Walk Along, Vagabond.

Secrets

Thu, 26 Jan 2012 14:42:00 -0800

Happiness doesn’t always make you happy.

Thinkers will do, doers will think.

Trust the insane.

What's In A Name?

Sat, 18 Dec 2010 23:13:00 -0800

I was born on February 27th, 1992 and named Jose Antonio Aquino III, which means both my grandfather, father, and I share the same name. I am Jose Antonio Aquino, the third and final child of Eneida Aquino, and the result of a planned pregnancy. This is important to tell you, because both of my sisters were accidents. Of course, my parents would never say it explicitly, but the writing has always been on the wall.

My parents met when they were both in college. My father was attending school on an athletic scholarship and was introduced to my mother through his brother. Before they met, my mother said she would often catch my father staring, but he was too shy to make a move and she found that adorable. I take after my father in this fashion, although I’ve yet to find anybody else aside from my own deluded mother who finds this adorable.

My parents were only together a few months when they found out they were pregnant with my eldest sister. After taking everything into consideration, they got married and decided to flee from Mexico for the greener pastures of Los Angeles. Five months into her pregnancy, my mother ran hand in hand with my father into the land of promise.

My mother gave birth for the first time that winter. It was December of 1987. By January of 1989 she would give birth to her second child. She wasn’t of drinking age yet, but already she was married with children and working full-time. Due to the reality of her situation, my mother told my father that they would not have another child until they were financially stable enough to support the kids they already had.

Two years later they would move out of the filthy mess of Los Angeles and into a modest two-bedroom apartment in Redwood City. In short time my father found a decent job in a factory that paid well, and my mother no longer had to work. Due to the relative comfort of the situation, my mother was profoundly happy for the first time in her adult life. A few month’s later my mother expressed her desire to conceive another child. Soon enough, I became the fastest swimmer in my mothers belly.

Much to the chagrin of my parents, the doctor informed my mother that they were expecting another daughter and my father’s excitement waned. For him, the entire purpose of planning this pregnancy was to bear a son. They continued throughout the pregnancy doing all the things couples do when they are pregnant. They shopped for (pink) clothes, (pink) cribs, (pink) shoes, etc. As the due date approached they even managed to settle upon a name: Yvette.

I was born a few weeks later with a fully functional penis. Needless to say, my father responded to this news enthusiastically. Caught up in the excitement, my mother decided to name her only son after his father.

************************************************************

Yikes, sorry if you don’t care for my life story and I wasted your time. I know how annoying it can be to find something ridiculously long on your dashboard, and I know that I was supposed to write about my middle name and how I feel about it, but that wouldn’t be nearly as fun. If you want the truth about how I feel about my middle name it’s really very simple: I love it. For the longest time I didn’t even know my first name was Jose, because everybody I knew called me Tony. When I started the first grade and the teacher began to refer to me as Jose, it just felt so strange to me, so foreign. Nowadays, I’m a bit easier, but as a kid I didn’t always appreciate how fortunate I was to share a name with my grandfather. He passed two years ago and I did not take it very well at all. I’m still not over it, but I find comfort in knowing he still exists somewhere outside of the lump in my heart.

Sat, 18 Dec 2010 17:47:36 -0800

"He possesses a mixture of perfectionism and egotism that leads him to agonize and second-guess..."

Thu, 11 Nov 2010 09:52:00 -0800

““He possesses a mixture of perfectionism and egotism that leads him to agonize and second-guess himself until he produces something he is convinced nobody can beat.””

- Story of my life, found in a review for the new Kanye West Album.

5 (More) Things I Like

Mon, 25 Oct 2010 16:37:04 -0700

Paz de La Huerta

Jacket Weather

Hash Oil

Trail Mix

Bike Rides

Where Have I Been?

Fri, 15 Oct 2010 00:11:00 -0700

Well, that’s harder to say. To be honest, most of the time I find myself wondering much of the same. It’s funny. I get that question more often than I expect and I still manage to say something stupid almost every time. I never know how to answer silly things like that. Maybe that’s why I usually don’t say much.

I have neglected you. This much is true.

Thu, 14 Oct 2010 23:31:00 -0700

I’m not eloquent, and this time I won’t pretend to be. Instead, I will mark the demise of my dormant state by saying this: I’m Back.

“This song is a window into my soul.”

Wed, 02 Jun 2010 09:58:12 -0700

“This song is a window into my soul.”

"I have wanted to kill myself a hundred times, but somehow I am still in love with life. This..."

Sun, 30 May 2010 15:26:35 -0700

“I have wanted to kill myself a hundred times, but somehow I am still in love with life. This ridiculous weakness is perhaps one of our most melancholy propensities; for is there anything more stupid than to be eager to go on carrying a burden which one would gladly throw away, to loathe one’s very being and yet to hold fast, to fondle the snake that devours us until it has eaten our hearts away?”

