Mario Villalobos

Ducks, Dicks, and Death

  • Journal

The other night I dreamt of my arrest and subsequent arraignment. The prosecutor filed two charges against me, both of which I don’t remember, but I knew they were serious. Murder serious. Fortunately, I posted bail, left the building, and felt glad I could walk around the world freely. On one of these walks, I stepped on a receipt. When I looked at it, I knew it was the proof I needed to absolve me of at least one of the charges. I showed it to my lawyer and he grew excited. He then warned me that I still had one more charge still hanging over my head. So I walked and walked, looking at the floor, looking at the sky, looking at all the faces passing me by, but I couldn’t find the proof I needed to prove my innocence. Sadly, I never did because I woke up.

It was around 3am, and as I lied in bed thinking through the dream, I reflected on the day and remembered a conversation I had with a friend. She told me about an altercation between another friend and a teacher. We had a new student enter the 9th grade that day, and she and a friend went down the hall looking for an empty locker to claim it as her own. The teacher saw her and thought she was snooping through other kids’ lockers, so she yelled at her and almost made her cry. At the same time, my other friend walked down the hall and saw the teacher yelling at the new student. When she saw the new student on the verge of tears, my friend confronted the teacher and told her that the student was new and that she was simply looking for a free locker like she was told. The teacher, as we found out later, felt so offended that she lodged a complaint to the superintendent. In it, she complained that she felt afraid for her safety. This teacher has a history of over exaggeration, but unfortunately, she is also very effective at getting her way.

My friend and I were both very concerned that our other friend could lose her job. I felt angry that the teacher had a high chance of not only getting her way but also taking the job of someone I cared about. Why do people who do the right thing always get shit on the most? So I told my friend that if the teacher got her way and took my friend’s job, then she would take mine, too.

I’m very tired. I’m tired of people proselytizing their values onto others but doing the opposite, sometimes in the same breath. I’m tired of all the men (and it’s usually always men) in positions of power who don’t fight to do the right thing because it’s too much work, or because it might offend some people, or because it might cost them their job. Why believe in anything if you’re not going to fight for anything?

So I thought about this event in relation to my dream, and I wondered if maybe my subconscious was warning me not to tie my job to the fate of my friends. I thought maybe those were the charges filed against me in my dream, and the receipt represented my job and the income I could lose if I went through with my threat. And the second charge, the one I didn’t have time to find absolution for, was my friend’s fate, the fate that currently lies in limbo. As I lied in bed and realized that this could be the meaning of my dream, I said, Okay, I won’t tie my job to hers. I then went to sleep and woke up a few hours later.

Change has to come from within, and it’s hard when even my subconscious is against me, against who I want to be. But like I always say, if it’s not hard, it’s not worth doing. So here goes.

  • Notes
Colors

As flawed as this country is (and forever will be), I’m still a pretty proud American. And the kids are truly the future, so let’s take care of them and nourish them and teach them well.

  • Notes

I finally had some time to update my Colophon page today. I quite like it!

  • Notes
Relatable

I’ve been reading a volume of Demon Slayer every morning this week, and I’m just enthralled with it. It’s so good.

  • Notes
Weather

Morning skies are the best skies.

  • Notes
Alive

I took this last summer, a week after I purchased my macro lens. I remember following this little guy for a while because he wouldn’t stay still long enough for a photo. I had so much fun doing so that I really miss the vibrancy of life that winter seems to lack.

Craig Mod Has Another Newsletter

  • Notes

Craig Mod in his introduction to his new newsletter huh:

As I was conjuring up the shape of huh it struck me as slightly insane that more photographers don’t do this — mail out a single photo once a week. Ideally we’d subscribe to a cadre of our favorites. Maybe they’d all arrive on Wednesday and Wednesday would be this visual inbox party. No comments, no likes, no stream of other images to compete against, no Reels to be sucked into, no algorithmic curveballs. Just a few beautiful images, from the four or five photographers whose work we adore. Things to be enjoyed as units unto themselves in ways that are difficult to do in the din of social streams. And best of all — if we want to say something nice, we just have to hit reply. No public-space posturing.

Photography Wednesdays sounds amazing.

  • Notes

Earlier today, as I was walking to the main office at school, I saw Zoe, a second grader, with a snow shovel. She was shoveling snow when I asked her, “What are you doing?”

Aubrey, another second grader, ran up to me, face full of excitement, and said, “We’re building a fort!”

I noticed that Aubrey had a brand new pair of glasses, her first. I said, “I love your glasses.”

She turned her head to the side so I could see the temples of her glasses. They had cute hearts on the side. “I like the cool design,” she said.

I showed her my glasses and said, “All mine say is Ray Ban.”

Aubrey pulls me down so she could see and then says, “That sounds like a band. You know what you should do?”

“What?”

“You should get all the teachers together and have a rock concert in the gym.” She paused for a second and then says, “And you should invite Ray! He could play guitar.”

Ray is another second grader in her class, and I laugh pretty hard and say, “Does he know how to play guitar?”

“I don’t know,” she said. And then she ran away and went back to building her snow fort with Zoe.

  • Notes

Viet Thanh Nguyen on page 267 of The Sympathizer:

You know how to tell if someone’s really dead? Press your finger on his eyeball. If he’s alive, he’ll move. If he’s dead, he won’t.

When I was an EMT, a paramedic told me of another way to tell if someone’s playing dead: rub the knuckles of your first two fingers hard against their chest. No one can pretend after that.

  • Notes
At home

I think this was the last family photo where we were all together. It’s been a while.

Page 31 of 91