Looking Through My Own Mirror From The Eyes Of A Stranger

This is the first piece of writing I’ve done in a while. It’s strange, but at the same time it’s like riding a bike. I put on the shuffle mode on the latest playlist I made, and it’s so ironic that “Everything’s Magic” by “Angels and Airwaves” was the first song to pop up. My favorite band with a feel-good song pops up in a moment that I feel defeated. Maybe that’s the sign I’ve been looking forward. I’ve been feeling like shit lately, so I’ll take this as a wake-up call of sorts. The next song that played was “Codependientes” which I tried to make a cover earlier today. This song represents my present struggle at the moment. I really don’t know how to feel. It’s strange that I’ve been reliving so many buried memories lately, I dunno why. “Paso El Tiempo” started ringing on my ears. I seriously think God is speaking through me whilst writing this. I’ve been trying to figure out what to think/do with my current predicament whilst receiving this gust of old emotions rushing back like an old friend from your long-lost forgotten childhood. 

Suddenly, Billy Joel comes up with “Vienna”, and i break all over. I remember she told me this was one of her favorite songs, yet that would be the case with all my previous entanglements... 

Which brings me to my current predicament. “Seven Devils” plays, as I try to recall mine in this god forsaken haze. Every time I write it has been inspired by a woman, and this is no exception.

Yet this time is different, yes it all started with one, but my feelings and thoughts have transcended throughout...

I’m tired to limiting myself to the link i “have” to have with other people to make myself feel whole or complete. I need to tap on the enlightened state of living, breathing and loving what I am and how I decide to feel.

Appropriately, “Sooo, Sally can wait” rings through my ears. It’s just Gallagher reminding me that all those thoughts and limitations that I think are serving as an obstacle are what actually should propell me forward and inspire me to pur myslef into my writing once again.

Lastly, “Your Guardian Angel” plays as I think of what to write. It’s such a soothing feeling to find a memento from my past comfort me in this time of need. God know I need a guardian right now. I miss that Belief I had vehemently in my youth, and I long it back. This may be a short letter, yet I think it has served a purpose, me putting thoughts to words.

I hope I can continue, and become better as each day goes.

Love always,

You, from another perspective.

1:23 a,m

I can’t sleep,
so I write,
not to weep,
but to die,
a little inside,
to crawl from the deep,
hole I dug to meet,
the devil inside,
the unholy meek,
that is me,
filled with fright.

And we talk,
like he’s my best friend,
and he knows things,
like what music I’m into,
and whom I’d like to shag,
yet I know nothing of him,
and he starts to explain,
that he is me,
and I am him,
yet I don’t acknowledge him,
and I am his whole world.

He said:
“there’s enemies we’d rather love,
and friends we’d like to fuck”

and I can’t get it out of my head,

“there’s times when we’d let the world explode,
yet there are moments we do what is right,
and the world is the one with luck,
to have more people do good than bad,
and in time we’ll contaminate the rest,
with goodness and kindness,
and there will be no more pain”

and my soul it started to clench,

“there have been times when your faith has wavered,
and you’ve looked for God on the bottom of the glass,
instead of breathing air, you’re choking on ash,
and to the mirror, the darkness you’ve rendered,
you see your flaws and imperfections,
and think yourself less because of them,
but don’t fret,
you ought to be revered like an anthem,
and lose yourself in awe at the sight of your reflection,
if you do, the dark will surrender,
with time you’ll keep your demons at bay,
remember,
time is the music the planets play.

and I closed my eyes,
I needed to rest,
the revelations were too much to take,
so my body cracked,
and broke,
and flew away,
from the hole I once dug,
and I took with me the other part,
the angel in disguise,
whom smiled at me with ease,
for I wanted to die and he was life,
that clung to me like a disease.

I, The Silent One

Goddamn, it feels good to be back.

I think that when I put the name for this site I took it quite literally and kept silent for a long time. I guess I hit the mark with it. It’s been a while, a  l o n g  a s s  w h i l e. It feels weird, like riding a bicycle after years, like catching up with someone from your distant past, like hearing “I love you” from a person you’d thought would never utter those words. Writing used to come second nature to me, and now it’s I have to constantly take care of it, to not abandon it, to write something just to do it and not forget about it completely. I wonder what will come of this newfound... erhm, inspiration? If you could call it that? I dunno anymore, I guess I’ll just see where this takes me.

I thought this semester would be a breeze; now that I’m not studying, I’d take myself yo the beach more, I’d go out on random road trips, I’d meet new people or live a little more... How wrong was I?
I guess the things we dread the most and try to avoid at all costs are the ones we are destined to face. My greatest fear is to be ignorant, to not push myself or stop learning, to stay behind the times. The easiest way to accomplish this is to stay in a rut, and I am ashamed to say that this is the situation I am currently in. I’m stuck in a rut. I have been for a while now, and failed to realize it...
No, I  d i d n ‘ t  want to realize it. Like Mark Hoppus said more than twenty years ago: “Well I guess this is growing up.”

