Emics

An Evangelical Pastor

2008-06-03T20:05:00.000-07:00

An evangelical pastor preaches to more than half a million people at the city’s central park, for free. Under thousands upon thousands of frantic and skeptical stares, he promises -he knows- that this country will soon be blessed with peace and prosperity. The following day, Sunday, three soccer fans are murdered at different matches. Violence between gangs of opposite teams.

Policemen go after evidence, lagging behind. The State claims it is a tragedy, quickly dismissing it as three isolated incidents. More: Punitive measures for the team clubs, promises to double law-enforcement officials for the following weekend. Soccer players lament. Relatives demand justice. Reporters add and neglect.

The pastor keeps up with his agenda and by now he has already flown to another country. He does not devote a sentence to those deaths, or any death, here or anywhere else.

But the common people, the kidneys of the country, they ponder. Some question why this should happen after the pastor made such a contrasting promise. Some diagram conclusions based on a couple of connections and interpret them as a sign of: Something.

Others, the ones we are being punished for, infer not without sarcasm that the three murdered attendees must have not been Believers. Out of this last group, the one we are being punished for, a few join the evangelical movement a couple of months later. And others disappear.

Worries and Weaves

2008-06-03T19:50:00.000-07:00

Promise this is just another slip
Lay all your cards in front of me
Deal with the quake when it actually shakes you
Catch a breath to think

Perpetual the aiming of the shot
Shooting down every other dream
Of peacefully sinking into normalcy
Quake after quake…

You say I’m the one making things difficult
I’d rather crash than be all worries and weaves
You say I’m the one making this difficult
Won’t be pulled into your worries and weaves
How can you twill the circles in which we live?
Only fate can knit such intricate things

* * * * *

So dry is my skin in the peak of the summer
Great Plains run adrift to surrender my knuckles
So deft is the force that swallows our passions
If the point never gets anywhere

Life like a lover
Leaves no corpse
Life like a lover:
Remorse, fenced
Off, like a lover

You'll be counting fish by the time I decide to
Let go of the twirl

These are leftovers.

2008-03-30T00:17:00.000-07:00

Gardener, you forget that I struggle every time I’m with you
The ground we trail has four our feet on
But you decide which flower to grow
No wonder your favorite plant is the cactus
Like them you never strip your leaves
Spines that shade you from the sun
They protect you from water-seeking animals

Like me

These are leftovers, boy
So get me a good one
These are leftovers, boy
Go get me a better one

In the course of conversation sexual tension
Begins to build up signals float across the room
In fear of loom they prefer to splash pretty
soon nothing is clear and what was near is lost to the crash .

Gardener, I’m the soil you tread upon
Stop acting stupid please be
Careful where you sink the shovel
Removeremove, you would
Pick off the root from the nerve Or quizá estoy over reaccionando...

Prick (draft)

2008-02-03T15:44:00.001-08:00

Sometimes you’re a prick, you know?
You don’t give me enough time to grow
Our days, they don’t go by slowly anymore
Like when in my youth
(how cruel of you)

Have you pulled another of your tricks?
Leaving a rare beam of sunshine on my lips
That I can’t taste because it gets dark and I fall asleep
And who knows what you plot while I sleep…

- Steady beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat.

And while we dance, eat, or drink,
Make love, read a poem, play pelota, or sing,
You keep count on the measures of everything
And you accumulate forever,
Not keeping track of anything,
Collecting incessantly, like
Rag pickers in their bunny bags,
Is this too your way to survive?

But that wouldn’t make my heart weep
If it weren’t because you inevitably steal
My idea of making life a permanent dream
No matter what I do, stupid or crucial,
Worthy or worthless,
To you quality is

- Just a tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick.

Untamable one,
It is me who sets your presence in motion,
Don't forget that
When under my breath I bridle a cry, weep panic to sleep.

memoria y reacción

2007-12-19T17:42:00.000-08:00

A punto de volver, it strikes me. Que ya no pertenezco a ningún lado, que ya no le debo nada a nadie.

Y cuánta la desolación al entender que el ritmo se ha perdido - un corazón que recuerda vagamente una imagen de algo pero encoje los hombros cuando uno le pide memoria y reacción, tal corazón es poco más que un musculo. Y a nosotros nunca nos bastó pensar en el corazón como un simple musculo.

Se sabe: para un corazón nuevo, volver es lo más fácil, ya sea por hábito, nostalgia, o por responder al recuerdo de la sensación del impulso. Para un corazón averiado, volver es lo más difícil, porque al fin se ha tomado verdadera consciencia, consciencia tan asentada que se convierte en parte del (tu) universo:

lo perdido ya no volverá,
lo herido ya no se cura,
lo agotado ya no se resuelve.

