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jtvizion · 3 years

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From Nirvana to the Dirt. A Welcome Home from a Racist with a Badge.

By Jesse R. Torres

A beautiful end of the year get away to celebrate love and marriage with old friends was tainted by racial profiling as I returned to the United States... In my adult life, I’ve been out of the country twice, and both times returning to the US I have had experiences that made me feel less than human.

Two years ago, I had my first encounter with a customs officer and it rubbed me the wrong way. Over time, I half-way convinced myself that customs officers have stressful jobs. Maybe that’s what made that particular officer aggressive towards me for quickly walking to his line. Maybe being fast and efficient in a slow moving system was seen as an aggressive posture that warranted the officer yelling at me. The way he rested his hand on his gun is what I remembered most.

Fast forward two years to now where I was asked by a wonderful friend of mine to capture the most special day of her life in the Dominican Republic. It was a beautiful celebration and reunion of old and new friends cut from the same cloth. The moments kept replaying in my mind as I watched the setting Sun from the heavens of the Earth as that lush green land known as the Dominican Republic faded into blue.

Blue then faded into black. And from the black the stars began to shine above and below as we descended into the shimmering city of Miami. A city where my huge Puerto Rican familia once ignited a huge dance circle in the heart of Miami Beach and danced the night away. All the great memories going through my mind of all the good times were all washed away after I entered the terminal.

After clearing the customs checkpoint with no issues, I thought about how cool the officer was this time. But shortly after passing one officer I was stopped “randomly” by another officer who decided he needed to see my passport again and then interrogate me minutes before my flight was boarding. I understand that while it might be in their job description to conduct “random” stops, this didn’t feel random. As the white people around me glided through to catch their connecting flights with ease, I was the one who was halted. I was the one who needed to show his passport again after already being verified. The officer's posture was puffed up, his eyes intense and calculating. His line of questioning was completely out of line:

“Where are you coming from? What were you doing there? Who’s wedding was it? How long were you there for? What day was the wedding? What do you do for a living? That’s all you packed?

The way the questions were asked was in a tone that seemed to assume or suspect I was a criminal. It was as though he may have already known that information which isn’t improbable considering the multiple forms I filled out before I even left the country. This exposed his innate distrust of me. After peering into my soul with his fiery eyes he let me go. Although I got the feeling like he wanted things to escalate. That brief exchange with a white man with a badge brought me from Nirvana to the Dirt in less than a minute. If that’s not a form of psychological oppression, then I don’t know what is. All I know is, it’s not cool and I’m not gonna let it ride.

If you’ve had an experience similar to this in any aspect of your life please share it in vivid detail so people can truly understand the many different facets and forms of racism.

#racism #racial profiling

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jtvizion · 4 years

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The Wall

By: J. R. Torres

He walked across the sands of the scorched barren lands, seared by the Red Sun that dominated the crimson skies.

He knew he was near the end of his expedition in the Red Zone for the gauge on his oxygen tank revealed only a few more breaths before the life giving gas was exhausted.

With only a few unknown moments left before returning to the stardust from which he came, a deep sadness overwhelmed his soul as he began to accept the sad fact that the answers to all his questions would be left unanswered.

What happened here?

How did it happen?

And most importantly... why?

Time had eroded away the majority of the answers leaving only fragments behind. Not enough to piece together an entire history in time he had left.

The only thing that was obvious was that the ground on which he stood used to be a paradise inhabited by a people capable of crafting complex micro machines fashioned out of sand and precious metals.

There were also mazes of left over foundations that appeared to be able to support massive architectural structures yet no building stood.

As the air became thinner with each breath, his vision began to slowly diminish yet he was compelled to move forward to see what he could see before he could see no more.

As his feet propelled him forward he became fixated on what appeared to be the last standing wall amidst the remnants of ruin.

With every step closer to the monument he grew more tired and the weight of his suit became more heavy.

However, he continued onward towards the monolith with the hope that it would provide his soul with the only answer that would satisfy the soul of an explorer.

His vision shifted in and out of focus as he approached the wall, and upon finally reaching it, he collapsed to his knees and took the last breath he would ever take.

As he kneeled in front of the dilapidated wall his vision blurred for a moment but then came into sharp focus.

In that final moment of clarity, he saw the answer to all his burning questions.

