Shine Down

     I always loved the way the sun shined down on me through the cracks of the wooden floor deck. Something about the summer sun shining through those cracks, while I'm blowing hookah smoke in the morning sun feels like magic and nothing less. Year after year, the table on my personal patio at home has changed. I remember how I initially had a small, shitty wooden table three years ago. From the wooden table to the unstable metal one, to the one I have now. My current table is a beautiful collage of sea shells embedded in rock, supported by a steel frame. I look forward to reminiscing about the golden days, while I lean into the cracks of sun light from above as I smoke cigarette after cigarette, thinking about the things I might do today. The day usually ends the same way it began; with me jamming to my favorite radio tunes as the sun goes down. I'm not a big fan of the darkness, it's a bit intimidating and gloomy for my taste. So I usually head back inside, radio in hand as I figure out how to spend my time before I go to bed.
    My fascination with this area grows, not just because of the sunlight, but also because of the setup of my patio furniture. I try to set up the chairs and the table in a comfortable way, but if there's one thing I know about preparing for things when it comes to comfort, it's usually a futile effort. This is because of the fact that whenever I'm making use of the patio furniture (or anything for that matter), I find myself moving it all around to fit my needs. Yet, it seems very disorganized and thus uninviting to me. Put simply, my wants and needs don't necessarily match and if I were to waste time trying to satisfy both prerequisites, I would never be able to sit down in comfort. I've spent countless times organizing and reorganizing the patio area, but it's never quite right. Since I generally prefer the outdoors, having a personal space that is comfortable is the most important thing to me. I have spent hours and days at a time (even during the fall and winter months), attempting to customize my outdoor area. Although I am rarely satisfied with the customizations I make, each one still seems to be as important as the next.
   My personal outdoor patio area is quite small and can be difficult to work with at times. There is however, one goal I am trying to achieve in all of this; locating the sweet spot that I found in that area last summer where the morning sun shined down so brightly and perfectly. The chair (at the time), was angled so perfectly that it was exposed to both the sun shining through the cracks of the wooden deck floor and the sunshine on the left side, completely unblocked. It was a spot that took advantage of both areas and felt very satisfying to me. The chair was the perfect mix between complete sunshine and partial sunshine. It gave me a great view of the giant bush to the left while also making the opened space directly in front of me seem inviting and profound as well. As insane as this obsession sounds, it is actually quite comfortable and very much worth the hassle as well. It's exposed to just the right amount of sun and just the right amount of breeze. I honestly have no idea why I moved the chair from that spot initially nor do I recall doing so. This "sweet spot" I've been searching for is a perfect place to smoke, especially in the morning hours when the sun has been up for no longer than forty-five minutes.                    
     Most times when I'm smoking a cigarette, I rush through the process, trying to get as much nicotine as I can in the shortest amount of time possible. While I'm in this particular spot however, I somehow find a sudden and unexplainable urge to slow down and just enjoy it. I remember how I used to sit down in that spot and smoke a cigarette slowly. I would take a long, delicate inhale from my cigarette, than exhale slowly and let the cigarette burn for almost two minutes before taking another puff. Somehow, the cigarettes really seemed to last longer when I was doing this in that spot. One time in particular, I remember listening to some Buckcherry while I was lounging in the spot. It was morning and the sprinklers had just finished doing their jobs. The grass was so green and vibrant, the cigarette was so full of euphoria, the music was so strong and beautiful and everything was so perfect. I could not have conceived of a single fault in the world, and I have often wished it would've stayed that way. Many times, the charm and appeal of the outdoors is extremely superficial and tends to fade when the harsher months come along. But the mood inevitably returns when summer comes back.
    What I admire most about the sunshine in my personal outdoor patio is the fact that when I have my hookah on the beautifully decorated table facing towards the sunlight, a sort of rainbow collage shines through so magnificently and gracefully. Being the sentimental "genius" that I am, I sometimes just sit there and watch the rainbow colors attack my hookah with disregard for the fall ahead. I sometimes wish I could smoke the rainbows. How would they taste? What would they do? Would they be the ultimate smoking experience? Other times, I simply fall in love with the taste of dust, floating about the dirty backyard. It's the kind of thing that makes most people gag, but for an outdoorsman like myself, it is not just "natural" but it is familiar, it is home, it is the taste and smell that made me fall in love with Colorado in the first place! As Kilo plays the same generic rock and roll crap that I love over and over again, I'm faced with unpleasant thoughts. Thoughts like "If this is something a person could actually enjoy, does that mean having fun is a waste of time?". "Of course it is!" I respond back to myself, gearing up for a debate. "It's a waste of time, because it's not productive". "But isn't life ALL ABOUT being productive?". "No, if it was, your life would be a boring waste!". And on and on and on.
    Wether or not I find the sweet spot, at the end of the day at least I had fun. I'm not always sitting in a chair, listening to the radio and smoking a cigarette. Sometimes I go for walks, sometimes I go out and eat, sometimes I go to the smoke shop and sometimes I watch TV. Tv for me is quite rare, if I'm watching a television show, it's usually online. TV is one of those things I thought I could never cut from my diet, especially when I was much younger. Somehow though, I ultimately discovered other forms of entertainment that made the idea of TV seem laughable. I could do nothing but take walks all day, and still I would feel happy and very much satisfied with my day. As a matter of fact, that's almost all I do most of the time; take long walks to reminisce about my past and think it over. Many times, I have questioned why I do this, why I reconsider something that has already happened and cannot be changed. Over and over again, I reexamine things, trying to make sense of my past. It's a funny thing how a man my age could have enough time to think about the past so critically and thoroughly. I would imagine this isn't something most 19 year olds have in common. I suppose if you were 19 and you were serving a life sentence in prison without parole, you might be thinking about the past as often as I do. At least in that scenario, it would make sense to focus on the past so intensely and analyze it so obsessively.