Por eso no les creo a esos que dicen haber sido heridos -y claro, al ser ellos quienes hablan, pasan de 'haber sido' a 'haber estado' - pero luego supieron volver - y claro, como son ellos quienes explican, pasan de 'poder' a 'saber'- a amar costumbres, historias, países, personas. Por eso no les creo a esos que dicen haber sido heridos pero luego saben cómo volver a amar ideas, procesos, valores, finales. Yo todavía estoy en 'ser' y 'poder'. Y ni siquiera puedo definir 'amar'. Por eso no les creo.

Some Months Ago I Felt It Coming (Revised)

2007-10-12T19:22:00.000-07:00

Let it cook 
Slowly 
Under pearly gazes 
- 
Burn new forking paths of 
a(n/o)ther/ intense eye-contact sublime 
- 
Let it sweep 
Away 
The after whatevers (whatever!) 
By giving away, give in  
- 
It is always your touch, whoever fondles my skin 
Or forever to your lips, no matter whose I’ve brushed mine with.  
Have you acted the same?
Contradictorily,  
Inconsistently amazed 
By glitter 
Over everything 
Because of immediacy 
To (l)earn nothing 
Like me?  
- 
Overcooked, burned out, and swept under.
Back to,
Away from,
In a matter of weeks.
Acceptance is a luminous beam.
-
For the time being, at this time, you have chosen me.
The feeling storms towards to bat me in the face (.) 
With a kiss 
I anchor 
The choice,  
I return 
The blaze.  

__________________________________________________
__________________________________________________

(previous draft)

Let it cook
Slowly
Under pearly gazes
-
Breathe new forking paths of
a(n/o)ther/ intense eye-contact sublime
-
Let it sweep
Away
The after whatevers (whatever!)
Nobody cares
What the name behind the face is
-
It is always your touch, no matter who fondles my skin
Or forevers to your lips, no matter whose I’ve brushed mine with.
Have you acted the same
Contradictory,
Inconsistently amazed
By glitter,
Over everything,
Because of immediacy,
To (l)earn nothing
Like me?
-
In the present for the time being, at this time, you have chosen me.
The feeling comes rushing towards to hit me in the face (.)
With a kiss,
I anchor
the choice,
I return
the blaze.

Who to blame (2nd draft)

2007-09-22T14:16:00.000-07:00

In the morning, when I fling the alarm
I wonder who to blame
Or how to bend the day
There’s always some noise that disrupts the flow
Of my mind trynna breathe
And go through the million things
That I gotta do today and next month and in ten years
The more that you do
The more life that you lose
There’s a pressure that smothers, suffocates everything
And if you make it worse
Becomes irrelevant
At this point…
Today,
I don’t want to create excuses for myself
Or anybody else.

My mother says that in the years to come
I will feel the pain
Crawling down my neck
She says 'trust in God but don’t have faith in people'
And I have to laugh
Cause it’s their faith that have crea-
ted God, Mom.

But Dios,
Today,
I don’t want to justify my faith
Or challenge anybody else’s

But sometimes I wish we hadn’t thought the concept up in the first place.

Still, I have no space to question
Or maybe a little, but not enough
To challenge and change what’s grotesque of
A reality that is not fair enough
Always a fact, a statistic, nature
To some bullshit excuse that is not enough
That doesn’t suffice to answer
The lack of humanity that we show among us

It doesn’t suffice to answer
Why we’re brutal with everything that has been created for us.

2007-08-10T17:58:00.000-07:00

Flame,
You fueled my desire
You gave the spin to a life that couldn’t start until it found you
Dreams,
Ignored for the better part
Of a plan that was up to par but not quite to my own values
Pulse,
Engine that fires my heart
I tried to complain to him about the fact that I couldn’t find you

(And I couldn't find you)

ONE

2007-07-23T13:13:00.000-07:00

I just need One, I reminded myself...

And so I waited for not many

not amazing

not life changing

or everlasting

but a merely manifested

simply observable

and -above all- genuine One.

Wishful Thinking

2007-06-15T14:48:00.000-07:00

As far as I'm aware of, I'm the only person I know who is so morally selfless and so fake to himself that I cannot wish something for myself and ONLY for myself, even when blowing an eyebrow into the air or my birthday candles.

Let me explain.

I'm an advocate of ideals. Unlike principles, ideals aren't necessarily the base for subsequent ideals, and they certainly don't care to address what some object should be like, how it should work, etc. Ideals aim for ultimate perfection, with no other purpose (necessarily) than attaining it.

