The New Serg Beret

Talking and Writing About Cinema Since 2012


April 2016

Personal Ramblings: Me, You, and Psychiatry Too

Welcome back to Personal Ramblings. This is where I put my heart, soul and dignity (at points) out on display for those to ponder and wonder “Who the hell is this guy anyway?” Let’s change pace from the past two weeks of horrid breakups and disappearing women to the oddest date I have ever had to this day.

Me, You and Psychiatry Too

Me and my girlfriend Angelique Enos were about to go out on a date night. Being a couple for over a year, we usually have a big “balls to the walls” or well-thought out date once a month. Most of the time we are together usually involves food, which is a lovely beautiful in its own right, yet I always love doing something extravagant for the both of us. The plan was set in motion. I had planned a lovely day of classy food, exploration in the Ameoba selection and a evening at the Egyptian Theatre to watch The Last Starfighter on 70 mm.

We would go to Grill Em All, a metal-themed gourmet burger place in Alhambra, California that is beyond compare in cuisine and pure thrash goodness. My girlfriend was excited as hell to be with me in her hand made Louise Belcher hat complete with ears and Kristen Schall’s sass.

Anyway, before I lose my head into the details of horrendously beautiful piles of meat, after our meal we left to Hollywood via the Metro. We went into Ameoba on Sunset diving into their endless selections of quality music, classic cinema and the endless barrage of hipsters, stoners and afficianados walking around the store on a Thursday afternoon. It’s basically what Taco Bell would be if it had more conversations about David Lynch versus David Croenberg and John Coltrane playing every now and then. We had our filled of records for the day and proceeded to go down Sunset and seek out something to entertain us till the film started.

As we walked down the dirty graffiti riddled streets, we thought about finding a cheap museum to get our kicks.

“There is the Hollywood Death Tour, but I think the Museum of Death would be better,” she said.
“Why would I do that?,” I asked.
“Seriously, it’s not that bad. Sure, you get to poke human flesh and see brutal shit, but it cannot be bad,” she replied to me happily.
“That’s a bit sadistic, but I’m game…but it’s all the way back there,” I say.
“Oh…well, that isn’t happening then,” she says as she sees a curious sign.


“What’s this?,” she asked.
“I don’t know. It’s kind of shady isn’t it?,” I ask.
“A bit, but we have a few hours to kill, so we can do it,” she said.

I looked at the building the sign was in front of. It was a building you see in science fiction stories about people going back in time to relive the past of their ancestors with pure white walks and metallic grey aligning the building trims. It was the headquarters for Citizens for Human Rights, an organization that I had never heard of, but suspected was associated with typical Hollywood weird shit. We started to debate more about the decision to enter until a handsome man appeared. He was similiar to Will Smith not only in his complexion, but in his mannerisms.

“Hey, you know is free. Just come on in and take a tour. It’s okay,” he said guiding us into the unknown. The inside was like the outside with nothing white and grey and the Citizens of Human Rights logo staring at us from below the lobby desk. To the left of the desk was a door to the museum and above in big blood red letter was PSYCHIATRY: AN INDUSTRY OF DEATH against a harsh burnt background. It was as if a metal artist had requested the sign. We were both briefed on the museum and ready to enter.

“Before you go in, please leave your drinks and stuff ourside. There is also no video recording or photography permitted for the approximately two hours it takes to explore everything,” Will said. I shall call him Will for the duration of this piece as I forgot his name.

We enter the doors into a padded room that had a screen. Me and Angelique sit down as Will begins to play an introduction to the museum as if to say, yes, this is what you are about to enter. Queue a video filled with the pains psychiatry has done, doctors explaining the facts of the industry and experts on pseudoscience giving their two cents on the matter.

“I saw this on YouTube already,” Angelique said.
“What do you mean?” I asked in surprise.
“Yeah, it’s all there. I do not know what is in here but now I’m curious. The fact we are in a padded room is a bit mu ch,  but it’s a start,” she said.

“A bit much” is the understatement of the year with what was about to come up. The film ends and Will tells us the museum is in the door on our side. We walk into the point of no return as Will leaves us. The first room is designed to look similar to the dank castles seen in classic Universal Horror films. It’s filled to the brim with torture devices, demonstrations visitors can control to experience and visual elements about the leaders of psychiatry from with B.F. Skimmer, Sigmund Freud and Stanley Millgram at the forefront on this giant board stating what they have done and the “horrors” they created. The demonstrations ranged from dropping mental patients in cold water with them knowing to making them seat in a spinning chair, all through the use of wood figures to capture it. Honestly, that part was rather well done and was fun to mess around with in a sadist form of humor.

