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Photography: Ruleke 6 Project: "Héros, a homage to the bike messengers"" Author: Arcadio REYES

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Photography: Ruleke 6 Project: "Héros, a homage to the bike messengers"" Author: Arcadio REYES

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Photography: Ruleke 6 Project: "Héros, a homage to the bike messengers"" Author: Arcadio REYES

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*Feeling of the angel: "All you have to do is act, look with the eyes of the heart, feel with the gaze of the soul, smile with your essence, the light of the angel that will reach all the hearts of the world will be shown without words, with the charm of the love and the most special grace " *Sentimiento del ángel: "Todo lo que tienes que hacer es actuar. Mirar con los ojos del corazón. Sentir con la mirada del alma. Sonreír con tu esencia. Se mostrará sin palabras la luz del ángel que llegará a todos los corazones del Mundo, con el encanto del amor y la gracia más especial". (Reflexión Espiritual) Iris Rubí Desfile Spring Color Fashion Show @springcolorfashionshow Colección toomuch Giannina Azar, vestidos de piedras preciosas. Multicolor. @gianninaazar @irisrubiartista

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Photography: Ruleke 5 Project: "Héros, a homage to the bike messengers"" Author: Arcadio REYES

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Photography: Ruleke 5 Project: "Héros, a homage to the bike messengers"" Author: Arcadio REYES

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Photography: Ruleke 5 Project: "Héros, a homage to the bike messengers"" Author: Arcadio REYES

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Bir bakış...

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VEGAS BABY ✨

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Afternoon at the park w/ my boys = blurry pics + dirty clothes + a relaxing afternoon ☀️ | How do you like to spend your Sunday ?

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When asked about the dichotomy of man, God chuckled, took a drag of the joint dangling from his bottom lip, blew out a shimmying cloud of Caribbean blue sarcasm and casually responded "What makes 'em so frustratin' is also what makes 'em worth watchin'. Reconcilin' that duality's the only reason why I bother keepin' 'em around. It's the only reason I created 'em in the first place" - A.Flo

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He loved to hold court, yammering about politics, the Marine Corps., guns, Cuba, the art of cigar wrapping, conspiracies, the looming zombie apocalypse and how we all needed to prepare - or be swallowed whole - literally. His balance of street smarts, Latino bravado and an uncommon wisdom could hold an audience for hours - leave them transfixed with his unvarnished manner of speech - equal parts bullshit and impassioned confessionals - moving to a syncopated rhythm all his own, fueled by sips of coffee and long, sensual drags of a Cohiba. It was fascinating to see how the devil walked so assuredly alongside a man called Angel. He'd given up trying to turn him long ago but he knew he'd found a fellow hedonist, a kindred spirit in mischief and though he knew he would never possess his soul, he happily shared a laugh and a puff and tales of hijinks - the kind of stuff that made him take pause - filling the loneliness of his vengeful existence bent on destruction and chaos with the one word that made him jealous of man's mortality: life - A.Flo

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You couldn't judge his book by its cover. It had a cover but no binder - it'd been torn away. Years ago. Even the prologue was ripped and frayed, some of the insightful little nuggets kidnapped by time and avarice. Nah, you had to do a deep dive to get an idea about who the fuck he was and what made 'em tick. Maybe by Chapter 8 you'd get a flavor - by Chapter 17 you might even think 'em worth savoring - by Chapter 23 he was downright delectable and by Chapter 32 he mighta gone a little sour. By chapter 37 he was worth stirrin' into your mornin' tea again - and sippin' slow. Then again he was an acquired taste. Not for mass consumption - a tainted, delightful little secret for a select few. Midway through the 11th page of Chapter 39 the words just stopped - the last word written was "sophistry." The book remained unfinished, the last word adding to the mystery of a man many "knew" but only a select few truly savored. It's not that he died or was "dead." He was alive and well. He just loved and respected his readers enough to let them fill in the blank pages. Life was all about perspective after all and their truth was just as important as his. Maybe even more so - A.Flo

