Writers block my shots.

Writers block.  Everyone gets it, so I decided I'm going to address it.

Why do we get writers block?  I'm sure even Shakespeare and Dr. Seuss had their bad-days where they couldn't create anything good (yes I categorize those two together).

I hate Writers Block.  He always comes at the wrong time.  Fashionably late, although never in fashion.

Writers Block is the King Party-Pooper, trust me, he poops.

Writers Block is cousins with Frustration.  Those two are always together.  Sometimes I wonder if they are secretly a couple, which is wrong on so many levels.

Writers Block and Frustration are always hanging out with Confusion who only speaks spanish, which makes him so hard to understand.

Watch out for those three, they like to jump you with their broken pencils and red-ink handguns which shoot blank stares.  They come out when you least expect it.

Writers block is fake.  Writers block is not real.  Writers block does not exist, yet we all claim it here and there.

What kind of block are we talking about?

BLOCK of wood.

Getting BLOCKED by Shaq.

BLOCK in the neighborhood where the Bloods n' Crips chill.

Maybe BLOCKbuster because Redbox took over the nation's media.

Hmm....

Why write? You all already said it.  You all already said it.  I already said that.

You all already said it before me, and better than I ever would have.

Writing is pointless.  I've got no cliches, no metaphors, no similes, no jokes, no.

Writing is for the creative, writing is for the new.  Writing is for those who understand how to complicate then concentrate.  Writing is for you.  Writing is not for me.

Writing..... Writing....  Writers block 101.  Writers block my shots.  Writers block the passing lane.  Writers block the flock from migrating.  Writers are stubborn.  Writers block.

-J.Stamos.

BOO. 'cause it sounds like it's supposed to scare you.

I had moved on so it was time to break up with her.  Was I afraid of the situation I know I had to face? Not really.  Was I somewhat scared? Yes.
After I broke up with her, we hugged.  That was the scariest part.  She hugged me the tightest she ever had, she squeezed me and wouldn't let go.  She was easily one of the worst huggers I've dated because she always gave me inelegant one-arm leaners as if she took them for granted.  Well, SHE TOOK THEM FOR GRANTED, and now I'm afraid.
Am I afraid of commitment?  Probably.  It makes me anxious.
Do I want commitment?  Do I seek that which I'm most terrified of? Yes, which is so frightening if you think about it.

There's an annoying junior in high school who follows me around like I'm a banana and he's a monkey.  He won't leave my side.  Am I afraid of him?  No. I could knock-him-out in 5 seconds and still have time to walk my dog.  Am I afraid of why he follows me around?  Yes. There is the slim possibility he's secretly gay, and he's attracted to me.  *shudder* Gross.

I'm afraid that Mr. Smith the calculus teacher is an arcane serial-killer.  Why?  Because that's the last thing someone would assume about him.  There's something about him and his personality that is just NOT RIGHT.
Now I'm afraid he will read this, and I just put myself next on his "hit-list".

I'm not afraid of much, and no I don't think I'm a tough guy.  Just, not much in this world is meaningful enough to scare me.  Well, I'm afraid of cold feet, but that's a whole different story.

For some reason I come off as an intimidating person.  I don't know why.  People just assume I'm rude I guess.
BOO!
That's about as scary as I get.

I'm afraid of the future.  It's one of my biggest fears.  What if I never become the person I strive to be?  What if I develop a rare cancer and die at the age 40 leaving a wife and 4 kids left with no husband or father?

What if.... What if....
I FEAR "WHAT IF'S"..... because the possibility of crafting these "what if's" is endless..
What if I woke up to a monkey beating me with a rotten banana until I bleed...? Random.  But not impossible.  Especially if the monkey is that junior I mentioned who follows me around.

I'm afraid of addictions.  Addictions have tortured my extended family and friends for generations.
ADDICTIONS.  Something that seems so harmless at first can completely take-over and control your life.
My uncle has told me that he knows he will eventually have to stand before the judgement-seat and tell our Savior, that ALCOHOL was his Master.
I fear that I will succumb to an inanimate object, a worthless noun, an unintelligent verb, and let it destroy me.
I DO HAVE FEARS.  I fight my fears.  I fear my fears.  My fears will never consume me.

"It is the curse of an addict to chase the thing that destroys you..." - Shane Hawley.

-J.Stamos.

Don't tell me I ain't good enough.

If you are of the male species and you claim you never wanted to grow up to be a professional athlete, you're lying.

           WE ALL DID.

Football, basketball, baseball, soccer, tennis (if you're a weirdo), hockey, and the list goes on and on if you're including the Olympic sports.
There is the rare-case of being so dang uncoordinated that you decided to take a knee and called it quits before you got your hopes up (you're most likely an Indie now anyways).  Otherwise, you're in the same boat as me and everyone else full of testosterone.