An ideal: World peace.

I'm a man of ideals, but not of very many principles, which in other words means I have a lot of conceptual truths about myself and the world, but not a clue about how to live by them, act for them, or even how to respect them.

Comes a birthday candle.

My heart or something that acts like it instantly begins a feast of self-indulgence:

"I wish health for myself and my loved ones, that I get that job that I'm aiming for, that nothing bad...-"

Like a thunder, like that lover from 2 years ago who should be over you by now but instead cannot help but reappear like a bitter bitch, my conscience (my mind?) rushes in:

"What about world peace, Phineas? What about all the unfairness in the world, and the people who have never celebrated their birthday, who've never even had cake - those mothers who are loosing their children in non-sensical fights, wars or robberies, as you blow those candles..."

Yada,yada,yada.

All this happens in the split of a second. This is usually the time where everybody around you is done with their singing and clapping, has given you a second to perform your part of the ritual, and mutter:

So?

This is exactly when I have to say, "Give me a second. I'm thinking." I suspect this is what happens to everyone who takes too long to blow their birthday candles: A sudden moment of unbearable pressure and excitement, where all your selfless and selifsh Wishes gallop to the forefront, rushing for a chance to take the spotlight. I tend to think that this is a chance for that little person inside of us to really take a moment and reaffirm who we are.

Right there, I've defeated the purpose of the ritual of Wishing.

In my case, like I said, the fight is between my very immediate neccesities and sending positive vibes to this seemingly unfair universe (shouldn't these too be part of my immediate necessities???). It's too huge of a difference in scope, and usually my birthday Wish ends up being a forced mash-up, an almost incongruent mini-speech that may include sentences as ridiculous as "I wish for the well-being of my family and friends, as well as for those innocent souls in Darfur. And when I hoped for inner peace for myself earlier, I also wished it for humanity as a whole."

-----

Wishes, of course, should be spontaneous and free of conscience. They should come from the gut, and be sent to all dimensions with convincement. Personally, next time I will not apologize, rewrite or argue with myself when I Wish. Que así sea.

-----_____-----

2007-06-14T15:58:00.000-07:00

Step. Step inside.
Plant a kiss on these eyes.
Stop. Stop it or.
Fuck, I've never felt more alone.
I've never felt more controlled.

I've never felt like winning it all.
I've never felt that I couldn't at all.

Tried to stop me
but they couldn't
and won't
because they apply simple measures to a complex mind
and a simple tactic won't prevent the crime.
Just a glimpse into the past and I remember who I was.

So I recall what the Chinese lady at the museum once told me:
Nothing matters if your inspiration is concentric.

The devil made a much finer job at trapping my soul:
He knew, and didn't stutter.
He hushed, and didn't panic.
The devil knew me well, and waited
For me to go back,
hungry happy high angry nappy nigh and every now

and again we both get bored with the world because no one wants to come in
and take a chance.
It's too much pressure for simple minds, and an unnecessary alibi for complex ones.
It's hard to digest.
Sitting outside, it's never sunny enough
for the Devil and I,
it's never fully enough,
as we sip our cup of tea.

No! to Maxims, Aphorisms, Sayings, etc. TODAY: The means/ends justify the means/ends.

2007-06-13T19:28:00.000-07:00

The means don't justify the ends, or the ends don't justify the means.
But whose means are we talking about, and what ends are we defending?
And what means are we applying, and whose ends are we trying to attain?

It's not only about whether one values outcome over process or vice versa, is it?

It shouldn't be about morals or rationality, certainly not ours'.
It should be about what's best for the animal species that is being exterminated, or the natural resource that is being exploited, or the children and the handicapped and the poor and the "different" that cannot defend themselves.

We should see through their eyes, and act. Not think, not feel. How irrelevant. Simple empathy, and even simpler but effective action.

Further,

What about us? What happens when we are the ones at a crossroads and we are the victim, the oppressed?

You might ask.

If anything

2007-06-12T16:15:00.000-07:00

If anything new to aspire to
Or anything better to choose from
If anything more fragile than a day
Or anything more momentous than breathing
I would understand how it is that we are suspended somewhere in the universe
Clenched in Dragon’s claws that loosen to a simple dream.

Sad

2007-06-11T14:56:00.000-07:00

Who is the sun shining for if we are all locked up in schools, offices, homes and prisions?

OFFICIAL

2007-06-09T11:21:00.001-07:00

"I think you have a world of your own that doesn't include me", me dice él.

Y tiene razón.