And Then the Holocaust Happened

The Holocaust of World War II is a horrific tragedy of death, systematic destruction of a race and complete disregard for people. So why not decorate an entire section of a Psychiatry museum to it with propaganda posters filling the entire section, faux shower heads above and faux ovens near the floor on the walls? There sat a copy of Mein Kampf behind a glass while pictures of Jewish people writhing in pain, children dying and bodies upon bodies. All of this was not caused by the Nazis, but that evil bastard psychiatry. I was losing it and I was uncomfortable.

“Are you okay? Can you do this? I’m sorry,” Angel began saying.
“I’m fine. I hope. No, wait, I’m not. I’m okay though. Why can’t we leave?,” I asked deciding if I was okay to even stay.
“Oh, no. I’m really sorry. Look, we can keep going, but if something really makes you say no, then we can stop,” she said.

I begrudgingly agree in order to tough it out as the big strong b bastard I look like, only for my soft fluffy nature on the inside to keeping shouting “why are you doing this?” After that section came the racism section containing the civil rights movement, pictures of black men with whipping scars on their backs and a encased copy of, I shit you not, The Theory of Eugenics. My girlfriend decided to throw in some humor that would be controversial if we were not already in a place that controversy built.

“Damn, the water fountain does not work,” she says fiddling with the White/Colored fountain.

I chuckled. I chuckled hard. I know it was inappropriate, but I did not care. I needed out of this place. As we progrssed, we stumbled upon a family just relaxing watching a video on electro therapy aka shock therapy right next to a section about the Russian gulags complete with shocking picture. In the shock therapy area was a demonstration of the amount of volts that can go inside someone’s head. The demo was set up with a dial switch you can turn up to as many volts as you pleased accompanied by a visual element that seems to replicate the feeling of shocking Mysterio’s head like a pissed off Electro. The section also devoted time to poor Frances Farmer and her alleged lobotomy treatments. The horror only grew.

The next rooms focused on the evils of the medicine industry with graphs and information about the causes of death. It was small and tamer than the others before and the others after. The next oom was done up as a mausoleum with celebrity photograph lining the wall, all either having death with mental health, drug overdose of suicide and firmly blaming it on the psychiatry industry. From Frances Farmer to Kurt Cobain, it was a wall of pure heartbreak and tragedy that left an impression until the next room.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Those were my words entering the next section. It was a classroom adorned with lockers, fake spurts of blood and some lockers with bullet holes. Columbine was covered in this room rooting it in what psychiatry does to children by making them go crazy. Columbine, the infamous school shooting that changed the way we think about gun control, was being shown as a set piece. It was horrendous and unsettling.

“We are leaving,” I said.
“You sure?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.

She saw the pain in my face. The disturbed sadness of my own sanity was taking hold. The last moments of my innocent naivety drifting from me. I was close to being a hallowed shell. This museum was a church of overblown exaggeration, cherry picked facts and disgust. I needed to leave.

“Okay, let’s go. There is a bathroom near the end and we can jet after that,” she said. “I see you want to go and we can go.”

We left through the rest of the sections devoted to terrorism, the perverted psychiatrists that did wrong and, for a bizarre turn of events, a gift shop with pamphlets, a vending machine and the bathroom. The vending machine was a nice return to reality as I stared into the wholesome eyes of Yellow on the M&M’s Peanuts in the machine. We went back to the lobby were Will asked about what we thought. I gave a complete bullshit answer explaining how I enjoyed myself and the design of the place. Me and Angel were given paper forms to fill out with our thoughts and info and we left.

Angel kept apologizing for the museum and I forgave her despite the museum not being her fault. We continued our date talking about the weird and strange ideas we saw. We kept conversing about it and our own experiences with other oddities over some pizza at Stefano’s across from the Egyptian in what turned out to be a pretty nice date. We saw The Last Starfighter in a gorgeously worn, but beautiful print with other cult film fans of cheesy sci-fi. We got to witness a Q & A with the stars of the film, including the awesome Lance Guest, and had a lovely evening. There was nothing b horrible and the date is actually a favorite of mine.


Message from Angelique Enos

The next morning, I woke up to find a message from my girlfriend saying “Don’t pay attention to what the museum said. It was created by the alien huggers.” Citizens of Human Rights is a front for the Scientology Centre in order to make the museum. I’m not one for denouncing anyone’s religious beliefs, so if you believe in it, that’s fine by me. I do not agree with all the beliefs, but I understand where they are coming from with the issues of psychiatry. A $20 million dollar way to go about it, but I see the reasoning for the paranoia and scare tatics.