On the wall were shadows of people who had been scorched onto the it. Their final moments eternally etched into history by some sort of life ending light.

There they all were, seemingly unaware with their personalities perfectly preserved in their poses and postures.

The only commonality between them was that they all were black.

#short story #fantasy #scifi #future #fiction #jtvizion

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jtvizion · 6 years

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The Demise of Our Democracy Before Our Very Eyes

A Think Piece by J. R. Torres

Some may label me a cynic, or an alt-left liberal socialist with a skewed disposition. Some may assume I’m a “dem”, or a calm revolutionary, or maybe even a communist. I would simply classify myself as “other”. The same way I do when filling out a form that asks what my ethnicity is.

The demise of our democracy is happening before our very eyes and not a soul can stop it. Just like all the other great civilizations of the past that have dissolved into the sands of time, America finds herself on the same path as all the others. Students of history see the writing on the wall as anyone who’s studied the trends of the risings and fallings of the great civilizations understands that there’s truth to the phenomenon of history repeating itself. And like the Fall of Babylon or the Fall of Rome, history is repeating…

The American Civil War was always an interesting historical event that sparked my intrigue in the sense that it was a War in which Americans spilt the blood of their Brothers on to the Earth. If in these United States, there was a Civil War before, wouldn’t it be unwise to believe there could never be another? And if there was another Civil War, how would it start?

One doesn’t have to look back far in global world history to understand how a country could fall into a Civil War. One only has to look at the on-going Civil War in Syria to understand how quickly a nation can collapse once faith in the governing institutions has eroded. In “Democratic” societies, this loss of faith almost always comes after an election gone awry and that is precisely why the state of our union has fallen into dissolution.

Now before you get all riled up, I ask that you take a deep breath and calm your soul before reading any further. I realize that tensions are high in these divisive times, which is what you should expect in a nation teetering on the edge of Civil War…

When enough people become so eager to defend their ideals to the point where the opposition has to be silenced by any means necessary, will be when we know we’ve reached terminal velocity. And if that ever becomes your thinking, just remember what the wise jedi Obi-Wan said to Anakin Skywalker after he had succumbed to the dark-side. “Only a Sith deals in absolutes.”

Now for some absolute statements.

We are Americans. We are a nation of people from all over the world, from different creeds, with different beliefs and different customs. That is what has always made America Great.

With that being said, the 2016 presidential election was rigged.

On all sides.

And it concluded with a choice between oligarchy and autocracy, and the result was autocracy or more specifically, kleptocratic idiocracy.

It’s arguable whether one is better than the other but regardless of which you’d prefer, these being the only 2 viable options presented to the American public illustrates how broken our system really is and here is why.

In our society, money begets money. Money is power. Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely.

Those simple core ideas are what is eating at the heart of our society and unfortunately these ideas are the cancerous cruxes of the capitalistic system.

No one person embodies these cryptic core ideas better than the current President of the United States of America, Donald J. Trump. A man born into wealth, who begot more wealth, and who had become the most powerful man in the “free” world.

Now before you roll your eyes and rage quit, I implore you to read further to understand why this just might be the case, and why these truths are the main sources of division, anger, angst and agitation in most American’s lives in one form or another.

Whether you are for or against Donald Trump isn’t as relevant as to whether or not you can become angrily agitated in response to or in defense of his actions. This polarizing psychology stems from a tribalistic form of binary thinking that feeds off of our negative emotions and promotes an animalistic “US versus THEM” mentality. This type of thinking paired with the subliminal use of suggestive language is what furthers this Great American Divide.

Are you on The Left or on The Right?

A Dem or a Neo-Con?

Neo-Nazi or Antifa?

BLM or White Nationalist?

Hutu or Tutsi?

Sunni or Shia?

Apple or Android?

It is always the distinguishing between “us” and “them” that is at the core of these kinds of deeply fissuring conflicts. This truth exposes the fatal flaw in our 2-party / 2-sided system. The fatal flaw of binary-thinking in a multi-faceted world.

An elitist ideology that says, “my way is right, and your way is wrong, and there is no in-between, and you are stupid for thinking what you think, and you should think the way I think,” will never be an ideological pathway that promotes peace.

In a world where only one side can be right, freedoms for all will slowly fade into darkness. The freedom to speak our minds without repercussion is already slipping away, and the rest will slowly slip away as the system corrodes and the toxic swamp is drained.