Es que to be a writer you have to own more behind(inside) than what meets the eye, more than what the conscious life festers or lets out. Mejor dicho, to be a writer is to have more in your soul than what you can express, or act upon, or deny. It is to live in contradiction, or in the very least, in hyperbole.

And you must not care about these conditions. These circumstances are to be explored, suffered, savoured, but not denied and not ignored.
No, not ignored.

Plus, a mí sí que no me importa nada tener coherencia. Nada.

I cried twice in a day

2007-05-23T22:23:00.000-07:00

I cried for many reasons twice in a day.
For the innocence lost;
The knowledge of understanding there's a life that can't be rewinded and relived;
I cried for the loss of spontaneity;
knowing that the life I lead now is more exciting than the one I was stuck with but that in reality it's that other life with some minor adjustments that I would want
or it is this very life with some minor adjustments that I would want;
I cried for friendships lost
guilt, blame, actions and ommitions aside
for the loss of those friendships;

Tear my heart. I will start reminiscing this that will lead me to that which I'll relate to some other thing until one memory attaches itself to a person I had long forgotten about, and then everything about them, about me with them, about our dynamic, and what we went and didn't go through together rushes into my mind like a gust of wind that cannot but follow its route.

I cried for my parents
whom even though I make happy and proud, I have let down many times, with this being the ultimate, more lasting blow of them all: Knowing that they are getting older far away from me, without me. Knowing that my absence causes them more grief than I know.

I cried for the lies that I live which make me push foward and live happily
for the pill and the stone
for the grade and the bonds
for writing and faking
it.

2007-05-23T16:20:00.000-07:00

Saying goodbye to my therapist was like leaving that stranger I once met at a bar and with whom I inexplicably shared a painfully intimate and warm conversation that ended just as randomly, with no phone number in hand and no recollection of anything but

.

His name, I can't remember. Pero gracias por ayudarme a entender the course I carry within.

Txt -

2007-05-12T16:32:00.000-07:00

Txt - West to Jorge (12/11/05)

Jealousy is an effort to keep a love all for oneself, but also to keep unity of a lover’s image, caught in the dream, and prevent reality from co

rroding this image.
- Anais Inn

Txt - Jorge to West (12/11/05)

So in a way if you are jealous of him it means he is not really worth it. Love sees sharp, hatred sees more sharp, but

jealousy sees the sharpest for it is love and hate combined. – Arab proverb

Txt - West to Jorge (12/11/05)

Anais has something to say – maturity is first the shedding of what you are not, and then the balancing of what you are in relation to the human being

u love; and allowing the selves of that person which are not related to you to exist independently, OUTSIDE THE RELATIONSHIP.

I like that proverb.

Txt - Jorge to West (12/13/05)

The heart is deceitful above all things.

Txt - West to Jorge (12/13/05)

Every cell that goes to that organ is fighting for supremacy

The triumph of a heart… that gives up

Txt - Jorge to West (12/13/05)

When in doubt, give… but ur heart? That seems a bit much, even if in reality it is nothing.

Txt - West to Jorge (12/13/05)

Its nothing until it’s in the palm of a stranger

Txt - West to Jorge (12/13/05)

I kinda love you dolo it’s funny

Txt - Jorge to West (12/13/05)

One rule will be that we cant send multiple messages until the other answers back

Txt - West to Jorge (12/13/05)

There has to be rules

Txt - Jorge to West (12/13/05)

Btw I’m leaving the country tomorrow for a month. We’ll talk when I come back. Happy holidays!

Txt - Jorge to West (12/13/05)

Explain dolo

Txt - West to Jorge (12/13/05)

I don’t love you the person just ‘dolo’

Txt - West to Jorge (12/13/05)

I’m going on a Disney cruise tonight for a while too so ttyl txt stranger

Txt - Jorge to West (12/13/05)

I still don’t know what dolo means, but my brain says bye and wishes you have fun cruising.

Txt - West to Jorge (12/13/05)

We made it up as a symbol right? For like the anonymous whatever uh… well I’m fucked up gnight!

Likethew i n d

2007-05-08T09:57:00.000-07:00

Below he converges
He diverges, above.
And when he lets himself
get wrapped up in nothing,
like the wind he builds upward around its center
and so shreds what passes through the wall of its eye.

I count the forces
To which pressure declines:
‘Let me command without
the burden of your words’,
he says, ‘let me see myself as human, un-ruled, and
watch as I displace what you’ve settled at land’.

If stable then stable
Today, I let it flow.
But when he covers fast
The rest is unready,
and I can only hold it back so much so more
...to feel the current like before.

