Shifting Kicks

This project has started to run REAL slow for a couple of good will reasons.

1. My mom (I don’t live with my parents since like 4 years ago), donated A LOT of my sneakers, which I couldn’t blame her, it was a GREAT thing to do.

2. I have donated mine too.

I’m not sure if this project should continue, but thank you for reading my secrets and sharing your thoughts with me. To me, sneakers have a special thing in my heart, wether they’re a popular model or not, as long they feel comfy and fit with my outfit. As long as they resist my routine. As loong as they feel dope and make me feel dope. Since I was a kid, getting sneakers has cured my anxieties, my dad used to get me sneakers all the time so it also reminds me that a lot. But it’s Christmas and is cold outside. And keeping them when you don’t wear them that often no more, seems unfair for anyone in need out there in this crunchy city. If you are in Mexico City I invite you to donate your sneakers and make some one else super happy these holiday season.

Here’s the info ---> http://www.sneakerfever.com.mx/donando.html

Merry Christmas Sneaker heads!

8. #FU (all the way off)

I can’t even remotely close explain with words how much I hate to see your face in pictures. To hear your name coming out of her voice. To think about you with her. To think about you and your existence in her heart. To think about you in general. And is not your fault because you don’t know anything of nothing at all. You did nothing but your shit. But I hate you. I really wish I could tell you how I feel and beat your face. If not with my bare hands, with these Vans then. I wish I could do this without feeling guilty about hating you as much as I do right now.

Because is not you, it’s me, it’s her and everything that happened in my brain. Because is not you, it’s me, it’s her and everything that happened. Because is not you, it’s her. Because is not you, it’s everything.

Even when it’s worth nothing. Even when it won’t change a thing. I’m screaming inside my head while I write this. I. Hate. The. Shit. Out. Of. You. 

It’s not  your fault. Not even hers I think. It’s probably just me, just hating my feelings for people, the world and the universe. I’m seeing red for the waiting. I’m seeing red for the kill. I’m seeing red for me and how you make me feel.

I’m not sorry and I won’t do anything to change it, even when I know it’s not ok. You don’t know it and I know you will read this and won’t get it. But we are not friends anymore. Fuck you.

SHOES: Vans LXVI 

Due to reading a bunch of people sharing their experiences and opinions around the suicide of Mr. Williams, I’ve been on every article and feeling a little numb about it, I’ve been letting people know what I think without mentioning that “oh yeah, my stepdad killed himself back in 2012”, because is not an easy thing to say like “oh yeah I ate pizza last night” it’s not something you go and share with everyone you know. I started to feel a need for sharing it as fast I started to hear people saying things like “suicide it’s such a selfish thing” or “how could someone do that just for being sad?” I realize that some people don’t really know that depression is a mental illness. I’ve never written a thing about it because I still feel chills just to remember the whole thing. But I think it is a good moment to share it.

My Stepdad was a strange adult, he was a fun guy and sometimes he wasn’t, I didn’t really got along with him until the last years before he did what he did. It was obviously that he had a rough childhood, he knew what was wrong with him and he took a long road on psychiatric therapy, my family and his (also strange) family was supporting it. My mom loved him and he loved my mom, so even when I didn’t liked the guy I kind of liked the guy because he was a good man to my mom.

Somewhere in the middle of his psychiatric road, a stable relationship, two supporting stepdaughters, two sons and an almost broke business, things took a strange turn without anyone expecting it.

We never got a sign, and everyone thought that everything was fine, the business wasn’t but money is just money… family values come first. One day when no one was watching he decided to drink a whole bottle of antifreeze. I got home that night, no one was there, all the lights were off and as I walked into the living room I could feel that there was a weird and scary vibe in our place. I called my mom and she was crying. As soon as she mention it I got out of the house, it felt like if I had seen a ghost, I got scared of being there, as if the death was there and I just ran out of it. My mom told me she would call me back later, I had nowhere to go and I called a bunch of friends until someone answered me so I could go to their place and calm my nerves out. I was shaking.