Basketball was my dream.  I WAS the next Michael Jordan, and if you told me otherwise it would go in through one ear, and out the other.  In reality I sucked, but who's to tell a smelly 10 year-old that he's not good enough?  Who's to tell that chubby brown-boy he's not fast enough? (Actually he's not brown, he's just covered in so much dirt he looks brown).  No one with a conscious dares to crush a little kid's dreams like that, besides Hitler.  He would literally crush their dreams, really, like while they were asleep and dreaming he would crush them, literally. Get it?  Unless your first name is Adolf or Lucifer, you must lie and tell a kid he's good enough.  That's the 11th commandment.

This isn't just about sports.  I know you females all thought you were either the next American Idol, or America's Next Top Model.  Either way you wanted to be an idol, you selfish-snobs.
Who's to tell you that you have the same tone and pitch as a Lion eating Pop-Rocks?  Unless they're a Zookeeper and apart of Mo-Tab, they have no right to say anything.

In our heads we all thought we were going to be famous and it didn't cross our minds that it would never happen.  That's how growing-up works.  Never did we think we weren't good enough, we weren't fast enough, we weren't pretty enough because reality isn't real to children.  Our fantasies were our realities, and our realities were nonexistent.

How old were you when you got some sense knocked into you, and you realized the NBA, NFL, or being the next Beyonce wasn't possible?

I was 12 years-old.

A brand-new deacon who used to dream about signing basketballs and babies foreheads with his autograph, now walks the streets alone at night kicking rocks at puppies while blasting Eminem on his mp3.

I could have been the next Michael Jordan, I know I could have.  Maybe coming to reality is the worst thing that can happen to a kid.  Maybe.

-J.Stamos.

Reminisce, talk some...

Sometimes I think about thinking.
Sometimes I think about pondering about reminiscing about thinking.
Sometimes I just think.

My mind molds and forms the most unique and optimistic situations when thinking about you.
When thinking about you I smile, even though no one is around to see it. I still smile because in my head I'm subliminally proving to myself the truthfulness.

Now, I am not a deep person when it comes to writing.  I find deep-writing fake because it's an easy scapegoat to pretend like you know what you're talking about.
When it comes to thinking though, who REALLY understands it.  Possibly, deep-gooey-lovey writing is what is necessary for "thinking" posts.  Nahhh.
I thought I understood thinking, until "the girl of my dreams" turns out to be girl-zilla and starts ripping Asians heads off and dunking them in basketball hoops.  I now feel bad for the lad who gets hitched to that monster.  What was I thinking at the time?  I wasn't.  My cerebral-cortex must have a glitch or something because that one sure blindsided me like a I was standing between a Catholic Priest and a small boy..... too soon? Sorry.

I'm thinking about you like Mike Taylor thinks about ALL the people ripping-off his poetry format. Also, I watched that slam AT LEAST 30 times before I even signed up for Creative Writing. Call me hipster.

I was just thinking about her.  Who's her?  I'm not exactly sure.  Sometimes when I do that imagining thing I spoke of, the people in my thoughts have no faces.  They have no personality or voice.  I tell them what to do because they're are in my head, MY thoughts.  She's in MY thoughts.  SHE, doesn't know I'm thinking about her.  What if she's thinking about me?  Do I have a face, voice, or personality in her imagination.  Probably not.  That is why my beautifully crafted optimistic situations with hugs and kisses and honesty never go the way expected. Why? Because we don't have faces. Thinking about you never includes the two-way road that is necessary in real life.

Take that in for consideration.

-J.Stamos.

Don't judge.

Don't judge a book by its cover.
Don't judge a Mexican by the quality of his mustache.
Don't judge a movie because Channing Tatum isn't the lead actor.
Don't judge a person by their occupation.
Don't judge a table by the type of wood it's made out of.
Don't judge an Asian by the thickness of their eyes.
Don't judge a politician by the political-party they belong to.
DO judge Nicki Minaj.
Don't judge a person by their past.
Don't judge a religion without studying it.
Don't judge a family by the cleanliness of their house.
Don't judge a restaurant by the smell (for example Beto's).

DON'T JUDGE.  People are judged everyday.  Walking down the street while passing by complete strangers... they judged you, and you probably judged them.  Why?  People judge others for comparison, to see whether or not you are "better" than them.  You don't know them.  7 billion people in the world, and the average amount of people you ACTUALLY know is about 25.  Family, close friends, and secret-crushes that you stalk on every social-network possible.  Just because you wear nicer clothes, have more money, have less zits, and have more friends doesn't make you a better person.  Quit comparing yourselves to people you do OR don't know.  That person you judged at school may be 1 dirty-look away from suicide.  What if you were the one to look at them funny.....?  Serious stuff.

That book might just be the next "Newbury Best-Seller".  That Mexican could be actually be a Guatemalan or Puerto Rican, they all look the same.  That movie could win the next Oscar.  That person might be a mailman because they didn't have the opportunity to get an education and pursue the occupation they wanted.  That table might have been someone's great-great grandpa's that has been passed down from generation to generation.  That Asian might be Yao Ming's brother, which is a big deal.  That politician might be the one who could have saved our country from turmoil.  No one likes Nicki Minaj.  That person has repented of their sins and their past, why should you remind them of it.  That religion could be the true gospel and key to your salvation, but you just think they have lots of moms and wear funny underwear.  That family's uncle may have recently died, so keeping their house clean isn't their top priority.  Beto's smells bad, but is just dang good.

