Via Erandi

Magical:

2010-02-13T19:26:00.000-08:00

In an Attempt to Just Write Something

2010-02-07T14:10:00.000-08:00

So I've never bought anything from the rhythm game genre before. I didn't think I'd find it very compelling because I can play music and pretend to sing in a fairly less than slightly competent manner. But I received a gift card for my birthday and was browsing the video game selection when something caught my eye: Bob Dylan. His name was on the box of Guitar Hero 5 and I could not help but examine it. It intrigued me but I put the box back down and walked around a little more, going to the new instrument section of Best Buy and messing with some guitars (I'm curious as to whether the popularity of these music video games was what drove Best Buy to start carrying instruments). My thoughts kept being drawn to that box with Bob Dylan's name on it though, so I went back.

I noticed some other artists whose songs I enjoyed (White Stripes, Rolling Stones, Muse, Arctic Monkeys) so I caved in and bought it. I have to admit, I'm fairly happy with this game. Even if I'm arguably not creating the music, there's something quite satisfying about interacting with songs I enjoy and having the whole band sound that I couldn't get if it was just me and my guitar. I'm currently addicted to mastering Beck's "Gamma Ray", My Morning Jacket's "One Big Holiday" and the Gorillaz "Feel Good Inc.". I'm really excited about checking out some Beatles Rock Band. If I had a rating system, I would totally give this a "lobster.5" not quite "gopher", but definitely better than "beaver".

Retrun of Space Dude: The Reckoning: A Space Dude Adventure

2010-02-03T14:32:00.000-08:00

Space. It’s awesome. Check it out.

I write this fresh off finishing Mass Effect 2. Certain interactions in that game made me really enjoy it- particularly playing as Space Dude Esquire and Space Dude Seducer- but I felt that either of those roles could have taken place in somewhere that’s not space- specifically Earth. What intrigued me about those events was not that I was dealing with aliens, but that I was dealing with enigmatic characters and cultures- but these characters and cultures are just a re-skin of humanity. Mass Effect 2 is just Earth in Space, which I think is a great disservice to the sci fi genre.

When I think of the Space I think of mystery. I think of stars that change color as they take millions of years to swell and millions more to explode. I think of silent expanses that can’t be traversed. I think of heat death and entropy. It’s an unfathomable place that could swallow me up, so it’d be rather anticlimactic if when humanity got up there, we’d find that a bunch of aliens have already figured everything out- and put up a space Wal-mart. Unfortunately this is the context of Mass Effect, and despite the slow synthesizer music that reminds me of 70’s educational videos I watched in high school astronomy, the story has a much more modern influence, casting the main character not as Space Dude, but rather Space Dudekiller: Savior of Space.

I enjoyed Mass Effect 2 and I reccomend it. This post is more of a vent than anything else. It’s me just wanting to see developers explore different aspects and characters in the sci fi genre than just the space marinc cliche. Instead of blowing up space, I’d like to explore it.

The Misadventures of Erandi In Mexico

2008-12-30T12:41:00.000-08:00

Episode IV: For Lack of A Clever Title

Well I´m finally in the boonies of Mexico. Paracho, Mitchocan. Ane here I
am, some tall, light skinned guy among short, dark skinned villagers. The
wheather is pretty wet. I mean, just now it all of a sudden just started to
rain really hard. I mean really hard. The community itself is pretty
awesome. Pretty much all day there´s people out in the streets just chilling
or selling there wares. They make super awesome sweet bread here. In fact I
think I´ll make up a new word here just to describe the awesomeness of this
bread, Supaweweet. Or not. The village is surrounded by mountains and a
constant fog. A large amount of the villagers make their living off the work
of their hands, so that´s pretty sweet. There´s a hella lot of them that
work with wood. Beatiful craftsme(a?)nship for extremely low prices. I
think I´ll buy a lot of stuff and sell at jacked up prices in America. Just
like every good capitalist should. J.K. One of my uncles is a guitar luthier
and I got him making me a super sweet acoustic for a third of the cost of
one of equal quality in the U.S. Plus it appears that he´s the only luthier
in the whole village that has made anything other than classical/flamenco
guitars. The only thing is that he´s not all there. A bit eccentric. His
strings aren´t all in tune if you will. (Pun totally intended!) He´s cool
though. The weird thing was that I could easily see myself growing up to be
very much like this man. Sorta creepy.