Voices Of A Generation

    After Martin Luther King Jr., after Harvey Milk, after John Fitzgerald Kennedy there was Kurt Cobain, Bradley Nowell, Notorious B.I.G and Tupac. These were a new breed of musicians and entertainers that inspired us to make music with great messages behind the lyrics. Their struggles have been immortalized in their music, which has the shelf-life of a twinky and endless entertainment value. Although individuals such as John Fitzgerald Kennedy and Abraham Lincoln were truly exceptional as far as civil rights leaders go, their predecessors (today's heroes) touch hearts, change minds and inspire souls through lyrics and music. Their music was often relatable and sometimes even helpful at times of great crisis. Most important of all, they showed us how to have fun and enjoy the good things in life as well as share in our discontent with the things that suck.
    I have replaced the idea of God with the image of those who have earned my respect and admiration for years. Let there be no confusion, though I don't worship these men, they have still been a continuing source of inspiration for me. When I praise their talent with my thoughts, I think about the things they have said that have affected me the most. A tough day calls for Kurt Cobain to come to my rescue. Biggie Smalls gets the job done right, when I'm in the mood for inspiring lyrics. Brad Nowell from Sublime is the best selection for a fun time! The biggest misconception of all, is that these brilliant lyricists only appeal to the young and the rebellious, but in truth, the music only appeals to those with an opened mind. I know of a few people from "the older generations" who can appreciate Tupac and Bradley Nowell as well. This, to me, is a clear sign that music is a genre of its own that brings people of different age groups and cultures together.
    I may not have the most extensive Sublime collection, I may not have a Nirvana poster and I most certainly do not possess every Tupac CD, but the posters, the autographed drumsticks and even the CD's themselves don't have as much importance as the appreciation for talent does (this may seem like a hypocritical comment to make, but living in the 21st century means having access to free music like Grooveshark.com for example). It is rare and quite exceptional for a certain band, artist, singer or rapper to maintain a reputation long after the performer is dead and gone (and Frank Sinatra would be a good example of this too), but some artists have survived the test of time, sometimes even a few decades after their music would have otherwise been rendered irrelevant to the times. Yet, this is not unusual for music that is credited as being not only "good", but also profound on some level. Although I cannot say for sure wether or not these idolized lyricists will survive the test of time for another few decades, I can say that I am faithful that the ones I've mentioned in this blog will be one of the few relevant artists in the future. Hopefully, their legacy will survive another ten or twenty years at least, but as I like to say, no one is remembered forever. The only thing we can be sure of is that two-hundred years from now, no one will remember the name Kurt Cobain or Biggie Smalls. On a final note, it is very tempting to say that some of the bigger names in the music industry will never be rivaled and that they are a special few in history, but truthfully, I believe others will show the same inspiration in their craft of music making and slowly make their way to the top just as the God-like figures in today's music. I have yet to find anything up to date and relevant that has earned my respect, but my heart and ears are always opened for the ones who know what they are doing.

