AC 182

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Papaoutai - Stromae

“Quoi? Qu’on y croie ou pas. Y aura bien un jour où on y croira plus, Un jour ou l’autre on sera tous papa. Et d’un jour à l’autre on aura disparu. Serons-nous détestables? Serons-nous admirables? Des géniteurs ou des génies, Dites-nous qui donne naissance aux irresponsables?”

This is an extremely depressing song lyrically, and for Julian, holds special meaning. This song is about a boy whose father is not present in his life and how he loses hope of his return - much like Julian. It has made Julian, much like the artist, cynical, and he questions why irresponsible people have children. It carries a lot of the emotion he felt throughout his childhood - especially towards his father for abandoning him.

Vivir Mi Vida - Marc Anthony

“A veces llega la lluvia, Para limpiar las heridas. A veces solo una gota, Puede vencer la sequía. Y para qué llorar, pa’ qué, Si duele una pena, se olvida. Y para qué sufrir, pa’ qué. Si así es la vida, hay que vivirla, la la la”

Whenever things feel too hard to go on, Julian puts this song on. While it definitely makes him cry, it reminds him that pain is only temporary. And life goes on, you shouldn’t dwell on things that are small in the grand scheme of things.

Despacito - Luis Fonsi ft. Daddy Yankee

“Despacito. Quiero respirar tu cuello despacito
Deja que te diga cosas al oído. Para que te acuerdes si no estás conmigo”

This song holds a special place for him because it describes perfectly the moment he found real love again and was able to move on from his past. It was a long time coming, the both of them playing cat and mouse, teasing one another until Julian finally confronted them with the truth, taking things slow and savouring every moment with one another. Unfortunately, it didn’t last, but he keeps the song close to him because he only looks back fondly on his time with this person - who will remain unnamed.

Protège-moi - Placebo

“Sommes-nous les jouets du destin, Souviens-toi des moments divins. Planant, éclatés, au matin. Et maintenant nous sommes tout seuls. Perdus les rêves de s'aimer, Le temps où on avait rien fait. Il nous reste toute une vie pour pleurer, Et maintenant nous sommes tout seuls.”

For Julian specifically, this song is about how his impulsivity is his downfall and all he’s looking for is his next high - whether that be drugs or sex. But at the end of the day, when all is said and done, he still ends up alone. He knows he needs to change - that he literally needs protection from himself, but he can’t seem to change or stop his ways. It’s become his addiction.

La Mordidita - Ricky Martin

“Si dios, puso la manzana fue para morder. Ay dios, pequemo’ abrazaditos hasta el amanecer. Llego la fiesta, pa’ tu boquita, Toda la noche, todito el dia. Vamo’ a bañarnos en la orillita, Que la marea esta picadita-ita-ita.”

Much like the last song, this one is about Julian’s attraction towards things he knows are forbidden. Despite knowing they are bad for him, he still pursues them, especially when it comes to people. However, he seldom feels remorse for doing so, instead basking in all his bad choices, preferring to live in the moment rather than anticipate the future regret. Because he is a hypocrite.

the suit ▼ drabble

He was like every other, some suit who’d gotten a little too comfortable spending rather than saving. Weekend trips to the track, bar tabs exceeding his pay grade, cars that nobody on the salary he was making could ever afford, a few too many bad hands in hold ‘em. After the initial high, there always, inevitably, comes the fall.

“Next week,” he pleaded, “Next week, I swear, I’ll have everything all sorted out an-”

The suit stammered, the way they all did when their debts finally caught up to them. There was a shot, and the suit fell. Debt paid.

responsabilidad ▼ narrative

This was it. The Chihuahuan desert. Over 140,000 square miles of dunes and arid mountains along Mexico’s northern border. The sun ran over everything in sight. Oppressive heat poured over anyone brave enough to venture out during the daylight hours. Even the lizards, so common this far into the Mexican desert, were nowhere to be seen. The droning of locusts somewhere in the distance made the heat seem all the more sweltering. Nothing but white-blue skies and nature’s version of home-made glitter: piping hot, sun bleached sand that glimmered like a billion tiny diamonds, half near blinding.

