The Next Academy Award


I can tell the day is still fresh even though I woke up late. The man in front of me, ordering a triple shot late, is without any wrinkles in his business suit. There’s something about him that’s different from the ones back home. The stripes on his back are bold thick black lines that glow with a grey outline. When he puts a hand in his pocket the pants hug a hard body.

He pays for the coffee. I pay and sit down to start my homework. Only two minutes later my eyes end up studying a couple in the corner of the cafe. I figure this is as good a time as any to daydream about my future.

I decided to enroll myself back into college but still am without a goal in mind. Like a trophy or Academy Award, maybe it’s easier to go through the motions of labor when there’s the possibility of a reward. Except, I’ve been in that frame of mind before and it got me nowhere. If anything I feel that this blog has reaped more possibilities out of my future than school ever has. I discovered newspapers that are looking for my point of view. I’ve opened up about myself for the good and bad, and I’ve learned more about myself.

So what do I want next? I want to finish school just to finish it. A bad grade can be a bad grade but that doesn’t mean I haven’t learned anything. Don’t get me wrong I still care but it’s different than before. I don’t think school has all to offer. I have all to offer if I just keep trying. Maybe some people envision romance or a fancy suit for their futures but I want my writing.


Greetings, Stranger

Daily prompt that I wanted to write for fun. Enjoy. Link. Subscribe. Circulate!  

“ I really don’t know how to answer that, sir.” I said. He sat down right next to me on the bench outside the coffee shop, no invitation needed! In a way I was flattered by the look of his round arms and chin that stared at me like a third eye. The rest of me just felt shivers.
“I’ve been looking for you.” He repeated.
“I don’t know what that means. Did one of my professors send you? It must have been Dr. Diaz. I told him that I would have the paper turned in tomorrow so can you just tell him to trust me because…”
“Neither Dr. Diaz or any of his ancestors has sent me for you.” the stranger said. His voice was rich like my favorite coffee beans the ones my grandmother brought back from Guatemala. I don’t know why these two things clicked together but it made me want to listen to him closer. “ I have come to introduce myself as one of your Gods.”
No longer did he have such a cute chiseled face. Never mind the nipple ring poking out from his left pectoral. The dude was just plain crazy. Laughing was all I could do to keep myself from believing him. I started to get up before Mr. Crazy latched his hand onto my arm. That’s when I saw something.
The vision was like a dream that surrounds you from every corner of reality. A man and woman had received a baby boy and were taking a family photo. Two cream colored faces dotted over a round tar covered body wrapped in a blanket that read Benevolent Chancellor. Everyone looked happy. Everyone except the figures in the background. While the cheerful family readied for the photo there were three figures wrestling with one another in the background. A feathered snake charged itself at a Banshee whom wailed over the baby. Eight stars of celestial light appeared all around and drowned out the image.
Mr. Crazy was looking straight at me. I wondered how long I had been staring at him. My knees were buckling but I had to know what just happened.
“That was the day you were adopted. There aren’t many Gods who aren’t upset at this moment.”
“Why are they upset?” I said. That’s when the stranger, for the first time, appeared shameful. The lines around his mouth aged him to that of my grandfather. The muscle on his arms were flabby but the tattoos on his face glowed like the newborn star I had seen in a textbook.
“Like I said, I’ve been looking for you. It’s been a long time.”

I reject inTouch Magazine

I pass by this magazine cover every day while standing in line for coffee. No one forces me to look at it but still it’s there. An ugly photoshopped picture of a beloved actor. Robin Williams was a wondrous person to me for many reasons but ultimately because he made me feel okay to be gay. The Birdcage was a family movie for my household growing up. In the movie Armand Goldman (Robin Williams) & his partner Albert (Nathan Lane) pretend to be a straight couple living in Miami, Florida when in reality they own a drag club downstairs their apartment. The scheme is put on for the sake of their son who is marrying a politician’s daughter. It’s a fantastic movie and I treasure the joy it brings. 

Fast forwards to present day and Robin Williams has left an array of funny, touching, and even some scary movies to watch over and over again. While he was alive I never researched too much into his ongoing life. He had a twitter account but although I’m twenty-something the desire to tweet is still nonexistent. His life to me was what I saw on screen and I prefer to keep it that way. 