Civilizations rise, civilizations fall, and civilizations are reborn anew.

Will we become something better or something worse?

That is up to us.

It is up to U.S.

#AmWriting AmRevising Writer WritersLife thinkpiece truth patriot politics psychology thinking USA

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jtvizion · 6 years

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The Night America Fell

By: J. R. Torres

The night America fell will forever be seared into the depths of my mind. I was awoken in the dead of night by the harrowing sound of lawlessness. Sirens blared, shots rang, and thousands of distressed voices echoed into the night. It was the sound of America dying.

As I peered out the window of my 3rd story apartment, I witnessed pure chaos in the streets. Flashes, smoke, and people running from their homes. There were militarized police officers firing rounds at masked men who were also heavily armed. I even witnessed a police officer executed by a masked man in cold blood. That was when I realized that if I didn’t hide, I would probably meet the same fate as the slain officer. Without thinking I grabbed what I could and immediately made my way into my attic and once there, I placed my loaded trunk on the attics latching door, and stayed up the whole night listening to the chaos echo into the cold winter night.

It’s been 44 days since America fell. The only reason I know it’s been 44 days is because there are 44 carvings in the floorboard of this dank, bone-chilling attic which has since become home. To this day, I still can’t believe how quickly it all came crashing down.

Everyday I wake up hoping this new reality is just a dream, and everyday I wake up realizing that this living nightmare is reality. Everyday I wonder if it will be my last...

As I sit here corroding away in desolation, I will try to find solace by writing out my thoughts and feelings in hopes that maybe someday, someone will read my words and come to some sort of understanding as to how America, the greatest most powerful country in the history of the world, became a war-torn nation.

I remember learning about Anne Frank when I was in Middle School. I remember always wondering how she met the fate she did. How could the people of the world allow innocent people to be rounded up and slaughtered? I, like many others, always demonized Hitler and the Nazi’s because they were the “bad guys”. They were the ones who set the bar for evil in the 20th century, and never had it ever crossed our minds that we would top the heinous evil that was the Holocaust. That was perhaps our biggest mistake...

...

The months and weeks leading up to the fall were unthinkable. It felt like a roller coaster ride to hell. Everyday there was some new hate crime being committed, each more vile than the last. Ghetto’s were starting to look like war zones between militarized police forces and black men. There was also a sharp rise in anti-semitism caused by the resurgence of white supremacy. It had become OK to hate, and it was our newly elected leader who made it OK. Protests against his authoritarian rule turned into riots and then riots turned into chaos. It was as though the seams that kept this chosen land together were starting to stretch and snap caused by this growing suppressed anger that had been festering deep from within since the founding of America in 1776.

The major media outlets were constantly being denigrated by the administration. An administration whose obvious purpose in retrospect, was to promote the welfare of the economic elite. Truth was becoming harder and harder to discern. False stories being propagated on social media networks became more and more common. I truly believe that this brief era of misinformation was one of the cruxes that brought us to where we are now. Another crux was our worship of the almighty dollar. It was the dollars in our pockets that afforded us happiness, the less we had the less happy we were or so it seemed. It wasn’t until the hyperinflation set in that we all began to lose faith in the dollar. We all lost faith in those green pieces of paper that we worked our lives away to acquire. During that loss of faith was when our nation hit terminal velocity.

...

After the fall, I couldn’t sleep for what felt like weeks. If you could only imagine what it’s like to have your mind on a constant state of heightened alert. If you could only understand the damage too much adrenaline will do to you. It permanently alters you, creating some sort of PTSD, where just the littlest things will set you into this pure flight or fight, kill mode. You don’t feel human. And imagine something as simple as the creak in a floorboard being able to put you in that mind set. The simple sounds of a settling house. Howling wind. A roach as it scatters around in darkness. I know I am clinically insane by now, but it’s not like that really matters much anymore.

I remember the first time I was able to somewhat comfortably fall asleep, and it was during the day. A surprisingly warm and bright morning for being in January. There hadn’t been any gun shot’s fired for what felt almost like a full 48 hours. The last thing I remember seeing as I drifted off was the crystal blue sky through a small hole in the attics conjoined ceiling. It was the greatest feeling in the world as a ray from the sun slowly started to creep in, warming my face. That day I dreamed the most vivid dream I’ve ever had in my life.

