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quico vidal guerrero, democrat. i'm with the edf. finding (& funding) the ways that work.

[quicovidal-blog]

celia-bosworth‌:

Celia walked into the room and watched from afar how all the people were getting to know each other and swapping out information or God knows what. She usually came to these events to keep an eye on what was current and who was mixing with who. It never hurt to keep an eye out for. 

She made her way to the bar and sat down on a chair when someone next to her spoke up. Celia’s eyes followed where the guy was gesturing and felt a smile slip onto her lips. “They tend to stick very closely to their word.” When she turned to face him, she wasn’t quite able to place him. She replied as she took a sip of her drink. “Does that mean you’re not a republican or one that can at least identify their flaws?” 

“A self-aware Republican?” He took that last sip left of middle-shelf whiskey, smile slid behind the lip of his glass. “You still believe in Santa Claus, too?” 

In the dim, flattering light, she looked like she was still too young to buy herself a drink. Someone’s daughter, he thought, or someone’s date. 

Quico swallowed, and touched his hand to his chest. “Unaffiliated,” he said. “Or -- bipartisan, I should say.” The air-quotes were audible, even if he didn’t make them. “I’m with the EDF.” 

[quicovidal-blog]

delilahcconnelly‌:

The fundraiser wasn’t candidate specific, something Delilah loathed. You couldn’t choose the donors, or the access, or what got said to whom. It was far to uncontrollable and her anxiety was through the rough. She’d lost TJ to a donor or a lobbyist or someone, but knew his staff was keeping a close enough eye on him such that Lilah could sneak away for another drink. At least she’d yet to run into her father. 

The man next to her at the bar spoke, and Lilah glanced over waiting for her wine. “Perhaps they have already cleared out the tip jar, fear of theft.” The bartender didn’t comment as he handed the woman her drink, but Lilah slipped a 20 into the jar regardless. “Maybe now he will vote for us.” 

He breathed a laugh like a reflex, one syllable of air through his nose. There were plenty of thieves in the Republican Party, but none of them were interested in pocket change. Next to him, a pair of Reservoir Dogs clinked their beers together in a private toast. Quico tried to imagine one of them shaking cash out of the tip jar. 

Still, a 20 was generous. “Worth a shot,” he said, though he doubted it. Quico had never been a bartender, himself, but he figured they weren’t exactly up in arms about the wealth tax. “It’s hard to imagine working one of these things. As an outsider, I mean. All the pomp and... red balloons. If I walked into something like this 20, 30 years ago? I don’t think I’d vote at all.” 

[quicovidal-blog]

toddnj·:

Pathetic was a word often used to describe Todd. He heard it from his wife, his son, his personal advisors. He’s heard it so often that the word has almost lost all meaning to him. But the word becoming synonymous with his wrinkled collars, and ability to always say the wrong thing at the wrong time he had come to wear like a deranged badge of honour. His son’s new found confidence and rebellion is what pushed back all his meetings today, so he greeted the other sitting outside his office with a sheepish grin and a clammy handshake. “Sorry about the last minute rescheduling, kid borrowed the car last minute— teenagers am I right? Please come on in,” he says as his free hand searches for the keys to his office door.

“Jesus.” With every meeting he scheduled, Quico had to think about the optics: who saw him where, talking to who, could matter just as much as what was being said. It was why some conversations were better had in the sunlight of the National Mall, and why some of them were best done over the phone (hello, NSA!). It was why he had no trouble waiting for Todd to show up -- until he was there, looking even more rumpled than usual, and the optics changed. “You really are the Ringo of the Republican party.”  

Quico leaned his shoulder against the wall by the door. In the beat that followed, while Todd rummaged for his keys, something like sympathy stirred in him. He shooed it away, for now. “Did he make you say please before he gave it back?” 

[lifeinpoetry]

I simply want and what dear god is on the other side of want? I want that too. My want is so wide I cannot cross it.

— Michael Lee, from “Row,” The Only Worlds We Know

[quicovidal-blog]

Another day, another campaign fundraiser. The room was full of elbows people paid to rub against -- the candidate doesn’t matter, it’s the company he keeps -- and Quico had gone through a third of his business cards by the time the speeches wrapped up. He was also three drinks in.

That left a lot more drinking to do if he was gonna get his money’s worth. “I love Republicans,” he said. He stretched a couple fingers off his glass, in the direction of the bartender’s tip jar. Empty. Nothing but nickels and dimes. “They say no handouts, and they mean it.” 

[darksidelawyeractual-deactivate]

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Screw it. Here is “Runaway” as well.

And I always find, yeah, I always find somethin’ wrong You been puttin’ up with my shit just way too long I’m so gifted at findin’ what I don’t like the most So I think it’s time for us to have a toast Let’s have a toast for the douchebags, Let’s have a toast for the assholes, Let’s have a toast for the scumbags, Every one of them that I know Let’s have a toast for the jerk-offs That’d never take work off Baby, I got a plan Run away fast as you can

[demet19o3-deactivated20230212]

[soracities]

“How pure your longing to be anything other than yourself.”

— Kim Addonizio, from ‘You Were’, Wild Nights: New and Selected Poems