To someone like me, a fan, a magazine cover like this disrupts my mourning with feelings of anger. Believe me when I say that I am not angry at Robin Williams but instead the media. The media that fornicates a treasured actor with vile slander in order to sell more magazines, that is what inTouch says to me. How? Because I’ve seen tittles like this before on late night “news reels” telling me how Princess Diana could have been saved but she chose to die. The grave feeling of watching this is similar to watching America’s Most Wanted, as if the public eye missed something, like we’re now responsible for vengeance. 


“He could have been SAVED” is a title that promotes ownership to the reader as if we’re responsible for knowing something that went amiss so we can avenge it. Recall Michael Jackson’s case and the death threats that went forwards to his doctor. When I think of this I can’t help but feel inTouch is trying to reminisce the MJ frenzy. I wouldn’t put it past them that they’re trying to start up another. So that leaves me with this conclusion…

I choose not to give into the media frenzy. I am sad. We all have memories of how someone touched our lives with their humor, their heart, their humanity, and that’s all I care about. I choose to pass down the joy and to not give into the media. The media isn’t what creates someone or something memorable. It’s the person. So cheers to Robin Williams. You are in my heart. 

Whimsy Week

On writing on whims: The hardest thing to do sometimes is just to write. Making mistakes on my own isn’t shameful or embarrassing, in fact I take pride in fumbling. Writing a bad piece for everyone to see though is like exposing acne scars or a mole that looks like the Sara Palin (I don’t think anyone would want to show that). But with publishing the worst pieces I can hope they make the better ones that much shinier.


This week school is in full swing with the syllabuses put away and the homework out. It feels good to be on a role again however I will admit there is some mourning going on. No longer can I afford to spend two hours writing short stories or take my time going to the gym. Every day is like a march where I’m planning the next step.
However, yesterday I had a great adventure with my friend M. We ran around the park, shared a smoothie while talking on the park bench, and ending the evening with sushi. This all took place after my day at school and the gym. Needless to say I was tired but there wasn’t any place I’d rather have been. The weather was beautiful with the sun setting and sexy gay men running past us. We talked about our lives but how he reminded me of all the ideals I had before moving to Orlando.
“It’s hard to want something back when it feels like it never exited.” I told him on our walk back from the restaurant. He agreed before advising me to just jump into the adventure. Some of the experiences I wanted were:

  • traveling some place for the pure thrill of culture
  • figuring out my politics
  • dance lessons
  • trying out being a vegetarian
  • theatrics

While the list goes on those are my main ones. So between classes I’ve been researching my new life and how I want to sculpt it. It’s very humbling to think about all the things ahead of me. All the things I don’t know. And that’s what friends are there for: to help fill in the blank spaces.

This is sure to be a good week.



It’s the first day of school and I’m sitting in the library patiently waiting 11:30. Outside the window are people walking across the lawns where last year I slept, skipping class. Lectures, textbooks, tests, were anything but what I wanted my life to be about. My head was with the birds flying through the clouds. For all we knew there was the Emerald City waiting for us on the other side of the occasional rainbow.
As it turns out though a rainbow is just a rainbow. A story just a story. We can tell ourselves a fantasy is true for however long we want but it won’t make it any more real; at least this is what I had done in the past. I wanted to believe dreams could be reached by simply closing my eyes. Dreams can be reached like this but I wanted to be on their plateau even while awake.
So I enrolled in college again. It’s not that I really want my life to be about the regularities of school like lunch time, studying, and shifting responsibilities of work and school. It’s nothing magical but maybe it’s the inspiration I need to write my own version of the Emerald City. I like the adventure but need a little push into it. The clock just ticked 11:10 and need to head to class. So long, Kansas.

S.O.S. New York Part 3

I laid on the sofa shivering. My feet curled under a blanket that seemed more the size of a dishcloth. All I wanted was to be back in Brooklyn where my cousin was, family photos hung on the walls, and I could cuddle my iPod beneath a comforter. Instead, I was stranded in a room on the fourth floor of a Manhattan apartment, with an air conditioner thats was blowing away any sense of drowsiness.

I couldn’t venture outside though. The darkness seemed as deep as the ocean where any tourist would surely drown. My only life buoy were the Subway Apps but they didn’t have a chance of floating me all the way down the island. Eventually I’d have to ask a stranger for directions.