The museum is an odd one and a harsh memory in my mind. It’s plagued me more than once as it is sickening, horrific and absolutely fun to talk about. In an odd way, I would not be writing about it if I didn’t leave with a sense of “I need to talk about this.” Vice Magazine has an article about it u nder the title “Scientologists Really, Really Hate Psychiatrists” that dives a bit deeper than I do that is a great read. In fact, I would recommend going to the museum, but only if you are drunk, high or bored out of your mind.

“Let’s go to the Psychiatry Museum” – Mine and Angel’s go to “joke answer” when friends ask where we should go.

Site Update: Relaunching June 21st With New Series, Podcasts, and a Surprise

Hello readers, friends and lurkers that come to this page and welcome to the New Serg Beret. Okay, it still looks a bit the same, but prepare for a proper introduction on June 21st when the relaunches.

Why the relaunch?
The site’s been neglected for sometime with no real posts or sustainable content. This was due to tons of procrastination because of my crazy schedule and my focus on rebuilding my personal well-being. After a year of wondering about the next step, I have built up a list of projects and been working out the kinks of each one and still am, which explains it starting in late June rather than late May in order to do some housekeeping on this site. Luckily, these next steps will incorporate friends and other creative minds to be a part of the site rather than just myself doing everything and nearly keeling over because of it. Now with that question answered, let’s dive right into the schedule for the relaunch and announce what is in store.
– Serg Beret


fRANCHISErUNNERThe Franchise Runner: Tuesdays & Thursdays Starting June 21

The Franchise Runner
is the first new written series that will start on June 21st. This spiritual successor to the 007 in 23 series will focus on exploring popular franchises in the film world by looking at each film on its own, the story lines carried over and the character development as the series go on. Movie franchises, series and universes have been the talk of Hollywood these days thanks to the likes of The Avengers, Harry Potter and the revival of Star Wars. Unfortunately, not every series is guaranteed to be good though. The Franchise Runner starts its run with Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man Trilogy.


Back to the Drawing Board: Sundays Bi-Weekly Starting July 3rd

Join Serg Beret and his sister Jenni Chante as they explore the wonders of animation in this written series. Having watched animation since out of the womb, the sibling duo will explore the classic films from Disney, Studio Ghibli, Pixar and Dreamworks to obscure from foreign animation such as Fantastic Planet or cult hits like Heavy Metal. There will also be looks at classic animated TV shows and even retrospective on certain creative masters within the industry. Back to the Drawing Board draws its first piece July 3rd with The Little Mermaid.

Other continuing written series will include the classic Top of the Crop lists bi-weekly on Wednesday, the real life series Personal Ramblings every Friday and various poems written by Serg Beret and countless others with Poetry Corner on Saturdays.

Film A Week Podcast: Saturdays Starting June 26th

Film A Week is a series devoted to recounting one film every week, be it a classic or a film that Serg Beret has never seen. This time around, it’s in podcast form. Every week, Serg Beret and new contributers Patrick Raissi, Michael Carachure, Angelique Enos, Jerry Monroy and Matthew Reveles or other surprise guests will discuss a new film every week that Serg has either hand picked from a collection of classics never seen before in order to give their insight on how it holds up or how it is seen as either a classic or a horrendous bomb. Film A Week Podcast begins on June 26 with Purple Rain.

FotorCreatedMania Road: Bi-Weekly Sundays Starting June 27th

Mania Road is this site first real dive into the world of Professional Wrestling. In this bi-weekly podcast, hosts Serg Beret and newcomer  Jerry Monroy travel down the various roads to the Showcase of the Immortals: Wrestlemania. This series will look at what came before the select Wrestlemania events with a look at the Pay-Per-Views such as the Royal Rumble, important story points within Monday Night Raw or Saturday Night’s Main Events if in the 80’s, and end each road with the respective event in full. Mania Road begins with The War to Settle the Score on The First Road to Wrestlemania.

These two podcast have been a year in the making with Mania Road being announced twice before under its original name ReSmarking Wrestlemania. This time it is official and set in stone. The Film A Week podcast is a more thought out version of Friendly Film Perspectives focusing on a round table of guests, rather than the same hosts every week.

