to meet one of these lint goblins. Would it harm me?”
“No. Of course not! Lint goblins are deathly afraid of miniature werewolves and even MORE afraid of humans!”
“Oh, I didn’t know that.” I glanced at my wristwatch. I wondered how long I would have to talk to the werewolf.
“Well, I’d really like to continue chatting with you but I kind of have to be somewhere important.”
I hoped it didn’t take offense.
“Oh, okay. I understand. I will always be right here in your pocket if you ever feel the need to talk.” It began to curl up for a nap.
As I made my way towards the door I quickly realized I was forgetting my jacket. I pulled it off the coat rack and put it on. I zipped it up to my neck and felt a weird scratch.
“OW!”
I noticed a tiny green dot move about the zipper.
“Oh, sorry! I’m a jacket pixie. Can I have some cereal too?”

All words written by Ryan A. Loera
Copyright 2015

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

In the Beginning -A Short Story by Ryan A. Loera

In the beginning, there were no toilets. People were forced to defecate on sidewalks and near government buildings. Sure, nobody enjoyed taking big long brown dumps in front of each other but there was no alternative. Until a man named Harry Clump had an epiphany one humid afternoon. He turned to his wife Mary and said: "Hey! What if someone created a place where people could defecate in private!" "Whadda' ya' mean? You can't just devote one place entirely to the act of defecation! Besides, people are perfectly happy with defecating anywhere they want to." Mary had just finished taking a pretty big dump on a bush in the local park. "I'm not so sure about that, Mary. I mean... I believe people are yearning to know what it feels like to be able to defecate behind closed doors." Harry took out a notebook and a pencil and began sketching something. "Huh? You mean like pooping in one's own bedroom? Some people already do that, Harry." Mary watched Harry draw something circular. A minute later, Harry finished his sketch and held it up over his head. "Behold! The Defecation Booth!" He exclaimed. "The what?" Asked Mary. "The Defecation Booth! You see, people will enter this cubicle and sit down on a chair-like thing that has a hole in the middle. Then they can defecate all they want in complete privacy! It's genius I tell ya'! We're gonna' be rich, Mary!" Harry jumped up and down with excitement. "Oh I dunno', Harry. It sounds pretty dumb to me." Replied Mary. Two weeks later, Harry died from explosive diarrhea. Mary eventually sold his idea to a scientist/engineer for $100 and a coupon for one free taco at Pancho's Tacos. The scientist/engineer perfected the design ten years later and named it after himself. His name is Dr. John Stall Toilet. Today, he is the fourth richest man in the world. Right behind the guy that invented disposable diapers. So, there you have it. The origins, more or less, of the toilet. The rest, as you know, is... defecation.

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.

Star Language

We aren't liable to be held accountable for most things done wrong today. That just seems to be the new normal in society. Come to think of it... it's been the norm for quite some time.

If you are going to meet me halfway than by all means meet me halfway, sir. But don't do it on my account. That faithful woman is not your property but she does care a great deal for you. You are blind to it and to her.

I've told you many things before. I've spoken to you about a variety of different topics. The history of the French. The history of the Prussian Empire. Sociological experiments involving multiple participants. Art appreciation and convex theories. It only means something to you if you allow your being to absorb it. Indefinitely.

Modesty often finds us when everything else has begun to shift right before our eyes. Yes. Like cellophane deniability; ruminating over divided dimensional output. Just to translate archaic Latin adjectives back to the original star language.

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!

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.

Bell

Woman at door with child selling chocolate bars for $1 for her son's baseball team. Baseball? Who the hell still plays baseball?

I purchased one, a Milky Way bar. Makes me think of the galaxy we inhabit. I believe there should be an Andromeda bar or a Crab Nebula bar. The entire Universe should be paid tribute.

People don't give a damn. They say they do but they don't. Sure, they're busy with the day to day stuff but none of that would be possible if the Universe didn't exist.

It may be bad - it may be good. Whatever you choose to call it it's still a part of the entirety of existence. This you mustn't deny!

If you try to outwit existence you will only end up creating more negative illusions to get caught up in. Catch yourself now before the final dinner bell is rung.

Red Orange Riboflavin

Red
Orange
Amuse-ment
Black
Surrender
Opaque
Revolutions
Yellow
Euphemisms
Vain pink
Threat
Level
Beige
Blue ice
Blue mind (s)
Continental
Euphoria
Shades of brown
Doctored up
Lines of
Turquoise
Green viral
The spleen disdains lament
Gold mint leaflets
Distribute progressive riboflavin

Vegas Tomatoes

Vegas
Morsels
Feed
Propaganda
Ate
Some
Fish tacos
Laced
With
Turpentine
Is it
Safe
To speak
To a
Promiscuous
Cactus
Even though
You
Know
She loves
You (?)
Too many tomatoes
Drip life
It is sanity we must
Stay away from.

Dry Butterfly

Dry
Leary
Vaccinated
Vaccancy
Mountains move mobile
Magistrate
The herd
Tends toward
Heredity
Brain shocks
Short violent
Obsolete
Obstacles
Grasp the country like wine
We all die
Factors differ
The soul's
Path
Pledges no pledges
Whether time plays
However life strays
The punchline portions out
Pain, deeds, disorientation
The same, sameness scares
Social butterfly allegiance

Assures

Some such careful carelessness consumed us whole and plainly. Tell us no lies. Just pull up your platitudes and drown your sorrows if need be.

We were not at all careful but regarded each other as anomalous day trippers. Familiarity reigns in consciousness.

Galactic involvement involves each of us! Every one of us!

We belong to each other and each lover. The cosmic eternal light illuminates our journey forever and all possible ways.

Subtlety assures our future.

MY NOVEL APERTURE NOW AVAILABLE FOR FREE DOWNLOAD!

My novel APERTURE is now available for FREE download! I really just want everyone and anyone to read it. Please go to: www.ryanandrewloera.weebly.com

Download it, read it, share it as much as you'd like! :-)