I met a guy from a super sweet ska band down here. Pretty cool guy. Awesome
guitar player. We hung out for a bit and played together. We both had to
repeat everything like two times though because he dosen´t speak any english
at all. Pretty funny. Uhmmm... I saw these two classical guitarists play a
show or ¨concert¨here in the church. This guy was totally busting out this
piece called Jota and was like ripping up the guitar yo!!! The Slash of
classical guitar. Tearing up the tiny strings all the way down on the
fretboard. He was all like ¨deedley-deedley-deedley-deedley¨!!! And then he
went to the bass strings and was all like ¨buhmm-baahh-buhmm-baahh-buhmm¨
And I was all like ¨Rock on dude. Rock on¨ Then the Padre stood up and
whipped out his Zippo lighter and was all swaying. Then the guitarist got
all crazy. He kicked his chair out from under him and then started playing
the solo from ¨Seek and Destroy¨. Then he smashed his guitar over the statue
of Saint Peter and lit the reamins of his axe on fire. It was pretty
intense. Well actually none of that happend. It was just a super chill
concert. Thoguh he did rip it up.

Well I guess that´s alll for now. Just a liitle over a week and I´ll finally
be back. Albeit a little more Mexican then when I left. Miss you all much.
Send me some Cali sun becasue as I said, it´s pretty gloomy over here. Much
love from the Dity South, Erandi.

The Misadventures of Erandi In Mexico

2008-12-29T12:38:00.000-08:00

Episode III: Rails and Runs

Well let´s see, I´ve taken the metro and the bus here in Mexico, and
it´s definelty an interesting experience. The term ´personal
space´dosen´t exist in matters of public transportation here. I´ve been
groped more times on one Metro ride than I would have liked to be in one
lifetime. You don´t board the train, you force yourself on. The harder
you push, the less likely the doors will slam shut on you. The bus is
sorta fun becasue it´s constantly in motion. It´s very action
movie-esque. And buses are hailed down. They really don´t have
designated stops. They´re like huge taxis. They´re also driven like
taxis. You know how in America people pass buses becasue they´re slow?
Well here, buses pass regualr cars routinley. Lane lines and traffic
lights are like strong suggestion instead of hard law here.

But enough about that. I went to this reading by some famous author here
who makes intresting musings on life and explains them through
anecdotes. He was pretty good. Smoking is still allowed in restaurants
here, so it had this cool, smokey, jazz club ambiance. I went to eat
food from a region called Oaxaca (I think I spelled that right) and the
resaurant was very down to earth. And when I say down to earth, I mean
EXTREMELY UNSANITARY!!!!!! But it was pretty damn good food though. Even
though It gave me the runs. Thank God for Imodium AD. These Mariachi
guys came in and started busting out some Mexican folk music. I had no
idea what they were singing, but this guy was totally wailing on the
accordion. I watched in awe. (Uno mas compadres!!! Uno mas!!!)
Speaking of music, I finally have access to a guitar!!! Throw up an Amen
to that becasue my hands and spirt were going through some sort of
withdrawl. But now I have my daily hit of musical euphoria.

And finally, just as in America, Starbucks is almost everywhere. I never
thought corporate evil and a false sense of community would go down so
smooth. But whatever!! Miss you all much!!

Love and Peace from the Dirty South!!!
Erandi

The Misadventures of Erandi In Mexico

2008-12-28T12:34:00.000-08:00

Episode II: Life in SAP

Well I´m finally getting adjusted, more or less, to stuff around here. I
finally participated in that whole jaywalking thing. It was pretty cool. By
my count, I´ve been a situation where I could have been hospitalized 6 times
already!! That´s not including the times I´ve drank unbottled water or used
a public restroom. As it turns out, the most popular thing to do here isn´t
jaywalking, but rather having sex. They both pretty much serve the same
purpose though. But I mean DAMN!!!! There are 20 million people here!!! If I
were to give everybody here a pound of Twinkies, the whole country would be
20 miilion pounds heavier. But that´s sort of a non-sequiter ( did I use and
spell that right?). The city would be all uneven and tipping, which it sort
of already is. And that´s not just becasue half of the population of Mexico
is overweight, the city is built on top of a canal system used by the
ancient Aztecs. Buildings and landscapes are all lopsided. If Dr. Suess saw
this place, that chubby guy would jiggle with delight. Or because of an
earthquake. Either way he´d be jiggling and that´d be a damn funny sight to
see. But anywho, I miss all you guys and I hope things are going well. My
love to you all. Erandi

