everything is relevant

GRANT PARK.

luisamercadorivera@gmail.com — Fri, 07 Nov 2008 05:49:53 GMT

i could not have picked a better time to move to chicago.

being in grant park to see obama and hear him speak after becoming the president elect was the best thing i will ever experience in my entire life. the unity, love, and peace flowing through the downtown streets of chicago was insanity.

a million people parade chanting "yes we can" while car horns honked and waved their american flags...

i have never, EVER, felt more proud to be an american.

i don't think i ever will.

luisamercadorivera@gmail.com — Tue, 24 Jun 2008 23:19:29 GMT

i take too many naps.

6/12

luisamercadorivera@gmail.com — Thu, 12 Jun 2008 04:16:32 GMT

"Hemingway - The Suicidal Years" Acrylic 3/2008

i had a dream last night that drew and i sat our cat down for a heart to heart. he tried to reason with us why it was okay for him to take a shit right outside of his litter box. we were somehow conned into agreeing with his point of view and tossed his litter. i woke up and checked to make sure he hadn't shat beside his litter box. he hadn't. he also, disappointingly, did not speak english.

this and that

luisamercadorivera@gmail.com — Sat, 19 Jan 2008 03:44:51 GMT

why is it that many "vegetarians" give themselves the chicken and fish option? does that not entirely negate the definition of their morality when it comes to food preference?

alabama is absolutely a terrible place to live, in my opinion. fucking horrible. i suppose i've just never been a person belonging to the south. i miss culture and diversity and entertainment and cannot wait until the move when our lease is up. the only things i'll miss are a couple of people, drew's amazing mother, and my parents. i've found out that i have absolutely no other attachments left here anymore.

anyway...

who else loves the sounds on everyday italian? from the spatula hitting the bowl to the water trickling off of spinach leaves in the sink. flawless.

luisamercadorivera@gmail.com — Sun, 08 Jul 2007 06:08:06 GMT

i'm terrified about moving, but am anxiously awaiting the realization of how attached to new york i really am/am not. it has been the best thing to ever happen to me.

i plan on backpacking through south america next summer, with or without drew.

i love my family, my friends, my boyfriend, and my life.

i couldn't be happier or more excited about my future.

transformers

luisamercadorivera@gmail.com — Tue, 03 Jul 2007 16:28:33 GMT

i went into this giving it an initial rating of 3 and i believe that's why i came out of the theatre upgrading that to a 7-8. also, there is something quite fantastical about watching the autobots transform through briliant CGI on the biggest theatre screen in new york city. oh, and the special effects made me want to punch someone - but not because it made me angry, but because it was extremely flawless. and, you know, when you think something is so great, you don't know how to express it anymore, so you just punch someone and then say sorry? yeah. it was something like that.

luisamercadorivera@gmail.com — Thu, 26 Apr 2007 12:26:38 GMT

i'll be in alabama the 3rd through the 6th of june. drew and i are going to a wedding in huntsville and then driving to my parent's house for awesome bbq the day after. i hope to see all of my friends at pelham's. it should be a good time.

luisamercadorivera@gmail.com — Fri, 13 Apr 2007 23:02:03 GMT

what's up with this redefined psychedelic revolution amongst 16-24 year olds? it's everywhere, it seems. it just cannot be recreated. i'm assuming that's what the acid and lsd are for these days - to transport themselves directly to a place where they believe woodstock can revive itself through their music. the world is much too grounded and brainwashed for that sort of thing anymore. and, really..16 year olds? where are their parents when they are listening to the white album over and over and imagining themselves in their former body 35 years ago? free love it up all you want, you crazy kids - you will never be the revolutionaries that were aaaaaand your music still fucking blows.

luisamercadorivera@gmail.com — Thu, 29 Mar 2007 03:18:52 GMT

do you ever just wish for people to be foward and completely honest with their feelings, without the use of metaphors - no matter how scared they are of awkwardness or rejection?

don't you think life would then be full of consistantly hidden possibilities?

i do.

