Graphically Induced ramble.

I miss her often. Don't know if that will ever go away.
I'd never met someone like her.
So feminine, yet so clearly also masculine.
I remember that long, flowing hair.
I never did find the perfect way to describe the color. All i could see were cascades flowing down over her shoulders in an hourglass figure, mirroring her silhouette.
Her body bent and curved in every perfect location. Every line and bone was deliberate and artful. Her very essence was precise and methodical.
How could I even stand a chance?
She was an ivory statuette. A canonization to every Greek god in Olympus.

But it wasn't until she was upon me that i finally saw her. It was her arms around me. It was the veins in her arms that pumped thick with blood hot with want. It was the way her fingers dug roughly into my flesh that made my muscles jump and my knees crumble.
It was her shoulders. They were always the last thing i could focus on. Every last sinew moved in time with the current flowing between us.
Her eyes would focus -- each cone and rod would align. She stared deeply into me. Then, time would cease to exist. Sometimes it would be faster, sometimes slower. The only constant was the inconsistency and the only fact was that it would always happen. And it did. She was the only proof I needed to stop believing in space or time. There is no time and there is no space.

There is nothing in these moments except for her and I moving together as we will our bodies to keep breathing and our hearts not to give out. We think only one last desperate thought as our eyes lock and our hearts stop.
"Her."
It was in those moments that i saw her and she saw me. She was fire and water.
She was Apollo and Poseidon.
And I was air. The only element they could not survive without.

Tumblr. Because its good for A.D.D

So, i have a Tumblr now.
i write in it every day. It's conducive for my short attention span. And it's funny.

In conclusion, you should read it. Please?

http://karmendcastro.tumblr.com

Wetter? Not So Much Always Better.

"I was thinking about you in the shower this morning."
This is something I say to people on a regular basis, and inevitably I have to (quickly) follow up with the disclaimer that the shower is where I do all of my thinking. Some people have the car ride to work, some people have their lunch hour, some also even have their designated poop time. For me, my thinking time has always been the shower.

A few days ago, as I was slowly rotating under the spray of hot water (conservationists, you may now begin to cry) I started thinking about all of the disgusting or otherwise embarrassing things people do in the shower. Myself included. There is something about the shower that erases any sort of behavioral code of conduct. Maybe it is the enclosed space and a sense of real privacy...or maybe it's the running water.

Before you get grossed out and start throwing judgments around, I want you to all admit at least in the privacy of your own home, that you do gross things too. Some may hawk a loogie into the tub, some blow their nose into their hands, some may pee in the shower, some (women) may even use the detachable shower-head to their advantage. Although, that is less gross and more efficient than anything.
So now that we're past that, we can move on to the whole point of this blog...:

Showers are not sexy.

We've all seen them on TV, we've read about them in those awesome trashy paper-backs with water-colored paintings as the covers, we've seen them in movies and I'm sure at one point or another, we've all been compelled into taking "romantic showers" by a lover.

First off, showers are by and large for one thing and one thing only -- to get clean. We don't shower when we smell good or when we're smooth and shaven. We shower when we have personal cleanliness to deal with. Personally, when I'm dating someone, even if a few boundaries have been crossed by a certain comfort around each other, I still go out of my way to look at least presentable on a regular basis around them.
I don't want them to see my hairy legs before I shave, or (and we all do this, and if you don't, you really really should) wash my butt-crack or belly button. The human body has many crevices and the shower was created to clean them ALL.
Do you really want to check your legs/armpits for any ingrown hairs in front of your girlfriend/boyfriend?
And are you REALLY ready to see them do the same?

Second, truth be told -- on a movie screen, steamy showers look really hot and sexy, yes. But most of us are not Angelina Jolie or Brad Pitt. Most of the population does not look amazing naked. I know I sure as hell don't. We all have our flaws and don't have a crew of make-up artists and lighting designers at our disposal. Add to that the awkward faces that we make when we're shampooing our hair or when we get soap in our eyes and desperately slip around the tub reaching for the shower-head to wash our eyes out.

