Holiday Message

First off, Happy Christmahannakwanzaa to you all. I hope this time is filled with joy, love, and blessings for you all. I know some of you have been alarmed by my absence and lack of blogging recently. As I am growing in age I find it important for me to grow in mind. The latter months of 2010 I have spent indulging in the lessons of history that provide guidance on how to become a better person, a person who speaks with knowledge as their platform.

I find it only fair to convey messages to my audience that I follow and take heed to. To be the sincere self-empowerment advocate I hope to one day be, I must make changes to myself. The process has not been less than difficult, but someone once said that anything worth having would not be easy to obtain. This cleansing, in a sense, has not been understood by many, and has led to the mutual dismissal of allies. I can only believe that this is the price that comes with it. 

Nonetheless, I also find it imperative to include you all in this journey in hope that I can inspire one person at a time to take a deeper look into how our values shape the world we live in. Starting the first of the new year, we will begin taking this journey together.

Until then, peace and love to you and yours. Remember the reason for the season. 

Quote of the Day

"I feel bad for toilets somedays."

- @ReesonableDoubt

Could you imagine being a toilet? That has got to be the shittiest job ever *corny drum roll*. But it's also got to have its entertaining perks.

I could picture it now:

a toddler runs into the bathroom doing the pee-pee dance
 "Ah man, here comes the sprinkler."
an old man brings in a magazine and matches 
"Bombs away."
a college student stumbles in at 2:30 am 
"Face down, ass up!"
a couple slips in the door half-dressed
"I never saw this part of Pussy Town before!"

I feel like toilets see it all... if only inanimate objects had the ability to write. Next time you go into the bathroom, think "what would be toilet say in its book about me?"

Pussy

sometimes the quest for pussy ends up in
first a detour
up high mountains
fourteen something odd thousand feet
of sweat and aching legs then cold bones when the storms roll in
and near moments of losing your soul
down badlands
of red dirt and the memories of rivers
haunting you
while you lick the dust from your bleeding lips
and cringe under the devil’s sun
wishing for that taste of water
and hoping like hell that when you find it
it does more than just quench your thirst.

-Esteban A. Martinez