GET NEWS:

SYSTEM UPDATE, LOG 2014/APRIL/7:

logo for the clickbliss site

NEW INFO:

*Via the magic of 3DS Streetpass and Twitter I’ve managed to secure a paying job writing about videogames. Indeed. You can catch me writing copy over at GamerTell now. I’ll be doing news, previews, reviews, and the occasional feature.

*In a similar vein, I’ve started up clickbliss with a few friends. We’ll be looking to write about games, technology, music, and culture. At the moment the site is still under construction and without content, but we’ve set our Twitter, Facebook, Youtube, and Soundcloud up for action as well. I’ll be acting as editor-in-chief, systems manager, social media editor, as well as doing art and all the techy nonsense. So basically this should prove to be a lot of work. Material will be rolling in soon.

*I’m working on two tarot based projects in my spare time:
-One is a card game that I’m the process of fleshing out the rules to. After there is a solid foundation I hope to create some cards and playtest it.
-The other is a set of stories titled THE FORTUNE TELLER which revolve around a lot of mythological elements. While I initially intended to write it as a set of poems in the style of “From the Mouth of the Stars” the plot and backstories are starting to become detailed to the point where I’m considering writing it instead a set of stylized short stories. So far there are many moons, civilizations rising and falling, nymphs, the world tree and all manner of nonsense going on.

That’s all for now. I’ll be hoping to be updating this with more detailed progress reports and previews of my work, and perhaps some more art or comics soon.
As always you can look for me on all the nonsense social media channels, which are also annoyingly attached to the sidebar on the right there.

child,

they call me prophet
talent
all puzzle, kid Hughes
modern day Langston
speaks of rivers
my Harlem is the Nile
I
lie down in shadow
bathe in Brooks (,) Gwendolyn
take a look
as I lurk late, strike straight
sing sin praises
hang ups
as i write persuasion

turn coat as i
learn to be Black
faces, traces
of color running  up my hands
borders bleeding
I’ve conceded
that my conceit
is no more than the others
brothers
in awe at this wash of talent
less bodies able more
minds in need of action
aspirin addled acetate against
needles scratching
skin deep
web wasted minds
no love.

I am Picasso’s blue mood.

on Madison.

today’s poem comes in spoken word form:

JEFFERSON PARK

late. slow from the curve the light catches my lens.
expect delays due to heavy passenger load
stand

i stand. clamber upon.
wristbands clatter boxed water
stand.

 sit. give to fatigue.
metal below echoes echo

 THE NEXT STOP IS
clamber clamber chatter chatter

 DEE ROAD
from drinks to heavy clutterload
this tin can is packt

hood up wings crumble at the touch keep the walls from narrowing
okay that i’m thin tougher than you think
i bet you get this all the time
i bet you get this all the time

 they talk about that show i hear
tremble, for yourself my man
tremble, little lion man

 and they ask for me to share my goods? but
my gestured offering
rejected
it was only a tease only a tease

 where were they
that they must be here
reading void train pamphlets
bar hopping
into the post-midnight?

 can i

breathe

now?

and the clock tower greets
fatigued with familiarity
daydreams end with mechanical night routines
hoping to discharge this mind with slumped shoulders and a laid head.

Issues #1: Childhood Dreamer

BABE

I’ll guide you.
fit your hand in mine and tonight I’ll lead.
close.
hand to chest to heart.
fingers lost in your curls. hips hands hearts.
sway with me, eyes touching.
our silence as brilliant as our vibrant verbal exchanges.
let’s tangle our necks and fire fire fire.

this is my idea of fun.
this is fun to me.

Madison

I step off the orange line to find that I am lost. With no one in sight and nearly every store closed, I am at a loss for directions. I walk a block in what I hope is the right direction. There is a map of the Loop, here of all places. The chill from an ill chosen wardrobe and a building combination of anxiety and rejection obscure the words in my vision. Gibberish. Continuing down the street I find my way to Michigan Avenue and follow it towards the park, hoping that some half-lit store or street will become a landmark to guide myself by.

There is a knot in my gut. A chill in my head.
Madison.

welcome to lonely.

self-portrait using train window.
.3, .5, and .7 copic pens.
approx. half an hour.

Chicago, I Love You.

Chicago was never my first love. I was too young, and too blind too naive to fall in love when I grew up with her. She was an older gal, her experiences and stories were intimidating to me. Nevertheless, I can’t help but share my heart with her. Chicago, then, is the childhood friend that you never realized how much you missed. Then one day you come back to her, realize that she’s maybe looking a bit more ragged than you remember, but she’s so much more mature and beautiful now that you can realize it.

She’s simply incredible. I remember the nights alone with her, my young self at the window, the sound of cars passing through the lamp lit streets. Those were the streets that came alive during the day–children walked to school through the colors of Autumn, and through the blizzards of Winter. The season’s moods changed and seemed to grow with her. With the variety of color she laid upon me, she laid a variety of culture with it as well. I have no doubts that had I grown up somewhere else I wouldn’t have half the history or diversity that I have today.

Cicero, Belmont, and the rest of those enumerable places I’ve lived: they were my Mango Street. They were where I wrote my coming of age story, where I cried to myself and hid from the world in worlds scratched down in the marks beneath my pen. The same fictions that would one day become my saving grace, as I discovered the joy that they brought others. Here, in the city where Hispanic men sold corn and ice cream on each school street corner, where a single block contained shops where three different ethnic groups coexisted, I penned fantasies and withdrew into myself.

Chicago withdrew with me, however. I breathed her in, and as I did she became part of my identity. As I grew and reconciled the many identities that I created for myself, the identities and cultures that she exposed me to grew with me as well. Our travels have pulled us apart, however. Today I live a train ride away, and only have a chance to visit her for a few nights out of the year. I breathe her in each time, take my time to lay my eyes on the bittersweet beauty of her ever changing landscape. Even through all the change, I still see the place that more than anywhere else, raised me, hurt me, and grew in my heart as I continued to realize and become my true self.
Chicago, I love you.