Third, I don't have long hair. Though this is not true across the board, for the most part, the sexiest quality about a woman in the shower is the way her long hair drapes over her body, covering her up "just so" as water runs down over her body. I don't have the hot, flow-y quality to my hair. When my hair gets wet, the best I can hope for is the Zac Effron mop.

Maybe it's just me that has had incredibly awkward experiences in the shower. Maybe everyone else is graceful and sexy and doesn't have a single flaw on their body and they have amazing shower sex that would make Rose and Jack blush all the way from the Titanic.

All I know is if anyone ever again manages to talk me into taking a shower with them, I will have to prepare by taking a shower before the shower.

Farming

I hope that all of the good i've sewn in this life adds up to something i can reap in the next life.

One of the many voices in my head just told me that goodness is its own reward. Okay, i'll buy that. But my karmic piggy-bank is still far too empty.

Life With The Undead

There is nothing more terrifying than our own imagination. That is a simple fact. It is a fact that has been used and exploited by some of the greatest directors of horror film, among them the great Alfred Hitchcock. It is why reading a horror story will keep you up for days longer than the movie would. Anything we can imagine is a thousand times more horrible and perverse than that which we can be shown.

However, we are not all scared of the same things to the same degree. No, to me -- someone invading my home is not nearly as frightening as accidentally clogging the toilet in a public bathroom. (I guess maybe you wouldn't think so by seeing all of the various sharp weapons lying around my house -- but I digress.)
I think we can all agree, however, that there are a few things that we are universally afraid of: the paranormal, the end of the world, monsters from folklore, and the undead -- yes, that includes vampires and zombies. More interesting, though, is that even though we are terrified of these things (and have been for literally hundreds, and in some cases, thousands of years) we are simultaneously paralyzed with fascination over them.

Sparkly vampires aside (which I don't consider real vampires -- just a mutation of one, meant to appeal to pre-teen girls), the fascination of vampires, monsters, and the paranormal must stem from something completely separate from fear. It stems from a sense of romanticism and real human compassion. Vampires are nothing more than blood-thirsty hunters, yet we depict them as almost unbearably attractive, charming, brilliant and always, always tormented. Why? Because we always focus on who they used to be. Instead of making them 1000 year-old assholes (which is probably what they would be), we think of them as wise, but unable to control their killer instincts. This is a direct reflection on our obsession with wanting to change and, in a way, domesticate something that is wild in its very essence. "They are just misunderstood" is an argument you'll find in almost any book or movie about monsters or vampires. Are they? Or do we want them to be?

Another fascination is that with the paranormal. This one is obvious and fairly easy to explain. Ever since we have been able to cohesively create analytical thoughts, humans have been searching for the answer of what happens after death. Thousands of years, theories, tales, films and books have been written about it -- in fact, unarguably the most famous book in history was written about a man who died and rose again. We have sympathy for ghosts -- spirits who have unfinished business. We are afraid, yes, but we also have a deep and often inexplicable connection to them because we recognize that one day, we will be one of them. At least on some level. Ghosts, to us, must exist because we refuse to accept that there is nothing after death.

Easily the most interesting human obsession to me, however, are zombies. The undead. The plague. The walking horde. They are the ones that I am not afraid of as much as I am completely fascinated by.
Zombies are recognized as not having any semblance to a living human aside from the physical. They look like us, but their brains are shut off completely other than for their desire for human flesh. They are dumb, they are slow, but they are persistent and they come by the hundreds of thousands. One zombie is gruesome, but easily destroyed with a bullet or a lance to the brain, but a hundred zombies, a thousand zombies, ten thousand zombies, all inching so so slowly toward you -- that is a much different story.
They do not breathe air, they do not need food to survive, they walk under water, scratch and claw at doors and windows, not noticing that their fingers and legs have been worn down to the bone, or broken off altogether. They do not feel pain, they do not feel sadness, they do not feel fear.
They are machines. They are a mob. They have one goal in mind, and there is nothing that can stop it.
They can be your neighbor, your teacher, your grandparents, your brother, your parents, even your own child.