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Never stop creatin', communicatin', innovatin' - splashin' the world with the colors of your universe. The naysayers, the dividers, the liars wanna keep it black and white and gray - tell you there's a rainbow but they got the pot o' gold hidden in a secret wall of the basement, behind the nooses hangin' from the fuckin' crossbeams. They hate color and they hate light and above all they hate truth. That's when your paintbrush becomes a sword. Bushido the fuck outta that shit baby - A.Flo

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Some of the best shit in life stays the best when you don't share it with anyone. Leave it to hell's angels to spread the legend after you're long gone - A.Flo

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The Ambassador - one of his more colorful personalities - always spoke over everybody else when he had some particularly enlightening shit to add to their spirited debates. One little gem was "Listen, don't pay attention to the nonsense these life coaches spit in your ear for $1500 at some bullshit seminar with shitty furniture and even shittier food. Success ain't about wealth or fame, it's about the two nevers: never havin' to seek validation from anybody and never makin' excuses for who you are or what you do. The second you grasp that little skylight of truth, you'll stop lookin' in the basement for answers. Consider yourselves enlightened. Now buy me a fuckin' drink and we'll call it even" - A.Flo

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His passion for speed started at a young age, he'd play for hours with his cars - particularly his Electric Blue Chevy Impala and Corona Yellow Pontiac GTO. He'd race 'em and race 'em over and over again 'til their wheels quite literally came off. Their track was the entire house, their glory eternal, his joy limitless. He gave 'em names - Caleb Calloway drove the Chevy, Jackie Alvarez drove the GTO. His dad would often join him - always choosing Alvarez and the GTO - in their prolific battles down the hallway, through the kitchen and every bedroom of the house. Alvarez came up short more times than not but it was always close, the sound of mouth engines and screeching tires filling the cavernous passageways. It was the most special time he ever spent with his father - he cherished every second - always bringing a smile to his lips upon reflection. When his dad passed, he rummaged through the attic for several hours looking for the cars. He swore they were still there , somewhere - buried - and he eventually found them. He was 53 years old when he crouched down one last time to race those two cars, speeding down the hall and every bedroom and the kitchen - he could hear his dad's cackle as Alvarez crossed the finished line to victory one last time, a whisper of "I love you dad" slipping through his lips as he stared down at the old cars, gleaming in the sun - A.Flo

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The 4 levels of attentiveness: (1) Asleep (2) Aloof (3) Absorbed (4) All up in your business

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Time's got two faces: the one you think ya got and the one there is. Appreciatin' that discrepancy's the difference between misery and joy - A.Flo

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What did a fishmonger, paleontologist, funeral director, data scientist, expeditionist, former Olympic gold medalist and a muralist all have in common? Not. A. Fuckin'. Thing. But for one eternal night they would become tighter than a minnow's asshole and for those that survived, the story they told would be as unbelievable as the Old Testament - but ten times as enlightening. Sometimes you move the night but most times the night moves you - A.Flo

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Question everything. Open your eyes. Speak your mind - not with a shout but with a whisper. And if it falls on deaf ears? Well, sometimes you gotta tear down your institutions when they've lost their way - burn 'em right to the fuckin' ground - remind 'em who they serve and that the path is paved with compassion not control - and it serves everyone - not just a silver-spooned few. Hate ain't the most lethal threat to humanity. Indifference is. And the indifferent only start givin' a shit when the smoke they're smellin' is comin' from their own living room - A.Flo

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He had a rendezvous with Death but it wasn't 'cause it was his time. It was 'cause Death had to pay up on a vig or lose her license to kill. How the fuck do you get that kind of leg up on Death? Well, when your parents decide that Prometheus is a good name for their first born son, you better figure out the secret to immortality, be one charmin' ass motherfucker or be able to beat God in 5-card stud. Anybody who got to really know this cat wasn't the least bit surprised or jealous that he'd managed to achieve all three. Findin' God was hard enough. Beatin' 'em in 5-card stud?! Shiiiiiiiiiit - that's a special kind of special. Death was prepared to pull a fast one. What she wasn't prepared for was to be outclassed by an honorable scoundrel - A.Flo

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