secret stash

This is just a place for me to write.  If you like it, great!  If you don't... I don't really care.  This will include my ponderings on my faith, stories I've never finished (or never will) and sometimes fan-fic type stuff.  I'll post stuff whenever I feel like it. :p My name is M. Zepeda.

[thealogie]

imagine being at a class reunion like, yeah remember hot tom? i heard he made all of his friends get ugly matching skull tattoos and call him a really ugly french name and also I heard his nose is gone. weird.

[hey--friends]

I didn’t realize this was about harry potter for a second

[amazingmaz9]

Broken

I feel so… Broken.

It’s something they never talk about in high school, I would know, I teach it now. You would think that once you’re on the other side of the desk and you’re the teacher that students shout out while walking the halls that you would feel like you actually accomplished something… Like you’re doing something.

But I don’t.

I feel so useless, alone and unappreciated.

I hear the kids voices say thank you, but I don’t feel gratitude. I don’t feel happy. I don’t feel… A thing. I feel so broken. As broken as my first day of school and last day of college. Like I’m searching for what I should be doing and what should give me purpose, and everytime I feel like I’ve found something… I realize it was just a breeze that blew just right to feel real.

[not-to-be-opened-blog]

The Man and the Monster

The Man and the Monster

             The rising sun shone brightly through his bedroom window.  Slowly the man, blinking sleep from his eyes, rises from his bed.  His head is still swimming from thoughts of dreams and the previous day’s activities. The memories of the night before are witnessed through a fog.  He rises to his feet and makes his way to the kitchen, to begin his caffeine addiction ritual.

           He pours his cup and looks out the window, the morning sun hurts his eyes as it reflects brightly against the compacted snow.  He squints, looking out, seeing girls creep out of other people’s apartment.  He peers over at his coffee maker the green digits on the display show that it was soon to be 7 o’ clock.  He detaches himself from the window, places his cup down on the counter.  He walks toward the bathroom and begins to strip off his clothes.  He begin to fiddle with the dials on his shower, trying to find the perfect temperature, somewhere between hell and the arctic.  He exits the bathroom, towel rapped around waist, and walks toward the bedroom.  He drops his towel and walks towards his dresser, he feels…hungry.

He looks at the digital display on his car radio now, it reads nearly 9:30.  He shifts his car into reverse, backs up and slips into drive and speeds off.  He blares the radio and listens to Taylor Swift’s new single. He pulls into the church parking lot, parks and he glances at the time and sees 10 till 10.  He grabs his small backpack, which contained his bible, phone charger and notebook, the essentials.  He walks in and is greeted by various church personnel.  He greets, hugs, smiles, laughs, shakes hands, smiles. Smiles. Smiles.

           The Man sees his best friend, he walks over and gives a hand shake that changes into a half hug.  The Man turns and sees an old flame, and he feels a growl.

           “Do you ever feel like you’re not in control?”

           “What?” The best friend looks at him like he was crazy.

           “Do you ever feel like you’re not in control of your life?”

           “Yeah, that what it’s like to work a corporate job, or any job really, having someone telling what to do, how well it needs to be done, and if it’s not up to par then they make you do it again… that’s what it’s like to be married.”

           The man smiles, gives a loving punch to the arm and walks to away…  He sees his family walk in, his mom, his sister, and his step dad.  They embrace him, saying hello, chastising him for not visiting often. “You’re only twenty minutes away, I don’t know why you don’t just pop on over.”

           “Mom, I’m really busy right now, school just starting and everything, I have to make sure all my teaching materials are ready…”

           “Good morning everyone, let’s go ahead and get service started.” The pastor announces to the rest of the congregation.

           The Pastor preaches, talking about the love of Christ and his ability to lead us away from temptation, that he alone is the way to heaven.  The Man’s heart stirs as he hears the message of love and freedom preached.  The Man looks around at the congregation and his eyes fall on someone new, she wore a low cut shirt.  As a whole, the shirt that she was wearing was still decent enough for church, but still the growl came, louder, and hungrier.

           The time now reads 12:30.  The church parking lot is behind him and he pulls into a chain restaurant, his mother convinced him to come have lunch with her and the family.  He walks into the restaurant and is greeted by the sound of children screaming and people talking.  The smell of grease and sugar hangs in the air.  His mother and step-father were waiting in line.  He joins them and they order their food.  His sister had been sitting down, guarding the purses and jackets, waiting for the rest of the family so she could sneak off and pee.

