Investment on Dreams

Mental paralysis. Sometimes the right words just don’t come in time for the right moment. Deep inside I’d be like, “fuck! Was I some kind of genius, now my thoughts refuse to process how I want it to process”. Writer’s block on lyrics too. It’s like my flesh has gone mutiny against the spirit. Who knows because it seems, the older one gets, the more of a blur the thought process becomes. I found this quote from the conversation Socates had with an elder very enlightening off the book Republic, written by Plato. “For, let me tell you that the more the pleasures of the body fade away, the greater to me are the pleasure and charm of conversation.” The thought of a rich conversation; full of rhythm and tone command, a pendulum of exchanged ideas given understanding, it warms my soul. Yet I wonder, will I grow old and accomplish this. Or is my mind to be in an indigo fog, decimated library shelves full of torn pages and rusted relics. Will I continue to speak nonsense? No calculated thought.

It’s cool to say still, I operate trains for a living. Two factors about that though, one very impressive and the other—ehhh—concerning. I operate through a heavy rail, at times handling a high volume of passengers with controlled speed and finesse. The negative, it’s 26 miles roundtrip of controlled territory requiring the same movements, with a very thorough concentrated focus. Now, exercising the same train movements, speech, and pressure of the alignment, five times a week for the past nearly six months will take a toll on anyone. It’s a respectable living—essential work—yet, there’s a cost. 

It’s been challenging juggling between my professional life and hobbies. Occasionally, I strum my acoustic guitar as my heart vibes out. I record a few sounds and tunes, then spend some time rearranging my samples and patterns to produce that perfect—chef’s kiss—eden track. It takes time to manufacture quality content. Sigh. Though as the old adage goes, I have to make time.

Since April, I’ve been investing thousands of dollars in stocks, ironically to make only hundreds. It’s been a healthy and refreshing process though and it’s made me much more financially aware of certain markets. As Warren Buffet said, invest in what you know—I do that. Understanding the surface level of the stock market opens my eyes on how relative, yet how important money is. Especially in a world that is based on networking through content, it navigates the direction money goes. From my labor, the cornerstone of what my capital is, given time, the shares I constantly buy and trade, the fruits of it which is my net value, will grow. More money I am able to control, the accessibility—deciding on how I can spend my time.

I do take my physical condition very seriously. It is so convenient to live in a complex that has an indoor gym and I am extremely grateful to have had that for the past five years now. Working out sucks sometimes, but staying fit is so vital to being productive in almost anything.

Let's hope this phase of paralysis comes to an end. I aim to release more content and write more lyrics for my upcoming album, DREAMERS of EDEN.

Words into powerful mixtapes

Written November 23, 2021

Definition of mixtape, explained Matthew A Cruz style!!! It is an annual landmark on one’s life from the blueprint of the soul. Landmark shared through melodies and lyricism. The joy of capturing that desire & fire sound, is as discovering worlds. I’ve been inspired to share, to blare from the surroundings I’ve lingered through. My first mixtape, IINDEPENDENCE was recorded at the Main Branch of the Denver Public Library—yes a library. Wolves Are Very Emotional was engineered in Vail, while I worked at a ski/outdoor resort as a lift operator, a lifty. My third and forth mixtapes were laid out between two cities surrounding the Denver Metro area. I experienced a lot within the past five years, however these mixtapes present an allegory reality, structured by myths, animals and race—not just as an human-race, but my personal narrative on ethnicity and the color of the skin. Through these years, my alter ego, known as DREAM; I revealed a little about this whimsical character.

It takes a toll on my body and mind when I create music, however I feel a spiritual enhancement when I am finished. I feel as if I've been lifted to the heavens to scream my story. And it is fucking gloryous. I think my most dominant and creative talent out of the process on producing my mixtapes is my ability to mold a body of the story. In speaking of landmark terms, developing the concept of a story is like laying bricks on the ground—shit—it's deciding where you gon’ place your landmark (before it’ll even become a landmark), your building. And the decision making on what I’ll write about is made simultaneously with, what are my next moves in life.

It’s time to take mericanDREAM music more seriously. What does that mean? It means adding more of a production value to the next mixtape—put simply, the mix. I want to lay out an original story; inhaled by the listener, then after, them exhaling fresh thoughts. I want to add on, I feel I haven’t reached my full potential on storytelling—things haven’t lined up. Things. Things—such as my at the time experiences not lining up with the trajectory of the chosen concept. I feel I choose the perfect story to write about, but the content is weak. However, not only what I’m writing is weak sauce, its become bland. Personally, I feel there is magic from what I write yet the magic can have consequences. And when the listener inhales stale oxygen, it might cause damage to their spiritual brain.

Words are powerful. They’re the manifestation of thoughts, and its liaison between what you think and what you’ll do. I must evolve on what the message I want to bring to the world will be. Because it will be interpreted and granted by the Universe. I must evolve on how I’ll bring this message out. I am so good with concepts—years speaking. However, I’m so bad at my delivery.