This dream featured full sensation, and vibrant color and detail. I could clearly see the sweat as it dripped from Alexis’s breast as she rode me like a wild southern cow-girl. The way her breast dangled around as she worked her thick warm squishy hips around and in that motion she knew would extract my seed from deep from within. The ripe aroma of just me and her as we made the kind of love that babies are born from. In that pinnacle moment, I was awoken by the loud deafening boom caused by a nearby explosive that rattled my soul. I was in a state of petrification for days.

...

Starvation is the most peculiar motivation. You’d be surprised at how quickly your fears and priorities change once your stomach has begun to eat itself. I had only heard a few gunshots ring out in the distance throughout the day. It was my plan that once night fell I would venture out of this dreary attic and go down to collect what remained in my apartment. Unfortunately I had not gone shopping before the fall. With the starvation settling in I remembered I should have some stale bread in the pantry and maybe an old box of pasta noodles. As I climbed down, my apartment felt desolate, and it no longer felt like home. When I peered out the window, I was mortified by the the landscape. The once affluent neighborhood full of homes with exotic architecture had been degraded and ruined to look like an abandoned ghost town.

Homes had been hollowed out, some burned. Debris and abandoned cars littered the street. I also no longer could see the steeple of the Lutheran Church that used to sit in the sky only a couple blocks away. This mere glimpse from my window painted a very grim picture of what had become of the world and I could not believe my eyes. I could not believe that Norfolk Virginia, now looked similar to how Syria looked during the height of their recent Civil War.

As I made my way to the kitchen to scavenge what was left, I came to the conclusion that I would soon have to leave the safety of my apartment if I was going to survive. But where would I go? Who could I call? Cell phone and internet service had not worked since the fall. It looked like a war zone outside, and most likely there were still hostile insurgents residing in some of the houses in the neighborhood. The thought of not having anywhere to go was paralyzing. As I made my way up the attic with a can of black beans, a box of cereal dust some mayo and 3 slices of stale bread, I started to hear voices at the back door. Luckily I had just shut the attic door when they kicked in my back door and started sacking my apartment. I nearly passed out from the fear and anxiety as they moved about my place throwing around my belongings. My stomach churned with knots as I heard the hostile voices below. One of the guys swore he saw something... If they had surveillance over my apartment complex so heavy that that they could see me moving about at night, I knew my chances of successfully making any kind of escape were close to none.

13 nights later, driven by a psychosis derived from starvation and acute thirst, I made my way out of my apartment to find any kind of nourishment. I stealthily creeped down the back fire escape checking each busted-in apartment unit for anything edible. You’d be surprised at how good dog food tastes... I’m sure if you had served the meaty paste on some fancy crackers with a garnish at a party, most probably wouldn't even know the difference. My ultimate low point was when I discovered the ultimate source for water. Toilets. With no more running water, toilet reservoirs became a source of life.

A couple days later I attempted to make a run for it, even though I didn’t know where “it” was. Maybe I could make it to my parents house, they only lived 30 minutes away by car, which would only take a few hours by foot. It was so nice to feel the cool wind of the night brush against my face as a trekked through my decimated neighborhood. There was an eerie stillness and a quietness that night. Every little sound effect was amplified with high fidelity. I made it

about 6 miles before I ran into the most horrifying thing I had ever seen. The on-ramp to 264 east from Norfolk to Virginia Beach had been blocked off and partially destroyed. In front of the blockade were several beams interconnected with razor blade barbed wire, and strung up on the beams were bodies, some women, some men, and some children... Ever since that day I’ve never tried leaving again. I have accepted the fact that I will probably die in this dusty attic in Norfolk. It’s only a matter of time now...

...

Crispy fried chicken with stuffed shells, garlic bread, lumpia and a side of peas and jasmine rice with a scoop of fresh guacamole on top and a large cold glass of chocolate milk is what my body yearns for. My hallucinations have gotten so vivid that I can almost taste the thought of real food. Thank god for this newly acquired vivid imagination or else eating roaches would be unbearable. Yes I’ve fallen this low... But I do what I have to do. Contrary to popular belief, roaches actually don’t taste that bad if you eat them properly. If you think you can just chomp into them then you’re going to be greatly disappointed when remnants of the shell get stuck between your teeth like popcorn kernel skin. There’s a proper process, kind of like eating crawfish, except with roaches, you bite the heads off and suck on the bodies.