Well, that’s it for the big update for June. It’s going to be a ton of work in the coming month both in my day job life and cleaning up the site to make it look prettier. I cannot wait for the new series to be around and the new contributors and guests to come on board. It’s going to be great.

Before you go, there is that surprise I mentioned.


Fluff N’ Tuff is an upcoming web video comedy series focused on a young Millennial couple and their misadventures in romance, life and their constant difference between each other. Angel (Angelique Enos), a tough woman from East Los Angeles, and Seth (Sergio Berrueta), her boyfriend that is big in shape, but a big awkward fluffy man, star as the tituliar Fluff N’ Tuff in the title. This series will be humorous, provocative and downright odd at times.

The series is currently being directed by Edward Naverette and Michael Carachure and based on a concept by Angelique Enos with episodes written by Michael Carachure, Angelique Enos and Sergio Berrueta. The show is currently in production and will be released once everything it wrapped up. Production for the show started in November 2015 with hopes of a full season release by Fall or Winter of this year. This announcement is to get the word out early in anticipation as this site will be hosting it when it is released. It’s been a passion project for Angelique Enos and a fun one to work on alongside her and the rest of the talented crew.

See you in June with the full relaunch. Stick around as there will be previews all next month along with weekly Personal Ramblings.

Personal Ramblings: An Enigma Appears

Welcome back to Personal Ramblings. This is where I put my heart, soul and dignity (at points) out on display for those to ponder and wonder “Who the hell is this guy anyway?” Last time, we talked about a break-up that most seem to know the story of already with little unheard of details in between. This time, I want to take time out of my hectic nd horrid schedule to talk about a story no one has really heard about. This is the story of an anigma named Darlene.

An Enigma Appears

It was the summer of 2007.

It was a scorcher in most cases as many days were spent sweating indoors and outdoors. My sister was hanginf out with her calvacade of pals. This included the very kept to herself lesbian tomboy Tanya, the poster child of rebellion Cristina and the humorous smartass Matthew. Sometimes the smart, yet ditzy Sylvia would appear, but she never really stuck around. They always came over to hang back, talk about the childhood days of only seven years prior and regale themselves in the current happenings of the formidible high school world.

At times, I was included out of sympathy while mostly being picked on a good 80 percent of the tjme for it. I had just had my first high school experience along with my first heartbreak (which is a story I have bludgened people to death with and will not be writing out of respect of their sanity). Here I am a timid awkward boy just trying to be cool spouting. ovie quotes and terrible jokes in the process. I just stuck around enjoying the bullshit being spewed by these “older-by-one-year-olds” because it was insightful, especially when underage drinking was involved, but I digress. One day, my sister brought a new friend over.

She was the enigma.

Her name was Darlene. She had a strange combination of wavy and curly hair. She had a face that was close to the charms of Kat Dennings. She was simply gorgeous to look at. She was the kind of woman who appears as a manic pixie dream, but this played out differently then those cliches. I took an interest in her after the falling out of the Freshman heartbreak and my various iduocy. She also took an interest in me during this time.

“And this is my brother, Junior,” my sister introduced me to her.
“Oh, hi,” she said to me with a smile.
“You can also call me Sergio if you like as well. I do not mind either one,” I replied.

We hit it off from there. One day, the plot thickened. She was with Jenni’s Scooby gang just conversing about all the bullshit until she pulled me aside. I was wondering why because I had not experience such a thing yet.

“Could I have your number?,” Darlene said with a blushing stare.
“What? Yes! Of course,” I a swerved back like a complete schoolboy.

She gave me her number and I gave her mine. That is when the enigma began to take hold on my heart and mind.

“To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die”

There was a night I was ready to head to bed, but for some reason, I could not get any sleep due to the nightly warmth of the season. I turned on the local channels filled with syndicated shows scouring for at least a Seinfeld rerun of infomercial to save my sanity. As I surfed the static waves, my cellphone rang. I saw the screen of my RAZR say “Darlene.” This was unexpected.

“Hello,” she said.
“Hi. This is kind of late,” I replied.
“I know, but I can’t sleep.”
“Neither can I. Guess we are in the same boat.”
“Yes. Umm, what are you up to?”
“Suffering through lack of anything good on.”
“That is harsh. Maybe I can help with that.”

This was a twist. She wants to help keep me up. How so? I did not know yet how to really hold a conversation, but now a beautiful older girl is asking me if she can help me stay awake. It was a tad perplexing. Hell, I was worried the conversation would turn into a date with Rosie Palms over the phone. Luckily, that did not.

