winter

wilted flower
forgotten rose.
humbled from all its vain glory
the sepals lift up to the heavens
while this lowly rose folds

Velvet tips,
enchanted perfume
time passed by
now the dryness crackles
while the edges curl in shame
from its once held beauty
how can you see it the same?

Beauty...

Rays of sunshine

myth of humanity

Truth untold

Treasures unfold in outstretched hand

Am i the ruby? perhaps the emerald?

could i be a diamond or amythest?

But I believe my life amounts to a grain of sand

A crystal of filth too small to see.Value have I?

Not in this wounded mind can I,

trust such visions of loveliness to include such a wretch as I

But none so divine, none so admired as this story of mine.

Once a single grain of sand,i lost my way and was snatched from land.

Who or what could this captor be?

I succumbed to the pain, and sang "Woe is Me"

I lived in its darknessand believed its grasp would forever last

Until one moment of liberation occurred

in brought such light of magnitude!

the purest of hope and love too.

With pain and agony, the jaws of my walls were snatched away

Leaving me naked,

confused,

and exposed.

Then, with the gentlest touch

I was lifted from my pit

to find that i was valued yet.

A worthless piece of earth thought I?

no longer a valueless piece of dust was I.

Without understanding or knowing the struggle

the brown had become whitemishapen no longer,

and perfect in his sight

To any onlooker, they'd never discover

that as His fingers unfurl

that which once had been dust was now a beautiful pearl.

Redeemed was I,

changed from within

so now when those who are feeling lowly

and full of beauty lust,

I can tell them...

I also began as dust.

Progressive poem..

class exercise... theme: treasure using a progressive poem

stop.
silence.
quiet place.
ending turmoil.
that deafening sound.
a view beyond compare.
blank pages, a sharp pencil.
tears unveiling the wasted weeks.
minutes escape on the wings of time.
no hurry, no schedule to keep.
burdens lifting, rolling far.
sweet relief overtakes
peaceful solitude
my mind is free.
heart is calm.
soothing.
rest.

benedictine lunch

silence shrouded
a morsel taken
peace and qualm
all detected.
distraction abounds
but focus is needed
a conversation sweet
sweet as my savior
my savior to meet
to thank, to share.
Noise is neglected
the unspoken is heard.
shouts from my soul
have finally resounded
hope engrosses my heart
just as i write
the grumblings of
my stomach fade away
He is come.
peace succumbs.

bandaid jesus

bandaided heart
distance intensifies
so long forgotten
what was the initial crime?
where did you go?
How long have i been so down?

bandaid jesus
what have i put in your place?
bandaid jesus
what have i covered from you?

Like Adam, like Eve,
the first of your creation
hid from you
covered the shame
ran away, not to be seen

bandaid Jesus
what have i put in your place?
bandaid Jesus
what have i covered from you?

Faithful are you Lord,
no matter what.
beautiful jesus, lift me up.
this valley is all that i know

bandaid Jesus
what have i put in your place?
bandaid Jesus
what have i covered from you?

nothing can i do
to change this wounded, aching heart.
The God who heals,
tend to this broken spirit.
refresh my mind to your truths
cast out these lies, they only paralyze
take my burdens, giver of peace.

Bandaid Jesus, cover me

Masks

The Mask

here i stand before you

i have it together

white teeth sparkle from behind my happy smile

all is great, God is good

i'll do anything

you know i would

Run away! Beware!

it is a facade

a painted masterpiece

it is nothing but a mask

a mask

that smile is but a frown frozen upside down

the sparkle in my eye is just a tear before i cry

look at me and you'll see me together

standing tall

you see what you want to see

i'll show you what you want me to be

the facade

the painted masterpiece

its nothing but a mask

a mask

i have to measure up

they want me to be this

you want me to be that

everyone says...

i must look like her, act like him,

be successful like them...

The facade

the painted masterpiece

its nothing but a mask

a mask

i hope you see in me

the cool breeze, the sweet water

the baby's breath of innocence

but not the facade

Stand back! too close!

the facade

don't touch the painted masterpiece

i won't remove the mask

my mask.

Like swimming in the ocean

--careful! there's a storm brewing on the surface

like walking though a fragrant meadow

--stop! you are trampling me like a flower in the field

You watch for me to fly

--i wait to plummet

It is my ever struggle,

full of turbulance, followed by numbness.

What is real? not me.

just the facade

just the painted masterpiece

its nothing but a mask

a real mask.

RIP

It's always sad yet joyful when you finish a journal. A journal becomes like a friend, a confidant... the only one who knows what you think (really)...what you think, what you actually thought unsensored and what you actually wished you'd said. It undergoes tumultuous assaults of your pen as it expresses admiration in a flowery calligraphy of love or as the ink bleeds through showers of tears of hurt or anger. It gives all of itself to you. Nothing is held back. until that fateful day when the last thought is expressed on its final page. so in honor of my dear journal i want to commemorate some excerpts from its past....


