Growing up I was ashamed of being Hispanic. I learned Spanish before I learned English and my accent clearly comes out when I talk. I don't really notice it, but I know other people do. I'm constantly asked "where are you from?" to which I answer "the United States." Then the person asking usually follows that up with "no, where are you from ( Read more... )

Isaac wanted to know what was happening to him. These flashes or whatever you wanted to call them were interfering with what little of a life he had. The last issue of Ninth Wonders almost missed the publishing deadline due to a fit of panic which left him depicting a scene, then not wanting to do so much as look at it. Before the paint could dry ( Read more... )

Isaac Mendez had a favorite sweater. It was gray, threadbare, and a bit oversized. Usually it lay crumpled in a heap on his floor along with all the rest of his clothes, but the fact which most concerned him was that he always knew where it was should he need or want it. He didn't wear it during the day now, the summer heat made even the most ( Read more... )

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A thought just occurred to me. I've never done a meme. Does anyone have any links to share for the perfect meme to start a journal with? I was kind of wanting to start off with something good, none of this "what ice cream are you" business.

When he gets like this he doesn't have to think. That's the beauty of it. Capturing an image frozen in one's mind is much easier than thinking of one on your own, or worse, getting paid by commission. It's not his fault that the starched collars and straight jackets of the business world directly inhibit the imagination. Still, he needs the money, ( Read more... )

Isaac frowned, staring at the painting in front of him. He didn't remember painting this, it had to be some kind of joke, maybe somebody planted it in his loft. He had no idea where it came from, yet there it was, proudly perched on his easel. Not knowing where to start, he decided to try to contact the person who was depicted in the portrait, ( Read more... )

Ok, so it's 12:00am on Friday night, Saturday morning, however you wanna look at it. I should be out doing something. A party would be nice. But no. I've given myself a kind of bizarre house arrest. Is that even possible? I mean, it's not because I can't go anywhere. I just don't want to. I have been awake for a grand total of thirty eight hours ( Read more... )