Don't judge, please.

J.Stamos.

Tarzan knows traps.

The first time a girl told me she loved me it was through text, "Love ya, goodnight."
Uhhhh I was a 15 year-old boy with hormones and no knowledge whatsoever of what I was about to get myself into.  Obviously I replied, "Love you too! Night."

Love is a trap.  I understand that I'm about to get my head ripped off by any girl reading this.  Love is a TRAP.  Before you pull out your guillotines and start chanting "Off with your head" like the Queen of Hearts, wait to see what I have to say first.  Love is a trap.  Yes, I literally mean a trap like a bear-trap in Alaska, or a "pickle" in the game of baseball.  There is one way in, and no way out.  Even if you're over it and say, "I no longer love _____", you still gave away something that you can never receive back.  Your emotions, your tears, your favorite necklace (I'm still bitter about that one); your love will not be given back fully in return.  Somewhere along the "trail-of-love" you deposited a down-payment without realizing it.  NO refunds, NO returns.  Unless you're a Great White Shark, don't plan on getting out of the fish-tank without losing an arm, a leg, an eye, or acquire a gimpy-fin like our beloved Nemo.

Now, here's the other meaning behind my statement "Love is a TRAP".  I don't believe I ever said that being in a trap is a bad thing.  Think of the one person you WOULD want to be trapped on an island with, or stuck in an elevator with, do you love them?  I'll take that as a yes.  If I was trapped on an island with my future wife or girlfriend who I absolutely love, I'd be okay with it. Why?  First, because I'd teach myself how to surf.  Second, my wife would make me an unlimited supply of pina colada's.  Third, I'd be able to show-off my manliness by building a house out of bamboo, and wrestling monkeys to the death.  And last-but-not-least, I'd get to spend 24 hours a day with the one I love.  Love is a TRAP.  True love is something you want to be so wrapped-up in, that you're glad you're stuck with them forever.  Where every second of your life you're either with them, or thinking about being with them.

Statistics say 99.9% of marriages end in divorce.  Or maybe it's 50%.  All I know is one pf those is about divorce, and the other may be about hand-sanitizer, I'm not completely sure.  I just hope that my Jane is out there, and I can be her Tarzan.  Purposely trapping ourselves on an island and forever loving each other without end.

J.Stamos.

Obviously, we all have hearts.

Dang, that was some good salsa. (4 hours later...) Dang, that salsa is giving me some outrageous "heart"burn.

I have a heart. I must have a heart. Hopefully a GRANDE heart. (That salsa is kicking in my spanglish tendencies).

Sometimes though, my heart is small and uncaring...

Imagine if the Grinch and Ebenezer Scrooge had a baby, and that baby had a heart, that's mine sometimes.

"How could you be so heartless...?" - Kanye West (Heartless). Yeah you're one to talk Kanye, remember T-Swizzle and how you interrupted and stole her mic? Take your own advice, listen to your own lyrics. BTW, Kardashian is a gold-digger.

Blood-pumping, heart-racing, veins bulging when you see her.

"SHUT UP heart, I can't concentrate when you race like that." - I think silently, although screaming on the inside. Due to my heart's previous carelessness, caution must now be taken when putting my heart on-the-line. Why must this be? Ever since Selena hooked up with a fag like JB, I can't trust my first-impressions.  But seriously though, what did she see in him besides talent, fame, muscles, and his dreamy blue-eyes?  Off-camera I guarantee he's dying inside because of all his fakeness; fake friends, fake smile, fake happiness.  On the more serious side though, I need some killer advice, cause I'm at a lose of words when it comes to girls and their confusing nature.  Maybe I'm the confusing one, just call me a MIME when it comes to saying the right things though, because I'm terrible. Compliments with confidence are translated into insults. Huh?  I wish my heart could speak for me and say, "you're cute, obviously, I like you, obviously, will you be my girl...?" she replys "obviously."  That's how it should work. God must've been confused where the location of the heart goes, cause it should be right below my uvula so it can speak for me.

We all have hearts, many like to show-off how big theirs is, like that kid who says "Bless you" in class BEFORE the person is even finished sneezing. Don't be that guy. That guy is annoying. We all know that guy just wants to be viewed as kind and considerate.  Say "Bless You" once, and least a 1/2 second after the sneeze, please.

Heart-attacks kill. My grandma died of a heart-attack..... actually, it was cancer. Close enough, right?

That was a cruel joke, and I regret my decision of writing it, yet I can't seem to muster the strength to hit backspace. Humans have heart-attacks; blood-clots that decide they are too think-minded to run and function properly anymore.

We rely on our hearts to live, to breathe, to give us that feeling whether or not we should do something.  My heart says to do it, say it, play it, convey it, invent it, present it, she meant it, I mean it - please.  I like to believe that my heart is usually normal size, possibly above average.  We all have hearts, hearts are in humans, humans are alive; hearts keep us alive and give us the strength to push-forward, even when her reply is actually, "obviously..............not".

-J.Stamos.