FLACO

Miguel BROOKLYN

[flacomag]

THROUPLE by Mur

[flacomag]

Flaco in the city

[iapislazuli]

in class

me: *smiles*

teacher: why u smiling

me: nothing

me (in my mind):

[flacomag]

found this on the moles 2day

[sogothimdead-deactivated2020060]

[pumpupthevolumee-blog]

Mood

[this-emotion]

[flacomag]

again

I am often let down. I never win. I never get what I want. I try, I go for it. But it all seems shattering. A new year thinking everything will be bomb, but then again I am the same. I cannot reach. I am ignored. Why is it? Why is it that what I want never looks my way?

I am happy. I am enough. I am right where I am supposed to be. I keep telling myself. The best beat, is the one we bear. 

[slyhigashi]

Toshio Saeki.

[angrydance]

[tkyle]

[onlytwitterpics]

[tamper]

[preshhhhh-deactivated20150808]

[flacomag]

iHell

Just a few days ago,

 I was ranting about the existence of a God because my iPhone 5c survived another hit against the ground. This is about the fifth time my screen cracks, I have had to replace it twice. For a couple of minutes I was overtaken by the stress of considering the money needed to pay for another screen, or a new phone. The phone hit the ground and I saw the thunder-like cracks take over my screen, and even though it was wearing a case, I saw the light of the screen die too. I was in the middle of work, so more than half of myself was immersed into what I was doing. I showed one of my coworkers the damaged screen. Emory, a gorgeous dad with a deep stare that resembles the ones our dog give us, told me  “You're working all these hours to get a new phone? You should keep getting iPhones then...” A somewhat sarcastic remark that hit me right where it needed to realize the techno-slave fool I have become. 

What is Apple and who can afford it? I get a freaking iPhone 5c that puts me in debt for 2 years and it cracks along the way, so that means I need to spend more money on fixing it. What kind of money will make you create an efficiently designed phone that won't bend or crack? Have you ever met anyone whose iPhone screen hasn't cracked? 

[flacomag]

duele una vez más ver recalcado que este es el tipo de gente que gobierna en el país de uno. gente ignorante hasta la médula sin vergüenza de aparecer en TV nacional sin tener idea de lo que dice. pero más duele pararse en frente de ese espejo para recordar que eres Venezolano y dejaste que ese tipo de persona se montara en la tarima.

[flacomag]

The Mischiefs of a Twink in the City

I.

Spring 2014

The clock struck 9 am and Angel Martinez was late again. It was a cold April spring day, the rain fell peacefully on the subway platform. The screeching of the M train going through the rails rattled his ears.

He was dolorously hurt. He felt pain in his back and neck and as he sat on the bank he felt it in his smooth thighs and ass. Moments from last night flashed through his mind; the way he was assaulted —but was he assaulted? He remembered having a slight desire for the attention of his offender; unconsciously seeking for it in a naive way. After all, he did agree to meet up with him at the bar. It was all his fault. The old man, with blue marbly eyes, buzzed white hair, and a quirky smile came to him.

“Look at you—

you’re so much cuter in real life” he said grabbing his hips.

“Gregor! — It’s nice to finally meet you” he hugged him quickly and headed to the bar where he got a whisky ginger.

He remembered that from the bar, and resisting, to his touch and other man’s.  Teasing. His butt was pinched at least three times by different men throughout the night. He remained motionless by the action, no turning back, no acknowledgement. He did acknowledge with his eyes, however never directly into another pair. He would give brusque stares at other men whom he was attracted to, but whenever they searched for his eyes he recoiled by looking away. He was somehow terrified of staring at another man’s eyes. The way they looked at him, with such hope and affection, seeking something deeper within him than he thought he could ever give. He was no one, and had nothing. He would never live up to anyone else’s expectations.

His head felt heavy, if any, disturbed by last night’s scene. The way he was held, pushed, gripped, spanked; aggressed into pitches and moans of pleasure. He liked being treated in that violent way, as he found humiliation gave him a certain lightheadedness. Last night was a first for sure. He also made some good cash and a credit card out of it, but now he was allowed to use it. He had come back to Brooklyn from Bowery where he awoke that day. Brooklyn dragged him out back to Manhattan to reach his morning class. He picked on his cuticles, ripped them out with his teeth. A tiny drop of blood grew on his middle finger. He tasted it.

The screech of the train lowered as it arrived and Angel stood up to ride it. He hadn’t made up his mind about where he was actually going, but he figured most of the times life kept him boarding a train somewhere.

[flacomag]

you know, I try

I show

I look

up

and down

I yearn you,

or an idea of you.

I seek for you

but you’re never around

you’ve deleted me

a stranger denounced