- Voltaire (via thechocolatebrigade)

Orange Juice & A Blunt For Breakfast?

Thu, 20 May 2010 20:42:03 -0700

There is an awesome article on the New York Times website. The article is mostly about weed and how it has impacted the culture of food. It focuses primarily on high-dining(no pun) and ‘upper-echelon’ establishments, but the more I think about it a book about weed and food would totally fucking rule.

Click Here To Read

It’s growing quickly, I can feel it. Like the tick of a clock; it’s becoming inevitable....

Wed, 19 May 2010 15:41:00 -0700

It’s growing quickly, I can feel it. Like the tick of a clock; it’s becoming inevitable. I wish I could say that this wasn’t a part of me, that things weren’t always like this, but that would be much too convenient. I’m going to spare you the details and skip to the climax; it’s happening again. Starting with the spread of a plague festering slowly, by way of self-destructive behavior and a vague sense of impending doom. I am unraveling, becoming undone like thread and spool.

I’m finding this hard to put into words. Anxiety is very difficult to articulate without sounding insane. Both electric and maddening, the trace of a former life. I’ve been here before, and if I’m being honest with myself, I’m not so sure I ever left.

5 Things I Like (That I Won't Admit If You Ask)

Wed, 19 May 2010 10:44:00 -0700

Approval

Stealing Socks

Being Alone

Eavesdropping

Superstition

5 Things I Don't Like

Tue, 11 May 2010 00:14:00 -0700

Genocide

Fannypacks

Coffee Stains

“Potential”

Waiting

5 Things I Like

Mon, 10 May 2010 23:47:56 -0700

Warm Laundry

Multi-Colored Lighters

Lasagna

Rappers On The Phone

Distinct Birthmarks

(via thechocolatebrigade)

Tue, 04 May 2010 22:56:40 -0700

(via thechocolatebrigade)

TODAY

Mon, 03 May 2010 16:28:00 -0700

I woke up at 4:30 to finish some homework, so I might be a tad out of it. Bear with me. I drank 64 oz of coffee and I am DEELIRIOUS.

Also, it might just be me, but the strangest shit has been happening.

For Example:

I walked into the bathroom this morning, and a man was in a stall belching. In between these burps he would grunt and swear, while evoking the name of a fictional carpenter. Needless to say, I found this quite distracting. At first, I couldn’t even pee, I just stood there, dick in hand, weighing the circumstances. Could he be lactose intolerant? Was it his dinner? What would cause such a cataclysmic experience? Whatever it was, he obviously did not have enough fiber.

After class, I had to pee again. This time when I walked in the bathroom, I found a man carefully combing his beard. The room reeked of cheap perfume and desperation. He wore blue flannel and an over sized fannypack. I didn’t bother him, I instantly knew; this man was clearly a certified lady-killer.

I was leaving the gym when I saw a girl crash her wheelchair into the bookstore. She collapsed on the pavement and nobody helped. Everyone knew. Everyone watched.

I don’t understand anything.

I Didn't Want To Walk To The Store

Sun, 02 May 2010 21:08:00 -0700

I’m in between your red silk sheets, when it hits me; I’m comfortable. You...

Thu, 29 Apr 2010 02:19:35 -0700

I’m in between your red silk sheets, when it hits me; I’m comfortable. You see, I’m smiling, I don’t like to smile, it’s all your fault. I’m acting like a fool. My face hurts. I’m happy. Fuck that, I’m elated, embracing the cool warmth from your silk and the plush Pocahontas blanket our bodies are draped in. Truth be told, I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want much more either. You looked bored, but I’m not ashamed to say that I didn’t care. It sounds selfish, and it is; I enjoyed and wanted to keep your company. You asked what I was thinking, but I had nothing to say. I was comfortable. You made me comfortable. We hardly know each other, but you feel so familiar. It’s strange; you have a funny way of working on me.You feel good. I think that might be the problem.

(via analparade)

Wed, 21 Apr 2010 10:51:49 -0700

(via analparade)

I hurt myself yesterday. No, this isn’t some desperate cry for attention. I accidentally...

Mon, 19 Apr 2010 00:28:00 -0700

I hurt myself yesterday. No, this isn’t some desperate cry for attention. I accidentally bumped my head with a glass shelf. I was bending over to pick up my cell-phone when my head and the shelf collided. It was excruciating. The jagged glass edge fit into my cranium perfectly, like a long lost puzzle piece. After the initial shock I couldn’t even scream or cry, all I could do was wince and acknowledge the loss of neurons. I don’t know that I’ve ever been hurt in this way before. I guess I’m still in shock. This morning I examined my head and found a large round mark where the neural genocide occurred. I’ve been touching the spot ever since. To make matters worse, it’s been making me dizzy and I’m having a hard time gathering my thoughts. I think I may have had a concussion, but I don’t really want to admit that out loud. It’s just frustrating to think about how mortal I truly am. I guess I won’t live forever after all. Who knew?