Eric Garza @greenlanturn39 - Tumblr Blog

Solidification

The ice in my veins The thoughtful suspicions The lead in my limbs The curse in my breath The fate of my fears The scars where I once bled The salt in my tears

The wind caresses' my skin, I turn away. E. M. Garza

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"Why would anyone go looking for pain? To be hurt? To merely scratch the under sides of heavens floorboards only to realize that everything is without reason and time is figment? Then tell me why I dream of certainty and the seconds you're gone, Madness."

E. M. Garza

What summer is to me

I miss the days of cut grass and still nights, I miss the telling of scars and heartbeats, I miss the days seeking to be breathless, Gone so soon, nevertheless. E. M. Garza

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I gaze into the mirror and what do I see, A decrepit old man stares back at me. He draws a finger into my chest, Above the pocket on my left breast. I clutch my chest unable to breathe, What is left for this old man to bleed?

E. M. Garza

The American Dream Is Dead

Callous are the hands that hold firm to the ideologies of man. Hastily drawn to the siren song of the American dream, it reveals itself to them as a rotted putrid carcass of a horse. The pecked-out eyes heed a warning silenced by fear and starvation. With Vim, you retrace its steps to find the source of where it all went wrong; hours become days that melt into years. Looking back across the rabbit hole, you no longer see the horse to whom you once pledged vengeance. Years become decades that melt into generations, and even now, having a broader view condensed to a pocket-sized screen, the genocidal onslaught of horses continues, some upon the first breath.

It's my 6 year anniversary on Tumblr 🥳

#6 year tumblrversary #tumblr milestone

Mussels in Brussels

From the daily routine of seeing all of the sights and sounds of the hustle and bustle in Brussels; to the late night club scene, bars, and cabarets that sustain the nightlife in the capital of Belgium. I found myself waking up in the apartment of an intoxicating, off duty verpleegster (nurse) who was cooking a late-lunch on a rainy September afternoon in nothing but my dress shirt and a hungover haze told me everything I needed to know about the hospitality surrounding the capital of Belgium.

I found solace in her pot of Moules-Frites à la crème, a nationally known dish consisting of cooked mussels served thickened with flour and cream, hot with fries as the side, and a “Mosselsaus”; a simplistic yet effective condiment combination of Mayo, Mustard, and Vinegar. A dish that can be surmised as French cuisine with Flemish Fare, held true to its roots as a peasant dish consisting of cheap, yet popular ingredients is well reciprocated by those who live there. My remaining days in Brussels were filled with walking in awe of the historic ‘Art Nouveau’ architecture, indulging in the sum 1800 bars and restaurants, writing poetry of the vinos laughing in the Mount of the Arts or ‘Mont des Arts’, an urban complex marking the city centre, to getting lost in the serene Sonian Forest.

Now after a twelve hour flight, four hours of sleep, and drinking a fistful of coffee grounds in my small Austin apartment; I’m brought back to memories of those sleepless mornings, smoking cannabis cigarettes and drinking on the hotel rooftops after a late night of networking over beers and cultivating a perspective of the Brussels experience. If there was ever a place to lose yourself and gain new inhibitions, a place that exemplifies contemporary by day and hedonism by night; Brussels is that place.

#culinary #travel #mockcopy