I’ve been really tired lately. So tired that I slip in and out of consciousness throughout the day. The sleep is very deep and very dark and dreams are few and far between. This may be due to the mental fatigue from the vivid daydreams I’ve been having. While awake, certain moments keep replaying through my mind like an old VHS tape stuck on repeat. One is of my first memory, of me yelling at a news channel 3 anchor on television, angered over the fact she was ignoring me. I remember my first real kiss, and how happy I was, and how for a week straight I would just randomly smile from thinking about it. I also remember the pain from when she left me to be with someone else. I remember our wonderful family reunions in Miami Florida. My cousins and I laughing into the tonight, almost getting kicked out of hotels, and eating authentic puerto rican food til our bellies were the fullest of full. Arroz con gandules and slow roasted pernil with the salty savory skin that tasted like crispy heaven. Usually my mouth would water when thinking these thoughts but now the inside of my mouth is as dry as a desert and my throat feels like sandpaper.

I was skinny before the fall, now my body is an emaciated pile of skin and bones. My knees are knobby and shake when I try to stand. I can barely pull myself up off the floor anymore, but it’s fine. I know that I will probably never leave this attic again. The only thing left for a while was hope, but that hope has eroded away like my mind, body and soul. I’m tired. All of my memories are starting to fade except for one that I can’t stop thinking about. The memory is of me and my mom shopping at the commissary and we stop to get sherbert ice cream. Orange with pink swirls was always my favorite.

#amwriting #word count #Writers life #Indie Authors #History #BioPic #Ebooks #SelfPub #Kindle #Nook #GoodRead #Literature #short story #anne frank #america #dystopia

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jtvizion · 8 years

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Imagine Again: A Reflection on Kyle V. Hiller’s debut novel “The Recital”

By: J. R. Torres

“Imagine what the world would be like if we could all still imagine like when we were little kids.” For most of us imagination fades with age just as memories often do. Is it harsh realities that rob us of our imagination? Or is it the development of over-logical thinking that diminishes our ability to imagine the unimaginable? On my fifth birthday I remember wishing to fly, and not in an airplane, but to fly like Superman did with no strings attached. It was one of the few birthday wishes I remember making as a child and as I got older I would think about it from time to time knowing it would probably never come true. Part of the reason I’m revealing this secret birthday wish is because last year I flew, like Superman and it was fucking awesome…

“The Recital”, the debut novel from my cousin Kyle V. Hiller is a magical story that serves to revitalize the imagination of anyone brave enough to get lost in its pages. Very rarely have I come across a story that mixes reality and fantasy into such a seamless blend. The effect becomes almost like a magic trick that awakens the beautiful parts of your mind that we usually end up suppressing as we age. In the story as we follow Edith Solstice, it is not long before you realize that she is a living breathing person, dealing with a whole host of issues, puberty being one of them and almost killing her classmate being another.

Kyle V. Hiller paints a perfect picture of the city of Philadelphia in the early 90s and captures the era with such vivid detail that anyone who’s lived through the time will appreciate the authenticity of the story’s backdrop. If there is a special place in your heart for Molly Ringwald and John Hughes movies, then this story will satisfy that wonderful nostalgia we all like to bask in from time to time. “The Recital” is a story that will most likely send you down your own reflective path, where you will reminisce about your teen years and the magic of experiencing such intense feelings for the first time. Love, hate, anger, envy, longing, friendship, love.

“The Recital” was independently published and is a new-age story free from the creative restrictions often put upon writers to make their stories more “marketable” to a target demographic. Kyle V. Hiller’s fearlessness in presenting views what would traditionally be viewed as controversial, presents the subject matter in a brilliant and balanced way that gives you insight into perspectives many still fail to fully understand. “The Recital” is truly a magical story on par with classics like Alice in Wonderland, and you too can experience the magic in the sacred pages by getting your copy today from Amazon in print or e-book.

https://www.amazon.com/Recital-Kyle-V-Hiller-ebook/dp/B01E2VBE4S

I also had the privilege of filming the official book trailer for “The Recital” which was featured on BookReels.com

youtube

#TheRecital2016 #SevenInTheAfterNoon #EdithSolstice #yalit #Fantasy #novel

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jtvizion · 9 years

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“Judging in the No Judgment Zone”

By: J.R. Torres

The smell of musk and sweat hit me as I enter the gym. This ain’t the real kind of gym that the macho varicose-vein-ridden muscle-heads go to. This is the Average Joe gym. The no judgement zone gym. The gym with the bargain $10 a-month-fee that gives you access to a gym just so that you can say, “Yea bro, I lift.”