           The Man takes a quick glance at his smart phone, the display shows 12:50. The food is being eaten and everyone is content.  Mother has asked several time of any new girls, and throws in a few jokes, asking if there were any new boys.  The Man laughs and speaks honestly, there is no one girls in his life, and defiantly no men. The Man crumbles the paper that the burger was wrapped in and walks to the garbage to throw it out.  He goes back to the table, grabs his cup and walks to the soda fountain for a refill.  There was a small line for the soda and in front of him was a woman, she wore tight jeans and a loose T-shirt.  The Man’s mouth watered and the growl came louder and famished.

           The clock on the living room wall now reads 3:45.  The Man is nearly alone.  He hears the growls loudly now.  He is starving, The Man’s mind is blank, save for a few foul thoughts.  The Man paces, he feels the hunger, the growling. He scratches his head and tries to think of thoughts to distract him.  He thinks of comics, sports, sex, cars, rocks, movies, breasts, shoes, furniture, boxes, women, tools, chips, soda, food, sex, games, sex, books, sex, sex, sex…

           He hears the growl, feels the Monster waking up, wanting to eat.  The Man lays down and throws his smart phone away from him.  He tries to distract himself again, playing his favorite movie in his mind.  The Man is still in control, the Monster is still asleep.  The Man tells himself, “I am still in control, I am still in…”

           The computer display reads 4:17.  The Man is back in control, his body is drained and the moaning is still playing out of his speakers.  The Man closes the private browser, fixes his boxers, zips his pants up and lays on the couch.  The Man whispers to himself “I am not in control.” And he weeps.

           The time is 5:30.  The Man’s faced is etched with dry trails of tears.  He snores on the couch as he sleeps.  The growling is but a pur.

-M. Zepeda

[zaynrand-blog]

IM JUST TRYING TO SPELL POMEGRANATES 

[not-to-be-opened-blog]

Story of my life.

[not-to-be-opened-blog]

The Dragon’s Princess

Everyone sleeps.

Whether it be the constant burning of constellations high up in the sky that casts its glow down upon the changing world or the gentle hum of snores and wheezing that emanates throughout the forest.  Many animals sleep when the sun goes into its westward hiding place, and those who don’t slumber, scamper along as quietly as possibly, lest they wake a larger and hungrier animal who is ready for a midnight snack.  The only creature alive that had no fear of the other hungrier animals was the tiny cricket, who had the downright magical ability to chirp and sing and make it sound like it was coming from another region of the forest.  Again it was the dead of night, and the forest was still, save for the occasional snore, wheeze, or scamper from the surrounding animals.  The snoring dragon added to the forest’s glow, as she laid in the clearing, her belly shining with the hot flames turning beneath her purple and green skin.

A monkey in a nearby tree tossed and turned as nightmares ran rampant in his mind.  He tossed so much and turned so harshly that fruits that had grown on the tree were dislodged and fell on the dragon below.  The fruits collided with her head and she thrust herself forward, forcing herself awake.  “What on earth?”  She moaned, pushing herself up, she turned to look at what had hit her and there laid the culprit.  It was a single pomegranate, it had rolled away from her, cracked open and leaking. “Oh!”  The dragon said as she reached for the pomegranate and skewered it with her sharp talon.  She brought the red fruit to her mouth and placed the entire thing in her mouth. The juice evaporated nearly instantly and from her nostrils were plumes of purple steam.  She looked up to see why it had been disturbed and had fallen. There he was, still tossing and turning, the monkey, tail wrapped in the tree branches, preventing him from outright falling.  The dragon stood and was at eye level with the tossing and turning monkey.  “I’ll fix you.”  The monstrous dragon whispered, she took in a deep breath, the fire in her belly shifted colors, the dragon puckered her lips and gently blew flames at the monkey.  

The flames did not touch him, however, instead they hovered above his head.  The dragon reached up with her short arms and waved at the flames, the flames turned and twisted and took form.  The flames showed a scene, there was a monkey, being chased all through the forest by a vicious looking panther with two tails.  “This dream again, really Fred?”  The dragon said, she waved her hands again and the images changed.  The panther was still running, but now there was a monkey on his back.  The monkey laughed and hollered as he was taken through the forest on the back of a panther.  

