While exploring Tumblr for the first time today, I liked the amount of visual stimulation coming at me. Dozens of colorful pictures attracting my psyche, until reaching visual orgasm. Inspiration shot through the veins and I proceeded to recall images I loved. I remembered me in high school, clumsy, shy, unsure, vulnerable, but somewhat smart, and I remembered my obsession with Guess ad campaigns. I loved them so much that I would eagerly thumb through every single magazine I got searching specifically for them, eager to see what Mr. Marciano and his team had come up with this time. I’m not sure what it was about those images that brought me such solace, they comforted me in their high fashion coolness. An escape from the misery I let high school cause me. Maybe it’s the fantasy of living the glamorous life of a model. Or maybe it was just the independence of it all. Something I wanted, but of course didn’t have because my parents were over consuming, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Here, I reminisce on the allure of one of my favorite things, Guess Ads.

I snickered to myself as I watched it melt before me. The bright lights, the snazzy set, I could imagine it 30 years down the line and how it will appear the way the 70′s appear to us now, warped and muted color television. Yet this is where America goes to forget, to be entertained. While the “War on Terrorism” tip toes behind us, the gas prices rise and we shrug our shoulders, but WAIT! There’s a moment of relaxation as America sits back to watch who the next American Idol will be. The democracy of reality, we will always be caught up in it, the desire to peek in at the American dream.

The hours in the day seem to disappear into an abyss of endless nothing. Sometimes when I set out to plan my day I picture myself accomplishing all that I’d like to get done and forget to factor in possible setbacks. My days are a struggle. I work at a job all day long and juggle a side business at all other times. As I run from one appointment to the next, work on meeting publishing deadlines, struggle to keep a balanced household, it’s no wonder some days I’m left passing out early and usually right in the beginning of the latest new release I’ve been dying to watch. I mourn the loss of energy you experience in your early 30’s. You remember yourself 10 years ago and remember how you could get as little as 3 hours of sleep and still get up to hit the gym and work a full day. My energy isn’t holding up like it did in those days and that was apparent this weekend as I hung out with my besties. We set out for a night on the town, drinks and appetizers followed by dinner at another location and then more drinks. By the time we made it to more drinks, after enjoying an amazing dinner at Blowfish, it was nearing midnight and I found myself nodding off at the table while we mingled in Olive Bar’s mellow quarters. How do you manage it all, how do you find the right balance to take full advantage and ensure you aren’t sleeping through the best part of life. Carpe Diem!

Artwork courtesy of www.lukedollar.com

Today will come to an end when the sun makes it’s way across the sky and the stars begin to dance. All things must surely have to end and great loves will one day have to part…

Lately, I’ve been thinking about death, dying, change and growth. Those ”nothing” types of subjects. Well maybe they’re not exactly NOTHING subjects. Sometimes I think I’m already dead and just warping through the memories of a life I once lived. They feel so real. Have you ever had the feeling that you were in two places at once?

I wonder about the journey ahead, to the other side, if one really lies there and I wonder about what will happen to my friends or if I will still get to enjoy the things I’ve always loved. Like reading a book, will I remember who Mark Twain is or James Joyce? Will I remember what it was like to kiss for the first time with a heart racing and the foreign feeling of some other persons wet trembling lips? Will I remember what it’s like to smell the flowers in the springtime?

Will I remember the verses to my favorite poems and the music they form when I place my tongue and mouth to pronounce the smoothness of their words? Will I remember the satifying first sip of coffee on a tired groggy morning or the satisfaction of the first drag of a newly lit cigarette? Will I remeber the beautiful melody of Mozart’s 22nd symphony or the soothing voice of Billy Corgan’s lamenting lullabies?

I will miss the world and all of it’s simplicities. I will miss the sun, the moon, the ocean and the mountains. The things that bring enlightenment when you least expect.

Sometimes I want to revert to those times when I knew no pain. I want to be a naive little girl and want to worry only about little kid things. It’s no wonder some people end it with a vertical slash across the wrist to the forearm.

