his name was jesus

the tube fell under my weight, as if to play a game with me. a cruel one, but nonetheless, my mind went blank. i fished and flailed, i kicked and curled. seven seconds under water felt like an eternity; if i did resurface, would i still see my family?

an arm.
the warm touch of help!
thanks dad, i thought.
we resurface.
it was my best friend.
his name was jesus.

sign of misery

the long, narrow path had just enough room for two vehicles. the sky was blue, clear as glass. epitome of a nice day: full of life, full of hope.

a dead dog.
i pass the gate to the complex and a man lays it on the sidewalk, its legs to the sky like bamboo. desensitized, i turn the other way and continue.

death is simply an occurrence. think this way, and you'll be miserable, too.

starbucks love letter

you fat, green bitch. devised, but hardly real. seductive of course, hence my empty wallet. like a sailor lost at sea, i fall for your tricks. a sea creature that's made its way to land, terrorizing cities like godzilla. my eyes glisten at the thought of seeing you, smelling you again. my lips quiver, my tongue begs. i recite my oath to you:

"grande toffee nut iced coffee, 2% milk, extra ice, please."

hurricanes

there are 3 hurricanes in the atlantic right now. one of them has my name, well not just my name but the dude across the table as well. brown tables are a standard. what's so special about brown? maybe it's natural. mother nature. like the hurricanes.

she's mad at us and that sounds creepy to say
because mother nature isn't actually my mother she's everyones mother but not really. we don't say happy mother's day, mother nature. we might start because these hurricanes are some fucked up shit.

there's a facebook page that details an upcoming event: point all your fans at the hurricane so that we can blow it away. i thought that was hilarious.

back to the atlantic.

mother nature went into some tough labor today. irma, jose, and kita i think? who's the wise guy that decided we should name hurricanes. why don't we name tornadoes or their fucked up cousins the dust devil. maybe because they're dirty.

my heart goes out to those in the caribbean right now.

8.3.2017

Joey Diaz said that if you can't think of anything to write, write about the things you hate.

i hate that (some) weed makes you lazy.
i hate when people don't want to be friends with you unless
  you're a love interest.
i hate my job.
i hate sitting for long hours and i hate heat and humidity.
i hate washing dishes.
i hate when people stare at you at the gym or when they stand
  around doing nothing.
i hate when they don't know how to use the machines properly.
i hate being stuck.
i hate being stagnant.
i hate long hours.
i hate the feeling of 'working for the man'.
i hate how difficult it is to eat with braces.
i hate that so much of the world is misunderstood and will remain
  so for the rest of my time on it.
i hate not traveling.
i hate money as a concept.
i hate roaches.
i hate stuck up ass people.
i hate know-it-alls.
i hate not being able to swim.
i hate subtweets.
i hate impatience.
i hate not finishing projects.
i hate unacknowledged ignorance.
i hate fear.
i hate feeling ashamed.

i think as i've grown older, i've spent more of my time learning to love things. because what the fuck is the point of wasting so much of our tiny, short, little lives fuckin hating EVERYTHING! the emotional difference between love and hate is literally the same as that of good and evil.

blah, blah, blah.

here's to finishing projects...

don't forget about

good and happy thoughts. being positive. remaining patient. these things are often taken for granted yet so essential to human understanding and ultimately, love.

pop a thought, a good and happy one.

:-)

poem of the day

bury me in your chariot.
let me go.

*cigarette

this was too good to be true. why would you lie to me.

i never lied. i just never told the truth.

fuck
you

the sun has been kind to you

"

my favorite thing about waking up for school is getting a wake up call from the sun. its own shy beams stream and gleam through the empty abyss that is my eyes. i used to dislike the sun for i am a moon woman.

i am so pale, so cold, so empty. at times i find that i am the sun, very blinding is the light. its orange waves caress my face in the morning but high noon is the worst time of the day. i worship the moon yet i respect the sun. their presence enlightens me.

when the deep waves and the enlightened one kiss, art is fulfilled. the emptiness within the moon is misunderstood as selfish. they don't mean it.

the moon has a mind whose thoughts are saturated with sadness, surpassed by the shining sea. for the sea follows the moon but may seek the sun. get lost in the sea of the eyes and get struck by the everlasting underwater moonlight. though i may not be your preference of a sunrising perfection, i deceive you with my moonlit heart and abysmal mind with ocean eyes, deep but empty and rather dark and pointless. 

the vividness around me, for i see in color. primary colors bring bliss to my mind and shower my eyes with pleasure. yet who am i? my attraction has barriers yet is suddenly not there. the nature around me gives me an inexplicable euphoria. for a name is a name yet among these flowers i mean nothing and i will die with these flowers. i will blossom as the swan dives and the deer sleep.

simultaneously, i am the wind, but who am i? i make a noise yet i calmly, gracefully live. the spark of my emotions travel and i am surrounded by a fake reality. but on earth nothing is real and in space i feel saturn's rings will carry me home, along with the loudly silent


supernova.