“He’s missing something.”  The dragon said, and she blew a small flame in her hand and formed a cowboy hat, she then placed it on the monkey in the image and she then blew smoke at the image.  It blew away and with it the tossing and turning monkey calmed and was at peace.

The dragon settled herself under the tree once more and was about to fall asleep when she heard something very unusual for the forest. It was a child crying.  A human child.  Quickly the dragon got up and shot into the sky.  She blew smoke and steam out of her mouth and nostrils and covered herself in a cloud, hidden to the onlookers below.  Her flapping wings did nothing to disturb the magic cloud that she had hidden herself in.  She watched and saw an ugly old woman dragging a large cloth bag over her shoulder, the bag moved and the dragon heard the crying child from within the bag. “I mustn’t interfere with the affairs of man.  I mustn’t interfere with the affairs of man.”  She mumbled to herself.  Dragons where only meant to protect the forest and all the creatures who live in it.

The woman with the bag moved slowly, weighed down by the child that was hidden within the sack.  The woman then froze and quickly looked up.  The monkey had woken up to the sound of the crying child and was now hurling pomegranates at the old woman.  “Damn it Fred.”  The dragon whispered.  The monkey continued to throw fruits and screech furiously at the woman.  The woman dropped the bag and moved towards the tree with the howling monkey.  She reached her hand out and the monkey froze, he began to float out of the tree and towards the witch.  The monkey’s body began to bend and twist and contort in unnatural ways.  “Aw hell naw.”  The dragon burst out of the cloud and flew towards the witch, a single stream of flame shot out of her mouth and it surrounded the witch.  The witch let go of the monkey and focused on the flame that was now her prison.  “You have no business here dragon, be gone with you.”  The witch uttered.

“I am the Protector of these woods.  I protect the forest and all those who live in it are covered in the protection.  You cause harm to either and I have free reign to do with you as I please.  This is your warning, turn back, do not return or face the consequences.”  The dragon said, standing tall, her wings opened wide.

“Is that so, well I am from man, and we will take dominion on this and all other forest, and a filthy dragon like you will not stop me.”  The witch lifted her hands and the flame that once surrounded her had now lifted itself into the air and was hurling itself towards the dragon.  The dragon lifted her hands, and with a quick flick of the wrist the flames shot back to the witch, covering the majority of her body.  The witch screamed and fled from the forest.  The dragon watched as the glow faded and a plume of smoke above the trees marked where the witch was running towards.  She was going back to the enclosed village.  The dragon went and lifted the monkey, he was breathing, but only just.  The dragon blew a small ball of flame into her palm.  The glow from her belly was fading, as she used more and more flame. She whispered some words and the ball turned golden, she placed the golden ball of flame on the monkey’s chest and it absorbed into his skin.  The monkey woke, coughing.  “I’m so sorry about that Ekoh”  The monkey said to the dragon.

“Damn it Fred, I can’t always protect you.”  The dragon told the monkey, placing him back into the tree.

“Which is good cause I only SOMETIMES get into trouble.”

Suddenly they were pulled away from their conversation by a cry. The bag the witch held was still laying on the floor.  The dragon gently lifted the bag and opened it.  There was a little girl, about a year old, with dark brown hair and light eyes. She had on torn white pajamas and her face and skin was red from crying and friction of the bag.  The dragon held her and saw fresh markings on her skin. “What is that?” Fred asked.

“They’re blood markings,” the markings were still oozing blood. Ekoh held the baby close to her mouth and opened her mouth.  She pursed her lips and gently blew a flame directly onto the child’s skin. Immediately the bleeding stopped the child whimpered, her cries gentle, but still present.  “It’s a modified magi symbol for water, the symbol for change or transference.  It looks like this little one was going to be used for a transfer spell.  That witch was going to steal this child’s life energy.” The dragon said.  The child’s symbol glowed brightly, the baby began to scream and wail loudly.  The dragon handed the cloth bag to the monkey, “Tear that open, make it into something I can use to cover her.”  Fred tore the bag and made a makeshift blanket for the little girl.  Ekoh turned the baby over and saw that the color was leaving her body.  Quickly Ekoh bit the tip of her talon off.  She spat the fragment of talon onto her hand, she blow a golden flame onto the talon and the talon in turn glowed a fierce purple.  She took the talon and placed it in the hand of the child.  The dragon took the crying little girl and held her close to her glowing belly.  The tough scales protected the little girl from the burning flames, but she was still able to feel the warmth radiating off her.  She then took the blanket and placed it on top of the little one.