As I stroll through I notice it’s a little more crowded than usual. I guess since the warmer months are approaching, all those who want be sexy for summer-time are starting their regiments. Hell that’s probably why I’m here, but I digress.

As I make my way over to the stair-master to do some cardio, I notice all the treadmills are taken by the ladies. Most of whom are in shape, and some who seemed to have treaded so much that they’ve become a curve-less series of flat lines and sharp angles like those toothpick models that few men actually find attractive. It’s sad to see, but some women work too hard to be “sexy”. I just hope one day they will realize where their true beauty lies.

I start to feel the burn as I approach 500 steps. Should I goto 1,000 or stop at 500? I did 1,000 last time… What do I achieve if I go beyond 1,000 steps other than the mental acknowledgement that I climbed over 83 flights of stairs while squinting to read subtitles from a Roseanne re-run on one of the TV monitors? For those who can’t do math, Gyms + TV = America.

After doing 497 stairs I realize that I’m a little parched so I decide to go get a swig of water. A task that should only take seconds, but ends up taking minutes due to the douche-bag with the over-sized baby bottle who didn’t have the decency to mix his extreme work-out formula before he came to the gym. I guess he wants to show us all how serious he is about his gains…

What to do next I wonder.

I wish I could use the bench but those are always occupied by the big boys who should have graduated on to the real gym by now. You know the ones who like to give you pointers as though they’re your personal trainer. I’m sure if I came to the gym every day and drank unregulated “supplements” loaded with growth hormones I would look like a WWF Champion as well, but that is not my objective. I’m simple, I just want to look good naked. And plus I could never get that big anyways, it would be unwise to try considering how small my head is in proportion to the rest of my body.

I find it even more funny when someone who's the complete opposite of fit decides to inform you about ‘What they do.’ Like bro, obviously what you are doing ain’t working so let me get back to my unorthodox workout plan that I jacked from a YouTube video minutes before I came to the gym. Sure my form might be sloppy as Joe, but you know how I know it's working? If it’s one thing I learned from Asian fitness gurus is that, you know you're working out something when you’re so sore the next day you can barely squat down to take a proper dump...

What a good work-out despite the little annoyances here and there. You want to know what my favorite part about the gym is? Walking out all pumped up and feeling like all the girls are looking at me even when in reality they aren’t.

#fitness #workout #short story #fiction #gymlife #gymrat #gymtime #motivation #gains #humour #comedy #don't judge me

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jtvizion · 10 years

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The Great Chipotle Debate

BY: J. R. TORRES

INT. Chipotle Mexican Grill - Evening

Hot steam emits from the tortilla press, the assembly line is operating at full speed it looks like. Young teenagers learning first hand the meaning of “work ethic.” CeeJay and his brother Kay are next in line.

BURRITO DUDE How can I help you.

CEEJAY Yea, can I get a burrito.

BURRITO DUDE For here or to go.

CEEJAY To go.

The Burrito Dude quickly presses the tortilla, there is a look of deep unsatisfaction written on his face decorated with a false smile.

BURRITO DUDE White or brown rice?

CEEJAY Blanco.

BURRITO DUDE …

CEEJAY White.

The Burrito Dude gives him a noticeably small scoop and CeeJay gives him a look that says “really?”.

BURRITO DUDE Black or pinto.

CEEJAY Black.

CeeJay looks over at Kay and and shrugs in disappointment.

INT. CHIPOTLE MEXICAN GRILL TABLE - EVENING

CeeJay and Kay both sit at a table far from the assembly line near the window of the establishment. CeeJay is not happy with his burrito.

CEEJAY Well damn. I didn’t realize I ordered a vegetarian burrito… I mean you heard me say S-T-E-A-K right.

KAY Calm down and enjoy your meal.