The Misadventures of Erandi In Mexico

2008-12-27T12:26:00.000-08:00

These e-mails are almost 4 years old, but they were fairly amusing when I was that young.

Epsisode 1: Some Stuff Happens
Well guys I´m finally in Mexico. I finally bothered to check a map as to see
where I was, and it´s pretty deep inside Mexico. If Mexico were a person, I
would be around the anus of Mexico. I say that because it´s hot, smelly,
dirty, and diseased. Just like most of our anususes (s´, sus´, I don´t know
how to spell that). The plane ride was o.k.(my first one ever), but we made
like two stops and that was a pain in the butt. I also got into and
arguement with one of the stewardesses because she wouldn´t let me open a
window even though it was hella stuffy....... jerks. When I finally got here
I went to eat with my tio Rodolfo at some Mexican Denny´s called Vips. I was
shocked by the prices ´cause I forgot that the the dollar equals about 11
pesos. I thught I was buying a burger for 65 bucks!!!! But I´m just an
idiot. The streets are flipin´crazy here, man!! Traffic laws are more like
traffice suggestions. Jay walking is like some sort of domestic sport here.
So is trying not to run them over. The whole place is so overwhelimingly
urban, which is sort of cool. Apartments are the main type of housing here
so there are no front or backyards. In fact, now that I think about it, I
don´t think I´ve seen a park or any large piece of green earth since I´ve
been here. So many people too!!! Solitude is a thing of legends around here.
You can´t really go anywhere without having someone else there with you. I´m
not going out to Paracho until next weekend, sorta dissapointed about that.
But I guess I can learn a lot here in the capital. Like corruption. Also
more shooping time. Oh wait..... I don´t really like shopping. I´ll try to
find you guys something nice though. Wel I miss all of you and I´ll write
again soon. Unless nothing interseting happens. In which case it might be a
while.

Random Words Over Coffee

2008-12-26T12:20:00.000-08:00

Clasped hands with a gentle grip
on the last of day's light.
It creeps out between fingers and
palms, seeps onto your dark blouse
and rests right up against the lean beatin
or your heart.
You give up your quiet hol and
a rushing wind of
luminence escapes and
brushes your hair as if someone
was about to whisper you
a beautiful, secret word.

Your body is glowing and tells me
a story

An anticipated interruption during the longest
day.
A number left under the lamp on your
bedside stand.
A seven A.M. coffee and your demeanor.
Lastly, a sacred kiss
right below your neck.

Re-Draft of Lyrics

2008-12-25T12:12:00.000-08:00

go to myspace.com/theauralist for the song

I conjure a million dreams on these old guitar strings;
I had a million more for you pourin' out of my brain

I kissed you in the fire, lit my lips with desire
but you abjured my advances with your lack of honesty

But it's OK, I've come to know
that it's me and my guitar alone on this road;
no reason for us to ever turn around
ain't nothin' worth seein' but the sky and the ground.

I won't call you a coward, that would make me sound sour.
But I will say you're just another girl on a long list of unrequited love.

And I ain't saying you're wasted time- I'll leave that up to your mind-
all I know is I've got this song and every reason to move along.

But it's OK, I've come to know
that it's me and my guitar alone on this road;
no reason for us to ever turn around
ain't nothin' worth seein' but the sky and the ground

And my guitar stands by me; it helps me cast my melodies.
And unlike you my guitar is nothing but honest to me.

I conjure a million dreams on these old guitar strings;
I had a million more for you, you lost out on every one.