Once upon a time tales.... (from art cohort excercise, 2009)


Once upon a time, there lived a princess with long blonde hair.
Her parents required much of her while in their care.
and everyday... homework was finished on time as was each and every chore.
She tried to work harder than before.
until one day... she realized that her dreams were met with laughter and unbelief.
This broke her heart since their approval had become chief.
because of that... She moved from room to room and from chamber to chamber thinking this gave her control and power. Until the princess finally found herself in the tallest tower.
because of that... Many princes tried to free her, but they all gave up.
She slowly lost interest in her dreams, saying, I have no hope, i cannot escape!
and so it would seem.
Until finally... a prince came who did not want to come up for a kiss or who only wanted wedded bliss. That white knight did not leave in search of some dragon's lair,
nor was he strangely obsessed with her throwing down her hair.
His father had sent him on this quest, desiring nothing but her very best.
And ever since then...He has been faithful to His word, showing her that in Him, once again she can trust.
One by one the walls are falling, learning to rely only in His strength - that is a must.
He is her Hope, her Great Knight of Light.

Dark and Twisty...

I have realized how much i have been trying to please people.

I have failed.

I cannot please everyone.

All the time.

In all circumstances.

In some twisted way i was trying to be needed. I wanted just a little attention. To know that my friends won't just go away because i'm struggling. I just wished people would listen to ME. to things i don't say. To ask questions and challenge me to think deeper, to feel, to be real. I have many masks - which one would you like today?

Now i am tired. I have failed. I am broken down. I feel worthless. I am sad on the inside but you wouldn't know it. I cannot show it. If you knew me you wouldn't like me. You would judge me. I don't like to waste words... does that mean i am boring or dull? What is there about me that is worthy of anything or anyone for that matter. Why do i care what you think? And so i eat. Seek comfort from the Comforter not the comfort food.

a snap..

"A Wanderer"

A conversation with God

A writing excercise from class... a dialogue with God (G) and Me (M): The Theme was "Thank you for forgiving me.." and we had twenty minutes....

G: Why are you ignoring me? Can't you see me?
M: because my heart hurts. It is wounded and my eyes fill up with tears. What do you want of me? I feel such a strange rage and altogether hopelessness. I want to fly and plummet. I want to run and fall. I want to drive safely and crash. This scar has has not healed! It keeps ripping apart. I just can't deal with this.
G: You can. You won't
M: Yes. You are right. But if i show you my heart and let you you bandage this wound then you will heal it.
G: haha And why is this a bad thing? Why must you run from me and the healing i can give?
M: because. because i like the control i feel when the bloody wound seeps between my fingers though i think i can eventually stop it. WHy won't you leave me to myself? Why won't you let my live this way? There is so much pain and misery but i like it. I am addicted to this hurt. By not giving it to you I can manage the hurt. Me. I am in control. I won't hurt me. You will only take it away. The pain. The control. It will be yours. What will I have left?
G: Leave it to me.
M: But i can't! You will take it. You will make it better. And you will have the control.
G: Let me be me.
M: I can't! You will have the power. IT will be MY fault. because i let you. you will take it . it will heal. I will trust you once again.
G: Trust me.
M: When you have that trust - how will i know that you won't hurt me too? like my friend. my friend who i trusted? They have hurt me so deeply. This heart throbs. It aches. It hurts. He hurt me. Why won't you?
G: because i love you
M: Why do you love me? How can you love me? ARe you listening to what i'm saying?
G: I love you
M: Stop it! You don't! This would not have happened. He would not have dropped me. Dropped me and my friendship, my time, my pride. I do not blame you. It is my guilt and my pain!
G: I love you. Give it to me.
M: Who are you to take it?
G: I love you. Let me be me.
M: Why?!?
G: because i love you.
because I am the Healer. Your comforter.
I love you.
I forgive you.
Give me your pain.
M: FINE! here.
G: I love you. Feel peace. Soothing pain. Calming balm. Rest. Relax.
M: Thank you for forgiving me.

Pancho Villa Rides Again!

Parade number 872 down Av. Hidalgo...

In Honor of Pancho Villa riding into Zacatecas 95 years ago before defeating the current dictator, It was vital to the fight of the Mexican Revolution.

OLE'!

"Bullfighting is the only art in which the artist

is in danger of death and in which the degree of brilliance in the performance is left to the fighter's honour."
- Ernest Hemingway

(First i would like to point out that they should give discounts to those who will probably only watch 50% of the bullfight.... since most of the time their heads will be buried in their hands)

*** some graphic images are shown

****All italic text is copied from Wikipedia.com

Sorry, sidenote...

this gives a new meaning to the phrase "ten gallon hat"....