This is what i find so interesting about the zombie concept. It is a reflection of our own claustrophobic fear of being turned into a mindless machine that is just one in a horde of millions. It is a fear of our loved ones being lost to us forever and condemned to an eternity of wandering the earth as a monster that only survives by destroying.

All fears aside however, unlike our obsession with the end of the world, it is a fascination with an end to the world as we know it, but a chance to survive. A true demonstration of survival of the fittest. To know how to survive not only flesh-eating zombies, but disease, homelessness, natural disasters, animals, and of course the most dangerous threat of all -- other humans. That all takes intelligence, physical strength, emotional strength, mental strength, tenacity, agility, and the ability and willingness to kill without hesitation.

As a species, we have become unrecognizable to our former selves, to our ancestors. We have become disgusting and sedentary. Our fangs are about as useless as an asshole on an elbow. We have no idea how to survive outside of the luxuries of our everyday living and for the most part, have no desire to know. Even the "luxuries" that we have created with our own intelligence, serve no purpose other than to make it unnecessary to use our intelligence. We are like fat, content house-cats, spending every day staring out the window of our own domesticity. Longing to be like the wild felines that survive in the wilderness.

Enter, zombies.

This plague, this outbreak, this global pandemic, we see this as a chance to come into our own one more time. This is why unlike vampire books, zombie books and films are never about the zombies but about the survivors. We want to know how they did it. We want to know if we can do it. We dream of having a real reason to be physically fit, agile, disciplined and have instincts that are meant for one thing and one thing only. We want to outsmart when we are outnumbered. We want to know what it feels like to be prey and then become the hunter.

Haven't you ever wondered what you would do if there was an earthquake? Where you would go, how you would react, what would you do to come out alive?
Everyone has. We are trained to think of survival tactics from elementary school and we are taught to hide under our desks during an earthquake.
Zombies are like natural disasters, but unlike earthquakes, fires or tornadoes, these monsters are something we can defeat. Something we can destroy.

This is the real fascination -- we want to know how resilient we are, not only as a species, but as individuals.
Beyond the terror and immeasurable tragedy of a planet covered with the living dead, there is a true fascination and almost a desire to be tested in every way possible.
How strong is your drive to survive -- that is the question that we ask ourselves when we see zombie movies.

Truth of the matter is most of us are no longer able to tap into that primal instinct that allows us to fight for our lives and survive almost anything. But that will never stop us from looking out the window and wondering "what if.."

A Dot On The Map

It's broiling here in Los Feliz. The smog in the city doesn't really make things any better either. A man jogged by my window a few minutes ago, drenched in grey-ish sweat, made yellow by his workout clothes. As he jogged in place at a stop light, he covered his mouth with his sleeve to filter out the toxins in the air. Lovely.

I wonder how long it will be before we all have to start wearing face-masks in Los Angeles. I'm sure someone will find a way to make them trendy. The new Winter-must-have.

So, i'm sitting here at my desk, telling myself I'm studying for my Philosophy exam, sweating in my pants and bra. I always forget about my tattoo until I see it in a mirror out of the corner of my eye. It's not much to behold -- in fact, it's a dot. Really, no bigger than an ink stain of a pen dropped tip-first onto my skin. But it's mine. And it's the only one I have (so far).

Every time I see it, I feel a slight pang of sadness because I remember the night I got it and that it will always be a reminder of how on that night, I came last to the very person I was in love with.