My mom found him, make him barf the thing but things got complicated afterwards. His whole immune system and kidneys went on a down road for the next month and one day everything just stopped functioning. We spent a month with him, taking care of him and we got to talk to him and trying to make him feel better, we knew he had been struggling with depression during all that time, so we were always doing family things, we were always there. I repeat, this was a guy that took me a long while to get along with, and I ended up watching TV with him on his last days, talking to him and saying things like “I love you and please get better so we can do something fun soon.” It didn’t.

When he died, his family blamed it on us, and didn’t want us to go to the funeral. They never visited him they knew nothing, it was so unfair. My whole family gather together and with a broken heart we went to his funeral, nobody was crying as much as we were.

I got a dream job offer in that same week, far away from my hometown, I wasn’t going to take it, I was worried about leaving home after my stepdad’s departure, my mom said “don’t let this stop you from chasing your dreams, I’m going to be ok, I’m not going to do anything stupid.” Reading about Mr. Williams now I can see how that wasn’t actually a stupid thing to do, it just happened, unexpected and out of nowhere, you can’t say that is stupid, you can’t blame it on people, but most of all, you can’t say that suicide it’s a selfish thing to do and like earthquakes you can’t tell when someone is going to do it. He was a fine man, funny, wise, smart, kind, he was fighting his monsters out and one day he just couldn’t take it anymore and monsters took over him.

 What I’m saying is that it wasn’t his fault as some people think that suicide it’s a decision. I believe that it isn’t.  The only thing that we can do about it it’s to be prepared and aware, like when you live in a place where earthquakes are a common thing, and you save extra water and cans on the cupboard, if you suspect it’s coming, catch a sign, know what to do; you won’t get anything on judging an earthquake, you have to survive to it and protect your people. Depression is a mental illness, it’s an earthquake and you can't take it for granted. Be there and do all you can and if it happens, it’s not your fault, don’t carry that with you, know that it’s an accident as much as a car crash or a heart stroke, you can prevent those things and sometimes you can’t.

7. #WhenInWar with yourself, wear boots.

I got these boots because I had to walk uphill long roads to get to school. It was cold and it seemed appropriate, also, it was the first time I was living away from home and my mom and everyone I knew and I’d always wanted one of these but was afraid to been told not to. So I did it. I got them and wore them to war. These are my war boots. These are my rebellion boots. They are heavy, hard and look good dirty boots.

These are the boots I wore walking in the rain, walking in the rocky roads, walking half hour in the morning, when the fog didn’t let me see a thing and was freezing outside. I wore these boots on the last days of the end and the beginning of a new me. These are the boots that I wore the time that I decided to do things different for me, because I’d come to realize that I wasn’t being me and I wasn’t letting myself go. I was not doing what I love and I wasn’t listening to what I wanted to do and I was just doing what everyone thought that was good for me to be doing. I had a chance to start over and kick the shit out of my fears and so I got these boots. These are the boots you wear at the zombie apocalypse, these boots were made to invade. December 2011 was freezing our bones while we kept working day and night trying to demonstrate what we were capable to do. I found myself deeply focused on what I had learned and I was trying to put it out. Deep inside I was nervous to finish because I didn’t know what would happen next. So, to not miss a thing I stayed focused. I stayed focused on the joy of what I thought would be the last time I saw my classmates, I stayed focused on finishing things and picking up everything I could so I could take it home with me.  I stayed focus on sharing things with you, because you gave me a whole new meaning to what friendship meant. And then I thought this is war, a good war where you fight, pick and never forget. “War” is not a bad word, words are only words. It isn’t a thing about grammar, is a thing about giving a true meaning to things by doing them. I did this and I didn’t know what would happen next. But I knew it would be ok, because I knew what good felt like thanks to you my dear friends.

These boots can break some skulls. When in war with yourself, wear boots.

6. #YouKnew

I’ve been trying to write about you for over year but I can’t. I wrote this one piece about it and it was like saying goodbye to you, with everything there that was left to say about it. But a year later, with all those “in lovely memory of” parties going around, I feel weird; I’m trying so hard to do it. I feel like if I’m not worth to write about you anymore. I see all these people sharing their great stories, the ones they had with you, and it makes me feel bad. It sounds pretty stupid now that I’m writing it. Maybe my story wasn’t so cool as everyone else’s stories, but we all kind of share a mutual feeling about you. You crossed our path and make something crazy with it. I was the worst square ever before I met you. And you asked me and told me to take off and try hard to remove all those bad habits from me. I’m still fighting against them. There is nothing else left to get out of my chest when it comes to you. Unless is saying that I would like to ask you for advice because, lately I don’t know what I’m doing.