“What did you do with your talon?”  Fred asked.

“The spell was still active.  I needed to get her something that would block it for some time.”

Fred nodded “What will we do with her?”  

“Well, we can’t send her back to the Enclosed, she will die if we send her back.”  The dragon said, she felt the little one wrap her tiny fingers around her scales, her crying had died down to a whimper.

“Then what? Are you going to keep her?”  Fred said skeptically.

“What choice do I have, I must protect the forest and all those who live in it.  I also must punish those who seek to do it harm.  This little one has been abandoned and is now a living creature in this forest. There are also others who wish to do her harm.  I have no choice.  I have to keep this little one safe.”  The dragon said.

“I do not disagree with you.”  Fred said “But now I must ask you, if she is to stay what are we going to call her?  Little one is no name for a child.”

“You’re right, and if we christen her with a new name, it may stop the spell completely.”  Ekoh looked down at the little one, fail and weak, and yet calm and snoring louder than any creature in the forest.  The feeling of the little one’s body calmed the flame inside Ekoh, like a wave crashing into the flames and dousing them.  Immediately Ekoh knew what the little one was to be called, as if the little one herself was telling the dragon.  “Lumi,” A wisp of gold smoke left the dragon’s nostril. “Her name will be Lumi, because to survive in this world she will need to be as strong and powerful as a rushing river.”

-M. Zepeda

[not-to-be-opened-blog]

Letters To Superman: Love, Dad

Oh Clark… out of all the traits you could have gotten from me, why did it have to be my anger?

My pride was bruised today Clark.

You came home and you tried sliding a permission slip passed me.  First off, you lied to me Clark.  You told me that it was a permission form to watch a PG-13 movie.  Did you really think I wasn’t going to read it?  Did you think that because I am just a farmer that I didn’t know how to read?  Do you really think so little of me that you thought that I would ignore something from your school and just sign whatever you asked me to sign?

I’m hurt.

But I get it.  I lied to your grandpa for worse things.  Like the time that I told him that I spilled his bottle of whiskey… granted that wasn’t a complete lie.  I did spill it, just down my own throat.  Now don’t get me wrong Clark, I am still a man of God, however in our teen years we all try hedonism on for a spell, it was fun, but let’s just say that I didn’t like how it fit.

So you lied to me.  You told me that y’all were going to watch a film with cursing, you were convincing too, told me that there was no nudity, no excessive violence, nothin like that, just some foul language.

Then I read the paper.  It was an insurance waiver.  Now why would the school need a waiver to watch Of Mice and Men?  Ah… because they don’t.  They need one for students who want to play football.  Football?  You lied to me to play football.  

Clark, I could have all the paper on the planet and I still would not be able to list the reasons why it was not a good idea for you to play football.

You were so angry with me when I said no. I told you “Absolutely not.”  Your face fell, and then quickly scrunched up to anger.

“Why not?”  You asked, puffing yourself up.  You puffed your chest wide and held your fists behind yourself.  Clark I’ve been meaning to ask you why you do that when your angry, but in the moment it is never really that important.

“Why not?”  I was shocked with the question, “For one you lied to me.  Second, I’ve seen you wrestle angry horses to the ground. I’ve seen you chase wild wolves away from the feed and you have held down calves while we brand ‘em… with your bare hands.  There is no way in hell that I would allow you to sign up for football.”

“Dad.”  Your teeth were gritted, I could see your angry was starting to boil over, “Dad.  I want to play football.  I’m good at it.  I’m fast, and I’m strong.  If I played were would literally never lose.”

“That’s my point Clark.”  You were frustrating me, I’m not gonna lie.  You’re a smart kid Clark.  You knew that you shouldn’t do it, but like a child you wanted to do it. “You are fast.  You are strong.  It’s unfair for you to play, not only that but you run the risk of hurting someone, or worse killing someone.  Hell you could do one worse and just paralyze a kid.  Is that what you want?  To make a kid live the rest of his life in a wheelchair with a broken spine like that one actor?”