"come downstairs! I'm getting a tattoo!" I told her excitedly on the phone, standing just outside of the tattoo parlor she lived above.
"Seriously? Of what?" she replied, half unamused, half exhausted of my random antics.
"I dunno! A dot, I think." I laughed "you know how I want that long one along my ribcage?? Well I'm a big pussy when it comes to needles and I'm just really curious to know what it feels like. Plus, they're not gonna charge me! I want you to be here!" I asked, without asking -- I suppose.
"You're so silly babe. But my cat isn't feeling good. It'll be quick. So just come upstairs and show me when it's done." she replied, disinterested and still audibly tired of what I can only assume was me.

So. I got the tattoo, and her next door neighbour was the one to hold my hand through the 1.5 seconds of pain, which truthfully turned out to feel kind of good. Very proud of myself and my false bravery, I wore a smile as I walked out of the tattoo parlor, and up the stairs to my girlfriend's apartment. Making my way down the corridor, I stopped at her neighbour's door and stared. My heart broke. In that moment, I realized that someone I had met only one other time had been there for me instead of the person I had been in love with for almost two years.

I was no longer proud. I was sad and I was angry. The dull pain on my side slowly turned into a sharp sting as I knocked on my girlfriend's front door. The dot burned as I saw her face, staring curiously at me... almost wondering how on earth she was with someone like me.

Still, I loved her and brushed everything else aside, showing her the dot on my ribcage just beneath my heart. She laughed, saying "I can't believe you just got a dot." then walking away shaking her head and laughing.
I walked by myself to the bathroom mirror and interchanged between staring at the dot and staring at my eyes. They were watering. I felt her cat wrap his body around my ankle and purr. They watered more now. I closed my eyes and blinked everything back.

I walked back out to her and slid under the covers, claiming that I was just sleepy when she asked what was wrong.
I fell asleep, knowing two things for certain: She could see right through me and knew something was wrong. She was probably too tired to care.

[- iPhone post by Karmen D'Castro]

Lesbian Advice For The Straight Guy: Episode 8

We're back!
I've gotten a lot of complaints that i havent been giving enough truly "straight guy" advice, so for this episode i brought in 2 experts at being heterosexual men.
They have been heterosexual men for the past 22 years.

So, enjoy!

Part 1:



Part 2:

Tired of Twilight Tweens

Recently, I joined my friends Russ and Phil for a cheap dinner and as we chatted over drinks we came to the topic of recent movies and how some of the highest grossing and most popular films are also the most ridiculous. There was a time when movies that were popular were real works of art. They had an amazing cast, a fantastic story, beautiful cinematography and came to life for every audience member. They were truly innovative.

Today, popular movies consist of fart jokes, dick jokes, terrible acting, mediocre and cliched storylines.

Toward the top of our "least deserving and most ridiculous" list was a movie that has so quickly become a worldwide phenomenon, yet when dissected -- has absolutely nothing to say.

Twilight.

Teen angst and teen vampire angst.

It is indeed a ridiculous movie, but it gives us the chance to sharpen our comedic, smart-ass chops.
So, we decided to record ourselves doing commentary for our own and hopefully, your own enjoyment as well.

Here it is, in all of its glory...

The Real Twilight Commentary. Unabridged and Unprofessional with Russ Ford, Phil Harrigan and yours truly.

Download the file, pop in your movie and sit back with your computer speakers up high and get ready to enjoy Twilight like never before.
It is VERY VERY important that you start the movie (and audio) at 00:00, otherwise it will not match up.

Let me know what you think! Good or bad.
If it's well-received, we're thinking of doing commentary to another movie.

Also... i think the site i uploaded the file to has a limit of downloads, so any advice on other (free) user-friendly websites would be greatly appreciated.


Alright, go go go!

Lesbian Advice For The Straight Guy: Episode 7

In this installment, Charlene from the hit LOGO tv show "Gimme Sugar" joins me to discuss her experience in Miami, and as always answer your questions about love lost, girls and advice on the future.
We're not experts on anything, but we sure do have a lot to say about everything!