I think about the daggers of the arguments. The redness of the eyes, my own covered anger. You turn into a demon when you start feeling pain and then I am lost within your wrath as you feed vespers to my mouth and I cannot speak, fight, stick up for myself because your roar overrules me.

If you would only stop, listen, realize that I’m not as bad as you think. Confused, insecure, afraid, a coward in your step. I feel the pressure in my heart to calm your worries. I want to be the one to make it better for you, maybe I’m just a nurturer not for my own good.

I could put you ahead of myself. I never say things the right way. You move me to think twice, be unsure, when deep down I do know, but when you ask, cannot get it out. I fear change and I fear the future.

Running, as fast as we can, do you think we’ll make it, we’re running, keep holding my hand, so we don’t get seaparated.

I think about being without you, without the sound of your voice, without your manly scent. I think about life without the wrath that you carry like sword. You place it against my throat every chance you get, threatening to slit it into me, but deep down inside you know there is a place I fit perfectly.

By: Carla Ramos

As we live life well into the month of February, new years and new beginnings have been on my mind. I’m reading an interesting book about getting yourself and your business out there, and have come across the business rule of thumb to always revamp and make efforts toward keeping trends. While my initial intention for running this blog was to create a forum of my personal writing samples to send people to, I realize now that I am closing in on a focus.  A focus that was there when I started, but that I didn’t drive. Questions have presented themselves. What kind of go-to person am I? What kind of knowledge do I have worth sharing with the world?

While I will still post about my favorites things, of the entertainment variety, things that I like that I think fit me, I am attempting now to focus more on the passion that has driven me for years…Poetry. I will share my own writings as well as share and analyze moving and inspiring pieces from other writers as well. We will explore emotion and literature and the power of words. Your comments are invited and your support is kindly requested.

Here is to a new agenda, a new year and to new adventures!

There is an endearing holiday celebrated by many Latin American cultures called El Dia De Los Muertos or the Day of the Dead. While the name of this holiday might strike some as a bit eerie, this holiday is quite festive. The practice of this ritual originates back about 3,000 years, during the time of the Maya and Aztecs, they celebrated the memory of their ancestors by paying tribute to the goddess of death. They believed that souls did not die, but went away and could be guided home. 

This symbolically rich and colorful Latin American tradition is most prevalently celebrated in Mexico. Today, El Dia De Los Muertos is celebrated every year on November 2nd. The holiday is dedicated to ceremonializing the memory of our loved ones who have since departed from us. This commemoration is not a mournful one, but a joyous and happy celebration in which death takes a lively, friendly expression. Some of the most prominent rituals include visiting the cemetery where loved ones are laid to rest, and decorating their grave site. Alters are also created in homes which include remnants of the loved one’s favorite things. The use of bright orange Marigolds and lighted candles are often used and represent a guiding light to help the soul find it’s way home. Alters and grave sites are also packed with favorite foods and beverages, as well as photos and memorabilia of the departed. Often times, people will write “Calaveras” poetry about their loved ones, which are lighthearted and humorous stories. Sweet breads are baked and a variety of confections are made which are believed to add sweetness to the idea of death. A common symbol of the holiday is the skull or “calavera,” which symbolizes death and rebirth and often, Calaveras are adorned with humanlike features and props that serve to personify death.

The idea behind this holiday it to make death seem lighthearted and cheery and is achieved through the use of bright colors, candy, flowers, music and food. This holiday is gaining moment and often inspires artwork, literature and most recently fashion (think Mando Guerra’s Project Runway 2010 collection). A few years back, I had the luxury of traveling to Mexico city during the end of October, and I cannot begin to describe the beauty surrounding this amamzing celebration. In a culture that embraces the family bond, El Dia de los Muertos is a ceremony that fortifies that connection, and is an effort to keep the memory of family alive.

Here, is a collection of pictures, some from my trip to Mexico a few years back to help show how awesome the relics of this celebration really are.     