But it's OK, I've come to know
that it's me and my guitar alone on this road;
no reason for us to ever turn around
ain't nothin' worth seein' but the sky and the ground

Me and My

2008-12-24T07:00:00.000-08:00

Here are some lyrics I'm working on. Some of these are pretty contrived, but I think with some adjustments we got a real gem here folks.

I conjure a million dreams on these old guitar strings;
I had a million more for you pourin' out of my brain

You kissed me in the fire and lit my lips with desire
but you abjured my advances with your lack of honesty

But it's OK, I've come to know
that it's me and the captain alone on this road;
no reason for us to ever turn around
ain't nothin' worth seein' but the sky and the ground.

I won't call you a coward, that would make me sound sour.
But I will say you're just another girl on a long list of unrequited love.

And I ain't saying you're wasted time- I'll leave that up to your mind-

But it's OK, I've come to know
that it's me and the captain alone on this road;
no reason for us to ever turn around
ain't nothin' worth seein' but the sky and the ground

And the captain stands by me; he helps me find my melodies.
And unlike you the captain is nothing but honest to me.

I conjure a million dreams on these old guitar strings;
I had a million more for you pourin' out of my brain

But it's OK, I've come to know
that it's me and the captain alone on this road;
no reason for us to ever turn around
ain't nothin' worth seein' but the sky and the ground

Sacraments (?)

2008-12-23T16:02:00.000-08:00

Here's something I'm working on:

If I ate your flesh,

in time I'd be hungry again.

If I washed in your blood,

I'd have to shower afterwards.

Eating and bathing won't make me immortal;

that's just as false a your skin being sacred,

your sleeping breaths as hosannas,

or a your lips as a benediction.

They are just:

your skin

your breath

your lips

None of these are sacraments and they don't promise eternity.

The only truth about

your skin

your breath

and your lips

is that they are small parts of your beautiful whole

and as I remember them, I question my efforts of daily and nightly working out

my salvation in them.

War-Daughter Blues

2008-12-22T16:07:00.000-08:00

Swear I'll get something other than lyrics up soon. I wrote this for Bush, but Obama's Pakistani aggression seems to warrant the same song.

Find song here

Who is Molech?

You kiss your daughter and send her out the door.

With a gun in her hand, you're sending her off to the war.

But before she leaves she takes you by the hand

and says “I don't wanna go but, Momma, I understand.

We've got President Molech in the White House today.

And he said he's gonna make all our enemies pay.

But promise me this: when I return from the fire

you'll put at my grave a million child choir.”

She walks to the street and then she falls in

to line with all the neighborhood children.

They march off of beat to an old, old toy drum

and sing out of tune to some ancient war song.

And then you realize with a horrible fright

that we're worse than the ancient Ammonites.

'Cause even though we both treat children as sacrifice,

at least they didn't send them off with a lie.

Intercession

2008-12-21T07:00:00.000-08:00

Read Background Info Here

Find the Song Here

I slept inside the coldest house

I lay besides the darkest mouth

I've crept across with my aching bones

stranger's beds that leave me alone

Again I've learned to be scared of the dark

There's a monster between the sheets

So I leave the lights on and I leave machinery

buzzing my night symphony

And oh tonight I'm heavy with you again

And five a.m. prayers are empty save for the sound

of your breath

I drove to shores looking for peace so in

need of desperate relief

I wrote your name down in the grain and

watched the water reflect the moon as it waned

And oh tonight I'm heavy with you again

Don't go down tonight

And five A.M. prayers are empty save for the sound

of your breath

Wallace Stevens At The Harpsicord

2008-12-20T07:00:00.000-08:00

Love the Stevens. His poetry is brilliant and influences me daily. Hope this is something he'd dig.

The boys serenade with songs from their guitars.

They stand in the manicured whorehouse yard.

The doors and windows shut, but music creeps on in

and finds among the residents not one sin.

The priest at the altar hears the music of the boys

and prays for their souls, but only hears his voice.

The empty temple fills with the holy sound

that climbs up the pillars and seeps into the ground.

The madam drinks her dark, blood red wine

and when she hears the music, peers through the blinds

and sees such a thing that she's never seen before:

they're out there dancing, the boys and her whores.

The priest and madam tremble at the sound and the sight.

Who will fill their cups? Who will burn the lights?