CEEJAY Enjoy my meal, what meal all I got was a fuckin tortilla with a spoon full of ingredients. This whole business is a scam this is my last burrito ever…

KAY Mmm hmm ok.

Kay takes his burrito bowl out of the bag and carefully opens it, methodically scraping the guacamole off of the tin foil top so that it doesn’t fly off when trying to remove the lid.

CEEJAY Looks like they actually cared when plating yours.

KAY The bowl is the way to go.

Kay continues his ritual of spreading the guacamole around so that there is a nice layer covering the whole top of his bowl. CeeJay looks on in disgust.

CEEJAY How in the hell do you eat that crap…

KAY Dude the gauc is the best part, you should try it.

CEEJAY Hell no.

KAY Have you even tried it.

CEEJAY Yea once, almost threw up.

KAY For some it’s an acquired taste.

CEEJAY Acquired taste my ass.

KAY You’re so vulgar… you drink beer right?

CEEJAY Yea what’s that got to do with anything?

KAY When you first took your first sip of beer, did you say to yourself “this taste good” or did you think to yourself “this taste like shit”?

CEEJAY I don’t really remember my first sip. I just remembered drinking as much as I could so that I could have an excuse to holler at Melanie Barrientez…

KAY How did that go?

CEEJAY I don’t know I think she lost interest when I barfed all over the hookah…

KAY And after that incident you continue to drink?

CEEJAY Yea… I’m not getting your point…

KAY So you would rather waste money on a drink that taste like bubbly piss and makes you act like a fool rather than spend a little extra to get a fresh scoop of guacamole that actually has some health benefits.

CEEJAY It’s an extra 2 BUCKS FOR THAT CRAP! And plus with my luck they’d probably do that thing where they scoop and then shake about %50 off the spoon before dumping it on. I hate it when they do that shit.

KAY Man you really have some deep seeded issues, is it really that serious.

CEEJAY Yes I am tired of paying more for less.

KAY You know what your problem is? You need everything in excess, that makes for an addiction-prone personality type…

CEEJAY Whatever man.

KAY Stop whining. I bet you won’t even eat all of it.

CEEJAY Given the presentation I doubt even a homeless person would eat this. CeeJay lifts up his burrito that has become an unraveled mess.

KAY Should of gotten the bowl…

Kay dives in for another wholesome bite of his burrito bowl while CeeJay struggles with his sloppy joe burrito.

#Screenplay #script #jtvizion #writing #film #Chipotle #comedy #gaucamole #mustread

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jtvizion · 10 years

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Home to Oklahoma

By: J. R. Torres & Glenn Witt

PART I : Almost There (J. R. Torres)

The road ahead of me is long. So long it looks as though it will never end. Vast open fields around me, forever in all directions. Being out this way always was humbling. The sky is so big. I can’t think of any place I’ve seen more blue than out here.

A few ranchers are sparsely sprinkled amongst the rural. Horses gallop in the open pasture. Everything is so far in the distance, it’s as if it’s happening in slow motion. A feeling of uneasiness fills the pit of my stomach as I get closer. Closer to a house I use to visit in my summers. Only I won’t be stopping by to say, “hi” this time.

I think I see the tip of the roof in the distance. Deep brown almost black, weathered to death and warped, yet still sitting on top of the old place. The house was a dithered red, with a brown trim. The wild grass looked as though it was in mid-assault in its effort to take back the land. That is not how it used to be.

The closer and closer I get, the old house becomes larger and more defined with its rough rustic textures. Everything looks like it hasn’t moved since the last time I saw it.

As I open the car door a fresh breeze rushes in. The pleasant smell of long lost memories flows up my nostrils. As I blink I can see those good old times so vividly. So I shut my eyes to bask in the moment.

…

A cool summer day as a kid running around the old crackled driveway kickin squashed cans around. The crisp, crackly, crunchy sound of the tin being kicked around by my brothers and I resonated throughout the open land until the summer sunset.

I remember hearing her maternal call out to us to come inside for dinner where she had prepared a hot meal made with love. I wish I could go inside, but I know it would not be the same. I want to remember it how it was… Not how it is.

Back into my car I go, back on the road home to Oklahoma.

