Part 1: We are the Dreams of Our Parents…

I realized this article became larger than originally intended so I decided to split it into separate essays.

Generational Anxiety pt 1:

We are the Dreams of Our Parents…


I have been listening to an album for more than half a year now, and because of it, I have been trying to gather my thoughts in blog form on the meaning(s) behind it and how it is a great summary of those who are classified as “Millennials” (widely considered to be those born between 1982-2000).

The artist of this particular album manages to convey the anxiety that I have personally felt off-and-on ever since I graduated from college in 2009. It does not stop with me, either, I have regular conversations with people in my age range from different parts of the world. Almost everyone has admitted to questioning themselves and their life choices at nearly every turn, displaying that they are less confident of themselves than the mask they wear for the public.

But why? What is it that makes this generation seem to question themselves more? Is it related to the economy? Pressure from our family wanting us to do better than them – or in some cases follow in their footsteps – but we have no real idea what we are capable of nor what we want to do?

Maybe it’s not a matter of “more people are questioning” rather than we just hear/see it more because of our world wide access that has boomed in the last couple of decades.

Here, maybe, is a catalyst. Internet.

Years ago, in one of my first blog entries, I questioned whether the constant access to the internet was a good thing. How many of you try to avoid eye contact or awkward pauses by looking at your phone, pretending you have to look at something at that moment? I still do it from time-to-time. If I am with one other person and they go to the restroom, of course I jump on my phone. Conversation died down a little and not sure what else to say? Hell yea, time to check Facebook!

Now, let’s look at some of the anxieties people have apparently developed over the years: social media addiction, texting instead of calling, concerns over how many “likes” a picture or post gets – and realize that these are all small steps that may answer the issue I want to address; what is it about my generation that makes us both talented and insecure? Here are a couple of topics regarding it.

I will introduce my inspiration in the next essay and try to compare and contrast with different points as I continue to dive into this compelling issue.

Keep an eye out for it within 2-7 days (no more than a solid week!) for part 2. Please share your thoughts!


I’m going to write a long piece soon

I’ve had this blog idea on my mind for some months now and every now and again I think about it but then my mood changes and I don’t write it.


I’m going to do it soon, perhaps tonight once I finish this NEW POEM (actually the 2nd of 2! It’s been MONTHS!!!)


Stay tuned, hopefully I can get some responses from you readers


An Idea or Two

It was brought to my attention in several ways to change up my way to reach my audience, I’ll work on that.


Another thought is to work on a blog kind of giving details about living in Eastern/Central Europe. My experiences and advice, etc.

Again, I’ll work on that.


Right now I’m going to work on manuscripts, finally.

More news later

Flip It!

NEW SHORT STORY!! I wish the blog would allow me to format it the way it SHOULD be formatted!



“Why would you want to go there?” I asked my brother when he declared we were going into the antique shop in the middle of the shopping center.

“Why not?” He answered.

He was always short when his mind was made up, so there was never any any use in trying to deter him. Reluctantly, I followed him across the parking lot into the small section stuck between a hand-me-down clothing store and a magic shop. I remembered rolling my eyes when I entered the store behind my lovely older brother.

“What are you looking for, anyway?” I asked when he stopped at a small table with a tanned globe resting on it.

“If I find it, I’ll let you know.”

“Fine,” I walked away slightly annoyed.

Despite my reservations, I couldn’t help but to stop at whatever caught my eyes. What I found wasn’t anything special, they just were one of three things: something silly like the end of a musket turned into a lamp; something stupid such as a wooden spork (“Carved by Lincoln, himself!”); or incredibly tacky (how many items made from animal “fur” can they fit inside this place?).

The more I explored however, the more this store revealed to me. I don’t mean the random knick-knacks, either. It was almost like this store had been deceptively expanding its borders.

I continued down this endless maze of crap, sometimes absentmindedly, I would touch something shiny or pointy when I saw a shelf full of hourglasses in the aisle just to my left.

I was never able to resist flipping these things.

“Oh, sorry, excuse me,” my brother explained not far from me.

I turned and found that this place did actually at least one other customer in here.

“No, no, my mistake,” she said.

After a few more seconds, I made my way to the hour glasses and instinctively flipped the first one I saw. I watched the sand fall then looked at the collection to find a medium-sized one with what looked lime water ripples carved into the three arms circling the sand-filled containers.

This was not what caught my eyes, though.

This instrument that had stolen my attention from the rest of the shelf possessed sand that stayed in the top capsule at rest, while standing on a completely empty glass fully attached to it.

I rubbed my eyes, did the usual double-take, but it changed nothing, the sand remained fixed in its home. I inspected the thin middle section, nothing was there to block the sand, so then I shook it once. Twice. A third time to no avail, the sand moved but refused to fall.