enemy

luisamercadorivera@gmail.com — Wed, 27 Dec 2006 15:09:42 GMT

as it stands, if nostalgia refused such a vital role in providing consistant topics to write about or particular feelings to hide on the base of a painted-over canvas, i would be more of a stick in the mud than anything else. but nostalgia fucks me up, you see. it rips through every chord in my brain, attempting to get the best of it, and normally advances with flying colors, awards and all - maybe even a few medals.

the truth of the matter is, i do not know what makes me happy, authentically. i often blame my creativity for fabricating certain scenarios into magical moments in time, capturing a load of horseshit and insignificance that is somehow transformed into a beautiful minute worth stopping time for. it is one of those things, you know, that hurts you more than it helps you.

i left orlando yesterday thinking that i had missed out on so much, knowing that if i were to have stayed there, i would have only hated it more and more everyday. i come back home to miss my old friends more than any other people on this earth, only to accept that things will never be as they were when we were younger and less inhibited. i will go back to new york sad that i still, despite every effort i make, live my life with so many regrets that is it almost impossible to even begin to redeem myself through a liberating lifestyle that should wrap me in content.

basically, i will always be sad and i will always be scared. i will always remember everything, unwillingly, and love everyone that i have loved fully in the past. i will always return to old comfort zones, see someone that i shared some level of emotional attatchment to, and wish i could have changed it then. i will always be fucking burdened with nostalgia.

i need to work on detachment.

luisamercadorivera@gmail.com — Sat, 23 Dec 2006 06:22:13 GMT

the bahamas, i must admit, are quite fucking fantastic. there was something terribly amazing about watching my brother singing disney tunes on stage while drinking copious amounts of coronas with my father. it was almost wrong, really.

tomorrow i am going to windsurf, swim with dolphins, and scuba dive.

who would have thought?

luisamercadorivera@gmail.com — Mon, 13 Nov 2006 18:21:02 GMT

luisamercadorivera@gmail.com — Wed, 08 Nov 2006 23:17:48 GMT

home.

intoxicated encounters

luisamercadorivera@gmail.com — Sat, 28 Oct 2006 03:14:56 GMT

that is, most definately, paul rudd and i love new york.

jose luis.

luisamercadorivera@gmail.com — Tue, 17 Oct 2006 06:21:42 GMT

i experienced, what felt like, a ripped chord in my brain tonight while watching the departed.
i touched the left side of my head where my ear meets my neck and felt it was much warmer than the right side.
throughout the entire film, i couldn't help but feel as if the sensation was an early sign of an up and coming aneurism, as my mother told me earlier today to be safe and aware of my surroundings - that if anything ever happened to me, she would die.
i started to cry while exiting the theatre, avoiding my very best to let jose see this side of me.

he put his hand on my leg in our cab home, very briefly.

i told him how i believe i need therapy for my paranoia - how i am consistantly fearing everything around me and create the most figmented and absurd scenarios that i believe to be extremely legitimate in any given situation.
he told me not to cry and that everyone has thoughts like mine.
i told him that i have not met one person, ever, that has thoughts of death and frightening scenarios as i do. ever.
i continued to cry as we sat in silence.
as jose paid for the cab, i walked to our door and waited for him.
before unlocking the door, he paused.
he kissed me on the forehead and told me i was not crazy.

i suppose the point of my writing about this is to understand what it is to truly have a friend - to feel comfortable enough in talking about deep, dark-rooted secrecy that i consistantly keep to myself with another individual. i have not met one person that can understand me without voicing anything as jose does. not once did i feel crazy in talking about my paranoia tonight with him. i only felt comfort and understanding.

i may not be able to control my erratic train of thoughts and complete and utter fear of death, but to know that i have at least one person in this life that can make me feel human in an, otherwise, crazed state of mind, makes my life worth every burdening thought.

i hope to one day recieve the kind of therapy i need to get past this behavior, which i believe has a lot to do with my robbery, but, until then, i will rely on the most genuine friendship i think i have ever had to pull me through.

luisamercadorivera@gmail.com — Wed, 11 Oct 2006 00:40:07 GMT

"It was undoubtedly the feeling of exile--that sensation of a void within which never left us, that irrational longing to hark back to the past or else to speed up the march of time, and those keen shafts of memory that stung like fire."