If this had been any other time, Julian would have thought it beautiful. But it wasn’t, so he couldn’t even pretend to see the beauty in it. It was just a prison. Everything that was once alive was now dead, withered and wasted from decades and millennia of the perpetual life giving sun. There was no other way to see it now. They were surrounded by death - centuries worth of death - and Julian couldn’t help but wonder if this was the end or just the beginning of nothingness.

But the day had other things in store for them.

At last, a wind rolled in from the west, bringing with it the caravan they’d sent out the day before. All the men on board looking high and mighty; triumphant and overconfident, probably without any real reason to be. But if there was a reason, it remained a mystery. It was only when the vehicle finally rolled up that Julian saw it. To the far back of the caravan, blindfolded and practically hog-tied, there was an evil looking bastard.

His face fell.

“¿Y quién es ese?”

There was an acidic quality to his tone, even to himself; words leaving a bitter taste on his tongue. This was a problem - albeit a little problem - but a problem nonetheless. And Julian loathed problems. Probably because he was usually the one that had to deal with them.

“No te preocupes, gringito. Te trajimos una mascota.”

Their response rivalled his in tone, only instead of faces puckering from the after-taste their words left, they revelled in it; thoroughly amused with themselves and their ‘catch’. All at once, the caravan erupted in laughter as one by one they unloaded from the vehicle. Julian’s gaze remained fixed on the newcomer, until a gun was shoved into his chest. Gaze locked with that of his superior.

“El es responsabilidad tuyo.”

pathetic ▼ narrative

It was your idea, wasn’t it? To fall in love with me? So that your life’s story could have meaning and purpose, but is that all I am to you? Something to occupy your time? Another doll in the corner of your room that you claim to love, but have left to collect dust? Another trinket to add to your growing collection? What am I to you? Tell me.

Am I a burden? Am I a nuisance? Tell me because I think I know what I am, I am the very thing you are too weak to say out loud, the very thing you’ll never admit. You would have taken me to old age and spoken truths only on your death bed, wouldn’t you? And leave me, spoiled and wrinkled and without chance of starting anew. You would have ruined me, and now you curse me because I removed the wool over my eyes. Because I wouldn’t allow it. Because I was not the fool you thought me to be.

I may be a lot of things, but stupid was never one of them. And you knew this. You knew this and yet you continued this farce. Was any of it real? Was any utterance from your lips spoken with genuine emotion? I doubt you. I doubt every part of you, of this, of us. There was nothing but lies. I was dumb to trust you, but the one thing I will never be? I will never be so pathetic as you.

i never hurt you ▼ narrative

I hate having to admit when someone’s right. Not because I’m one of those people who can’t stand being wrong, but because I hate the feeling I get when it happens. It stings in ways that make you feel ashamed, humiliated. The whole “I knew better, and now I’m hurting because of it, but I’m too embarrassed to go crawling to someone for help” thing. I hate feeling so vulnerable, but I am. And it’s my own fault. All those words of caution are only now crashing down on top of me. Like a pile of bricks. Each one more painful than the last. It makes me want for death. All over again. I can feel myself begging for it, praying for it. I let myself get too close too fast. Let myself believe the good… I allowed myself to believe I was special. That maybe, just maybe I could mean something to somebody and not have it be a complete shit show. Clearly that isn’t the case, that’s not what the cards have in store for me. I need to shake this idea that I’m even worthy of anything more than pain and heartache, because I’m not. And I’ll never be. It was a nice fantasy while it lasted, perfect, even. The memory will always feel warm long after it’s passed. But it’s one I wish I never dreamed of to begin with. One I wish I never knew. Save myself from what I’m feeling now. My only positive accomplishment in all this, is I never hurt you.