The book I read I remember. He looks, I say
Friction at the base will slow it down, but it will not change the direction of its heart.
He forms, passes, and disperses. He understands.

My love
I let him go, dry and motionless, to sleep.

Happy Anywhere

2007-05-01T12:18:00.000-07:00

The screamers, bible preachers give the ear the will to kill
The moaners, not addictive but still a sleeping pill
The hyperactive mirror a hippie’s nightmare
Who gives a damn? I can be happy anywhere.

Subways are the throats that swallow the minimum wage
Parks are the acid jokes Pavement tells its friends
I ate an apple that was modified with Tupperware
Who gives a damn? I can be happy anywhere.

Spoil me
And in the meantime claim
I’m happy
While I intoxicate myself dying
Slowly
I graffiti the city and shout
“Courageous!”
I need to hush the splash to enjoy a meal
But this is happy in the city and that’s fine with me

If there’s a green I’m not going, it will turn grey soon
That’s why I like it here: the rush is heavy but I get home soon

Some places borrow my scent and I borrow theirs
Some people borrow my love and I borrow theirs
Misterio! Life can feed on things that aren’t even there...
Fire the animal and be happy everywhere.

Spoil me
And in the meantime claim
I’m happy
While I intoxicate myself dying
Slowly
I graffiti the city and shout
“Courageous!”
I need to hush the splash to enjoy a meal
But this is happy in the city and that’s fine with me.

On meditation

2007-04-16T11:41:00.000-07:00

There has to be some higher merit,
a beam of a more profound victory,
of a more earthy war won over,
in meditating on a public bus, on your way to work,
squeezed in between dozens of pre-occupied strangers,
case in hand, with a sensory overload that cannot be
shunned by simply closing your eyes
and concentrating on Breath.
It has to be more complete, as divine, more real than sitting in ardha padmasana
on dewed grass, in the middle of nowhere, in robes
or naked, with the rising sun
and the smell .f clear .xygen
and the sound .f maanasa
and the touch .f guyan mudra
filled to the bone () with the taste .f consciousness .

Games (i)

2007-03-24T11:31:00.000-07:00

Games? I love them.
The time I’ve spent playing them...
! Oh yes another eye-contact intense !
Have my number
Call me call yooou at what time
I’ll be there
No, don’t, you don’t have to but why is he not returning my text
where is he? I need, need, want, all for myself
eyes, focus! on.me.
? I wish I’d cracked open ?
Cherubically, oh yes, I dare you (to)
Lay down the rifle.
Drop the knife.
Us to die, indefinitely.

2007-02-27T23:18:00.000-08:00

Centuries spent
for progress,
towards progress,
so that we can continue to despise our lives and others',
in different ways
but with the same intensity
as yesterday.

Leaving body

2007-02-26T22:38:00.000-08:00

What's the highest demonstration of spiritual highness you can perform after dying?

It is clear to me that funerals are sick, an archaic pseudo-ritual that in truth symbolizes that ever present disregard for our flesh that most have always shown one way or another. Funerals are also about perpetuating the moaners' sense of loss and longing... hardly an act of love from the dead one.

Some say that a conversion to ashes is not only poetic but also serves to give everybody a sense of closure. We as spirits definately say goodbye to our body, which swiftly runs through a river or travels across mountains. They, as moaners and lovers, know that, symbolically at least, you're free and one with the world... sans the fungus.

But what about donating your body to science? One could think this is hardly a spiritual act, and shows more love to oneself and our imperfect kindreds than Nature or any other Higher power. But at the same time, only when you truly get to that amazing certainty level of knowing that one is undeniably, absolutely disembodied once dead, only then could you truly understand what donating your body to science really means.

In a way, this action is of a strength of character that would scare more than one.

Moreover, putting your body to further use once its biological clock has ceased to tick may seem too philantrophic, but in reality it could also talk about a strong faith in Humanity, ie. that humans' knowledge can , through the examination of your corpse, help others. That your useless, stiff corpse could be useful to somebody one last time; helping future visitors of the Earth to live better.

Romantic? No, but highly spiritual... perhaps.

2007-02-05T15:27:00.000-08:00

The land we knew so well. Since the morning I’ve been asking how we gonna make the last thing in our lives the most important one, the single most impellent one. Together we start climbing, these rocks are meant for fighting; we kiss them with our fingers, all, our flexors giving us their all.

This is much ado for nothing, these are lovebirds burned on acid, but I can still hold your hand, I am willing to still hold your hand. 'Together we are something, something more than nothing', You say but I can’t tell You say, but I can’t tell.