Part 1:




Part 2:




Part 3:

Neurotica

Much like the French Revolution spotlighted the cataclysmic rift between its country’s Haves and Have-nots, I suspect that the following confession will divide my readers into two groups that will inevitably be at similar odds with one another – completely incapable of seeing eye-to-eye.

The bed-makers vs. the bed-leavers.

While I am completely easy-going about most things in life (or at least that is what all of my online profiles/roommate applications say), there is only one specific thing that I am uncharacteristically neurotic about:

The bed.

Oh yes, I understand that this admission of my situational insanity may very well destroy any chances I have of ever having a guest in my bed again, but I don’t care. I owe it to you all and also to myself to be honest.

When it comes to my bed, I have a need – no, a compulsion – to make it absolutely perfect. Every time I get new pillows, I spend days making the perfect imprint of my head in my preferred position. Every morning I Febreeze my sheets before hopping into the shower and then just before walking out the front door, I pull my sheets so tight over my mattress that I know a dropped penny would bounce off and lodge itself into my ceiling. Every night before I climb into bed, I make sure all of the sheet corners are tucked in and I slide into my little envelope of comfort, happy and satisfied that it will be impossible for any edge of my blankets to become un-tucked at any point during my R.E.M cycle.

This level of neurosis is never really a problem until a second person becomes involved and suddenly I’m made aware of my own quirks. “What do you mean, you like to move around in bed? Why do you need to move? You’re sleeping.” I often asked my girlfriend, arms crossed, both of us in a huff over who will have to concede over the matter. See, the problem with a bed is that there is only one. You can’t really agree to disagree or meet halfway because there is only one way to make a bed at any given moment.

So, like that, we would stand – staring at each other, waiting for one of us to crack, which of course never happened. She liked the bed as loose as possible, “why bother to make it all perfect if you’re just going to mess it up again?” to which I would reply “well then why wipe your ass after you poop if you’re just gonna poop again later??”

Back and forth it would go; she liked a single loose sheet covering her mattress and a completely un-tucked sheet strewn over the top acting as a comforter (I get anxiety just thinking about it.) and I would beg and plead for her to please get a mattress sheet that fit correctly. “BEDBUGS!! HAVE YOU NOT THOUGHT ABOUT BEDBUGS????” I could feel my skin crawl at the thought of those disgusting little creatures feasting on my dead skin cells, and deciding they liked the taste of me enough to carry me away from the bed in the middle of the night into a place where nobody would ever from me again. “I don’t HAVE bedbugs! Or ticks, or fleas or anything! I’m the cleanest person you’ll ever meet!” she would retort, incredulous at my accusation. And while that may have been true, it made very little (see: no) difference to me, because the only thing I could think about was the fact that when bedbugs bite you, it’s not that they are actually biting you – it is the male inserting its penis into your skin and THAT is what leaves that bump on your skin.

“Yes, okay, that IS disgusting, but the sheets are so tight that my feet fall asleep in the middle of the night!” She would plead. “Again, the rest of you is sleeping, so why not your feet too??” I would respond, unmoved. So, more often than not, I would make the bed the way I liked and as she climbed in, she would look at me with green eyes full of mischief, and then in the middle of the night she would kick the sheets out from the bottom of the mattress and breathe a happy sigh of smug relief. Of course, inevitably, I would wake up in a serious panic and shove her out of bed as I meticulously re-made the bed. 2am? 4am? Didn’t matter. I had a mission – and I would only sort of notice the expression on her face that screamed, “you’re joking”.

Sometimes, on special occasions, she would actually make her own bed the way I liked, and as I pulled her in to thank her I would notice an unmistakable look of love and pride in her eyes mixed with something even more beautiful – the expression of someone with a broken spirit.

That night, the battle would start all over again but it didn’t matter to us because we knew that no matter how normal you might think you are, you will always be neurotic to somebody else.