“Dad! I can control my powers!  If I can shake the pastor’s hand without breaking it, or hug mom without crushing her, or walk without breaking the sound barrier, I think I can control myself on the field.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

“No, Clark that’s not the same!  When you shake a hand, hug someone, or walk, you are not doing them all at high speeds.  Kids have broken their bones from a normal child crashing into them, imagine what a freight train would do!”

“Oh so I’m not a normal child.”

“Oh don’t run that load of horse shit again. Clark now you are just searching for a pity party.  My answer is no and that is final.”

You were so angry.  It was almost like your eyes were glowing red with anger. “Ugh!  I fucking hate being in this family.”  And you stormed off in a blur to the barn.  From the house I heard wood cracking and I knew that you had inherited another trait of mine… punching walls out of anger.

I grabbed my coat and opened the door to the back porch to make my way to the barn.  Your mom grabbed my arm, “Jonathan” she said “Let him cool down, he’s just mad about football.”

“Martha we did not raise our boy to speak like that or to throw tantrums.  I’m going to go talk to him.”  I walked to the barn, a large portion of wall was missing.  I went inside and saw you throwing bails of hay.

“CLARK JERIMIAH KENT ENOUGH!”  

“Dad!  Why can’t you just let me be!  I want to be normal!  Just let me be normal!”

“You are not normal son!”  I shouted at you. “You are not!  But that doesn’t mean you are above rules!  You are destroying the barn and cursing in the house?  Who do you think you are?”

“Dad…” tears of rage were flowing down your face. You were still filled to the brim with anger.  You turned away and punched one of the beams in the barn to splinters.  I run up to you and grabbed your shoulder (not one of my smarter decisions).

“Clark calm down.”  You turned to me, your eyes were closed but your tears were gone.  I saw everything with great detail in that moment.  Time seemed to slow down and I saw your tears change to steam, you opened your eyes and they shown bright red.  I had never seen this before.  

“Dad. I’m. Just. So. Angry.” And with that you screamed.  I tried to jump out of the way but the light coming out of your eyes grazed my arm, burning it.  I landed on the ground, I was gripping my arm in pain.  When you looked at me your face had finally softened, you looked terrified… but it was too late, the damage had been done and my pride, as well as my arm, were wounded.

“I’m sorry.”  You uttered, but I waved you away.

“Don’t talk to me Clark.  Do not talk to me.  This isn’t how I raised you.  How your mother and I raised you.  Leave. I do not want to hear the ramblings of a child.  So when you are ready to talk to me like a man, I’ll be here.  But until then I do not want to hear a word from you. Leave.”

The steam was gone, tears were freely flowing again, and you ran off in a blur.

I went back into the house and cleaned myself up. Your mother helped me bandage my arm. Luckily you had just grazed my arm and it was just my outer bicep that was burned.  Your mother was really mad at me after I told her what I said.

A man can’t catch a break can he?

She was worried that you would hurt someone, or that you would never return.  We were starting to believe that you would never come back.  I was scared that I had kicked out my son and had failed you as a father.  You didn’t take your phone or anything to track you down with.  You were just out there.  Alone.  And it was my fault.

But you came back.

It was almost two weeks later that I woke up one morning and there you were, fixing the rest of the barn.  The sun wasn’t even creeping up yet when I walked outside to the barn, holding two cups of coffee.  I was taking you coffee as a peace offering.  I may be stubborn, but I can admit when I was wrong.

You took the cup and wiped your brow, something you picked up when you would watch me work, which was now a habit of ours since you don’t actually sweat.  You drank the coffee and we walked over to the fence that held he cows.  We stood there in silence, not saying a single word. For a second I thought you had completely stopped breathing.  The sun had peaked over the horizon and was making it’s way west when I finally broke the silence.

“So, where’d ya go?”

“I’m not sure.  I was at the top of some mountains, either in Arizona or New Mexico, not really sure.  I didn’t have anything with GPS and I didn’t really feel like running into town.”

I had never been to New Mexico… or Arizona.

“How’s your arm?”  You drank your coffee, still facing forward.

“It’s fine, the burn is mostly gone, but it left a nasty scar.  Too bad I’ll never be able to share the story.”  I laughed, you didn’t. “How are your eyes?”

“I don’t know.”  You looked down at your mug, “It’s weird, I can shoot heat out of my eyes.” Your eyes turned red and I watched as your coffee began to boil. The red went away and your baby blues returned.  “It kinda hurts when I do it… but it’s something I can do now.  Dad, what am I?”