I plan to share a new way of thinking when I am developing this story. Despite what a typical conspiracy theorist might preach, it’s time to serve my own personal agenda. I have a fuck-ton of work to do. It means I have to align the concept I want to write with the goals I have, overlaying on how I will operate. This operation will feature my ass on becoming better at scheduling shit too.

On Track Toward Superstition

I sat there daydreaming as usual. 

The train was gently rocking its passengers. The tip of the sun was gleaming over the silhouette mountains, casting a warm ambiance to the metallic body of the train. I sat openly by the front row seats, wearing a red company polo shirt with blue trousers and black rugged boots—radio buzzing of railroad talk clipped to my side as I pretentiously carried a cheap clipboard of operation schedules and random doodles. 

The train begins to slow down as we arrive near a commuter rail station. I stood up, shuffling to the door, accounting for any passengers that were about to exit. Finally, a slight rollback—movement of the train stops, the metal doors slowly slide open, and I step out to check if all the doors are aligned to the platform. I gazed to the opposite front-end of the train like a referee watching a critical down during a high school varsity game, as I waved my arm forward a few times, shaping my hand like a knife to the train engineer for a proceed go. The doors clunked shut and the train continued to move north.

As I moved forward on the train, I heard a, “gwaaahh”. I turned, trying to identify where this gwah sound was coming from—if a passenger was in dire need of something. Then I looked out a window, a man standing on the platform waiting by the track next to ours, waving his arms—screaming. It seemed he was waiting for the southbound train, as it was possibly running late. I radioed in to our dispatch, “disgruntled passenger on platform at station”, to give a heads up to the other train picking him up.

We reached the next station, as I waved a go to the engineer. She then waved for me to come to her. As I approached, she exclaimed in an anxious voice, “we’re going to be here for a minute; apparently there are people on the alignment”. 

“People on the train tracks, like railroad workers?!”, I sputtered.

“No. Like trespassers!”, she added. 

I then moved from standing by her cab window to inside the tiny engineer cab, squeezing next to her, listening to the radio for further instructions. After a minute, the radio sputtered that there was a dog on the alignment, and people were attempting to find it. Caught by surprise, I murmured, “figure I’d do my job and notify the passengers”.

I walked down the aisles, alerting passengers our reason for stopping. There is a dog on the alignment. Nearly, every passenger sympathized. However, as each passing yearning minute went by, slowly the passengers became uneasy—some people—sweaty and apprehensive. I was feeling nervous myself, so I walked through the aisles sputtering, “remember folks, it’s Friday, the thirteenth of October. This was bound to happen!.”

Finally, after waiting nearly an equivalent of a standard lunch break, the train began moving again. I realized it was dark outside, as if this night was going to be eventful, filled with horror. Security had removed all the people out of the alignment, however the dog has yet to be found, according to the all knowing and buzzing radio. I began thinking what if this was no ordinary dog—what if—a werewolf.

We picked up another batch of passengers from the following station. I sat by the group of men barking up the reasons for our odd delay. Theory after theory discussed, debated. 

Heard a dog worth thousands was stolen, went missing. 

Heard government operations were happening, dog story was just a facade.

Heard war in the middle east is the reason for the missing dog.

Train stopped. The passengers went quiet. The radio went buzzing, “Dog [hisss]... milepost [hisss]… over!” I jumped up, marching in doubletime through the aisles toward the engineer room. Each passenger moving their magnetic head, their eyes toward me. I glanced at each and every one; a few faces with the look of concern, while others—disappointment.

As I opened the door, the engineer was glaring out the window. The train’s auxiliary lights shined through the stone tied tracks, as the alignment was surrounded by cheap wired fences. The engineer realized I was standing behind her, then pointed out the window. My eyes followed her finger, but I couldn’t see what she saw, except for a black dot on the stone part of the ballast. I adjusted my glasses, squinting my eyes. A black puppy. But how? How did the engineer stop just—give or take—twenty feet from the little fragile spirit.

This is my chance to be a hero, I thought. I can put on my orange high-visibility and reflective vest, step off the train, pick up the little black turd, and board the train with cheers and applause as a local hero. I immediately announced my solution to the engineer, asking for permission from dispatch to step off the train. The radio hissed, “No, just remain there”. Talk about killing the vibe. Minutes later, the engineer was then instructed to sound the mighty horn, trying to lure the puppy off the ballast. The puppy, terrified, remained frozen. I thought, all this time, I’d been saved this dog.

Moments passed, police vehicles parked from a distance. An officer on the tracks, covering his eyes from the bright light, walked towards the train. The engineer quickly dimmed the blinding lights. I thought, this was supposed to be my moment. The cop picked up the puppy, as he kissed its forehead and the dog replied with a lick to his face. I turned around, shut the cab door, then unceremoniously told the passengers, yay, the puppy has been saved. One woman at the back cheered, one guy clapped, everyone else asked… so we’re moving soon, right?!