“You know, get to know you a bit. Talk to you to help you and I sleep,” she explained.
“Sure,” I replied while still hesitant.
“I’m laying alone. It is a shame. It’s too hot to sleep.”
” It is.”
“I rather be with someone to talk to. Imagine if you were here.”
“I expect it would be wonderful.”
“More than that. It would be great. What are you wearing right now?”

Poor 14 year-old Serg is struggling now. He needs to just be honest.

“A Smiths T-Shirt and…boxers…”
“Oh,” she said with excitement. “Is that the white shirt?,” she asked.
“Yes, it is. It’s the only one I own. I’m surprised I don’t have more.”
“Ha, that is funny. If you were next to me, I’d be wearing the shirt.”

Oh Crap.

“Really? Why,” I said knowing the reason, but denying it.
“It looks comfy. I like wearing guy shirts. Especially if I’m interested in them,” she said.
“Wait. I just met you and you are interested?”
“Of course, you’re cute. I think you are really sweet and care a lot.”
“I’m blushing. Damn you.”
“I expected that. So, if you were here, what would you do?”

Well, damn, she had me.

I was hooked in and was actually happy about it. I had other girl friends call, but this was leading somewhere new and unexpected.

“Maybe we can relax a bit and listen to music or watch a movie. It is late,” I tell her.
“I would love it. It would be nice,” she said. “We seem to have the same taste in things. I know, I’m older, but I do appreciate a person that has good taste.
“I’m glad you do. I mean it would be friendl-”
“Could you hold my hand?”
“Yeah, just hold it. Maybe then I know if you are just as interested.”
“Umm, sure. I’m…okay with that.”
“Maybe even sleep together.”

Now, when you are fourteen and barely in high school, that last line means that sex is an option. I was flustered. I was a mess inside. My mind was fighting my conscience and libido in a millisecond.

“Whoa, that’s a b-,” I began to say as she cut me off.
“You can cuddle me, make sure I’m safe throughout the night and then when we wake up, just smile together and be happy,” she said.
“Oh, I thought…”
“Oh, no. Not that. Not yet anyway,” she replied chuckling.
“I’m all for this,” I said.
“Maybe then I can see if we can just escape together,” she said.
“Run away. That is probably too much, but it’s a nice dream.”
“No, I love it. I would like that very much.”

The conversation lingered on a bit till we said goodnight.

An Enigma Disappears

The next weekend she came over to visit my sister. My sister and her friend Cristina got a bit drunk or so. I honestly forgot the reason for both of them being passed out from exhaustion. Darlene was there and she looked at me.

“Hey you!,” she said happily.
“Oh hi. Are you tired like them?,” I say pointing to the two sleeping carcasses on the bed. Darlene was on the floor laying down just staring at me.
“Come here,” she said.

I approached her.

“Lay next to me,” she said.
“You sure it’s okay. I mean, they are right there,” I said.
“They are out cold. It’s okay,” she said.

I laid next to her and she looked at me. She stared at me for what seemed like an ice age.

“I like you. I would like to be with someone like you one day. You deserve someone great,” she said.
“You can be her if you wish. I would not mind it at all,” I said.

I held her hand to let her know my interest in her. She locked eyes with me and she understoox. She buried her head in my chest and I held her. The enigma had me. For a solid moment in time, me holding her felt right. She woke up after a while and sang to me “There’s a Light That Never Goes Out.”

“Bye, Sergio.”
“Bye, Darlene.”

And that was the last I saw of her. The texts stopped because her number changed. Jennifer did not talk to her anymore due to Darlene’s personal troubles with ex-boyfriends and family behind the scenes. We never did escape and we never did kiss. We did, however, sleep together for a single moment.

The enigma never reappeared.

Personal Ramblings: The Awkward Break-Up Without Closure

Personal Ramblings is back. This is where I put my heart, soul and dignity (at points) out on display for those to ponder and wonder “Who the hell is this guy anyway?” Today, we begin an odd journey into my psyche and my odd misadventures. They will make you laugh, cry or maybe a bit of a lesson along the way.

The Awkward Break-Up Without Closure

It was the beginning of August.