“I’m not sure son.”  Probably the most honest answer I’ve ever given.

“Was I created in a lab?  Is that why they put me in a ship and sent me away?  Am I a weapon that proved to be too dangerous?” I turned to you as you spoke, your eyes were tearing up, “was I a freak on that planet too?”  I grabbed you and I yanked you towards me.  I held you so tight that my arms were hurting against you.

“You are not a freak.  You are not a weapon.  You are my son.  I love you Clark.”

“I’m sorry.”  You sobbed, “I’m sorry for hurting you.”

“Hey, it’s okay.  It’s a Kent right of passage to hurt our fathers.  I punched your grandfather in the nose when I was 16. I’m just glad you didn’t do the same.” You finally laughed.  “But Clark.  You are not normal.  And that’s a good thing.  It does mean that you have to keep your temper under control.  But you have to be better.  You have to show people that just because we are powerful, doesn’t mean that we have to be bullies.  That though people can be bad, there is still good in the world.  Be the good Clark.  Be the good.”

Clark, I have no idea when you’ll read this, I hope I have the bravery to show you while I’m alive, but I doubt it.  Clark, I don’t know what your life will be, or what you will end up doing, but I hope it’s something great.  Something that allows you to do good and to be good. Clark please never forget that you are not a freak.  You are not a weapon.  You are not a bully.

M. Zepeda

[poetsandwriters]

“If you as the writer dislike one of your characters, the reader will feel that animosity in your words. The solution? Know your characters deeply on and off the page—know their desires, tics, fears, sexual preferences, favorite foods, secret dreams, worst habits. Develop them until you know them as intimately as a friend, in all of their complexities.”

— Crystal Hana Kim, in this week’s Craft Capsule; read the rest at pw.org!

[not-to-be-opened-blog]

Easier said than done, but still enjoyable nonetheless.

[not-to-be-opened-blog]

Meant to Be: Written in 2011, Post-Breakup

Words litter this page

As I reflect on this stage

This stage of life

In which I am unbound

 Unbound to a person

And being free

Unbound to anything

Just able to be me

 Who am I?

I wonder

This is something

That I must ponder

 So here I sit

Thinking what the heck

Thinking why is love so cruel

As it bit me in the neck

 Never have I been

Able to be just me

Worrying constantly

At things unseen

 Worried was I

That she would run away

Though she promised she wouldn’t

But it happened anyway

 So I sit here alone

Thinking of it all

I once wondered why she left

Now I don’t think of it at all

 I was put here for bigger things then this

Clark Kent just wasn’t meant to be with Diana Prince

 So until I find you,

Until I find my Lois Lane

I’ll paint an S on my chest

So you won’t miss me on that day.

-M. Zepeda

[not-to-be-opened-blog]

Wrote this back in 2011, I was 19.

Forward, backward, up and down!

Left, right, righty round

Dip in, jump out

Lip in, tongue out

Shout! Shout!

Blues bluer than a blue tutu

Greens greener than a green fruit-oo

Look! Watch!

Clockwork stock!

Shoes untied

Mind begins to unwind

Twitter, facebook, tumblr and the ‘tube

Mandarin, Spanish, Hebrew

Time to throw off my feet,

And take off my ish-shoes

Because sweetie, baby,

All I can think about is you!

Who are you again,

I don’t think we’ve met…

What episode are we on?

Eh I forget…

Back to my mind…

Black, blue, Scooby-doo

Snoopy, Woodstock, ASL too.

Where was I going?

When I started saying words?

Eh who cares…

I’ll just send it out to the world

-M. Zepeda

[not-to-be-opened-blog]

A letter to future generations.

I hope I live long enough to know that you’re alive.

My heart aches at the thought of you growing up without me.  I am physically hurting at the sheer thought that this is possible.  That you would grow in a world in which your father is no longer inhabiting.  To have the embrace of your father be a distant memory.  One that pains you to think about, so you bury it in the recesses of your mind until the worms of time slowly cause it to decay, and the thought of me, holding you, is nothing but intellectual worm food.  

That idea fucking sucks.