From a Few Invaluable Experiences

I worked numerous jobs, and over the years I’ve gained quite a few skill sets. And what I’ve precariously learned, is that I am my own business. Think about it; the time and the work I put in under employment, is also the time I’ve conditioned myself and built confidence in that experience. There are certain details you learn from each and every employer, down to the nitty-gritty. Experiences I’ve been exposed to, from mopping tiled floors to updating websites for board members. Jobs that required immediate action—a sense of urgency. Yet, other fields that require preparation, analytical work. However, it took me quite some time to realize this and I am in the early stages of this innovative thought process. So, I’ll share a thang or two on what I’ve learned from different jobs and as the old adage goes, “it’s what you make it”.

“Add It To The Toolbox”

During my four years in the Marine Corps, I’ve always come across the phrase, “Add it to the toolbox”. Even during boot camp as a naive recruit, my drill instructor (the knowledge hat one), would give the platoon a few pointers on how to handle a rifle for drill. Invaluable knowledge, telling us boys, treat the rifle with respect as you would with your girl—now add that information to your toolbox. Scrolling pass the semi-objectifying analogy, one of my Sergeants advised, take all the traits you value from leadership, and add it to your personal toolbox.

In this crafty metaphor, the toolbox is my mind, and I have the choice to reference past advice. Advice I choose to hold in my head. Yet I’ve learned, even as tools go bad, so does advice, information. Every situation is unique, and it’s up to me on what tools I utilize to troubleshoot it. The more tools in the toolbox, the more options. But I also relish the fact of keeping the toolbox decluttered and organized.

“Observe and Report”

There are moments I’ve learned, I can not intervene in every situation—especially a hostile one. Sometimes standing firm and silent is the best way to de-escalate a hostile situation. A tactic I’ve learned while doing security. 

It was a surprise during orientation, when I was told as a security officer, I am only to observe and report. Ah, what an effective methodology. If I were to have actually practiced this during my 20’s, I’d be completing my master’s right now. Unfortunately, I’ve learned this at the age of 23, and ten years later I’m realizing how effective this is.

Some from the streets would say, I was being paid to snitch. Others would suggest, be selective in what information to share. It’s an art. However, the science behind it is to observe and take mental notes. Goes back to that military mentality; be situationally aware and notify your comrades on the useful information. Also for the record, one should report without the malicious intention to hurt anyone undeserving of it.

“What Will The Fruits Of My Work Yield”

As a factory worker in the industry of manufacturing ceramics, it was very important on how I’d set up shop. I would have to determine (if assigned on multiple machines), which machine to use and how to meet the number of parts to produce. I’d be mindful of what the environment would hold—hot or cold, determining the humidity of the setting. 

If there was a lack of preparation, the parts I’d produce would come out poor in quality, or the machine would break down. Trust me, it’s a shame producing six hours worth of parts, then later being told they all had to get canned. That’s time, money wasted—pure counterproductivity. 

I’ve learned how important it is to prepare. I remember during training in that industry, an instructor asked, what fruits will my work yield? What is my offering?

“Skill Sets To Be Utilized”

These are a few skill sets I’ve learned over the years from invaluable experiences. Added to my personal brand, from the fruits of my labor.

Wings Too Sore to Soar

Society makes me feel like a bird in a cage. Or so it seems. Being confined in this human body, there are limits. And if I were to feel free as a bird outside his cage, would I be able to spread my wings and fly.

My mom agreed she would accompany me out of town, possibly for a couple days. It’s my three day “birthday” weekend, and I wanted to hike a mountain. I chose Sunshine Peak, a Colorado 14er located in the San Juan mountain range.

We blasted towards Sunshine around 9pm, taking 285 South. The sky held a half-moon as the road began to become narrow through the mountainous silhouette. I would lose internet connection during the drive, thinking to myself, damn, I should have downloaded a playlist through my Spotify premium. As we were near Fairplay, it became an open road with the distant mountains surrounding the area where one side, the moon gleamed, and on the left side, deep in the darkness, lightning flashed.

We passed the Lake San Cristobal sign along Cinnamon Pass, shortly after the GPS had us parked in the shoulder lane of the rocky (County Road), CR30. It was 2:30am, and I had already driven 5 and a half hours. The light of the car could luminate for only so far, being pitch black as far as the eye can see. I opened the door and it was very chilly and damp, reminding me of the desired hoodie I should’ve brought. I used my neck lamp to see if there was a clear path—no luck. So we remained parked as my mom and I grabbed a little shut eye for a few hours.

Along Cinnamon Pass

Lake San Cristobal sign… during the day

It was 6:00am, and I continued west on CR30, through its rocky canyon road. It wasn’t for another 45 minutes until we actually reached the base and campground of Sunshine Peak.

The reality was my front thighs were sore and cramping up. If I were to hike, that’d been a long wait for my mom. It was already 6:45am and I—projected—wouldn’t be back in the car until 6:45pm if I were to hike Sunshine. In other words, maybe this bird’s wings were too sore to fly.

The base of Redcloud Peak & Sunshine Peak

We continued west through the bulges of rock. Note, if you ever plan to drive on CR30, make sure you drive a 4-wheeler—something like a Jeep. It was the end of the road, as we arrived near a bowl—a valley known as American Basin of the San Juan mountain range. It was surreal and had a Swiss look to it.