Good Spirits

It's true that too much of a good thing can end poorly. That is especially true when it comes to drinking. I remember my first sip...
---

I was 5 years old, and, I was curious about the silver and red can that was next to my grandmother's rocker. I couldn't make out the words, but--with my grandest assumption possible--I thought that it was some sort of soda. I made sure to spring up from my Legos and make a grab for the can when she went to the kitchen to check on dinner. I seized the perspiring aluminum, took my first swig of the hop hazard, and tears immediately poured down my face as it greased my throat.

Then, my grandmother came back into the living room as I was placing the can back from whence I snatched it.

"Ryan," (or, as it is pronounced with a heavy Pennsylvanian German accent "Rhy-en") she said. "Did you jus' take a sip o' that ol' Milwahkay?"

My stomach turned. a kaleidoscope replaced my vision. I was confused, and poisoned. But still, I made an attempt to lie.

Then she cut me off.

"Ya shoulda jus' asked, hon," she said. "I would have given you one sip."

And that was my very first experience.
---

Since that time, I didn't drink anything else until I was 18 and my mother caught me with a bottle of Goldschlager in my room (I know...disgusting). I never spent time drinking, partying, or doing anything else until I was "of age" because I was too goal orientated and scared of my youth. I was lame by other peoples' standards.

Now, I take time to enjoy things (and not just a good Irish whiskey, a nice bottle of Cabernet with dinner, or a stout during the bleakest of Decembers). I'm becoming used to taking risks and reaping the benefits of dangling ones toes near the edge. And, as always, I've been taking advantage of how refreshing life can be when you shed the filters that hinder you speech, thought, and actions (within reason) and live not for others, but with others, and--most importantly--for yourself.

Okay, I'm done being a corny, albeit truthful (as always) little Puerto Rican/PA German bastard. Here's some poesy.
____________________
Why I drink

I don't get it.
I walk into the cafe
and all the kids look like
they stepped out of catalogs,
and off the pages of calendars.

They're not what I was promised.

They aren't as run down as me.

They fear their body hair
and their bodily functions.

They didn't have to smell their dinner
before they debated over whether of not
to eat
or starve.

I bet they don't know my freedom.

Or,
if they do,

I bet they aren't as afraid of it
as I am,

And the older crowd
They seem to rickety
in this town.

They refuse to believe
that the good days
are never dead and gone.

They don't look like flowers anymore.

They hang around until it's time
to push up daises.

The youth
aren't lost anymore.
Their shadows sit too heavy
upon their backs.

They crave distraction
and don't make time
to cradle sadness.

I'm afraid that they don't know how to live with themselves anymore.

A pint
should have remained a unit
of liquid measurement
whilst failing math class.

A shot
is for gambling,
or what rings out
while running away with something
that doesn't belong to you.

I should stop.

But they won't.

So, why bother?
____________________

My ride's here.

~Torres

100,000,000 Poets for Change

I wanted to take a second to post about an upcoming event. The details are as follows:

100 Thousand Poets for Change

at the Souderton Art Jam in Souderton Park

Saturday, September 27, 2014

10:00AM - 6:00PM

Souderton Community Park 
Wile Ave & Reliance Rd
Souderton, PA 18964

Organizer: Joanne Leva  Contact: joanneleva@comcast.net 

The lineup is below. The New Hope Poets have the 2:00 p.m. to 2:30 p.m time slot. 

100TPC FINAL LINE-UP (2014)

10:00AM - 10:15AM: Set up by Boy Scouts Troup 401

10:15AM - 10:30AM: Musical Improvization and Political Satire by Rick Horner

*Satellite program held in the poetry tent

10:30AM – 11:30AM: Traveling Poets Project lead by MCPL Kristina Moriconi

10:30AM: - 11:00AM: Host, Aaren Perry

Poets: Catalina Rios, Lynn Levin

Theme: Embracing Change

11:00AM - 11:30PM: Brian Fanelli

Theme: Workers' Rights

11:30AM: - 12:00AM: Host, Uriah Young

Poets: Vicki Anderson, Karen Hana

Theme: Society's Cries Against War

12:00PM - 12:45PM: Ellen Tepper, Celtic Harpist   

12:45PM - 1:00PM: Musical Improvization and Political Satire by Rick Horner

1:00PM - 1:30PM: Host, MCPL Kristina Moriconi
Poets: J.C. Todd, Laren McClung

Theme: Conflict and Survival

1:30PM - 2:00PM: Host, Joanne Leva, founder of the Forgotten Voices Poetry Group

Poets: Marilyn Gross, Barbara Shisler, Jim Fillman, Steve Pollack, Dorothy Shelly,