"



words by maria socorro belina contreras

call me

i just updated my background

is it risky? well, everything on the internet is risky and we're on the brink of WWIII so might as well make some friends before we're done here.

also you can just text me.

adi-deuce!










"im fuckin with addy, im watchin my dose"

art is art is art is art

whatever i feel like, i make. if i'm drunk, i make drunk art. if i'm sad, i make sad art. unapologetically.

art doesn't have to exist. art is not design. art is art. swipe left. swipe right. it's all the same.

how the fuck do you make a profit.

how the fuck do you make a prophet.

lmao, bye.

f.r.i.e.n.d.s.

sometimes friends turn to partners.

sometimes friends turn to enemies.

sometimes friends turn to strangers.

isn’t that strange?

continuous thought

dear god,

were our bodies designed to start over? only some? are some defective, like a bad iphone?

design is everything.

designers are gods.

you're reading this from a machine that was designed!

is that not proof enough?

... we're all designers though. we design our life, from the things we say (or how we say them) to the coffee we brew in the morning. of course, some of us do it better than others, but as long as we meet life expectancy, is that not good design?

but i digress...

it's always important to know and recognize that people care about seeing you smile and succeed. you're never really alone in the fight. sometimes it comes from an unlikely source, but that doesn't matter. it's an innate trait to love and care for one another or to feel compassionate towards what people are going through. that's why i've always believed it's a great idea to think critically and empathetically because you'd want the help of another in a heartbeat.

im so grateful for those people and i hope they continue healing the world one person at a time.

lol

lakai
c. 2009

lol

i used to be so in love with skateboarding. i was never that good but the look was all that mattered. style mattered. and i was sure i had it downnnn.

this was a spot that a friend, nathan tabares, found. what was great is that most people didn't know about it, only we did. and by we that is pablo, nathan tabares, raymond rodriguez, andrew jones, and frank goodlow. on this day, however, i went alone. i wanted to skate the thing and get better and i swore i did. all the while, the shutter was firing.

an early self-portrait of myself. or my style?

something new

i took a cold shower for the first time the other night.

yes, i tried something new.

who knew.

the experience made me feel alive, to my delight.

the shower was cold and blue.

who knew.

afterwards, not to my plight.

i began to feel like a better person.

i'm new.

the greatest fight in history

the TROVE in the GROVE

Sean 'Vegainz' Herman

VS.

Nick 'The Tick' Shapiro Londono

Sat. 31st of Dec.

Direct from ring side at 

Three Boyz in the Kitchen Slaughterhouse

Doors open 8:00pm

All seats reserved starting $20

10242 Brookhurst

Garden Grove
California

alpha origins

* disclaimer

the first few thousand photos or so that i will task my blog with displaying to you are from my very first 'real' camera. real in the sense that i thought i was cool because i'd spent money on a camera. shout out to evan gibson, i think he had the first cool sony i ever saw. it might have been him whom i'd purchased the camera from. the a200. i purchased a minolta 50mm lens to go along with it. the bokeh...mmmmmmmmmmmmm...

the lens left little room for comfort. for that reason, i enjoyed getting in people's faces, or having them photograph me:

no photo here, keep scrolling

*shout out ms. van allen and the highland high school photography club in 2009.

this image was shot with a canon ae-1 which i'd eventually steal and get in trouble for...ooooooooooooo...

confliction

i heard in a podcast the other day that nostalgia is not something we should dwell on. the argument was that it strays us from the present, the way things really are. they attributed the rise in nostalgia-related consumer goods being bought to rates of depression among millenials and later generations. i think it's bullshit.

it left me feeling...conflicted...to say the least. however, anyone with an open mind deals with confliction on a daily basis: how quick should i be to judge the lady in line at DD's, who happens to be singing opera at the top of her lungs? is she crazy? or are we all?


here's andrew in 2011.