You know when you just keep having mean thoughts about strangers out in public? Like, “God that person is ugly” or “Man, they have a shitty beat up car”

Why do these thoughts come up?????? I swear the subconscious is pretty fucked up. It’s like having two people in your head talk and then you realize what your thoughts just said, and you say “HEY TAKE IT BACK! THAT’S MEAN!!”

Why does this happen? It’s pretty evil.

So then immediately, I personally think, “You need to say something nice, right now, even if it’s in your head”

But what’s that going to do? You still feel guilty.

Intrusive thoughts are pretty ruthless.

Imagine the mean things you’ve said to yourself without even batting an eye. And the people who still say mean things to themselves.

I’m really glad I don’t do that anymore.

Sure, I’m tough on myself and think I should be doing more. But equally, I realize I’m right where I should be.

And maybe those mean thoughts are just your subconscious testing you to see if you’re still a good person deep down inside.

Crazy to think I’m saying this.

“I wish this town wouldn’t change”

We’re all for progressive change and, you know, change for the better – the future and all.

But God, do I wish I could be in a small town that never changed.

The small town I grew up in has blown up drastically with mega plazas, brand new homes and subdivisions.

And all the silly names for new neighborhoods and streets.

It’s not the same.

I remember the little store my mom and I use to go to. Lowes.

Not the hardware store, but the grocery store Lowes. Where we would get fresh cinnamon muffins and rum muffins – with no raisins.

Fuck a rum rasin muffin.

What a town. The one grocery store, the one school, the one gas station. The library and city hall. Oh and of course, Wal-Mart

Shoot, there were never any homeless people around here.

A lake was always a few minutes away. Depending where you wanted to go. A river in our yard.

Seems no matter what, a small home town is a great representation that nothing ever stays the same. Change is inevitable.

I’m a huge advocate of energy and it’s one of my favorite things when I feel a connection with someone no matter how big or small.

Simple things like helping a friend with a broken leg. Giving someone a back rub. Talking about the unknown. Sharing childhood stories or trauma. A hug that lasts longer than usual – typically when one is needed. Bumping hands on the couch and being unbothered and allowing skin to touch and stay put. Just overall being vulnerable.

I love tapping into that specific energy for sure. I enjoy the radiance I feel from another person’s aura. And then mine intertwining with theirs.

It’s exciting when you feel it there. It wraps around you like a stimulated blanket. If it’s a romantic relationship, your heart flutters.

The energy we share during a first kiss is my favorite. First kisses are the best. They never get old.

Funny to think I was with someone for 6 years and after some time I didn’t feel those butterflies anymore.

What about the feeling when you’ve been interested in someone for a while and then eventually it gets more and more romantic. An innocent kiss that one day leads to intimacy. Now that energy I haven’t had in a very long time.

Every push and pull, every breath is synchronized, the chills run up and down each nerve in the body. Your souls are set on fire. Is that not beautiful? To be totally bare not only physically bare, but stripped down of ego and self conscious thoughts.

You are sharing a very intimate and very powerful energy together.

To think we can have sex and it not be intimate is a shame. I use to do that but found no gratification from such things. Then I took a year long tolerance break from hooking up with people and I found that to be one of the best things I have committed to. Your soul is not just an outfit to try on. The unique energy this soul provides is something someone must value.

The intimacy with this next person I do feel will be something extraordinary. Energy is meant to be shared and there’s nothing like positive loving energy that wants to feel the same in return.

What you give is what you get.

So caress your loved ones, pull them close, kiss them often and stare deep into their eyes. Shift the energy of the room with your thoughts – these thoughts can help radiate the energy you seek by amplifying your own.

No need to ask for permission. You’re not saying or doing anything externally. But your internal world is simply speaking to their internal world — which seeps into a sort of pheromonal phenomenon.

Animals smell fear, don’t they? Well we can smell love too.

Let’s tell the fucking gods they’re stupid – so they throw a tantrum and make a storm so big that nobody can leave.

Phantogram, Silversun Pickups and John Frusciante.

