Its 7:11 and I don't mean the convenience store that stays open 24 hours, seven days a week. Or do I? Drinking a Captain Morgan pineapple rum blend with a hint of sprite and cranberry, I try to unwind in preparation of tomorrow, and what has happened today. After seven loads of laundry (yes, seven.) that has piled up to the Heavens in 80 degree heat, I ask myself what now? After the maintenance man came to fix the a/c, and folding an enormous stack of clothes, I actually sit down at 2:00 p.m. I honestly sit down. I think this is the first time I sat down for more than five minutes since I woke up around 6:45 this morning.   This is me, all day long. 7-11.   And I despise it. I despise the constant running, the errands, the to-do lists, the mundane mediocrity of housework and childcare, endless dinner preparations for an ungrateful man of the house, and put "me" last on the list. Oh, yeah. A list. Another list. A list where I am on the bottom, and for some odd reason of hi

“Smile” Engrossed in simplistic and detailed to do lists Full of over-simulated graphics the eyes have to see and the under-saturated joy the mind for it's endless possibilities is the warmth of a hand the assurance of the embrace that God is still alive and you are in his grace for when we forget to realize the skies are still blue the moon still shines at night we diminish the hope for tomorrow the race of endurance, the stamina of the fight and we lose us. we lose what is supposed to be freedom and spirit power and forgiveness joy and pleasure limiting the full potential of you. and you are so great, so powerful, so wonderful that even the one that creates the blanket of stars and the breeze on a summer night thought to create you. in your creation, he found pleasure the pure molding of his likeness and image personality. spunk. essence of life and breathed the life into you as you breathe life out of you everyday. And everyday that life is breathed, that time is created to be f

I had a cigarette today.   Took a nice long drag. Forgot what that inhaling of nicotine induced haziness felt like again until that cloud of smoke surmounted my lungs, and I coughed. Damn these things got stronger since I last took a puff three+ years ago. I have been literally dreaming of one lately. Seen myself kicking back in some sort of chair, preferably leaning and having my feet up. Smoking a long menthol cigarette an easing away all the pain that brings all this stress into my life. Don't know where I got the idea that I could be left alone even for one moment of solitude, one moment of peace where quiet breezes hit my face easy and subduing.   I guess I can't even have a cigarette in peace.   You know the funny thing about stress? It has the avalanche effect of a big ball of crap that instinctively creates more crap until you (the crapee) is in so much crap that you stink to high Heaven of negativity. Need I say more?   Stress. Something that we all face and try to avo

"Rescue Me"   I don't think death is a hard man to look at. Not a scary scythe carrying grim reaper wearing a dark robe reeking of fallen ashes and freshly dug dirt right now, he will look like an angel (to me) bright and with a long gown ever flowing whispering in my ear sweet Beverly, it's time to come home and I will dive into his arms like a child who has missed her father. Because he is sweet welcoming to me like potato salad and fried chicken that my mom made especially for me to welcome me home after a long trip on the road. Right now, he is sweet and kind kissing me on my forehead And relieving me of my last breath Because I was too tired to do so. Too worn to even fill my lungs. Too weary to even think about the inhaling and exhaling the in and out of peaks and valleys He is my sweet dreams of what others called nightmares of monstrous boogeyman's and unhopeful futures. Sweet song that I hear my last breath that I breathe He says sweet Beverly, it's t

"It is there" i am transparent. on my sleeve my chest is carried as an soul deep open armed full of wonder and uncomplicated rhythm of an heart. and it beats. miraculously, it still beats. it has a rhythm that is dedicated to life and movement and moments that have left me breathless. and it still feels under cold sheets and bare cotton under quiet acoustics of soft snores and hard sleeping with eyes held heavy from the light of the moon, i am alone. with this big old heaviness resting on my sleeve with this unbelievable passion that finds zest and zeal rigor and rigormortis, i have seen it rise and fall beat and flatline, whole and broken i wear it. transparently. it is there. -b.r.rivera

Ok ...so what's up with the mental block? Kinda like the block I get at 10:00 in the morning between making bottles and cleaning last night's dishes because I was too tired. Am I stuck in a fog? The kinda dense fog where completion and ending are the same but seem miles and worlds apart. The kind of dense fog where writing becomes monotonous, college courses become a pain in the ass, and I become fashion roadkill from another day in sweats and a t-shirt. Aaaahhhhh ! What does this all mean? A mid-life crisis...Wait-I'm only twenty five. Okay...stuck in monotony. Or a valley. Or a spiritual hiatus. Whatever you want to call it, I'm official there. Between the post-baby muffin-topped stomach and the insane list of "to do's " when I just want to "to not do." Could I be bored with my life, right now? Could I be just too damn tired to do anything? Could I be all work and no play? Or the kind of person whose life evolves around their child and then the