Chris Bernstorf

Theme: Human Relationships: The Gifts We Give Eachother

*Satellite program held in the poetry tent

2:00PM – 3:00PM: Traveling Poets Project lead by MCPL Kristina Moriconi

2:00PM – 2:30PM: Host, Ryan Torres

Poets: Roy Smith, Amanda Midkiff

Theme: Let Love In

2:30PM – 3:00PM: Host, Elise Brand, SAHS Creative Writing Teacher

Poets: Souderton Area High School Creative Writing Students (grades 9-12)
Theme: Social Change through the High School Lens

3:00PM - 3:30PM: Host, Marylou Streznewski

Poets: MCPL Elizabeth Rivers, BCPL Bernadette McBride

Theme: The Environment

3:30PM - 4:00PM: Host, Cleveland Wall

Poet: Danielle Notaro

Theme: Economic Justice 

4:00PM - 4:15PM: Musical Improvization and Political Satire by Rick Horner

4:00PM - 5:00PM: Host, BCPL Camille Norvaisas

Poets: Elizabeth Austin, Rodger Lowenthal

Theme: Women: Pressed (Op, Re, De or Im)

Hope to see you there. 

~Torres

Up Jumped the Devil

I never really understood why people say that these current times are the worst that we've ever seen as a species (in all of human history). Usually, when somebody says something along the lines of "Cops are going crazy and killing people, journalists are being beheaded by fundamentalists, and Robin Williams is dead, this is the worst time in human history." I usually let it go. I find that it's not worth to argue about these kind of things because it's coming from an emotional standpoint. But, when I hear something like that statement more than once, I do something better. I write about it and explore the issue more.

What I am doing here is what I do every time before I begin writing a new project. I'm merely letting you take a glimpse inside of my head and wade in the tempest (if you're interested).

It was the worst of times. It was the worst of times.

I misquote that beloved opening to a great novel because that seems to be the general consensus of the 21st century according to the extremely religious. That we are living in a debouched age that is awaiting damnation and ushering in the apocalypse. Please note that I used some religious connotations there because it is becoming more and more evident, to me,  that religious fervor is going to be the downfall of us all.

A spooky, unresponsive father figure

Think about it. I do all the time.

With a million religions in the world, and a million gods buzzing about, it feels like, for an agnostic, you may be playing Russian roulette with your soul. Besides my usual thought of "what's the point" before going off and worrying about real problems, I tend to think about the what if scenario. What if one of the religions was right? And just one religion. Not all of them, half of them, or 42 of them (get the reference?), but just one of them. I hope it's Bokononism.

Black Dog

It doesn't matter who you are or what you've accomplished, if you suffer from a mental disorder, it's going to take precedent over how awesome you may be. Robin Williams was awesome, but he still hanged himself because depression got the best of him. I think that's the catch-22 for everyone who is extremely creative. They always seem to suffer in silence until it is too late. You could spend all day naming such people (Jackson Pollock, Sylvia Plath, Ernest Hemingway, etc.). I don't think suicide is selfish. I don't think it's a sin. I think carries a sense of honor, but people are usually too busy caring about their own sorrow because of the death that they refuse to celebrate the person's life and see them off properly. Now, I'm not saying that if you're suffering you should off yourself. You should get help. You're not alone.

And sometimes you need to heed your own advice.

Be kind, unwind

You do not, I repeat, do not have to be religious in order to be kind to other people. There seems to be a common misconception when it comes to the term  "humble." It's not a religious term. But... like many words in our now bastardized language, we attach a made-up definition to it.

Just be nice. That's all. Well... actually, you should be nice, but if the person you're being nice to isn't interested in returning the courtesy then fuck em. Leave them alone.

"There's only one rule that I know of, babies-- god damn it, you've got to be kind." ~ Kurt Vonnegut.

In Con...fusion

I'm not a believer. And when you chose to believe in humanity rather than fantasy, people of "faith" either assume that you are lost, or that you are an evil person. I tell them that I am saved. I'm saved from having to live my life in fear of something that does not exist, OR, from loving something that does not profess its love back to me in any form. I'm saved from all of that because I think and ask questions. The two things that faith hates, and that the faithful do not have the concept of doing. I then tell them that I am not evil because, well, I just am not. In fact, the last time I checked, religion was the main reason behind most murder, wars, and torture than anything else in human history. The next of course being the fight for food, shelter, and reproduction. Which proves that we are nothing but animals, but happen to be more civilized now. Religion, however, has never seemed civilized. This is why they have to constantly change their teachings in order to appeal to an evolving society.

Think about it.

I'm done for now. This whole thing started because I was pulled into a religious debate and wanted to share the points I made there with everyone who reads this blog.

Think about it. But, most importantly, keep working on your art. It's your only true salvation.

Amen.