lines ▼ narrative

it’s in the smeared lines across the canvas, the way your stomach lurches with each stroke. you’re giving yourself away, but you can’t control it. this is you, this is your life. every joy, every ache. but this is no masterpiece, this isn’t even close. this is a tragedy, isn’t it? the colours blend, they mix, never becoming vibrant the way all the others surrounding you do. yours are just muddied; grayed, horrendously dark and… damaged. eyes, gelatinous, finally spill over in tears. it’s only then you notice how hot your cheeks are, how painful it is to continue. this is taking everything from you, the same way everyone else always takes from you. taking, and taking, and taking.

the brush drops, falling from your fingers that are too weak now to hold on. feet carrying you away, away, away. you need to, though no one else understands. how could they? they can’t feel what you’re feeling, they can’t feel the hole that’s carved away in your chest, can’t see the blood dripping down the front of your shirt. they marvel in awe, because they can’t see it for what it is. only you can. this monstrosity, it’s you in all oils. you want more than anything to get away, for someone to ruin what you’ve created, to throw it all away.

to throw yourself away. to be rid of yourself.

this was supposed to be fun, just a good laugh. art and wine. wine and art. you love both these things, but you could never love yourself. and you think the same thought you’ve had a million times before: ‘maybe now you don’t have to’.

AC 169 ▼ EASTER

Easter was always the worst holiday. Wind, cooler than what was deemed normal for April nipped at his cheeks; the scent of damp Boston pine saturating the air. Nostrils flared. Back in California, there were Easter egg hunts, candies, even toys… loved ones. But Massachusetts, the entire foster care system, robbed him of that. Lips pursed forward petulantly before pressing into a thin flat line. All around him classmates tittered excitedly in their seats, leaning over to talk about their plans, their outfits. But none of them bothered talking to him. Hands balled into fists at either side of him, knees bouncing as he tried his best to distract himself, hazel orbs fixed straight ahead at the whiteboard.

He couldn’t do it.

“Nobody wants to hear about your stupid holiday plans,” words snapped at a fellow classmate, loud and sharp, her cheeks instantly lighting up a bright cerise. Julian had, quite clearly, caught the poor girl off guard - embarrassed her, even. The giggles surrounding them were that of her own friends.

“We weren’t even talking to you,” Another girl countered, and Julian flicked his gaze in her direction, brow raised as she continued, “You’re just jealous because you don’t have a family that loves you. Didn’t yours leave you on a doorstep or something?”

He didn’t even have a chance to respond before someone else chimed in, “Aww, Julian. It’s okay, the Easter bunny isn’t real. You don’t have to act like a baby over it.”

The entire classroom erupted with laughter. But the moment was short lived. Unable to restrain himself any further, Julian leapt out of his seat in a blind rage, hurling his fist into the face of the first female student. “My family didn’t leave me on a doorstep!” Each word separated by a shaky breath, unyielding in his actions until much larger hands pried him off the girl, carrying him away, the blonde’s sobs lingering in the hallway, long after she was out of view.

addiction ▼ drabble

it hurts. every cold drop of sweat stings like a frantic little blade etching away at your flesh, burn trickling into veins; everything ablaze beneath clammy skin. you should’ve stopped when you had the chance - could’ve… but, now? why you thought you could make the attempt is beyond comprehension. particularly now, in this moment, as you writhe against the bathroom floor, trembling hands barely mustering the strength to drag your weight across tile, abandoning your sickness in the toilet, it’s all you can think about. all you ever think about. anything’s an excuse to use… especially trying to get clean.

‘friends’ ▼ drabble

02.28.20

friends, she called us. friends. she was my friend. but where was she when i needed her at three in the morning, face pressed so hard into my pillow, a hole ripped in the fabric? where was she when my nails dug into my skin trying to make the ache in my chest subside? where was she when we made plans and I sat waiting for hours only for her not to show? where was she when i tried to end it all? she was with you, ignoring me. hah. but if only you knew what i knew about her.