Angst.

All the pent up anger of a pre-teen laying on a roof on a gloomy fall day. Hiding out back to smoke some cigarettes underneath the patio of our North Carolina home where the forest was a never ending green. Inhaling the sweet relief of smoke next to my curled up dead tomato plants that grew as tall as my dreams and ambitions.

The fruit it bore was large and abundant with a thick skin. They laughed and underestimated the harvest, but the plants grew ten feet tall, crawling up to the second floor.

My father drunkenly swinging a gun, or a sharp blade – talking nonsense and demanding snacks that were never to his liking. A modern communist. An emotional rapist.

Angst.

Misunderstood angst that I now understand and have every single goddamn reason to justify.

I’d run into the forest alone to get away. And find magical corners where I didn’t think about anything for once as a kid. Until Big Brother would radio me. I would try ignoring it so much.

The creek in the yard would overflow sometimes. All the way to the lawn. I wanted chaos and I would get it.

In every moment of my upbringing there was some sort of chaos that I observed and felt deeply.

Maybe I like being mad. If the circumstances were uncontrollable, my anger could be.

And as most would want to silence the chaos, I embraced it.

I’d say fuck you to everyone in the back of my mind.

Drinking a Stella isn’t sexy? Fuck you.

I would do everything as much my own way as I could. With such attitude. And this is why I’m here.

The storm never ends. It comes and goes.

And when it comes, I say bring it motherfucker!

Here – typing.

You can hear the angst that a pen sometimes can’t scribble.

Looking dead into a screen. Not your hands, the paper nor the pen.

The fucking screen and your thoughts.

I wanna punch someone.

Angst is the gold fist. Those who deserve it, will get a taste.

And the blessed will get to kick back and stare at the gods in the sky with no fear.

Someone’s always going to test you.

Might as well have an attitude about it.

Do you pretend?

Because I pretend.

Mostly that the world has a bigger premise as to why we are here.

And that reason is energy.

Each passer by has their own energy. And they either give or take.

When someone crosses your mind, perhaps it’s their energy reaching out to you in the dark.

Because we want those the most we think about.

And we spiral down the rabbit hole wondering why.

Even the shortest encounter with someone is enough to expose you to their energy.

A firery and passionate soul forged at the bottom of the rabbit hole that radiates energy in such abundance.

I pretend some energies speak to each other.

And that some are meant to meet again.

Because the white rabbit eventually finds its way.

I wonder if I’ve even written about you yet – you’re simply an idea, an elaborate version of what could be. Both of us just characters in my mind with vaguely loose expectations.

Strange, but its overall comforting to pretend of the bigger picture.

And its in that corner of my mind I go to pretend.

Waiting in the grocery store line, or on long drives home.

Painting an imaginary reality.

Perhaps I could speak such a beautiful idea into existence.

Imagine.

You.

An eye catching, handsome, and ambitious cinematographer from some foreign country. Those hazel-green eyes like the place you came from. Eyes that are dangerous enough to capture your gaze and snatch your heart up.

You. A silly heartthrob covered in ink from around the world.

Simply a student, dedicated to his work, never get’s enough sleep, parties hard and works long hours on set with little pay.

A true dreamer. Wishing, wanting to be known and great.

Admirable.

A Los Angeles love story – one of many, I’m sure. Hence why you’re the writer and not me.

You tried kissing me the first time we met. You remembered where I grew up, although I swore I never told you. I held your hand and felt like a little girl. You liked checkers, as you gently pointed at my subtle top. Your favorite, you said.

You. A Silent mystery.

Me. An overwhelmingly stubborn lost force.

Yet you lurk around right in front of my fingertips.

But why do you watch from afar?

Two very compatible forces. With complex histories.

A cinematic, romantic story to one day be written by you.

But here I am, gripping the steering wheel going down the 405 – I start to imagine again.

Eventually, after many years of running into each other, we finally meet again on some magical night in the hills of Los Angeles, and you finally get to have that kiss, this time by the pool, overlooking the beautiful city as it glimmers on a warm summer night.