PART II : One Last Time (Glenn Witt)

In long undulating waves, a breeze plays over the field. Blades of golden grass bow as if in worship to the burning deity overhead. And yet, bow even further before me. The dusts I’d not known since my childhood clung to my boots and the bag in my hand. Just a few tools of the trade. And one learns quickly, if you’re gonna kill people for a living, always be prepared. …stupid fucking boyscouts. My hand barely blocked the glaring sun from my eyes. But still with a squint, I saw the house. Looking from the house to my hands, I couldn’t tell if it was a dream or maybe I was. These are the hands of a child, toiling in the fields as the sun set low in a blazing sky. Or they were. But now, covered in black leather, all I saw was crimson glinting and dripping from them. “Darryl,” as sweet voice called. I dropped the bag and fell to my knee, the sun glinting off the steady sites of Gwen, my first .45. I swung about looking just over the grasses. An intoxicating earthiness filled my senses as I peered across the field looking for something, anything that could explain that voice. “Darryl,” a feminine voice called from a distance farther than any bullet could travel. Wheeling about, I was face-to-face with the house. With paint chipping off fallen shingles, naked wood glimpsed the years it stood forgotten… unloved. Picking up my satchel, I moved toward it cautiously.

With each step, weathered wood gave a sigh of neglect as my eyes adjusted slowly from light to shadow. Cautiously, I wrapped my fingers around a weak little door knob, and with a loose twist, it swung open. Gwen’s iron sites proved an apt frame for this decaying world as visions of the past lapsed over reality. Peeling wallpaper became colourful and vibrant. And in the corner, I saw a child sitting at his mother’s knee. As I stepped closer, I saw her needle pass so smoothly through the needlepoint in her hand. Her beautiful green eyes with flecks of gold looked up at her child playing with the newspaper and a gentle smile formed at the corner of her lips. My sites fell slowly as I watched her watch the child. Leaning forward, she called to him. Yet for seeing the movement of her lips, the words never came. There was nothing. I stepped closer; and like the failing signal of an old TV broadcast, the spectres phased from my sight and were gone. I couldn’t look away as I tried to make sense of it all. Starring at what was or maybe never had been, but… a tumor in your fucking brain can do that. The doc gave me six weeks. It’s been eight.

A cold spike splintered through my spine. A scream froze behind my grit teeth as electric blackness seized my muscles and painted the world in molten shadows. I slumped against the wall. Peering through the dust filtered light, I scanned for something, anything that I could hold onto. Something that made sense. As the same squint crossed my face, memory and reality slipped in and out before my eyes. Sunflower filled vases sat before shattered windows. Happy family evenings glowed over sheet covered furniture. All ghosts… everywhere. Slowly, my fingers clenched and squeezed against my eyes to erase these spectres. My mind swam in an ethereal fog as I fought to pull myself back into the real. Yet with each pounding memory coursing behind my eyes, another broken shard of frozen glass thrust into my brain. I clenched and gritted and held back the scream in my throat. But I’d been trained better than that. Pain was a luxury. It did not exist for me. But alcohol did. My fingers wrapped around a glass life preserver in my bag. Cool glass reflected a broken world as I peered into the flame of a lifetime lost. The amber slid so smoothly in the filtered light… And soon I possessed the fire within. Gwen looked so tempting. I’d held her cold steel to my head so many times before as I tried to break free. And yet for every time I failed, another fell in my place. The amber flowed from the bottle til all that was just another memory. And then I saw her eyes… those golden, loving eyes. She crouched in front of me as my head lolled to the side. “Darryl,” her voice whispered. The voice I hadn’t heard in so long. “Darryl, hunny…” she cocked her head to meet my gaze. “Mom..?” I whispered, “The world… It… it doesn’t make sense anymore,” Ice slithered through my spine as I tried to focus on her. “Oh, hunny… it never did… you just never noticed.” She laid a weightless hand on Gwen. A silence hung in the air as golden shafts of light shifted into burning crimson. “But sometimes… we are what give it meaning.” “I can’t anymore. I’m done,” I whispered with a slight slur. “Then it’s time to come home.” Her ghostly hand caressed my cheek. A tear as hot as Gwen’s lead began to follow the same path. A flash erupted in the stillness of the night with the sound of machined thunder. The tear became a river mingling with the crimson pouring from my chest. And as the sun set and the east wind swept across the field, the thunder erupted once more. And the grasses bowed one last time.

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