-Camus

aches

luisamercadorivera@gmail.com — Sun, 08 Oct 2006 07:38:23 GMT

i said goodbye to my brother and it didn't hurt any less than saying goodbye when he left for college in tampa or when i moved away from him in orlando. everytime i'm forced to say goodbye to him, a part of me is crushed so significantly. i know he is always a phonecall away, but it doesn't compare to being able to see him and have his unconditional love and support around me everyday. i feel sorry for anyone who doesn't have that kind of bond with their sibling. i do not know that i would be the person that i am today without him. he was my only true friend in this city and he is no longer with me.

tonight, i wish i could transport myself back to the days where jose, katey, brian, scott, lea, matt copeland, diany and i would just sit around my living room while my mother cooked and my father cut the lawn - watching howard the duck and contemplating how to aid our boredom while realizing the dollar theatre was our only option.

i miss those friendships and can only think of one person, in my gigantic circle of friends here, that would be there for me in moments such as these. that is a bit pathetic.

i miss my mother.

future

luisamercadorivera@gmail.com — Fri, 29 Sep 2006 20:44:37 GMT

i applied to columbia college for the arts in chicago yesterday. if everything works out accordingly, i will be moving there in the summer and starting school in the fall for fiction writing and photography.

if i am not accepted into the school, i will, most likely, stay in new york and drink copious amounts of alcohol while self-deprecatingly question what it is that i am meant to pursue in life.

lately, i have been focused on the direction the swirls of smoke from my cigarettes have been taking. i've wondered where exactly jeffrey lewis pulls his brillant lyrics out of. i haven't been too concerned about being an adult. i've had various dreams of passionate love affairs with isolation quietly hiding behind the moans. i've worked less. i've traveled more. i've neglected phonecalls and refuse to inflate my flattened bike tires - both for no specific reason. i've sat on the floor of the border's on 14th street to read books about hauntings in or around new york and unexplained, worldy phenomena. i've looked around more - at the little things. i have laughed more than ever, it seems, and i believe that to be the most important thing.

luisamercadorivera@gmail.com — Fri, 08 Sep 2006 19:15:32 GMT

i don't really understand my odd infatuation with The Beach (book and film), but i do know that it remains that solid read and/or watch that i could never grow tired of. i've probably read it at least nine times since being here. i associate it with the L train on many different levels. if i don't go to thailand in the next two years, i will be very dissapointed in myself.

i could marry alex garland's words, i swear it.

luisamercadorivera@gmail.com — Mon, 21 Aug 2006 18:15:06 GMT

ahh, chicago.

misconstruction.

luisamercadorivera@gmail.com — Tue, 15 Aug 2006 09:29:01 GMT

i wake up every morning and sit on my stoop with a cigarette and cup of coffee in hand just in time to catch my neighbor wave to me in the slowest and most delicate way, really. it's my most favored part of the day.

little miss sunshine is just right. it's snug tightly right inbetween the squid and the whale and the royal tennenbaums. i think i'll watch it at least two more times.

i'm going back to chicago on monday for a week. i'm moving there in the spring. travelling has become my biggest passion, i've come to understand.

i'm at some distinct turningpoint in my life. i feel as if i've been at that point since graduating high school. i don't know when i'll stray far, far away from any sort of turningpoint or when my brain will provide some type of consistant distraction convincing me that complete contentment exists in an environment and not just temporarily in the idea of such a thing.

i belong overseas. i honestly believe that three or four years from now i will be a permanent resident of a south american country and/or somewhere in europe. i anticipate that greatly. i anticipate truly understanding my purpose in this life that much more.

i put too much hope into things. the drapery fell down my face too quickly to understand what kind of oblivion i was up against.

i still look foward to my future.

luisamercadorivera@gmail.com — Tue, 08 Aug 2006 01:47:33 GMT

there was nothing better than chicago, really - except some kinda love.

luisamercadorivera@gmail.com — Wed, 02 Aug 2006 00:38:14 GMT

~~nashville~~
~~atlanta~~
~~washington, d.c.~~

currently in chicago - loving it immensely.
travelling is my greatest obsession, i believe.
this has been the time of my life.

luisamercadorivera@gmail.com — Sat, 29 Jul 2006 12:16:28 GMT

luisamercadorivera@gmail.com — Sat, 29 Jul 2006 06:51:19 GMT