You have returned, and now we are cured, from the dark cloud that lingered deep in back of our minds.

Hard to take in this new reality. The weightless breath of fresh air each day.

Because there is nothing wrong with being wanted.

To want you.

I’ll speak it into existence.

This fairy tale seems too good to pass up on at least trying.

One day we will wind down Sunset Blvd towards the ocean, laughing.

With lightning in our hearts again.

This is love. A missed feeling I keep imagining with only you.

Three day Thanksgiving weekend. It was a Wednesday.

I got off of work and went shopping for a new outfit for a date later that evening.

A typical tattooed guy who was in a band.

He was a metal head or should I say “doom head”.

Very smart, talented and intense –

But also reserved, gentle and kind.

He also had a phenomenal taste in music and we hit it off seemingly perfectly. For our first outing he surprised me with tickets to a doom metal concert. A genre I have never experienced live.

When I arrived to his home it was a cold, rainy night in downtown LA.

He said he lived in the arts district and the address he had provided, brought me to a strange warehouse.

Ironically to add to the autumn gloom, it was raining. And I sat in my car with the doors locked. A little uneasy about my unfamiliar surroundings.

Texted him I was here and made a joke about this is where I would be murdered.

He laughed and said he would come right out.

When I saw him I stepped out of the car and we both approached each other. Luckily I had shared my location with my close friends. So there was a little security in that sense.

I told them to call 911 if I did not text back within the hour.

When I saw the guy, I was memorized with how handsome he was. This dark, well groomed figure with a soft smile. But his eyes now, were what really what caught my attention immediately.

They were bright icy blue with jet black eyelashes.

We hugged and proceeded to walk towards the warehouse.

I looked at him from the corner of my eye as we were dogging massive rain puddles in uneven concrete. He was sporting a nice pair of Doc Martin’s and a few layers on. A jean jacket with the hoodie over his beanie.

Total guitarist look and the conversation flowed like his love for this ever looping doom genre. I was certainly already captivated. But the awe ahead was only about to begin.

As we walked, he told me it was an old PBR Brewing building that they converted into lofts where international students, actors, directors and musicians resided.

We kept walking through the still, dark night.

I laughed and joked, “I’m sure it’s very nice and not creepy on such a night as this”. He then walked closer with me. It felt more comfortable.

When we came towards the entrance, he pointed to a narrow catwalk and said he would take me up there later. The views of the city were to die for.

As we walked through the narrow stairways, there were many foreign people bumping by and chatting in the corners of stairways.

Well dressed, cute German girls squeezed past us with warm laughs and smiles.

The moment we arrived at his gated door – I was in awe.

The ceilings were so tall with beautiful windows and heavy burgundy velvet theater curtains that would separate the kitchen from the “viewing room”.

He said he specifically lived with some of the directors, musicians, actors, and all sorts of other creatives.

And it was very evident.

There were guitars laying around everywhere. PA’s and other equipment. Paintbrushes and pianos.

All organized and tidy. Cats roamed high and low. In little hidden corners and crevases.

He said everyone in this community who lived here, all helped each other out.

It was so fascinating.

Being amidst a space like that was such an experience in itself that I am forever grateful for.

There were random movable stairways in his loft that would lead to other rooms. It almost seemed like a Harry Potter movie.

He showed me his cat named Dagger, which he was quite proud of.

A gray male cat with bright green eyes that looked like a lion.

Later we took an uber and went to the show.

During the concert we did not say very much but in between we would go outside and talk to the other concert goers.

When the show was over we just went back to his room and listened to music and asked each other many life pondering questions. Our answers differed but the respect was mutual and appreciated.

That night, the sensory experience was something I will never be able to forget.

Now let me tell you about the laziness aside from the chores.

Postmates for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Yeah. Just wait.

This man never makes a meal for himself other than instant oatmeal and scrambled eggs from time to time.

The smell of instant oatmeal mixed with protein powder is pretty awful…

He goes through so much pot in a week. Like A LOT. And I thought I smoked a lot.

