Home > Author > Rudy Francisco
101 " When I callyou brother,it means you haveat least four fistsduring any fightyou can't walkyourself out of. "
― Rudy Francisco , Helium
102 " In one of my earliest memories,I am eight years old,I have a fistful of afternoon,and I am asking the summerif it will always be this glorious.I remember taking a deep breath.Trying to get as much July into my lungsas humanly possible and thinking maybeI'd be able to convince it that 31 days just isn't enough. "
103 " The words “I am” are slowly transforming into “I used to be” because every year, the past tense finds a larger house inside the neighborhood of my everyday vernacular. "
104 " I was born and raised in California.And here, our models and riverslook like they're on the same diet.Throughout the years,I've watched both get smaller and nowI can see their ribs when they exhale.In California,our freeways are decorated with signsthat ask us to be careful about howwe use the water.They hang like an eviction noticefrom the environment. I wonderhow long it will take the planetto tell us we can't live hereand the locks are changed. "
105 " I wonder if the next generationwill know water the way I did.The way it ruins through the fingers,the way it wrinkles the hands,cools the skin, the way it freezes,flakes and kisses the ground on the cheek.I wonder if my grandkids willever throw a penny in a fountainand hear it splash "
106 " Tell me about your boss.Tell me about the jobyou've been trying to quit for the past four years.Tell me the morning isjust a townhouse burning to the groundand the snooze button is a fire extinguisher.Tell me the alarm clockstole the keys to your smile,drove it into the 7 AMand the crash totaled your happiness.Tell me.Tell me how blessed are we to have tragedyso small it can fit on the tips of our tongues.When Evan lost his legs he was speechless.When my cousin was assaultedshe didn't speak for 48 hours.When my uncle was murderedwe had to send out a search partyto find my father's voice.Most people have no ideathat tragedy and silenceoften have the same address.When your day is a museum of disappointments,hanging from events that were outside of your control,when you feel like your guardianangel put in his two weeks notice two months agoand just decided not to tell you,when it seems like Godis just a babysistter that's always on the phone,when you get punched in the esophagusby a fistful of life.Remember,every yeartwo million people die of dehydration.So it doesn't matter ifthe glass is half full or half empty.There's water in the cup.Drink it and stop complaining.Muscle is created by lifting thingsthat are designed to weigh us down.When your shoulders are heavystand up straight and call it exercise.Life is a gym membershipwith a really complicated cancellation policy.Remember, you will survive,things could be worse,and we are never given anything we can't handle.When the whole world crumblesyou have to build a new oneout of all the pieces that are still here.Remember,you are still here.The human heart beatsapproximately 4,000 times per hourand each pulse,each throub,each palpitation is a trophy,engraved with the words"You are still alive.You are still alive.So act like it. "
― Rudy Francisco
107 " To the man standing on the corner holding the sign that said“God hates gays.”I’ve never seen,exactlywho it is that you paperclip your knees,meld your hands together and pray toBut I think I know what he looks like:I bet your God is about 5’10”.I bet he weighs 185.Probably stands the way a high school diploma does when it’s next to a GED.I bet your god has a mullet.I bet he wears flannel shirts with no sleeves,a fanny packand says words like “getrdun.”I bet your god—I bet your god—I bet your god watches FOX news,Dog the Bounty Hunter, voted for John McCain, and loves Bill O’Reilly.I bet your god lives in Arizona.I bet his high school served racism in the cafeteriaand offered “hate speech” as a second language.I bet he has a swastika inside of his throat,and racial slurs tattooed to his tonguejust to make intolerance more comfortable in his mouth.I bet he has a burning cross as a middle finger and Jim Crow underneath his nails.Your god is a confederate flags wet dreamconceived on a day when the sky decided to slice her own wrists,I bet your god has a drinking problem.I bet he sees the bottom of the shot glass more often than his own children.I bet he pours whiskey on his dreams until they taste like good ideas,Probably cusses like an electric guitar with Tourette’s plugged into an ocean.I bet he yells like a schizophrenic nail gun,damaging all things that care about him enough to get close.I bet there are angels in Heaven with black eyes and broken haloswho claimed they fell down the stairs.I bet your god would’ve made Eve without a mouthand taught her how to spread her legs like a magazinethat she will never ever ever be pretty enough to be in.Sooner or later you will realize that you are praying to your own shadow,that you are standing in front of mirrors and are worshipping your own reflection.Your God stole my god’s identity and I bet he’s buying pieces of heaven on eBay.So next time you bend your knees,next time you bow your headI want you totell your god—that my godis looking for him. "
108 " LibertyIn 1983, illusionist David Copperfieldmade the Statue of Liberty disappear.He placed a curtain in front of the monumentand when he pulled it down the 3,000-footstatue was no longer there. I think about how this magic trickhas become too familiar. Libertyjust vanishing without any explanations "
109 " I loved you the same waythat I learned how to ride a bike. Scared, but reckless.With no training wheelsor elbow pads so my scarscan tell the story of howI fell for you. "