Well, the second week anyway. My mind was in full focus on the bright new future ahead of me. I enrolled the community college Cerritos College in order to pursue an acting major. I had decieed this early on because I knew goi g to a legit university or college would be a practical pain in the ass for my family. We are middle-class and Hispanic. I could get into a lower tier college and they would have called me a success. I had recently spent my summer with after high school trying to make sure I got to be with my friend’s one last real time in countless adventures to the beaches of Redondo and Santa Monica, voyages to late night cinema fare at the Vineland Drive-In and soda-stained seats of the local cinema and the ocassional underage drinking activities in the cracked driveways of peers. My current girlfriend at the time, Maria, was also by my side, but I noticed her begin to fade into the background. It is as if her timeline got screwed over by some jerk in a time machine and she was slowly turning away from me.

I did not have a car at the time to go see her and she was personally busy focusing on her prospective career as a colorgaurd gal. She entered competitions, performed with the greatest of ease doing a wide areat of flashy moves Jennifer Beals would envy and looked darn cute doing it. She was a brunette in those day instead of her faux scarlet haired-self these days with braces covering up her Crest Whitestrip smile. She was small in stature, but big in personality. She was the woman version of Freddie Mercury, flamboyant, vibrant and filled with energy. It was August as she was ready to go to a camp of sort to further her studies in colorgaurd. She was a senior in high school now and I was now going to be a freshman in college. That is when I finally felt something and that something was not right.

The “something not right” came on a beautiful Tuesday summer afternoon on August 10, 2010. I was at home in my room upstair downloading Scott Pilgrim vs. The World: The Game I had just bought for my PlayStation 3 when a knock came at the door. I was aware Maria woukd be stopping by to pick up her copy of Breakfast at Tiffany’s she had lent me, resulting in what would be the last time I had ever had the urge or patience to watcn that movie again. I ran downstairs as if a suitor had arrived. Yes, I know that analogy is a bit strange, but it really felt like that. She came in with a gleaming smile and asked if we could go upstairs. I was estatic and ready to tell her all about what has been happening and everything. There was her in a white T-shirt and black shorts, her short length brunette hair and her gorgeous brown eyes staring at me. She asks for Breakfast at Tiffany’s, hugs me for a short while and holds me. She stared right into my soul with a grin on her face at that very moment. She was the “something not right.”

“It’s over.”

These two words made my heart collapse, my mind whirl and every pre-concieved concept of the future with her for the next year fall into sudden spiral. It was over and her she is, with Breakfast at Tiffany’s in her hand and a smile on her face it was done for. Me, in a sudden swirl of anger, sadness and even happiness, only asked the question I wanted to know.

“Why?,” I asked wondering if I was going to survive.
“It’s not you. It’s me. I am sorry. It’s just over. Goodbye,” she said, giving me the quickest and most non-answer answer in the book.
“Goodbye,” I said back slowly forming a whole variety of explanations in my mind.

So that was it. No awkwardness. Okay. I promised awkwardness. Bare witness to the awkward last words of former lovers ever.

“What do I do with the door?,” she asked.
“Just lock it and close it,” I replied back.
“Okay. Oh, there we go, I got it. Bye,” she said as her voice began to fade.
“Bye,” I said with a tear rolling down my face.

I saw my former beautiful Killer Queen run away from my house to her friend’s car smiling. I took this as the notion I should be happy. Instead, I went into full blown dumbass mode, played “Back in Black” by AC/DC louder than eleven, sang in a pitch equivalent to a cat getting strangled and drank a bit of Grey Goose stored away in the kitchen cabinets. Much to my disappointment, it had been replaced with water, but that is a story for a different day. My sister Jennifer came home to the aftermath of the idiot former boyfriend in tears and trying to cope with the sudden loss of romance. I was in need of a prescence of love and care as mine just left with Audrey Hepburn and George Peppard in romance by her side. I texted my ex-ex-girlfriend Gaby at the time.

Gaby was the first official girlfriend. She wasn’t considered the prettiest gal by most, but, for me, her personality is what drove me to her. She was smart, commanding and independant. She would not let anything get to her and she was a tough woman filled with pride. She looked similiar to Tina Bleecher, but without the confidence of a wet sock, yet had as much dry wit. We were on-and-off due to certain conflicts of if we were really good together or friends that should have never kissed or felt each other. She loved me though, even after we both agreed to end it.

She came over with her friend Joanna and they both got me the best comfort food in the form Funyuns and Mountain Dew to calm my nerves. Why Mountain Dew to calm me is beyond me, but it helped. We laid back, all three of us, and watched The Wedding Singer to help. It did not, but having to escape to a realm where Adam Sandler’s meek charms worked on Drew Barrymore was a nice piece of fiction that worked. Gaby then did something from our relationship to actually relax me. She stroked my hair and my ears to make sure I was okay. She held me soon after and I cried in her arms. In this small moment, I felt a sense of love again, but it was too soon to accept it in any way.