Yo – I get it, potheads can be lazy….but that also doesn’t have to be a stereotype all the time.

“Bro, I wish Postmates would come up to the door and deliver….” he would say.

Oh wow….so inconvenient that you’re ordering dinner and you have to get off your ass for the 3rd time today…. to walk out the front door and into the street…. to go grab your food….. that you’re too lazy to cook or pick up yourself.

Oh my goodness. WHAT an inconvenience.

So one day I’m at home after doing a million things as always….

The door rings.

Dogs bark.

I go and see who’s there.

“Order for Cristian” He smiled

“Oh…. thanks!”

I grab the bag that he held up in front of me and said thank you so much!

Instantly I experienced a wave gratitude for something that wasn’t even for me.

And a simple thought raced by.

The kind of thought you just say out loud. Naturally.

“Gosh, that was so nice of him. You should give the guy a tip! He brought it all the way to the door.”

I then wondered how he got into the community without a fob?

Immediately after, my roommate snaps and says….

“maybe you shouldn’t tell me what to do.”

My heart sunk….

Why…..

Why did I deserve to be snapped at like that?

Was what I said that bad?

That harmful?

It was just a comment douchebag.

“You can do whatever the FUCK you want to do OBVIOUSLY. ‘Should’ does not mean you HAVE to….. it’s a fucking friendly suggestion”

I said with rage.

Really? A dollar. You couldn’t spare a dollar on Uber eats or whatever.

Douche.

Maybe it’s a small thing but a lot of small things added up to that uncalled for moment where I just gave up trying to be nice to him.

From that point on I realized what kind of a relationship he wanted.

I guess you really are a just a roomate. Not my friend.

Roommates suck.

And just like that an entire year has flown by since I moved out to California.

And just like that five months also flew by in this apartment.

As excited as I am for having made it this far – even getting a new license plate and drivers license – I have noticed a lot of weird things at this apartment.

I guess I say “weird” because it’s just the things I’m not use to.

The city I came from was very different. A metropolitan city, but it did not have the garbage, crime and just sheer sketchiness.

First thing I noticed living here was all the dog poop!! They provide waste baggies and waste stations for trash but the folks living here seem to just care less about taking care of the place they live at.

Next is the trash. Specifically my stairway.

I almost want to say, “You dumb fucks live here too!! Get it together and keep it clean!!!”

It has to be the same one scumbag who keeps leaving things in my stairway. This person puts trash in every little corner. In pipe holes. On top of emergency handles, flat out on the stairs, on window ledges and on the gate. Or any feasible corner that looks appealing to the filthy animal.

Most frequently it’s fast food bags thrown to the side. Or Starbucks/Jamba juice/Del Taco/In-N-Out cups everywhere.

But not limited to that. There are also left behind joints, cigarette buds and dog shit inside too.

I’m surprised no needles or condoms have been found – yet.

And to think that this was a luxury complex – which I mean, it is very nice! But the people living there just trash it.

The door handle even is about to seemingly fall off any minute from aggressive bashing I suppose.

There’s a random dog that runs around our street too from time to time. I guess the owner is just too lazy to walk it. But it sure freaks my dog out.

Someone commited suicide by jumping off the highest floor from the building across from ours.

Ambulances are always over every other day. Cops quite frequently putting out caution tape and just showing up whenever.

I even hear a TON of domestic violence.

One time my friend and I were in the hot tub outside and we overheard some of the language.

“YOU THINK THAT’S A CLEAN TOILET?! GET DOWN ON YOUR KNEES AND SCRUB!”

Woah – yeah. Pretty much as obvious as you could imagine. So blatantly abusive that it’s shocking to think anyone puts up with that!

Then the gunshots. I hear those about weekly now. My guy roommate is pretty much use to it by now. But it still freaks me out.

I one time heard shots in our own building.

You’d think I would move …..

I can’t say I live in a dangerous area either or a “bad” area.

I guess this really is just LA.

Insane to think so much crazy shit happens everyday here.

I think I might be becoming jaded too.