I am fearful, truly fearful, that you will never know me.  That you won’t know what makes me laugh, and what makes me cry.  I will never be able to teach you how to be a man, or what a man is.  To be religated to a name on a family tree.  Humans are fragile little beings.  Honestly we can be kinda shitty, and the world is kinda shitty.  We can’t choose our path, though we have free will, there are still events that will happen that we can never control!  I am sitting at the precipice of my life.

I am not young.  

I am not old.

I have yet to live my life, but still have lived so much of it.  Many people don’t even make it to my age.  People I graduated with have already passed away, and I have yet to even reach my 10 reunion.  I am very, very, fearful that you will live without me.  That you might never exist.  That the words on these pages have fallen on the ears of a being that never had the chance of being.

But… I will have faith. I will have faith that you do exist, and that I do hold you.  That you know that I love you and that since my mid-twenties I knew that I wanted to be your dad.  That I wanted to be the man in your life that will love you regardless of the person that you are (unless you’re a Nazi, fuck Nazis).

Whether you like men or women, whether you fall for a black person, or white.  Know that I love you.  That you are a beautiful creation.  That you are lovely.  That you were not a mistake.  

Surprises are NOT mistakes.

I hope to see you on your 45th birthday.

And your 50th.

And your 60th.

Maybe even your 70th.

I hope to meet my grandkids. To tell them stories about how you used to be… and to live long enough to tell them that they are becoming their parents.  I don’t know you yet.  I really don’t.  I’m 27 and you do not exist yet.  But I can’t wait to meet you.  To hold your little hands and kiss them.  To hold you close to me as you sleep.  To hear you cry.  To hear you laugh.  And most importantly, to hear you call my name.

To hear you say “Dad.”

-M. Zepeda

[not-to-be-opened-blog]

An Ode to Anthony Bourdain

Today, June 8th, 2018, my faith has been shaken.

On this day, celebrity chef and travel “blogger” Anthony Bourdain died of an apparent suicide.  

I never met this man.  And that’s the thing.  He was only a man.  One man. An intelligent, well spoken, mouth of a sailor type of man.  His writing was beautiful and artistic.  He had the literary voice of a man who was brimming with intelligence, and yet didn’t give a fuck of what other people thought.  And though he had this laissez-faire attitude he still had a heart that hurt for others.  He longed for people to under stand different cultures and why every culture mattered to the rest of the world.

People like this are important, especially now. He had a very special mind in which he was able to understand that people hate each other.  We do.  No matter which way you slice it we are naturally inclined to dislike one another. I once taught my class a lesson on Martin Luther King Jr (I am not comparing Anthony Bourdain to this man, though Anthony Bourdain obviously learned a thing or two from him).  In Martin Luther King’s speech “Loving thy Enemy” he taught a congregation that people are going to simply dislike them because of the color of their skin.  I then asked my students if they have ever met someone and within seconds realized that they didn’t like this person.

Every. Single. Hand. Shot. Up.

It is a lie to think that we love everyone.  It is a lie to think that we are okay with everyone.  BUT Martin Luther King continued and told his congregation that they too were guilty of hatred.  They too are guilty of disliking a person prior to knowing the person.  Regardless of color or creed we are inclined to dislike those who are different or challenge our way of life to looking “wrong.” It is so important to know this because it is only after we look within ourselves that we can break free of this hatred.  Though it is still alive within us we must look at it and know, “I’m being mean to this person, for no other reason other than a fundamental difference that we have 0 control over.”

Anthony Bourdain also understood this.  He understood that we are naturally inclined to hate one another.  This is due to religion, orientation, or skin color.  These are our differences, but it is our similarities that call us to be united.

That similarity is this.  We all eat.

Food is a binding factor.  Regardless of color or creed it is so easy to bond with someone over a good meal.  Regardless of your political stance, pro-wall or anti-wall, we all can agree that a burrito is a culinary/artistic masterpiece.  And whether you like me or not, every person who I have ever eaten with have all agreed with this... My mom makes bomb ass food.

It hurts me to think that this man, this smart, and even rich man felt so alone that he had to take his life.  This man who was trying to teach the world, such simple truths. It hurts me because of a simple biblical truth.  The kingdom of God is within man.  We are the Kingdom of God and yet too many times we watch pillars of the Kingdom fall. “Was he a man of God” “Was he a believer?”  These questions do not matter.  The bible never said that the Kingdom of God is only with in straight cis males who are believers in Christ and whom follow the ten commandments to a T… those are our words.