I don’t wanna know the history of anything that you hold dear.
These are the rules by which to submit and never ask for anything.

To sleep you need it all, the feast is now a yawn, the farm has let the piglets out, I knew you wouldn’t leave without stabbing in my heart the words that would suffice to deepen this resilient doubt that you couldn’t do without. They never leave me alone with my Bombs…

It wasn’t until some years ago that the fear cut our soil like a plow, it turned it over like it had no real worth. It left me partly uncovered, left me mostly.

I needed patience long-lasting, but you kept on asking to leave the land we knew so well, and amid my confusion your body kept pushing, too holy to not feel again. But I wanted to say:
What if our lives are spared? What if what comes is the opposite? A relative opposite of despair? Yes, I meant to say: Why if danger never come like we expect it? I meant to say: What do you wanna spread if we can’t prevent it? What do you wanna censor if we can’t oppress it?

To win you need us all.but I can’t hold this gun no more, I should’ve stopped this long ago. They never leave us alone, they never leave us alone with our Bombs.

2007-01-22T13:44:00.000-08:00

Come back to your body with a full, heavy inhalation. Fill up your lungs with air, start to feel Life germinating inside of you, nurturing you. Begin to move your fingertips and toes, slowly. Slowly. Nobody is rushing you. With another deep inhale, extend your arms behind your head, and stretch your spine. As you exhale, relax. Your eyes remain close, confronting utter voidness.

This is, ultimately, all you have left. Not love, not abundance, not absence, not even ourselves. At the end of the day, all we have is our breath, the air that visits, pullulates, and leaves us after a passing moment.

Stay like this for a few moments: controlling nothing, wanting nothing, needing nothing.

2007-01-03T19:13:00.000-08:00

Mi hermano muerto: Todo lo que hiciste, lo hiciste por necesidad.

La sociedad es idiota: Siempre estuvimos y estaremos mejor, pero nunca estamos mejor.

Lo abandona la inocencia: Herir y sanar vale más que no conocer el dolor nunca.

Su estilo de vida es una cuestión de actitud: Tenés todo para morirte fuerte.

Vuelve, vuelve: Perdón por la culpa, es que te tengo siempre presente.

Nadie te da nada: Nacimos para robar y obedecer, para probar y merecer.

Voy demasiado rápido, demasiado a trasmano de todo. Y ahora, ¿qué hacer?
Ya no quedan disfraces.

Alter Ego I

2006-12-03T16:31:00.000-08:00

What if I don’t have anything to give, Bitch?
Who told you that I once had potential and lost it all?
Do you think I like feeling worthless, and if I did would it make it better for you and your logic?
People get what they deserve, according to lucky cookie over here.
Attitude in life is everything, because you've had a rough life too
And could have turned so much worse
And didn’t because you had friends who loved you. Because you coped.
Not even dreaming disgrace
would make you come close to
Understanding what a rough life is.
You wanna experience the world? You think you know shit? You know nothing. The fact that you can choose sets you apart, but that's the way it’s been laid out for you. Go home, stay in shittyville. Don’t take that plane, you’ll never get pain no matter how much you get to know.
You think reality is pain?
Try to be happy.
Peaceful, just, coherent with yourself.
Be conscientious.
But oh no. Mister middle America thinks he hasn’t experienced enough in life, he wants to know what the real world’s like. Drama is the way of little big boy over here.
Well, that’s great, sugar, let’s all hope we can grow up to be enlightened like you.
Go puke somewhere and be a jerk about it.
It’s liberating to risk your life on purpose.
Because at the end of the day, you’re not living.
You are watching, watching, watching.
You are making me sick.
One day, one day
I’ll kill some of you and I’ll cry about it,
Because I will have lost the thing I had left
For the simple pleasure of doing away with nothing.

A house cannot have more than two or three stories.

2006-12-03T15:42:00.000-08:00

(__) wrote the words I build stories with.
(__) played the accent that swims in my mouth. 
(__) dreamt a path I wouldn’t have treaded on my own. 
Adored, because I cannot reward.  
Loved, because I don’t know the rest. The reaping of the field.  
Alarmed or Disarmed?   

Even if it is the end, this is where I begin.

A dialogue

2006-11-05T00:49:00.000-08:00

Why do you have to be so unreasonably insane?
¿Por qué sos tan irrazonablemente desquiciado?

Porque intento quererte a pesar de todo
Because I try to love you amid everything

Amid what (¿)
A pesar de qué (?)

A pesar de mis pasiones, que nos vuelven locos.
Amid my passions, which drive us mad.

(Pregunto (Where are yours, huh?
I ask) ¿A dónde están las tuyas, eh?)

