Friday, December 21, 2018

Avalanche (Or My Brain Is My Ex) (A Poem)


Avalanche
By: Rodolfo Perez

You once told me you were all I have,
But now you’re gone.
You once told me the world is only good for okay dabs and a decent bottle,
But now you’re gone.
You once showed me you can hate yourself, yet be loved by everyone,
But now you’re just like anyone.
You once showed me things I never knew about myself,
But now you know as much as anyone.
You once taught me the difference between wanting to die, and not wanting to live,
But now you just want to “give, give, give”.
You once agreed when I said changing the world is the key to life,
But now you’re so ready for the nine to five.
You smile,
But not because you’re happy.
You frown,
But not because you’re sad.
You celebrate,
But not because you’re excited.
It’s because you know what would happen,
If you just thought for a moment.
You’d be an avalanche of emptiness.
So, keep on smiling.

P.E.N.T.C.I.

Thursday, December 20, 2018

I'm Flying (A Poem)


I’m Flying

By: Rodolfo Perez

I wait. I judge. I live.
Her unbridled interest compliments her gorgeous hazel eyes.
They gleam with awe, and with reservation.
For she is living, after all.
Her heart is like an ocean,
Beautiful, vast, and full of mystery.
Leaving me the desire to explore every meter,
Until I can fully understand the magnificence it has to offer.
She sits on the edge of her seat,
Listening to what the world has to offer.
She’s a jellyfish in her grace,
But a shark in her mind.
She can care as a mother does for a child,
But can charge as a bull does towards a matador.
Oh, how she intrigues me so.
Nothing could ever ruin this.
Nothing could ever ruin this.
Nothing could ever ruin this.
“What if she doesn’t like you?”
“What if you’re reading the signs wrong?”
“Why would she like you?”
“Rumor has it she likes some other boy.”
“You really think you have a chance?”
As a baby bird looks over the nest before its first dive,
I hesitate.
Uncertain of whether I will fall or fly,
I cry.
No one around to push,
For I have to push myself,
But one thing is clear.
No matter how much I cry,
Or hurt,
Or die,
I can never say I didn’t try.
I can never say I didn’t try.
I can never say I didn’t try.
I jump.
And I’m happy I did.

P.E.N.T.C.I.





Wednesday, December 19, 2018

Leaves Leaving (A Poem)


Leaves Leaving
By: Rodolfo Perez

You lift your lungs far above the sky,
And twirl so gently, a silent cry.
There is beauty in your cold breath.
As it gives me such comfort,
I must confess.
Your warm trios or red, yellow and orange,
Keep me company from the cold, faded, core bench.
I feel your embrace every fortnight,
And I only hope,
You can feel mine too.
I love you autumn,
Even when you’re dying.

P.E.N.T.C.I.


Friday, November 9, 2018

UPDATE #26

I’ve never really been good at giving updates on what’s going on in my life. I guess I sort of get lost in the moment, and because of that, I tend to forget to let people know how my actual life is going. With that being said, if I’m to give an update on how my life has been going, I think it’s been pretty balanced! I have my good days, my bad days, and some days where I don’t really know what to label it as. School is going pretty well, I just hope I can hang on until the end of finals. Only four more weeks in the semester. That’s what I keep telling myself. In terms of the projects I’m working on, as a way to say thanks for putting up with me, expect some poetry I’ve been writing to be up within the next week or so! I hope you all enjoy it, I’ve worked really hard in encompassing the emotion in my writing, and really want to give you some insight into how my brain works, and how I see the day to day world.
            On another note, I HAVE A YOUTUBE CHANNEL! That’s right ladies and gentlemen, I, a moderately young, but completely worn out individual have started up a channel on this new website I just discovered called YouTube. It’s a weird site where there are videos of cats, music, shootouts, and these people called video bloggers (or “vloggers” as I like to call them) where apparently, we’re supposed to enjoy watching them live their lives. I think this project will add another layer to the growing curiosity and pains we all endure in our lives.
            If you want to check it out (which I hope all you loyal readers want to do) click HERE or check out the link in the “About This Blog” tab. I am looking forward to this new project I want to get up and running, I think it’ll be fun for both of us.
            That’s about all I have for you all tonight. I have a performance in a play later today. I know I know, I should’ve told you all, but I figured I would wait until I was going to fully go through with this. I play Watson in the Sherlock Holmes story “Hound of The Baskervilles”. I think it’s been going alright, but a part of me just wants it to be over. Expect photos soon!

            As always, with most of these updates I give, I want to thank each and every one of you readers out there who take the time to read what I have to say. I have some milestones in mind in regard to growing this “fanbase”, but I figured we try to keep this as organic as possible. That being said, I appreciate you all, and I hope you are all doing great, if not better than me! Expect more from me soon.

Sincerely,
Rodolfo Perez
One of You


P.E.N.T.C.I.

Wednesday, September 12, 2018

Bar Jokes


*Bar Jokes*

Two guys talking in a bar:

Guy 1: So just like that, you left her huh?
Guy 2: Yup.
Guy 1: God damn man, that’s bold.
Guy 2: I don’t know, I guess I think she deserves someone better. Someone who knows what they’re doing, or at least someone who knows who they are.