What will I do? I mean, what can I do? I really am doing stuff to push forward, to do something with my life, yet I feel so lost, so out of balance, so inadequate with my current state of affairs. Yes, I did graduate, I did get those good grades, I did work and made money; but I was never satisfied, I was never complacent. On the other hand, I left writing behind, I left writing song and playing music, I left my hearts desire behind, and now I’m struggling to get them back. It’s all a journey again. I’m struggling even now putting these words together, to try to express how I feel. My fingers hurt everytime I pick my guitar, my mind is a shadow of what it once was, now it frustrates me that I can’t easily put thoughts and words and rhymes together. It may have to do with the fact that I’ve always been an instinctive person, to excel at certain things and grow over-confident & arrogant because of it. I guess I’ll have to humble myself for myself whilst I continue to experience this ever-growing chaos inside. I’ll have to change; and God knows I don’t like change.

There are a million thoughts that race my mind every second. Aspects of my life I thought would resolve themselves with time, things I’ve never given much thought now seem so important and expectations people have of me have grown to have toll on me because I’ll let them down if I don’t meet them. 22 couldn’t get here any sooner, I need 21 to be over already.

The name for this site is a name I have for one of my many alter-egos, the many personalities and independent minds that take shelter in mine. I’ve taken that name to seriously as of late, but no more. I’ll try my hardest to chronicle my thoughts more. Maybe I’ll learn to retake my lost love and deal with my demons whilst you may grow to like the things I say. Life is all a big maybe.

Yours sincerely,

Maelo Vargas

I, The Silent One

A Cigarette Tale.

Long ago, before you or I were born, there was a lady with a powerful gift,

she could interact with demons. She had the ability to see them and to talk to them.

Many townsfolk believed she was the daughter of The Devil.

God was bereft at how a common woman possessed such a "gift", and decided to unleash His wrath on her. The woman suffered every time she spoke with a demon. There came a point in which she actually prayed to the Being that was the cause of her suffering. The poor soul asked what she had done to deserve such anguish.

God told her that she was a human being. That she couldn't dwell with demons, beings of darkness, beings of Hell. In other words, she was asked to repent.

But how could she repent? After all, she was born with that gift; you can't get rid of something that's second nature... She found the answer.

Every time she approached a demon, she harnessed their energy and rolled it in a piece of paper. Afterwards, she lit the paper on fire and breathed. When she exhaled the smoke, that demon was sent to Heaven to receive its punishment.

That is an old tale about the origin of cigarettes.

A Moment of Peace (November 9, 2015)

Every time I smoke a cigarette,
it makes me think of you,
the times you told me to quit my bad habit,
and then joined, shared it with me too.

Every time I have a drink,
it makes me think of you,
it helped you numb the pain you felt,
it made it easier on me too.

Every time I write a poem,
it makes me think of you,
I remember how much you loved my words,
and how I loved making them for you.

Every time I meet someone new,
it makes me think of you<
I remember how you despised me at first,
like of my demons do.

Every time I think of me,
I also think of you,
'cause you're so deep in my bones,
and I'm also on yours,
and I sit to reflect,
on how to deal with a half of me,
that I barely know anymore...

I crave a moment of peace.

A Conversation (September 6, 2016)

There are times when we humans feel exhausted. Don't get me wrong, the word is not used in the physical sense only; my thoughts are exhausting, my brain is exhausted, romance is exhausting, therefore my heart is exhausted and so on...

That's why I was so glad to have a heartfelt conversation in a world that I find so exhausting. I had seen this girl a while back and I was oh-so-afraid to talk to her, yet, (by some strange miracle) I was able to muster the courage necessary. I introduced myself and to my upmost pleasure, she liked my name. Thinking myself clever, I worked up a far-fetched excuse to break the ice; but I soon found out that extraordinary measures wouldn't be necessary, because she was the greatest type of simple. We went to talk about different things, but mostly we talked about art.

I  w a s  b e r e f t .

As she rambled on, I began to notice that she was living, breathing art, to the point I had to thank God for this seemingly divine intervention because it lifted my spirits after my recurrent exhaustion. It made me pick up a pen and write about it (and in the slump I've been as of late, that's saying quite something). That simple exchange of ideas is now a memory I treasure fondly.

Now I'm  a believer in the power of a conversation.

Symbiosis (January 3, 2015)

It's half past midnight,
my favourite time lapse of the day,
where my sorrows and ideas take flight,
and I see my shadow, it wishes to stay.

I lay at the same spot I felt love's embrace,
as cold winds caressed my face,
now in this same spot I lay,
thinking about the things I should've said.

I look at the sky,
and see the Moon, alone as I,
we are some thousand miles away,
yet she knows I love her, so that's okay.

I sit in my chair and think of the past,
and the thoughts of relations not build to last,
it was not for lack of a try,
just that Fate decided for it to go awry.

This place brings me memories,
those that aren't cause for celebrity,
they have to do with Distance and TIme,
and the sudden demise of my shallow pride.

Alas, I feel at lasting peace,
smooth as the winter breeze,
I've had space to reflect,
to observe and detect,
I think I needed to feel lonely,
to reach this perfect, absolute symbiosis.