Disaster Vacation

   Sometimes, things don't work out the way we want them to. The past five days have been a perfect example of this, and the best way to summarize my misfortune are two words "The Cold". As mundane and unexceptional as having a simple cold sounds, it is surprisingly newsworthy. Six days ago, I woke up in the early morning hours on a Thursday, feeling tired, empty, bored, irritable and mostly sad. The night before had taken a toll on my weary soul and so for a change of pace, I decided to go to Hooter's for breakfast. Normally I like to go to Mcdonald's for a Mcgriddle or some hash browns and a mocha, but on this particular morning I wanted to break away from the beaten path that was (and still is) my routine. I remember waking up that morning, feeling groggy like someone had beaten me over the head with a blunt object. My initial goal that morning (as with every previous morning) was to make my way to the kitchen table and sit down to let my head clear. After begrudgingly swallowing my morning pills and sitting back down for an additional fifteen minutes, I asked my dad if I could borrow his van. When he asked me where, I told him I wanted to go to Hooter's. With that, he handed me his keys along with the forty dollars he owed me and I was on my way.
      After about ten minutes of driving, I finally arrived in the parking lot where Hooter's was. Before I went to Hooter's, I decided to go to the Circle K corner store, which is located in the same parking lot. Once I made my way into the corner store, I pulled out some of my money to buy another three packs of cigarettes. I was about to buy my usual Pall Malls when I realized that there was another brand I had never heard of called "Crowns". The Crowns cigarettes were about the same price, so I decide to buy those instead. After buying my cigarettes, I walked over to Hooter's, picked a seat to sit down in and ordered a coffee and some mozzarella sticks. It was a very comfortable environment; there were beautiful women, great music and one of my favorite shows was playing on one of the five TV's in the restaurant. I'm normally not a big fan of Hooter's food, as a matter of fact, I don't like their food. However, my stomach was hungry, my pockets were deep in cash and the environment was perfect. So I ordered the mozzerella sticks anyway, regardless of my taste aversion to their food. The coffee was the first thing to come out. I enjoyed sipping it and staring at the TV while the soothing morning sun massaged my back through the window. Once my meal arrived, the grubbing was on. As soon as I bit into and tried to swallow one of the deep fried cheese sticks, I started to gag and gasp for air. There was no napkin to spit into and since I didn't want to be rude or embarrass myself, I managed to force the breaded grease cheese down my throat anyway.
    After a few minutes of attempting to swallow the cheese sticks, I quickly discovered a choke-proof strategy for eating my fast food. I sat there, mesmerized by my favorite show while sipping my coffee now and again. Taking in the beauty of the place and the serenity that I could not seem to find anywhere else. After I paid for my meal, I left promptly and drove home, feeling refreshed and relaxed. Once I got home, I decided to start smoking. It wasn't until the afternoon hours that I asked my dad if I could use the garage to smoke in. Since the weather happened to be terrible at the time, he agreed to let me kick it in the garage while listening to my favorite rock radio station. I spent the rest of the day there, and when I finally finished, I put my hookah, cigars and dip away for later. About an hour after I finished up in the garage, I started experiencing strange cold symptoms. I had an irritating stuffy nose, clogged ears like the hoover dam and a cough like a hippy with a hangover trying not to puke. Over the next couple of days, my symptoms intensified. After three days of nightmarish coughing, nose blowing and chest pains, it seemed as though the worst part was over.
    It was a little over two days ago that I was told my parents were planning a trip to the city of Glenwood Springs, which is well-known for its naturally warm and purified river water where people can bathe. Unfortunately, just yesterday I was informed that if I did not improve by today, that the trip would be canceled and rescheduled. Today, I'm feeling alright but not the best. I'm hoping I'm healthy enough to let this trip happen, as I feel I'm in need of more vacation days.