About Bullfighting:

The bullfight is above all about the demonstration of style, technique and courage by its participants. While there is usually no doubt about the outcome, the bull is not viewed as a sacrificial victim — it is instead seen by the audience as a worthy adversary, deserving of respect in its own right. Bulls learn fast and their capacity to do so should never be underestimated. Indeed, a bullfight may be viewed as a race against time for the matador, who must display his bullfighting skills before the animal learns what is going on and begins to thrust its horns at something other than the cape. A hapless matador may find himself being pelted with seat cushions as he makes his exit.
The audience looks for the matador to display an appropriate level of style and courage and for the bull to display aggression and determination. For the matador, this means performing skillfully in front of the bull, often turning his back on it to demonstrate his mastery over the animal. The skill with which he delivers the fatal blow is another major point to look for. A skillful matador will achieve it in one stroke. Two is barely acceptable, while more than two is usually regarded as a bad job.
The moment when the matador kills the bull is the most dangerous point of the entire fight, as it requires him to reach between the horns, head on, to deliver the blow. Matadors are at the greatest risk of suffering a goring at this point. Gorings are not uncommon and the results can be fatal. Many bullfighters have met their deaths on the horns of a bull,

In Spanish-speaking countries, when the bull charges through the cape,

the crowd cheers saying Olé. If the matador has done exceptionally well, he will be given a standing ovation by the crowd, throwing hats and roses into the arena to show their appreciation. The successful matador will also receive one or two severed ears, and even the tail of the bull, depending on the quality of his performance. If the bull’s performance was also exceptional, the public may petition the president for a vuelta. This is when the crowd applauds as the dead bull is dragged once around the ring.

(In our case it was drug by a 4x4 pickup truck -

you are welcome since i did not include that picture.....)

For all the Daddies out there....

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY!!!

All Bull...and no Fight.

that's right. We went to see a bullfight.

You know the deal:

red cape, angry bull, cheering crowds, blood. We went to buy our tickets buuuuuuut the only sounds heard were the mariachi band jammin out at the Expo next door.We had a date with Juan Carlos de El Matador.... but he stood us up too. At least he had the courtesy to leave a note...

It was a group date, the whole city in fact - but few were notified save for this hastily written note of cancellation and reschedule-ment. The Bull Fight will commence in 2 weeks when we are no longer in Zacatecas.

Not even a Lo siento to be found So instead, we went to squnder our pesos saved for the bull fight on an American film and escaped all culture in the air conditioned bliss and reclining chairs of the movie theatre.

***any photos of ocho seen on this blog... fictional or not would like you to know that they do not condone animal cruelty. Thank you****

Another night at the Roach Motel.... a bedtime story

Roaches are creepy and gross and they look eerily like aliens....

that's an observation for you.

**for earlier episodes, please see http://cornerboothplease.blogspot.com/ thank you... ***

So after our evening of being stood up, enjoying or not enjoying an oh so not tasty restaurant, watching a predictable chick flick, the icing on the cake was an unwelcome visitor.... After the last episode we tried to handle it like champs.

(but it was touch and go for a while, not gonna lie)

First we played ring around the toilet with a shoe and a hangar.

He preferred Tag and Dodge Ball but he didn't stand a chance!

Then after much debating over who had to dispose of the body... we came up with a plan. But so did Ted.

He loves games and he was playing possum.

so as i was happily carrying him across the room to the window, he tried to make a break for it.... a few screams and shoe smashings later.

Ted was dead. Goodbye Ted...

I know you've had a tough week since your cousin Fred already passed on a few days ago...

not to mention Jed and Ned and Rita.

After a quick check under the bed and the covers, the coast was clear. we popped in our earplugs and prayed for sleep -

sleep is an elusive dream here at the Roach Motel. Goodnight Zacatecas... why do you never sleep??

Credits:

**Photography done by Sarah Wiemero

**Music compilation by the Night Owls of Zacatecas and Car Alarms

(whose next album will come out tomorrow night: "A Cacophony of Sound")

**Many roaches were harmed in the making of our blogs...

**We would also like to thank Nike

for making shoes that diminishes the typical "crunch" sound of the exoskeleton.

La Quemeda: We are ruined!

so not really, just our leg muscles....

coding and typing in Starbucks doesn't rend our legs much excercise.

Sorry quads. You took revenge after this outing. Hope you are satisfied. first, after taking the bus about an hour outside of Zacatecas, the bus leaves us here... a new meaning of the phrase "in the middle of nowhere" Literally. While we were making our 2 mile trek to the entrance of La Quemeda...
we passed something that looked like The Hatch, only to pay for our ticket at the strangely familiar looking Dharma initiative-esque entrance.... (For my LOST friends)

We finally get to the actual ruins....

Who were these people? Aztecs or Amazon people? seriously. Rock climbing... Pyamid climbing... Same Same.

you can take the girl outta Asia... but you can't take Asia outta the girl.

Perhaps the Sun had a little more effect on us than we thought... but we had so much fun. Here is where David was king and we were the human sacrifices....

Here we are pretending not to be crazy... but very serious climbers...

Thennnnn here is Christina being the Great Aztec Ruler, sentencing Gift to the pit. Lindsey is the loyal follower suggesting she should be sent to the human sacrifice pillar while Bekah and I are plotting the Great Aztec rulers demise by military coup....

It was very hot that day... the sun does make you a little goofy.

But don't worry we found shade and agua.

(Dear sarita the sunscreen nazi, i put sunscreen on 4 times! but sorry i still got burned. i tried.) Then we made the 2 mile trek back to the road and waited for the next bus....

Just another Day in the life of the Ocho...