Scarred Flesh

Grease is everywhere:

on the chassis, on the floor,

the broken drive-line lying at an awkward angle beneath the tranny.

Split skin on the knuckles grease is everywhere.

Dirt, grim, and an endless stream of cuss words all come into play when a rebuild is ordered on a Dodge Super-Bee Hemi; the muscle car: big, bad, and fast as hell. The big Hurst V-Gate In-line 2: a High Pistol Grip speed shifter for a perfect hookup.

PURE RAW POWER

It’s a bastard to stitch together: lotsa scarred flesh, lotsa greasy-grim lotsa cuss’n. All power goes to the ground; the four/eleven positive traction rear-end is outa the hole like greased lightning – the G-force incredible. You fire this puppy up and you’re atop a gated two-year old at Church-Hill Downs.

All you have to do is hang on for five point 7 seconds.

PURE RAW POWER

dig … dig hard;

You’re outa control.

Between the Stingers

Trust, like a pitiless whore-master, grins

as between the sheets and at my breasts, he suckles.

Though Cupid lauds’ the joy, I feel only stings.

The manic moon shivers to shriek-like violins

as trusting seed is split and son-less my knees buckle–

mother-less street urchin blanched, impatient, sin.

In sympathy the sun pales night’s mood swings

seeking to caress and hold with a fractured chuckle–

love’s exhausted, and misspent, ripening lingers;

the dying day and I, cry of might-have-beens.

My ivory hands are icy white, my bleeding knuckles

trust like a pitiless whore-master grins

though Cupid lauds’ the joy, I feel only stings.

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— Cristina Deptula

Luis Romero shares thoughts that go beyond the average professional motivational guide and cause readers to evaluate their lives. For example, he points our the difference between the deep joy that comes from being at peace with ourselves, living out our values, and momentary pleasures that can become addictions. And the need to harness guilt as a motivator for positive change rather than just getting stuck with that sense of regret.

His tone is simple and earnest, conveying insights in a set of observations, each about a page or two long. The ideas are very accessible for a quick read, but I know I would benefit from deeper consideration of all he has to say.

Some of the phrasing can be slightly awkward, likely due to English not being Mr. Romero’s native language. Still, readers can grasp the points of each chapter without too much trouble.

The author relates that he came to these realizations after a deep study of both ancient Eastern and Western philosophy and modern business and psychological insights. I was very interested in his thought process here, why and how he came to the conclusions that he did, and would have liked more background here. The distillation of past and present wisdom is certainly ambitious and admirable!

Overall, this is an accessible and thoughtful read, with many points expressed in fresh, original ways. Much worth considering here, and I would recommend it.

Luis Romero’s You Are the Opportunity You Have Been Waiting For is available for purchase here: http://www.amazon.com/You-Are-Opportunity-Were-Waiting/dp/0988692678

As people continued to move through the base corridors, there arose a public disturbance concerning two elderly men who were known for spending their time cooped up in a corner. The reason for their stationary lives was a mystery to the population.

“At last we are free! Humanity is free from all that plagued us before we took to the stars! I might have not seen it then, but now I do! We need nothing other than the means to survive. All the want, power, and corruption, we are free from it. All is perfect! Can’t you see that?” said one man to the other.

“This? What, living inside a bubble on a planet that moderately meets our needs? We have lost all connection with what makes us human. Let’s preserve this!” The other man contested, this one with longer hair.

“And for how long? It’s just us two right now. We tried to spread our message. We tried to pass on our ideas and beliefs to this new generation. We tried to save America, but we failed. It’s over. America is over.”

“Don’t you dare say that! They have corrupted you! You are confused!”

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The Lost Weekend

He celebrates on mountains
And swims in the valleys
He dances on rooftops
But drowns in the alleys

He remembers the view
But forgets what’s below
He envisions what could be
But he struggles to know

It’s an unsolvable puzzle:
He sees me in this dream
As I trip on fractured pieces
During my weekend routine

It’s always half-full
When it’s going down
Yet, it’s only half-empty
Waking nowhere midtown

I struggle to celebrate
During the dawning hour
About to lose another week
Like the two days prior

He’s back once again
Feeling quite complete
Celebrating the moment
Or is it, my defeat?

Harold Picked a Winner
Standing in line at a Starbucks with you
after a night of uncharacteristically heavy drinking ––
scotch on the rocks and Jägerbomb-dessert.

Your friends are with us and keep talking about
how your one sorority-sister has a big nose
and looks a bit like Squidward from SpongeBob SquarePants.

But with you by my side, I don’t mind the gossip.
I don’t even mind that the cashier is openly picking his nose;
I don’t imagine brownish-green boogers, floating in my latté.
So long as you’re laughing, I feel just fine.

There’s just something about you, sweetheart.
I saw it last night, and even now, when I’m sober.
It’s like your smile has a sound
that fills my inner-demons’ ears ––
and they can’t even hear when the summoner calls.

While standing in this line, I don’t mind it’s slow pace.
I’ll stand here all day long, listening to you laugh
at your friends’ cheesy jokes (stolen from Twitter
or some popular movie about college partygoers).

The line moves up; it’s almost our turn.
And the cashier –– “Harold,” according to his nametag ––
is still digging for gold (or maybe itching his brain).

I look back at your face ––
such little makeup, such natural charm ––
and I take out my wallet, happy to pay
(despite my usual reluctance to spending).

***

At the register, Harold just picked a winner.

And for once in my life,
maybe I did, too.

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