The next days were the worse of it.

I was on my way to vacation in Laughlin, Nevada before school started the next week. I was stuck in a hot car contemplating the relationship that had just died. I was seeing old senior couples holding hands at penny slots hoping for a big reward wondering if that would ever happen to me again. I was in a theater with my cousin Donovan and Jennifer watching Scott Pilgrim vs. the World wondering if I could have done more than what I had done to have kept her. I punched out a “STOP” sign by the Colorado River and broke it because I was so angry with the events of earlier that week. I looked into the Colorado River at night and saw the future’s reflection blurred and mangled in the water. I called Gaby twice just to tell her I was not well and my best friend Jerry as well to let him know that I was struggling.

After it ended, I went to my one and only class of the Fall 2010 semester called Acting for the Stage. Here, I toom my anger and frustation out on monologues of art apprasiers and serial killers, honing a craft I have now lost. I had an outlet to escape to. A classmate Melissa helped my improv come out and another classmate named Adam taught me to be the role, not just read the lines. In Acting for the Camera the next semster, I built friendships through my acting and realized I wanted to write. Writing and acting saved me, but one thing kept coming across my mind, I necer got closure. I knew I wanted it, but I was roped into trying to get a date with a classmate named Marcie with the help of fellow writer Lauren to comprehend even seeking an answer.

Yet, closure was the one thing I wanted and I sought to seek it. In early 2011, I had been convinced by an old friend named Britany to revisit the high school as a speaker. I went in and the first person I saw was Maria. She came up to me and hugged me as if we were cool again. She looked at me with the same eyes, the same smile she had when she left, her signature leather jacket, T-Shirt and jeans and this time nothing in her hand. My hand could have been back in hers, but it was not. I wanted to ask her, but my heart said “It will just kill you.”

Three years later…

Britany and I met up at a bus stop in Bell. I had finished attending a screening of Godzilla and was waiting. She saw me in her car and asked if I needed a lift. That lift turned into a trip to a bar in Downey. It was a dive bar similiar to what would be seen in an ABC soap opera. It was quaint with a smell of lung cancer and regrettable memories. It was here I got my closure.

“You know Maria?,” Britney said.
“Britney, you knew that. Why bring her up?,” I ask.
“You still wonder why she left, don’t you?,” she asked turning my question moot.
“Yes, only because I never got closure. She is happy with the guy she is with and I moved on, I replied knowing that Maria was far behind me already.
“She cheated on you with him. She only had you because you were a freshman. Once she saw you were leaving, she decided it was ti e for her to get her own,” she answered.

It was about her I replied with such rage and emotion. Such fury and passion.

“Well, I was not there for her enough and I don’t blame her,” I said. “It does hurt and it kills me and will continue to kill me. I am fine now. but after this beer and a long night of sleep, I am going to cry, contemplate life at this point and wonder if I am even a good boyfriend to the girlfriend I have now. I know I am, but now, I am fine. I have closure.”

Funny enough, Britney, Gaby and Joanna have all left my life, but Maria has always been in it, though in the background. She cheated and found someone better, but I cannot blame her. He loves her more than I ever could and she loves him more than she ever loved me. She has changed, but simply for the better. She is around to remind me that relationships end and new relationships form. She is around to show that life can go from normality to complete complexity in an instance. She is around to show negative actions can eventually work themselves out into a positive down the road. She’s a mystery to me.

Poems: “Black Mamba”

The black mamba strikes with ferocity.

Its enemies crumble due to his presence.

His rivals see the strength, the swiftness and the determination in its eyes.

His followers see the black mamba’s life flash before their eyes.

From humble beginnings to being crowned king,
To trials that made the mamba weak,
The black mamba struck back at those who hated him and rose once again.

The enemies feared his new prominence,
Yet the black mamba’s time has faded and the mamba is now come to pass.

The enemies will respect him, rivals will praise him and his followers will mourn his mark on history.

The black mamba will leave with dignity and pride as he leaves the ferocity behind.