Since I’ve begun to delve into the amateur world of writing, as I am an aspiring wanna-be, I have come to the conclusion I am maintaining two jobs even though at present time one is just a hobby, or maybe it’s more appropriate if I classify it as pro bono work. I’ve been meaning to post this entry for weeks and it isn’t until today that I’ve had the opportunity. A few weeks ago I made my way to October’s Oakland Art Murmur which is gaining more momentum over the months and for good reason. Walking around Oakland on this particular night for the murmur made me really appreciate the culture Oakland has to offer. While many of the exhibits seemed to have a running theme of animals and evolution and maybe even cloning, my favorite exhibit invovled nothing of that sort. 

Surface and Subtext, a very creative exhibit  by Julianne Sterling combines the medium of book pages, newspapers and library cards with drawings or paintings over them. The marriage between painting and books really drew me into its romance. Initially, I thought it was clever to call such an exhibit Surface and Subtext, since most of the paintings seemed to be portraits drawn over newspapers and books, which I interpreted as a statement about not knowing what is beneath the surface of anyone’s thoughts or being. While I admired each piece, I tried to identify what books Sterling might have pulled the pages from, as I tried to search for any clues to bring me deeper meaning. I was lucky enough to meet Julianne Sterling as she was making her way through the crowd, but being she was the lady of the hour, I didn’t really get to ask her any of my grueling questions. She did agree to an interview so I’m hoping I’ll be able to shoot her a few questions. There were definite themes of womanhood and femininity and it wasn’t until later that I found out that a lot of her portraits were drawn on the pages of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s, Tender is the Night. While I am a huge Fitzgerald fan, I have to admit I know nothing about Tender is the Night, but what I can leave you with are these photos of Ms. Sterling’s imaginative work, and don’t forget to visit soon to catch the supplement I hope to post, once I’ve gotten a chance to connect with Ms. Sterling…        

“I Wish I Had More Sisters,” is a poem by Brenda Shaughnessy featured in the September 20, 2010 issue of the New Yorker. Being usually dense to poetry published in the New Yorker, it was a real treat to be immediately lured into the magic of Shaughnessy’s poem. My eyes fell straight into the page and her word choice, cadence, lyric and chocolate covered metaphor’s were a confection that brought an unexpected sweet escape from the busy work day. Her poem is about strong family ties and is even about the literal blood relation between family; but it’s also about possibility, opportunity, alter-egos, accountability and about the reality of life’s most extreme situations. We’ve all had a moment in our life when we’ve stopped to ponder how different we would be had we made different choices. Sometimes it scares us to think about what version of our evil twin we’d be if things took a turn for the worst or the sweet fantasy of the version of our “self” that we’d be had everything gone exactly perfect. What if we had picked the more soulful career. Or chosen to commit to a lifetime of romance living in a foreign country. Shaughnessy effortlessly moves us through different ends of the emotional spectrum and her skillful juxtaposition of opposite elements attempts to bring us to terms with what it would be like to face our fears, as well as, how euphoric life could be living in perfection.

This poem made me wonder if having sisters, or if being familiar with a sisterly bond, is a requirement to grasp the true essence of Shaughnessy’s raw references to family. Any girl who is a sister knows that there is a unique connection between sisters.  Often the similarities between sisters can be uncanny and since we are still just a different mix of the same gene pool, in essence, Shaughnessy’s theory that our sisters are just a different version of ourselves is very right on. Since we are considering gene pools, I suppose it is the same between brothers or brotherly bonds. Still I couldn’t help wonder if I would have bonded with the poem in the same way, if I only had a brother or were an only child. “I Wish I Had Sisters” is a poem that takes its reader for a blissful journey through many of life’s possibilities. We are lulled for a second into deliciously visualizing what it would be like to successfully, and unsucessfully for that matter, live out our wildest dreams.

For your curious pleasure, I’ve scanned the pages of the poem from my personal issue and posted them here, maybe you can take a read and tell me what you think…