~Torres

"Newly" Published Stuff

I haven't posted anything in a while. And, truthfully, I don't know what to write tonight. I have a couple projects that I'm working on at the moment, but nothing worth posting about.

Apiary published one of my poems a couple months or so ago, and I forgot to post it. Enjoy.

APIARY Post

Please leave some love on APIARY's page. They are a great publication (and not just because they published my shit).

I'll knock another post out of the park later.

Cheers.

~Torres

Past Work Doesn't Matter

"The only thing that interests me is what I'm going to write tomorrow night."

--

It's also nice to hear that other people begin to feel sick if they go more than two days without writing something.

I've been on a good kick for the past couple weeks. I've been able to write every day. I don't care if it's one sentence, one phrase, or just one word. It's always the right sentence, phrase, or word.

 Because I'm lucky enough to find creativity every day, the dark days have been few and far between.

Enough for now. Here's a new poem.

______________________________
List poem are cliché

I love this shit.

I love this poetry and prose shit.

I love the way that my brain says “stop what your doing and put this down on paper because it’s time to make love without having to wax your carrot.”

I love it when the poetry is simple and you don’t need a dictionary.

I love when the booze mixes with hot august weather,
and it’s raining outside,
and I can just sit in my underwear and let the beads of sweat roll down towards the page.

I love the smell of just-before-the-rain moonlight.
I love the smell of old books.
I love the smell of oil on typewriter keys,
and licking my envelopes shut.

I love the minute of silence I get after the poem is down--
before the world crawls back in--
and my brain
and heart
and balls
become separate entities once again.

I love being broke.

And I love when the words don’t come
and I just sit there
and listen to my own heartbeat.

I love how people don’t take the most important thing seriously anymore

I love it even more because a brilliant man--
before he killed himself--
said that words and verse
can and will save this world.

I love him for saying that.

I love writing.
Editing.
Rewriting.
Editing.
Rewriting.
Editing.
Rewriting.
Editing.
Rewriting.
Final read.
Submission.
Rejection.
Submission.
Rejection.
Submission.
Rejection.
Submission.
Rejection.
Submission.

Acceptance.

Because it evokes a fire in me.

It is poetry
that helps me cope
with this mortal coil
that I have been given--
not by choice--
and not by creator,
but by personal genius.

I love this shit.
_________________________

I love you.

~Torres

A Modesty Proposal

"Be proud of what you've done, but don't look back. There's still plenty of work to do."
--

I like that quote. It's the exact way that I look at my art. When you get published... it's awesome. Enjoy it for about 2 minutes, then let it go. Think back on it when you're at your lowest, but other than that, keep moving forward. Keep working. Better your art.

Maya Angelou said that modesty was a terrible personality trait for writers of merit. I think that's a bunch of shit. There are too many narcissistic writers, artists, what-have-you. The last thing we need, aside from bullshit, is another asshole blowing it out on a regular basis.

Again... I ask you to be modest, despite your talent level. You do not know everything. And, more importantly, you have more work to do.

Time to shut up. Here's a poem.
_________________________________

Like Termites

If you give them the chance
And make the opening wide enough,

the poet's will come out
of the woodwork.

From patched roofs
to upscale coffee bars
with microphone functional,
they will come.

A field of dreams
for those the rest of humanity
fails to understand--

but were always curious about.

Those
who put down the books
and pick up the pens.

Those
lucky enough to lose their jobs
and worries along with it.

Those
With strong friendship
and family bonds
especially among themselves.

Those
with wine stained portfolios,
and the love of their lives
taging along--
never behind--
but right beside them.

Those
who have emerged from bookshelves
and books shops.

Those
who continue to live
though their gypsy hearts have given out.

Those
are the ones
who never leave.

And we know
who we
are.

 __________________________________

Yup...

~Torres 

Down, But Never Out

Depression...

It doesn't go away when you're a realist.

I remember being really depressed as a kid. I also remember having 42 board games in my closet and no siblings to play against. I remember having a busy, always inquisitive brain that would not, and still won't, quit. Being a teen didn't help at all. Not when your heroes were offing themselves left and right, and the six o'clock news was blaring from every room in the house.

I don't watch television anymore. The people like me aren't the ones that I see on the screen.

Nights like this spent alone (11:16 p.m. on a Monday, currently) is when it finds its way into my apartment. Melancholia brings her photo albums full of wasted years and sits next to me on this beer christened couch and puts her hand on my shoulder. She leans in close and whispers bitter nothings. She removes my armor and pulls me from the things that I am grateful for. She makes me self-destructive. She won't let you in.

I find myself waiting for the sun to rise.
I find myself longing to seize a new day.
But first,
I show her out. 
Then,
I find
myself.

Writing it down is the first step.

I feel better already.

~Torres