They don’t exist but in the midst of whatever you bring.
No existen más que en las tinieblas de lo que sea que traigas.

Quizá por eso te necesito; no escribiría si pudiera contártelo todo.
Maybe that’s why I need you; I wouldn’t be inspired to write
if I could tell you everything.

But why?

¿Por qué, qué?

Er… What did you say?

Pará.
No, you wait.

I love you.

Yo tambi.én.

2006-11-05T00:48:00.001-08:00

I haven’t discovered anything new: nobody matters permanently in one’s life. In the hopes that one will know when to dispense each person inhabiting your house, you treat them unevenly, or circumstances treat them unevenly. In turn, external factors (them, circumstances) behave in the same way. Not everyone is dismissed; some are lost, some are stolen, some simply disappear underground (I have seen some looming in the room I dare not address by name - the opposite of the attic). It is an art to know how to let people into the main door, walk them around, see what rooms they like, which ones you think suits them, and then invite them (or force them) to offer lodging (to hold hostage, he murmurs). For some time. A few chosen ones are allowed to wonder back and forth into different rooms, or even venture around the whole house (granted, an impossible quest) on their own.
Eventually, their stay is over welcomed. They sleep on your couch, walk their muddy shoes on the carpet, try to open a door that has been specifically (sometimes explicitly) forbidden to them. He sleeps a little bit too comfortably in your bed, she makes food that is too delicious, they treat everything that’s yours better than if it were their own. She helps to straighten your bedroom up, he gets rid of all the junk that has been nesting in the storage room.
Tired, defeated, or just plain bothered, you start closing doors.
Click. Toom-Ton. Bang.
(That son of a bitch was annoying.)
Your house is ultimately, unequivocally, unchangeably your own.
It is a compromise, a challenge, a pain, to negotiate it.
Enough. Silence!
I’ll be damned if I cannot set my own rules for my own house.

Halloween 2006, or my horses gone wild.

2006-11-02T12:43:00.000-08:00

I wonder:

Why won't they just leave us alone.

Their hate,

It's heavy,

We feel the weight of their hate

And it's too heavy, man...

They want us dead

Or alive, to better torment us

This fact is unclear;

The motives behind the fact, plain unknown

(Or forgotten).

There is an aim, the aim IS clear:

To make us feel guilty for things we can't change

To provoke a response that will confirm what they though about us

In the first place, but was not there in the first place!

We want to be one

But they won't leave us alone.

The party,

It's ours,

We jig lifeblood 'til it's up, but

It's not worth our blood

My essence ain't style.

My essence ain't style.

Not a choice

Or a fad.

With an iron brand, I burn in your head:

We took up arms because you went up in arms *

You are the fags.

Their hate,

It's heavy,

We feel the weight of their hate

And it's heavy,

Too heavy and unjust, man.

____________________________________________________

* (Your kind has a strung history of devaluing difference)

2006-10-18T13:44:00.000-07:00

Back problems-
*The apartment's **too cold** at night*
←I wish I knew where I was living→
}With a gun The Enemy leaves me naked{
6I haven't returned all the money I owe him9
__Downfacingdog breathe rightlegup breathe
/I'm here to listen to you with no judgment/
0Bring the tray back by one0
"Let's see if he remembers I'm his father"
:(We never hang out anymore):
?Which way to the museum?
#%Clean up after yourself will you$%
^Write about Cinderella loosing her shoe and^
(Story) > be Creative (x) about It (y)
+Beyourselfloving; respectful; stayputstaysilent+
&Leave me alone but love me&
dkn't fkrget tkmkrrkw the landlkrd's ckming

[Stasis]
[Never sturdy]
Well... !great! but I'd like to make it to thirty.

I'm g.o.n.e

2006-09-26T23:28:00.000-07:00

As I write it down I release everything
Nothing will change by tomorrow
But it will have changed in another sphere
I will keep putting up with the inconsistency of happiness
Because I sacrifice myself for the wellness of my others.

I’ll try to leave without a tick on a cup
Without you ever noticing.
I’ll disappear, but I will remember the quiet nights spent with each other
And my memory will keep them alive for you;
In your reality I will still be there.
You will be fine
Reliving the best part of what we were.
We were semi-atrocious
Were awfully sexual;
God knew to refuse sexuality would be a sin we would not bear.

fuck fuck fuck

2006-09-25T20:10:00.000-07:00

-Fuck, fuck, fuck-
No poetry of balance
Can translate the
Weight of the heart...
...A man is a stone
(Unqualified to stow)
Upon which fire blazes
Not heating the hub.
To express
He writes
But of language, of course,
He omits the core
He figures speech, figures that speech will
stand for something else
He
Filters,
Veils,
People often cannot understand
Did he mean ‘bananas’ with ‘bananas’
Or the moon caught between the earth and the sun?
What a waste, then,
The elevated, the precise, the chosen one.
It implies pretension
(one can choose to feel)
(one can decide the scale, the degree)
But complies to limitation.