No.  It is within all men.  God made every man, woman and child.  We must believe this, because otherwise our faith is a lie.  Suicide is awful.  It is ugly. Yet we allow it to happen.  We allow our fellow man to feel alone. Afraid to reach out and have a heart to heart with each other.  We pray for each other without talking to each other.  We hope without reaching.  We sit while we watch a wall crumble.  We have faith, but we rarely work.  And if you read this and all you can think is “well that’s not me” well, well I hate to break it to you but you’re a liar.  

Anthony Bourdain was just a man.  A celebrity.  But he still walked this earth.  He still tried.  I hope that he found peace.  And I hope that the people in my life know that though I am a major jerk (and I mean major) that life is beautiful.  The world is equal parts good… and ugly.  That we, though we think ourselves good, have ugliness within us that may never disappear. But we carry on, we love, we laugh, we try and, most importantly, we eat.

-M. Zepeda

[poetsandwriters]

“Even if what you’re writing seems boring to you or if it seems unimportant, you are doing something useful: you’re preparing yourself for the moment when life or something else broadsides you and you need to write.”

— John Freeman

[not-to-be-opened-blog]

Trio out of Time

Time.

That’s a thing. It’s funny how when looking back at time and everything that has happened with your life, the weirdest and most… uninteresting events can take place everyday.  These events are unexciting when they happen, but when looked back upon they make strange and odd connections.  The people we meet in our lives are just events that happened by accident that later on cause hilarious stories that are told over drinks again and again.

2007.  Nearly 11 years ago, as of the time of this writing, and yet that year has some intense repercussion to the rest of my life.  It started with a girl, as it always fucking does, a short brown haired girl in drama club.  Drama club had just let out and I was really trying to be nice for a change. I noticed that she was walking the same direction as I so I walked with her.  We walked, talked about mutual friends, awkwardly laughed about… whatever it was.  I walked her to a pink house, one that she joked that her father hated since he already was in a house filled with women, and I laughed, said goodbye and walked away.

My life would have been so different had it not been for that walk.

I didn’t know it at the time, because we never do, but that woman and that walk created a ripple effect in my life.  A ripple that turned into a wave that I am still riding to this day.

No, I did not marry that girl.

No, I did not date that girl.

I did not fall in love.  I did not have a crush.  There were no fireworks for me.  

Just late nights of laughing, being out at ungodly hours.  We became a trio, however temporary that trio was. Because the way time works is that we do fall in love, and good friends rarely fall in love with each other.  So there was a time when it was me, her and her boyfriend.  So no, I did not fall in love with her.  Her impact was different.  She simply caused us to be out around our small town as each of our parents believed that we were at the other friend’s house.  We sat in gas stations eating shitty food, falling asleep in booths and then shaken awake when we all realized we weren’t in our proper beds. We made stories of jumping over cars, laughing till eye glasses flew out of car windows, hitting each other’s butts…hard.

Time allowed us to be together through a lot.  It was during those times, within the midst of it that we saw this adventure of ours to be never ending.  This trio that we were rode waves of events.  I was at the hospital that day their child was born. I was there, suit and tie, standing by my friend as he said I do.  I helped them move into their new apartment.  I helped them move out of their apartment.  I talked to them as their marriage crumbled.  As their whole world crumbled I was there, all because of a damn walk.  I witnessed them separate, we were like Pangea, the once super continent was now pulling away to become three separate islands.  We drifted apart and just like Pangea, there are still remnants, fossils of life of the super continent.  The waves that the “one walk” caused still hit the shores of my island.  Chipping away, those memories of the late nights are replaced with new memories.  Angry ones. When I think about all that has changed, all that the waters of time have eroded and destroyed, I am forced to wonder.  

What if I didn’t walk her home?

What if I just ignored her and kept on going.

Is time like silly putty?  Malleable and able to be changed?  Or is changing events like hammering a piece of steel with a rolled up newspaper?  A waste of time and energy.

But one thing I can say.  If I didn’t walk her home, I would have never gotten to know her.  I would never have become her friend, and my life would have taken a very different turn.  I would not know my friends.  I would not have the same experiences that I experience now.  I would not have done any of it.  I would not know the woman that I love, who I only met, granted years later, because of that damn walk.

-M. Zepeda