a FONT for every emotion

So I don't have one but sometimes, when i am at work, i try to write my emails carefully trying to translate my emotions into fonts or underlined and bolded or by adding google.image pictures.

I am 24 years old and i dont know when to say no to myself. I ate too too too many chocolates today. But the cupcakes were worth it. They were from Sprinkles.

i have bug bites that i got when i was descanso-ing at the descanso gardens. I don't really mind because the itchy little red spots on my legs and arms remind me of summer, of adventure. Of the things i have been thirsting for.

I am 24 years old and I dont know how to make decisions. Go to France or not to go to France that was the question. I will go somewhere.

For the moment i feel free, like Pinocchio when he no longer has any strings.

Arial for now per the emotionless request of my fingertips and heart palpitations.

Rachel, Chrissie

Why do the links to your blogs not work anymore?

http://www.latimes.com/news/local/la-me-monster15feb15,1,235926,full.story?coll=la-headlines-california

see his name on a list

believe it last week when he landed in a lineup.

Fourteen years ago
his autobiography

growing up in Los Angeles as a Crip sold more than 100,000 copies.

Scott's name and photo

identifying his book jacket, posted on the wall at the 77th Street police station

in the Los Angeles Police Department's new list of "Top 10 Most Wanted Gang Members."
— whereabouts unknown — the crime, a carjacking a potential third strike for Scott

“He was just too involved in the culture of gangs; he couldn't get away, He chose that life."

"I have pushed people violently out of existence …. I have shot numerous people and have been shot seven times myself."

"I can tell you that he does not gangbang any more and has not done so for many years,"

hampered by drugs.
a movie deal,

police trying to stop put him on this list. trying to stop him from becoming a bigger celebrity

"I think it could be personal," It could be politics, they want big names

he was a child growing up near Florence and Normandie the son of former football player nickname Monster stomping a man to death.
AK-47 assault rifle.
His term included a stay in isolation in the high-security prison at Pelican Bay.

"He told us he didn't mind getting sent back to prison because he would have the time to write,"

the latest chapter in Scott's life "should be no surprise to anyone."
now that these so-called gangstas have ratted themselves out, false hope

where do they go? back to the streets — what they know

thougths on valentines day

Love is not spelled g-u-i-l-t

Forgotten is not spelled m-a-r-r-i-e-d

Lalo used to fix computers and never made any one feel bad if they broke it again, or didn’t know how to download pdfs.

Lalo Castro, (may he rest in peace), i have not forgotten our dinner at the falafel king.

I wish I had not been a scared child and I wish you had not died.

Maybe it was because last valentines day I received a dozen red roses of the classiest sort that I didn’t notice that in corporate American everyone wears read on Feburary 14. Today I noticed. I am glad that I am wearing black and purple. The color of bruises after surfing.

(un)broken

I remember washing the dishes last night between sips of red wine.

Passing the dew-soaked mattress and box spring in front of Damion’s apartment, I remember the man stretched out on these discarded beds Sunday afternoon when the kids were still running around in the sunshine.

I did not break any dishes. I was not drunk.

His arms tucked behind his head, in a sign of ultimate relaxation. I think to myself that something must be broken in that man. His veins running with wine, hard liquor, and crack to sit back and relax on a sidewalk mattress. Sitting out on the street for who knows how long. Tossed out on the street for who know what reason.

D--- and the other kids and myself, getting into my car parked across the street, look sideways at this large man relaxing like a king.

A king of the down and out. A king of the used and filthy.

Perhaps I should not be so judgmental. Perhaps I can learn from this man cat napping where only cats would nap. Peace in South Central in his smile. He sees the good in all situations and resourceful, like making art out of trash.

red

In red underwear I am a superhero.

Dried leaves a paper plate are my decorations. I have forgotten to notice them.

It is strange to look back on ____. Yes, I remember when I ____.

I remember when those words were not just words but ____.

Perhaps it’s a question of if we are able to know the truth from this small and limited brain.

I brush my teeth everyday.

I am alive in bureaucracy; flaming hot Cheetos® remind me so.

I fly away in the sound of a piano drifting through the plaza.

I want to cry; I shall go shopping instead.

On paper we speak about the future.

Mickey Mouse is not my friend.

An invisible layer of hot chocolate is coating my teeth.

Sometimes I open doors without knocking.

Ode to the Banana Tree on Leighton Avenue, Los Angeles

Snap shot, up close, it could be Hawaii.
Pan out and I can see, like me, you don’t belong here.

Stalks bursting out the ground in front of the crumbling
apartment complex, repainted and peeling.

Your green leaves and branches are like laughter at a funeral.
You turn my exhale into oxygen.

But, I’ve spied your dying leaves, brown and scraggly like stray dogs.
I’ve stepped over your green bananas, picked by the kids; now squashed, attracting flies.

I stride past you in the morning, and I do not meet your glance.