I Have A Dream

    I have a dream, a dream that every man and woman in the United States of America will be able to enjoy blunts in a hot tub and drink Coronas without fear of arrest at the same time in the same tub. I have a dream that I will be able to gather with friends in said hot tub and smoke weed and drink beer from the early morning hours until the cold moon rises at midnight. There's a stoner in all of us, which deserves to see the light of day. Once we "come out of the closet" about our cannabisexuality, we can embrace who we are and not hide our true selves! As a bisexual man myself, I feel LGBT should be LGBTC in honor of those who have been condemned and discriminated against about their attraction to Cannabis. What we as legal citizens of the U.S decide to do in our bedrooms (and homes, and friend's homes, and girlfriend's homes, and boyfriend's homes, and hot tubs, and living rooms, and bathrooms, and pornos, and parties, and clubs) is no one's business but our own!
    When conservative christians tell us "you cannot smoke a weed as you would smoke a cigarette!", realize that they are trying to keep us down! Do not let their bigotry keep you from your right to practice your sexuality. I've had it up to here like those friends of mine that nag me for not drinking underage beer, but I can't afford it in this stage of my life cause I'm trying to get that record expunged from that three year tantrum that's still going on. I can't get level headed when I'm drowning under a lake of societal pressures, tied to a cinder block like Jason in Crystal lake. Just trying to stay afloat above the high stakes. I lack the dare devil character traits from the personality to the polite formalities but I never go out like a bitch, I prefer to go out like a prick.

Partial Paradise

   Half-Assed and incomplete, headed towards a partial paradise in Dave's car, on the streets. I'm enrolled in this program that works like a school and I'm told it's gonna pay off "real soon". I get to B.H Inc. early on a Wednesday morning. I climb out of my dad's turquoise Mazda with my infantile blue book bag, and I invite myself into the building where Amanda, Diego and Dave are sitting. They greet me in a friendly manner as I greet them back with fisties. An agonizing forty-five minutes trolls by before we leave. By the time Dave and I make our way to his truck in the small parking lot, I am oddly excited to go to the YMCA. I throw my bag and coat into the trunk of his truck and than climb into the passenger's seat; ready to talk, ready to listen to classic hip hop, ready to get some breakfast to eat! We always have great conversations, listening to and talking about Public Enemy, Gang Starr, Snoop Dogg and Ultramagnetic MC's (and sometimes a little Jay-Z). Dave is the homie I never had, very laid back and never gets mad. I often wish I could smoke some cigs with him, but I know he's not into smoking anymore, in fact he told me how he quit and switched to Coors, but he quit that too so there's not much in the way of addiction for us to share.
     Dave and I always look forward to hot tubbing it in the YMCA and admittedly it's always my favorite part (besides discussing hip hop). I find myself wishing I could bring some cigarettes, but the program is too G-rated to allow that, so I just kick back and relax. The way the hot tub warms me up and massages my back, makes me feel like a king on crack. Cigarettes in a hot tub are a dream come true, so is dip in a hot tub too. I don't think I will ever own a hot tub of my own, so I just keep dreaming. This paradise is not ideal but it's 5/10 of the way there. Twenty years of life and it seems like I'll never get there. At least I can see the mountains out the windows when I'm tubbing it. Too many people around for my taste, but I'm gonna continue living and keeping the faith.

Rising Mist In The Sunshine

   Headphones blaring reggae music as the morning sun heats the wooden dance floor of the deck in my backyard. Sitting down in the king sized chair with my wild, curly facial hair. I feel another song coming on on my iPod. The morning sun feels bright and I feel the light shine through the mist as I smoke and spit. The next song feels so right, when it's Let's Go Get Stoned by Sublime. 45 minutes of smoking pleasure on the hookah pipe, reset the clock with another hookah coal and the atmosphere is just right. Bradley Nowell sings to me the stoner's lullaby. Days and nights spent with Kurt Cobain, Biggie Smalls and Sublime; right here right now there's no such impediment as time. There's nothing more frustrating the appointments wasting my time, twenty years old don't even have a job, who cares about being productive? I'm going to be busy my whole life so I figure I might as well sit down and finish my cigarette while I have the time.
   Eighteen years to get where I am today and my pay comes in the form of dip, smokes and porn. Not a satisfying payoff, I thought for sure I'd be much further along when I finally got here. All my friends are busy at their jobs, in college, with their families and their other friends. I'm lonely, watching the mountains as they take me back to simpler times; I don't know, I don't know where the time and the friends go when they disappear. All I know is that I wish they were still here, but I guess now is the perfect time to be selfish and just focus on myself. Days and nights are short and swift until the summer time, that's when I like to party-solo in my own backyard. Who needs friends when you've got some smokes? Who needs relationships when you've got porn? Who needs school when you've got Google?Who needs snow when you've got the house all to yourself? Who needs to worry about going to Hell when every moment of your life is heaven? Who needs luck when your lucky number isn't seven? Who cares how stupid your mistakes are as long as you learn your lesson?
    It doesn't matter that I don't live near a beach, I just have to smoke a cigarette and the bushes look like palm trees. My ugly brown house looks like a condo in the Bahamas, carved out of luxurious coconut trees in the summer. Forget the shoes, forget the clothes, forget the food, forget the snow, forget the pain, for get the regret, forget the sanity, forget the Gazette and the news, they're lying to you anyway, so you might as well lie to yourself about how bad the day was today. No need to run, no need to justify your escape just use your imagination to destroy your rage. Pall Malls and Motrin dull the pain and the hookah makes your life more vivid and sane. This world you live in is your cradle and your grave and no one can take it away. Let Iron Maiden and Metallica be your guide, from the shadows into the rising mist and the sunshine. Be Kurt Cobain, be Biggie Smalls, be Sublime!