They sit in silence for a moment

Guy 1: And you think there’s someone out there who really knows that much?
Guy 2: I don’t know, I guess so... there must be, right?
Guy 1: Not really.
Guy 2: No, there HAS to be. Even if that’s a lie, I gotta keep telling myself that.
Guy 1: Why?
Guy 2: Because that’s the only way I can feel comfortable. I don’t want to be the best she ever had. That’s a terrifying thought to have.
Guy 1: You don’t wanna be the best?
Guy 2: No. Because I want the best for her, and leaving the way I did, I know she’d never want me back, but I want the best for her, but if I’m the best, she’ll never have it, and I can’t live with that.

There is more silence

Guy 2: I’d rather live a flimsy lie, than a harsh truth.
Guy 1: Well, that’s fucking retarded.

END


P.E.N.T.C.I.

Tuesday, September 4, 2018

Country Roads


Country Roads
By: Rodolfo Perez

I’m learning to die,
Living to consume,
And learning to lie.
I don’t understand very much,
Like why she would give me that “lOOk”
Or why I became too afraid to touch.

I fell asleep in Mexico,
I woke up in reality,
I keep telling myself to let go,
As if my life is built on duality.

I do terrible things to remind myself how good life can be,
But I lose myself in the process.
Now I just face the crowds with a smile and glee,
Falling deeper and feeling less free.
I keep telling myself “this is what it means to feel!”
But I question whether life is worth feeling for.
It’s the pain of silent dread, but at least it’s real,
Rather this than the roar of unauthenticity.

“Hello? Anyone there?”


P.E.N.T.C.I.

Wednesday, August 8, 2018

KAZECKI


* It is difficult to put the emotions I’m feeling right now into words. With the following series, I want to express how the recent events have really left me conflicted, confused, and saddened.*
*With that said, I am NOT defending the actions of Michael Kazecki. To put your hands on someone is bad enough, but to put your hands on someone you love, there is no defense for that.*
*Although I do not defend Kazecki’s actions, I do not believe he is the psychopathic monster everyone believes should burn on a cross. He should face legal justice, yes, but we should not turn him into something he was not for the majority of his life*
*This is NOT a defense piece*



I’ve always found writing to be a therapeutic thing for me. Time and tragedy again, those of us who write, and, more importantly, write for the people, pick up our pens and paper, in an attempt to express what needs to be said, and what needs to be read. However, every so often we hear of something that is so surreal, so unimaginable, that it is difficult to express the emotions of those who bear witness to such events. I was met with this conflict on the night of August 7th. I had just come home from a movie, ready to begin editing a draft for an upcoming post when I saw my phone was flooded with messages and missed calls. I replayed some of the voicemails, and was shocked at what I heard.

“Did you hear about Kazecki??”
“He fucking killed his wife.”
“What a psycho!”
“What is wrong with him!!?”
“He’s a monster”
           
            My initial reaction was disgust. I was angry. I was angry at Michael. How could a man do something like this? Why would a man like him do anything like this? Before continuing, I believe now would be a good time to explain my association with Kazecki.
            Following the death of a teacher during the summer between my seventh and eighth grade year, we were informed we would be receiving a new instructor for language arts and social studies. I’ll admit, upon first glance, I was not very impressed. He seemed too laid back, too casual. At the time, I was an eighth grade kid who was too full of himself to think he “deserved” something less. That all changed within the first month of being in his class. He was eccentric, and he had the tendency to become passionate very quickly, but it was always over something I couldn’t appreciate until recently in my life. When he was not teaching, I remember he spoke of his fondness for classic literature and film, and his distaste for big corporations. Perhaps he was just playing devil’s advocate, going against what we deemed “cool” for the sake of capturing the interest of those unique few who would become intrigued by such things. He also spoke of his son, Roman, and how he was trying to put him through little league football (soccer) and how frustrated he would become whenever he would make a mistake on the field. The comments were made in jest meant to keep his classes intrigued. I even remember his unconventional way of approaching famous works of literature by putting the works into a more contemporary style.
            He coached our school’s academic bowl team, making sure we worked hard day in and day out, while showing us that being intelligent or a “nerd” is nothing to hate about yourself. It isn’t anything to beat yourself up over. He taught me to embrace the gifts and burdens I was given, even if it meant giving up on trying to fit in.
            The most memorable thing about him, however, was the manner to which he treated me. I knew he was someone who had very high expectations for his students and his children, but it’s as if he knew of my potential, and he would tell me he knew that me and my siblings would go on to do great things. I always gained a great deal of confidence whenever he would begin talking about college. “When you get into college”. Not if, when. With the exception of a handful of instructors in the past, no teacher before him ever used the term when, and that meant something to me. It’s one thing to have a family to support what you do, it’s another to have a outsider, someone who doesn’t know you personally, know your potential, and support you in that way. As idiotic as I was in those days, he still held those expectations for me, and I cannot hate the man for that.
            To conclude this misguided rant, I will say the following: Prior to his action of killing his wife, I knew Michael Kazecki as Mr. Kazecki, Coach Kazecki, and Mr. K. I enjoyed his class so much. He made my last year of middle school something memorable that even today, when I see an old classmate, or speak with my sister about the old days, we can look back at the good times, and see him. I suppose that’s what makes this so conflicting for me, so surreal, and so depressing. I got to know the man as someone I could confide in. He was someone who believed in me. He was someone who has gone down in my memory, and has impacted my life in a positive way, despite this terrible tragedy.
            I do not pray often, and when I do, I never know what to say, but I know with certainty that I will say something tonight, for his wife, for his children, and for his conscious.

Thank you.
Rodolfo Perez

P.E.N.T.C.I.