Hurricane Sandy Bears Down On U.S. Mid-Atlantic Coastline

My experience with New York residents was already tainted though thanks to a man who called himself Ice Queen. A guy that had stood 5’6 in baggy jeans shorts and a book in the pocket. He had approached me tonight in the club and asked me to dance before taking my hand outside to talk. Ideally, it had been the moment I was searching for. Me up against the wall with a cute guy. It’s the kind of scene that happens on television screens, the one I’d envisioned in my head, the reason I’d come to New York.

Now alone I couldn’t get away from the picture fast enough. Every time I closed my eyes the cold air reminded me of Ice Queen, unwilling to leave when I said goodbye. He followed me all the way to the stoop of my friend’s apartment where I sat for over an hour. All texts and phone calls I sent went unanswered.

“There’s a coffee shop right around the corner.” he kept saying. There probably was such a place, but my relationship with the stoop was about as strong as a shadow’s with the pavement on a sunny day.

He wasn’t a bad guy. The book in his pocket was about philosophy and he read it when no one at the club interested him much. We talked about gay history and body language, although he couldn’t read much of what mine was telling him. In fact, he was a very nice guy but I wouldn’t allow him to put his arm around me. I didn’t trust him and he said that was ok, but then we said goodbye. My friend had come downstairs to pick me up.

I could have had another kind of adventure instead of couch surfing, I might be in somebody’s bed. Waiting out the darkness might have been a little bit warmer.

The Cop

I met Peter in the club on accident. Three weeks prior we had introduced ourselves on Grindr. He was a twenty-something year old gay cop and I a student at the time. He texted me “Good Morning,” up until the day I accidentally sent him an embarrassing message.

Me: Would you mind sending a nude pic?

Him: no response

Me :OMG! I meant another pic. I’m so sorry! Autocorrect.

Him: no response

So when he greeted me in the club with a hug, needless to say, I was surprised! He had big arms and a nice slim waist. I felt flattered that a handsome respectful guy like this was interested in me.

We chit-chatted a while before I apologized again for the text I sent. He graciously waved it off. He said that it did weird him out but that I seemed like a genuine person that was faulted by autocorrect. I laughed.

The conversation carried on to where eventually he invited me back to his place. That was when a red flag went off in my head. I wasn’t sure what to think about the situation: if I was naive to situations like these or if they actually happened outside QAF (Queer As Folk). He was a nice guy and also a cop so I didn’t think there should be any worries. But what if he’s a secret serial killer, I kept telling myself. So I politely turned him down but told him to keep in touch.

He went back with his friends and I with mine. I asked one of them if what I did was the correct thing to do. They assured me it was but then why did I feel regret? Because this is a new experience, something you moved to Orlando for, so don’t turn it down. Be safe. The voice inside of me said. I grumbled and walked to the bar and ordered a Long Island.

Dating has never been “fluent” for me. I was twenty-two years old and had never brought a boyfriend home for the holidays. I had never technically dated anyone longer than two weeks. I had never also gone home with a guy. I turned around from my drink and went in search of the cop. He was with a couple of friends and told me he was getting ready to leave.

“I want to go with you.” I said. He smiled. I told him to wait there while I informed my friends of what I was doing. They worried and told me to call them when I was at the place. They also asked for an address and the guy’s number. I Have Such Great Friends.

The cop walked us out to his car, which was very nice, but I didn’t know what kind it was. We held hands the entire ride. When we arrived at his place I texted my friends and told them everything was alright. Peter and I cuddled while watching TV. During this my thoughts were that , I didn’t know how old this guy was, what his last name, did he have a favorite color?

We moved to the bedroom where I stripped to my underwear as did he. Throughout the night we kissed and spooned. We never had sex. At times I was the big spoon and him the little, which was another first for me. He was the first man I’d ever wrapped my arms around. Broad shoulders. A Career. Respect. It was a nice feeling, that I could secure a man in my arms, that he did the same.

Warning: The Following Content May Be Graphic For Certain Audience Members. In the morning we kissed and groped. He had such big shoulders. I loved it. Never once did he pressure me to go all the way. Once again I was reminded that he was a man. We finished together and then kissed.

He drove me home afterwards. When I laid down in my own bed I felt happy and grateful. I wanted to see him again, but even if I didn’t I had the experiences he gave.