The boys and girls dance and set off into flight

and leave the priest and madam weeping in the night.

Some Other Ballad (Pt. 1)

2008-12-19T07:00:00.000-08:00

Find the song here

Sometimes I see your face without the stain of memory if I just close my eyes.

Somewhere between the space of dream and real I still fell you standing next to me.

I climb the hill that we laid on and I think about the things I did wrong.

I let tall green grass wash over me and my aching memories.

And I wish there was more that I could do than just sing a song.

But what's done is done, and you're already gone.

Sometimes I still see that new, pink, baby skin on your stomach, arms and wrists.

I contemplate the razor that you used and wish my love could cut as deep.

You said “Affections are a vanity, so don't confuse your unfulfilled lust with grief.

And love is just a great big lie it's all just chemicals that roll around in your mind.”

And I know that you're right. Could we imagine that you're not?

'Cause in this empty world imagination 's all we got.

But until then...

I know you wrapped your heart with strangers' arms and filled it with empty chemicals.

But you helped find inside of me the piece of honesty that I so badly needed.

You've got me searchin' for a soul that I think I will find in time.

And if you could do that for me could you do the same for yourself?

And the more I talk the less you understand.

But listen to me:

Sometimes I see your face without the stain of memory if I just close my eyes.

Bed Sores

2008-12-18T07:00:00.000-08:00

For those who sleep with stuffed animals.

The weight of this empty bed space besides me and

a million lipless kisses across bare chest and hands.

We place our babies between us,

and give children stuffed heart companions.

But for us? We’ve grown up,

and sleep alone.

T.V.s, ancient stereos, and humming fans left on

in twenty different rooms,

hoping that the white noise lullaby will guide into antique dreams.

But instead it’s Billie Holiday singing “I know that I’ll soon go mad”

How could she know? In what way?

Will it be in

the millionth turn of empty reaches?

The rambling of floating thoughts that rest

on top of bedposts, holy angels of solitude mocking and

singing our bodies to sit

on the bed’s edge?

Of course.

Because madness waits for our solitude.

Huddled frigid in these blankets, aside this empty space,

we know:

Babies sleep between affections

and children have their cotton lovers.

But for us? We’ve grown up.

And sleep alone.

Cindy Crawford Naked

2008-12-17T07:00:00.001-08:00

Eighth grade year: Michael, Alejandro, and I were standing in the school's empty sports field. It was third period P.E., end of the semester so Coach Lawson with the big mustache-- he reminds me of the lost Super Mario Brother-- had given up teaching us the important subtleties of volleyball; he left us to our own devices disinterested in everything but reading the sports magazine he brought with him and shooting shit with the other teachers. It was either late fall or early winter because the sky was overcast and I had always wished for rain so that we would crowd tight in the lockers and watch educational videos instead of having to crowd tight and change in front of each other there. We stood on the green grass next to the baseball diamond and leaned against the wall; Alejandro took out his black notebook and unzipped it, telling us how he stole this from his older brother. He showed us Cindy Crawford naked in Playboy. I was silent as I stared at the pastel sheets wrapped around her body, the dark aureoles, the bones of her hips and stomach pushing against her flesh. I looked up and saw students wandering around, as if everything I was seeing wasn't important. I saw Coach Lawson-- a decade later I found out he was fired for molestation-- sitting on the benches staring off into the sky. I looked back to the pages and she was still there, still in the pastel sheets, looking back at me and watching my mind trying fit all the new pieces of my body together.

Holes

2008-12-16T09:00:00.000-08:00

This one is about me and my little brother.

In the twilight we dug for no one but ourselves,

juvenile demons laying waste to the earth

of our small backyard.

Man-sized shovels held by inadequate hands

pitching grass and dirt onto an ever-growing pile.

Dry August air rose up around us in swirling circles

as we tore, leveled and moved.

Our work was new and unattempted,

a daring feat of labor that wore through the hours

and our palms, raw from heat.

Waist deep we stood in our destruction:

wide, green, and empty;

our faces and bodies covered in the same elements

that were walked upon a millennia ago by unnamed travelers

searching for themselves a new home,

and we saw that it was good.

Our mom came out to call on us before the summer bugs’ assault.