Example 1 – The Model Student
A curious mind with curious doubts
Called upon those to set out a path
To live vicariously through rather than
Build their own routes
Nights without slumber
Days without human contact
The student with their head in the
No day dreaming, fantasies or well wishing
“Study and you’ll make it far”
Yet I’m fading; a falling star

Example 2 – The Rebellious Intellectual
Fools don’t understand the persistant
Nagging of those deemed higher than I
The various vices I humor myself with
Are just vices I learned from you
Alcohol-ridden breath, smoke-filled nights
Better than the sugar you relied on
Hanging out with the boys
Riding bareback with the girls
This is how you did it
And this is how I’ll do it too

Example 3 – The Hopeless Romantic
“What is love?” Haddaway never answered.
“Might as well face it, you’re addicted to love,” Palmer warned.
“Love me, love me. Say that you love me,” The Cardigans sarcastically quipped.
“Love, never knew what I was missing,” Keyshia said as she started to pull in for a kiss.

My form of love is falsely depicted
In manufactured lines and lyrics.
No boundless poetry set to music.
I feel romance, though I do not pursue.
These songs warn of that sacrement
And harm the tunnels of
Grey matter

Love is artificially flavored
Yet its high fructose I crave.
I cave in.

“Hey, you’ve got to hide your love away.”
I will, John.

I will.

Example 4 – The Depressed Specimen
see the water below

it may be the last
you will hear it.

take in the moment
it’ll only last a

of a kingdom of gold
and white that lies
beyond today.

the fall because you
won’t know what you
are miss…

Example 5 – The Gentleman’s Complex
There is a woman in my bed
A fine beauty, sleeping with grace
I only knew of her about seven hours ago
Her name escapes me at times
Could it be Sam?
No, it’s Kate.
I approached her like all my conquests

Start with the nice guy acts
Spout a few inquiries to her
Rope them in with flirtatious wit
Dry sarcasm and harmless innuendos
They look for a hand to hold
And I give it

We go back to my place, me and Kate
Sip on some wine
Flirt back and forth; a cat-and-mouse chase
Bring ourselves closer for a drunken kiss
Lay her down and she asks for love.
I refuse.

“You need to rest for a sober morn.”

And she sleeps the night away while I
Drink looking out the window in passionless mourn.

Example 6 – The Journalist
Stressed-Out Student Sought Support

Los Angeles, Calif. – A young 23 year-old man sought support for his stress. The man identified as Lucas Ibarra was seen struggling to cope with the pressures of his own anxiety about the future.

“My mind overthinks to the point I lose control of myself,” Ibarra said. Quietly, in the comfort of his bedroom, demons and ghosts of the past began to haunt him.

“You make yourself worthless. You are a failure,” a demon screamed. Ibarr then beat himself to get the demons and past out resulting in a bruise on his head. The bruise was caused by Ibarra’s own fists.

“There was no blood, only pain,” Ibarra said. Ibarra is currently seeking counseling at The Central Nervous Center located inside himself.

He is being evaluated and treared by nuerologist Dr. Johnathan Rojas and therapist Dr. Dementia Fine.

Poems: “Example 6 – The Journalist”

Stressed-Out Student Sought Support

Los Angeles, Calif. – A young 23 year-old man sought support for his stress. The man identified as Lucas Ibarra was seen struggling to cope with the pressures of his own anxiety about the future.

“My mind overthinks to the point I lose control of myself,” Ibarra said. Quietly, in the comfort of his bedroom, demons and ghosts of the past began to haunt him.

“You make yourself worthless. You are a failure,” a demon screamed. Ibarr then beat himself to get the demons and past out resulting in a bruise on his head. The bruise was caused by Ibarra’s own fists.

“There was no blood, only pain,” Ibarra said. Ibarra is currently seeking counseling at The Central Nervous Center located inside himself.

He is being evaluated and treared by nuerologist Dr. Johnathan Rojas and therapist Dr. Dementia Fine.

Poems: “Example 5 – The Gentleman’s Complex”

There is a woman in my bed
A fine beauty, sleeping with grace
I only knew of her about seven hours ago
Her name escapes me at times
Could it be Sam?
No, it’s Kate.
I approached her like all my conquests

Start with the nice guy acts
Spout a few inquiries to her
Rope them in with flirtatious wit
Dry sarcasm and harmless innuendos
They look for a hand to hold
And I give it

We go back to my place, me and Kate
Sip on some wine
Flirt back and forth; a cat-and-mouse chase
Bring ourselves closer for a drunken kiss
Lay her down and she asks for love.
I refuse.

“You need to rest for a sober morn.”

And she sleeps the night away while I
Drink looking out the window in passionless mourn.

Poems: “Example 4 – The Depressed Specimen”

see the water below

it may be the last
you will hear it.

take in the moment
it’ll only last a

of a kingdom of gold
and white that lies
beyond today.

the fall because you
won’t know what you
are miss…

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