Writ(h)ing

I recently finished my second reading of Brave New World and am eager to divulge to you, dear reader, my innermost thoughts on the matter.

That was code for: "I'm going to write more!" And be more linguistically involved with the digital world in general. Such as: I have created a Facebook page for my empresa: http://www.facebook.com/JasonEikerWilesEditingProofreading
I plan to put some useful tips up there. That was pretty much code for: I am making an effort to expand my business! So tell your friends and your non-friends (assuming you don't mind if they end up seeming eloquentially superior than you as a result of my awesome linguistic input).

I went to Six Flags Mexico recently with some hip extranjero cats (...four Frenchies, two Brasilians) from the hostel (one Brasilian was not). Thing One: it was fun, interesting, Mexican, and cool. Chatting (in Spanish) with a delightful young (older than I) Brasilian chap (I don't have any parenthetical additions for this one...oh yes I do! His name was and is Getulio), we got to talking about my illustrious (read: new and nigh non-existent) career in the world of words. Thing Two: I was describing what I like to read and what I like to write, and we agreed that I could write some very awesome things about that day and that place. I am currently writing this post after a nice dinner (read: FREE ZUZHI! Thank you, Pedro! Sincerely.) in which the subject was again brought up (end of sentence=preposition). This time, however, it was with a Brasilian woman, a Colombian woman, and un hombre de mi sangre: a Sonoran who was the main asker of questions and payer of attention. So I plan to post a little blurb on each of these experiences and many other minor daily experiences on a frequent basis.

Actually, I was in a fairly writey mood earlier today. Maybe I will relay that story at a later date.

Buenas noches, Suckas

Adventures (in Pharmaceutical Stereophonics...etc.)

The number shit is gone. As far as titles are concerned, I mean. Numbers still exist, despite my grandest efforts... And while we're on the subject of nothing: a picture is not worth a thousand words. Words kick ass and if you disagree, it's only because they kick your ass and you aren't smart enough to make them do your eloquent bidding. Deal with it. But the real crux of the matter is:


Drugs and (music not at all resembling) Rock & Roll! Like a true victim of youth.


P.S. The crux of the matter is actually writing again and hopefully with some semblance of depth and frequency.


But back to the cool guy theme:


So. I've been rockin' the night scene like an O.G. with modernistic tendencies. And here is a little story I told a couple people:


                                                                     *****


We need to go to one of Kyle's "shows." And by "we" I mean I really want to go because I'm sure it will be tan chistoso and possibly fun and K-Dawg could always use the support and I'm obviously not going to go alone because that would probably give me nightmares, not to mention the predominance if underage kiddlets trying to sport their swagg could potentially make me punch someone and that would be less than preferable. Thus, you two are going. And going to love it. I'm thinking drunk, like...reallyyyyyyy drrrrrrrunk. Dubstep has to sound good when you're drunk, right? Or maybe just high...

So I was going home from a bar a few weeks ago at like midnight and these dudes I kinda know saw me and grabbed me as they were walking into this club and made me join them (free!) and it was kinda weird. Like a big open floor with no one on it (literally, we were the only ones--we were like a group of five [all dudes, no less...]) and a DJ spinning and a bunch of tables lining the dance floor (there were people seated). Well, a while later it got poppin', and so did the rest of the members of my crew. Poppin' extasy, that is. I'm guessing. Pills, whatever the case. And after a couple/few hours, the dude I knew best tried to put one in my mouth, but I kept it shut; he tried again, so I obliged, thinking I would just spit it out. Well, for a couple seconds I contemplated finishing the pill, but then decided against it and spit it out. But that was odd. And I hope the dude didn't have herpes fingers or something. And then I went back to the other bar that doesn't play DJ-centric dubstep and it was way more fun and I actually danced with chicas instead of dudes on extasy. Really though, what is the point of going to clubs and dancing solo (while high--maybe that's the part I'm missing?)? I can turn up some heavy danceable electronica in my room and dance alone if that's what I'm after. These dubstep heads are weird.

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That last sentence is pretty much the moral of the story. That and: dancing with girls is better than not dancing with girls.