Cigars & Hidden Skateboard Parks

    Trees & bushes conceal a place that inspires generation after generation of skateboarders. A place hidden by loud trains, large empty spaces, three abandoned buildings and two extremely dull and mundane buildings on either side of the entrance to the road. It is here, that a skateboard park was built and has existed for years in harmony. A place where young men take their girlfriends to film them kick flipping, ollie-ing, grinding, heel flipping and speeding up to catch big air off the ramps. Defiance, beauty, strength, independence, practice, performance; these are the elements of skateboarding, the very things that attracted and inspired generations of young men (and women) as far back as the 1970's. I think the Tony Hawk's video game franchise captured this image of the golden era of skating, especially in Tony Hawk's Underground, where everything from the music to the skating style glorifies those who follow and appreciate the independence and appeal of the old school skater.
    I recall trying to join this exclusive social "club" of adept skaters, both in skill and in conversation. This was when I was significantly younger than I am now (I'm coming up on my twentieth birthday) and lacked the motivation to keep trying to learn skateboarding, even after it became difficult and boring for me. I eventually gave up and moved on with my life, gaining very little experience from my attempts to master the artful sport of skateboarding. However, my infatuation with skateboarding never changed. Nowadays, I hardly go to the skatepark anymore, the Tony Hawk video game franchise is dead, I still don't know how to ride a skateboard and sometimes I feel as though I am beginning to lose my connection with the skateboarding culture. Once upon a summer, exactly two summers ago, I remember my younger brother and his friend Ben (the neighbor kid from down the street) asked my father to drive them to the skatepark. It was a beautiful summer day and there was no work to be done. I'll never forget that feeling as I watched Ben and Neil hop out of the car and do different tricks on the ramps. It was so bright and warm outside; I was watching Neil and his friend run around the entire park. Ben was clearly an adept skater for his age, whereas Neil had no experience but he still had fun.
    Here in Colorado Springs, it isn't unusual for the heat to go above and beyond one hundred degrees. I sat there in the car, as I was burning up from the morning sun. I realized that the skatepark wasn't something I went to very often myself. That was usually because although I could walk to the skateboard park, it would take an ungodly amount of time to get there. And the summer sun would murder me because there's no shade to take cover in. I used to think the teenagers at the skatepark were cool, but now I realize they're either middle schoolers or young high schoolers. Some of them are obnoxious; bringing their girlfriends to the skatepark so that they can film their boyfriends doing mediocre tricks while showing off their fake tattoos (yes, fake tattoos!). Nevertheless, I still enjoy watching the real talent doing their thing. I only wish bringing a cigar to the skatepark were an option, but it's not since having a cigar (or any type of tobacco for that matter) would make me a god among men in that setting. Fifteen and sixteen year olds begging me to give them cigars. Could you imagine how annoying that would get? On the other hand, I could see how smoking it in front of them would be kind of rude. On the other hand, most of the teenagers are too distracted skateboarding or biking to notice the people around them. Listening to metal on my iPod while watching people skateboard while smoking would be a relaxing thing for me. It's probably a great combination I imagine.