“You ruined the yard!”she yelled, and after a slow second of disbelief,

begins to laugh that patient laugh that only comes out when

the weather is constant and agreeable.

She drew us in and bathed our tiny, beating bodies with her smiling hands,

using only the warmest waters.

First Kiss

2008-12-15T10:15:00.000-08:00

There had been fires that day. We were standing inside the entrance to your apartment, the door was wide open-- you exhibitionist-- and the hot smell of burning homes and trees crowding in on us. We were leaning in towards each other and I was so terrified I can't even recall if I puckered. This was no time for metaphor-- my nerves lighting up with electricity, my body melting with your warmth. This was no time for hyperbole-- patiently waiting nearly two dozen years, the best experience of my life. I didn't realize that it was the last of our dates and that later you wouldn't grant me the courtesy of honesty; no time for any of those pretenses as I peeked after the first touch and saw your beautiful face moving in towards me and my awkward lips again; they contorted themselves in foreign, wonderful ways. There was just the taste of the morning's pancakes, the moist of your lip gloss and saliva, breathing in the scent of your body through your pores, the softness of your skin, the slow thunder of blood running up my veins and around my ears, the heat of our faces almost touching, eyes closed and the stiff, sharp fingers of smoke from the suburb flames crawling around and up our nostrils, my unreliable memory already straining the details, clouding up the too brief moment.

Grocery Lists

2008-12-14T11:14:00.000-08:00

I walked into the kitchen after work, wet from the late afternoon showers. I saw the grocery list and your prescription waiting for me on the table. I picked them up and left quietly, knowing by the silence of the house and closed curtains that you were in bed again; still. I walked down the sterile aisles placing items into the hand-basket: Bread. Milk. Aspirin. Tampax. Cheese. The products were written in black ink; the letters solid on the paper. The basket got heavier until I finally reached the end of your list and went to the pharmacist at the back of the store. He smiled at me as I came up and I nodded in return. He gives me the obligatory “Hello, sir” and I put down the basket because I couldn't find your prescription in my coat; I fumbled through the pockets. The jacket was wet still and the end of my fingers a little numb as they groped for the paper. I found a crumpled sheet finally and pulled it out. It was an old grocery list that I had left in there. The letters were written in colorful ink and you had taken the time to use several colors: bread, milk, prenatal vitamins, cheese. I'm not sure how long I stood there, examining the heart you had used to dot the 'i's when the pharmacist asked me if anything was wrong. I looked up and noticed a line had formed behind me. I stood there with the paper in my hand, the letters slowly falling off the page.

Family Photos

2008-12-13T10:35:00.001-08:00

Family Photos

I move my hands over the the mass of glossy sheets,
my fingers grazing the glass surface of these rectangle memories,
and I see a hundred faces.
Each one distinct and the same.

Faces with the same arrogant grin, curly hair or "strong" nose.
Dark faces worn centuries ago by Aztec priest holy men.
Light faces borne on Spanish soldiers that carried a thick, foreign beard.
Smooth faces that jumped out at me with red aspirations
are also the same wrinkled faces that stand back;
their eyes tempered by time and loss.
They see exactly who I am.

Then out of the corner of my sight-- under a hundred still smiles--
I see my face.
My face but not on me; on some other young man.
He stares at me through this paper thin reflective wall of time.
Confident. Stern. Eager.
Wearing a clean shave and short hair,
he holds on to my features as they were his very own,
his eyes telling me that I'd have to kill him to take what I think is mine.
He wears my face in a way I would not,
or maybe couldn't.

We both stare, completely frozen in the utter shock of
this caught moment; but I am the only one aware of anything
outside the 4'x5' prison.

I quickly put back all the recollections in the old shoe box,
throwing it into the dark corner of the closet where I found them,
hoping no one will find out I've stolen this man's face without a fight.

Intentions and Such

2008-12-13T10:26:00.000-08:00

I've got the writing fever boysies and girlsies. Starting today, I will do my best to post an original work once a day for an year. Sure, I could wait till January; but why? I'll put up poems, vignettes, lyrics, songs and whatever else strikes my fancy. Leave your loving comments and harsh criticisms galore please!