It sucks when someone goes away and you’re in trouble. One is never asking for advice, but when it is, one usually needs the advice of someone who’s already gone. That’s what happens to me. You start thinking you need help, but no one here seems to have an answer, like none of the things they say is something you haven’t heard before. I keep looking in all of the stuff you told me for something that maybe I missed. Something that maybe I can’t recall now but if I do it can make me feel better. You were great. The coolest dude I’ve known. You deserve to rest, and us to cut the bullshit and stop wondering what would you do. Rest in peace and have a long and loud laugh on how we doing down here. Once we stop being funny to you, give us a call/sign or something. It is a pain in the ass down here.

- iamtheworstkind

5. #TheLonerPT1

You can die alive sometimes. You can be death and be alive at the same time. You can walk in the sun pretending you live between the livings, but you are actually dead. Some people live desperately dead. You are born in a living scream and dead in a quick silence.

There is this quiet sound that dead makes. The sound of silence.

We carried different kinds of pain with kindness. We knew our names, what we liked and what we wanted at the time.  We knew nothing and learned everything for each other. Like if knowledge was the key to stay together. Like if it was school.

They say that ignorance is a blessing and so education is a deadly weapon. There was a year that ended with a brand new pair of black long chucks, and a new year that started at meeting you. That year I was desperately dead and looking for something that could repair what had happen in my short life. I wasn’t expecting that it was love; I wasn’t looking for someone to save me, because I wasn’t raised like that. I was raised to be independent, to believe in super heroes because I could be one, but not to wait for one. I was looking for nothing. It was simply a time where everything was floating around and I was picking on things and trying not to drown in my bitter past.

I remember these pair of chucks, because I love them and because they were really hard to take off. That was funny when we had sex.  

I know you don’t want words. You don’t need them. And so I don’t need to justify anything to you. It sounds selfish, but for the very first time in my life I needed to be. See, I knew nothing and still don’t know, but as soon as I got out of the place I was, as soon as I opened my eyes I realized the person I was and what I was giving. The person you were and what you were turning me into. I don’t blame you, you neither knew what person I was and what you were. I have so much buried inside of me that sometimes I still get surprised of what I keep to myself. That’s why I write. I’ll forever thank you for what you did for me. But I won’t ever forget what you also did to me. You got out of me some strange fear to being caged and exposed at the same time on the most vulnerable time in my life. You were hurting me. And so I got out. And it hurt because I still loved you, but I had to leave.

With all the other demons vanquished, we ourselves are our own worst enemies. And isn’t that the very least we all deserve?

- iamtheworstkind

4. #BetweenDelightAndDiscomfort

It was one of those days where pieces of me were everywhere and you were still around careless of them. I was lost in thought and pushing myself to be around you when I was completely broken about us. We were on our way to put a show in a home care place for older people* it was the first act that we would put together after breaking up, and I was shit. You forgot your stage gloves and I went back to the car for them. While looking in the car I stumbled and fell over your shirt. I smelled it and started to cry. I waited for a few minutes in the car to get my shit together and went back  to you. We started warming up for the show, played a little in the gym, we were all smiles in the back, but really I was fighting to hold on my tears on you, So. Fucking. Hard.

Our audience was beautiful people 75 years older than us. With white hair, in wheel chairs, smiling with their few teeth. We didn’t know what to expect. This was the first time our audience looked like this. Usually they were kids.

They formed a circle around us, and the show started.

Kids wouldn’t be as awesome as this audience was. They were more than kids, they were the true souls of children. A beauty so pure as a newborn. Our show, or usual routine became something so clean and fluid that you could see what infinite meant in their eyes. Beauty in the eyes of wisdom meant to be a kid again and being in peace with the world and yourself. That’s what I saw performing that day with them.  I looked back at you and for one moment what had happened before didn’t matter. That day I knew it wasn’t repaired, but someday it would.

Between delight and discomfort, there is a light that never goes out. There is beauty.

- naveobeso