I stared at it for another few seconds then finally decided to turn it upside down. The sand fell to the very bottom of its glass – the part touching the shelf bed – lying flat as possible, but, the sand started to slowly move upward to its now-top half.

“What the hell?” I said as the sand ascended.

“,ekatsim ym ,on ,oN” a voice echoed behind me.

I scrunched my eyebrows at the strange sound and turned in the direction my brother was in. I watched him open his mouth as I walked closer.

“.em esucxe ,yrros ,hO”

My eyes bulged as the two back away from their location slowly, their surprised expressions reversing into a focus-on-the-task-at-hand expressions they had to have had before they ran into each other.

I shook my brother. “What are you doing? Is this a joke?”

He stopped in his tracks and stared at me, an eyebrow raised.

“?yas ouy bib lleh ehT”

“Uhh?” I stopped shaking him and he continued backwards on his predestined track.

After I inspected the other customer, I tried to retrace my own steps before my brother ended up unentering the store.

That was when I realized what was responsible and ran to the last shelf I touched.

I watched the strange item as it continued to defy gravity and decided to test fate and turned it back on its original end. The sand turned around and climbed up the other way, still towards the sky.

“The hell-? Uh, bro?” My brother asked from where I left him. I swung my body towards him, jogged down the aisle and nearly ran into that same customer.

“Oh, so-rry..?”

I forgot about her…,I thought as I walked to my sibling. “You called?”

“Um…nothing, thought I saw…but it was a reflection,” he pointed at the mirrors near him.

I looked at the mirrors, then subconsciously, my eyes forced me to look back down the aisle and – as if completely under their control – my legs carried me back to that curious hour glass.

Not sure how long I stood there and watched it, but once my brother declared he was leaving, I made the decision to buy the peculiar item.

I wanted to write this blog about 2 weeks ago

I was waiting on one piece of news that still hasn’t arrived yet, so I’ll just update you on what I do have.


1) I applied to ghostwrite a zombie novel (waiting on news)


2) I started freelancing and have a few nice gigs.


3) I have been selected for a small little corporate film here, I play a department manager.


4) I went through my Facebook friends list and realized I have a story with everyone and so I decided to write these stories.


5) I have been “researching” via tv shows (Arrow and Agents of A.H.I.E.L.D.) and am getting back into my novel!


I’m also going to have a regular weekly blog subject soon, I’ll figure out what topic so I can keep up with writing on here again!

via WordPress for Phone

Time to Chill Out

I decided to post this essay before it [possibly] gets published on a different site (and I get paid for it!). I won’t keep this up for long!


I was not a fan of Six Flags in Arlington, Texas. Sure, the Looney Tunes mascots were alright and I enjoyed rides like the Tea Cups and the train, but not the other rides. These were the rides that always had lines, they always drew a large crowd from very early in the morning to twenty minutes before closing time.

Every year, we would go and every year, I would find a way to avoid these monstrous rides; I bawled my eyes outs, ate hot dogs too quickly and got sick, purposely woke up and got ready at an alarmingly slow rate, and, my best effort, my knees got stuck in the train ride mentioned before. Of course, my parents caught on to my plans and it was my father who masterminded a devious plan only he was capable of pulling off.

Like any child, I had acquired quite a few toys throughout the years. At one point, I had a good number of comic book action figures, which I combined into my own version of a Justice League, I called them ‘Da Council’. One morning, I woke up to a note that had Batman’s cape taped to it along with some ketchup used to form one simple message: “You will never find your Council. Sincerely, Mr. Freeze”.

Extremely gullible, I explained to my parents that my toys came to life and left evidence. Dad showed me some tickets that had pictures of a Mr. Freeze ride that was brand new to Six Flags, and he would help me fight this villain. I did not question how he already had tickets, I merely yelled that we had to save my Council immediately.

Upon arriving at the theme park, I realized how foolishly I had jumped into this rescue mission. Here I was, a ten year-old who always feared roller coasters, ready to take on the Mr. Freeze. This was not a normal ride, it forced its passengers to go backwards, at speeds only my mom could top in her car. Naturally, I tried to back down. My father, under the guise of playing my sidekick for this mission, urged me forward and I kept thinking how much I hated my toys.

Still, I managed to not scream as much until I realized there were no seats like in the usual coasters, your feet dangles in the air. I tried to remain calm, I tried to act tough for Batman and Knuckles, but when the workers strapped my shoulders in promising there was no bar to hold me down, I had let loose. However in 3.8 seconds, my scream was drowned out as the ride reached 70 mph. We rode through a cold warehouse and climbed up a peak, then the ride fell backwards and my screams were only matched by dad’s evil laughter. At this moment, I realized he worked for Mr. Freeze. This was the last time I would place any value on my toys.