If I cannot understand
If I need a book to explain your book
And we see the same world, we live
Together, at the same time,
If
I cannot make your words mine
Fuck you
And fuck the force that
You are not fighting back.

Talk

2006-09-24T23:56:00.000-07:00

Hi, Mom.
How are you doing? I’m about to buy some - for your brother’s flu.
Are you at the drugstore?
Yeah.
Good.
What’s up?
I was just calling to say Hi.
?
What?
What’s the matter, honey, just tell me.
How did you know?
It’s in your voice. Is everything OK?
Well, in a way everything is OK. It’s nothing important. I just did something I shouldn’t have.
Is Thomas with you?
He’s in class right now. I’m at his house, waiting for him. I didn’t call you to talk about it, so don’t worry. Just I’ll call you later, I’m gonna take a shower.
Darla, is it something bad? What did you do? Just tell me.
Hmn well, the computer was open. I looked into his things. His Messenger history.
His what?
Messenger, do you know what it is?
Of course I do. What history are you talking about?
When you talk to people Messenger lets you store your conversations in a folder
In a folder.
in the hard drive
In the hard drive.
So you went
Yeah
And looked.
Yes. I looked at his conversations with his best friend, cause I thought “If there is someone he has been honest to, that’s Jessica”, right?
Let me - give me a second, Darla, OK? I’m leaving the store.
OK. Cause I was thinking about it, before today
OK, now I’m out, tell me.
and I thought about it
About what?
About what had happened between Thomas and Dustin. You know.
Oh, Darla, you really have to give it a break. You are hurting yourself for nothing. It’s in the past, it really is.
I know, I know. I know it is. It’s just - I don’t know, it was there, and I was thinking about how I had never understood some things about what happened, and I knew it’d be a good way to find out.
But you told me he had been honest about it.
He was, it’s just that I knew there would be little things he would probably decide to hide, you know? Everybody does that, and it’s OK for most people. Most people don’t want to know about what their boyfriend’s have done with such and such while they are taking a break from them. But you know how I am.
Yes. You want to know everything, Darla. God knows why. God only knows whom you got that from. Your father has never asked a thing.
Well, that’s not the point right now. He is supposed to come back home in like half an hour. And I wanna tell him what I did, and that I’m sorry, and I want him to know that now I know everything.
Wait, you found something?
Of course I did.
Was it important?
Mmm not really. I mean, he was never unfaithful to me in any way, but I read how he told Jessica him and Dustin had cuddled a couple of times, in bed. And he asked his friend if she thought that was cheating, which of course it’s not, although it explains things much better; to me, you know? Because I had never understood why he would take a break with me, date him for only some weeks, and then want to come back to me with such determination. But now I understand. He said it had just sorta happened, that we had gone on a break because of the long distance relationship, and that even he had been surprised about how things had turned out. But now I know that he was kinda sabotaging himself.
What do you mean?
With the cuddling. Of course if you do that with someone you know likes you, it is going to start affecting you in some way. Especially when I’m not there, when I’m half a country away, and he misses me.
He misses being physical with someone.
Yes.
Yes.
I mean, cuddling it’s nothing, but at the same time you don’t do it, not if you are with someone.
Darla why? I mean, you said you were okay with it. It’s been too many months, and you are there, visiting Thomas, supposedly to have a fun time. You guys are so young. I don’t know. It seems to me you are just putting too much pressure on both of you.
I know, but do you know what it feels like? It feels like the air was pressuring against your skin as if it were to break you in. Especially when there is nothing concretely bad about how everything went about. I mean, he broke up with me, tried dating his friend, which obviously never worked out, and then was sincere with both of us. In all honesty, I hate it.
Haha.
Don’t laugh!
You are laughing too!
It’s because I’m nervous.
Well, you make your mother nervous too, all that stormy weather you’ve always had in you. Seriously, what do you hate?
These shitty things people do. I mean, seriously, why couldn’t he just do something obviously wrong so that my choices as to how to confront this would be more black or white? I just don’t understand why he had to do shady things, instead of either going all the way, or not doing anything at all.
Well, you got that from me. I cannot see why Thomas would be so indecisive about things. But the good part is that what you found gives you the lead to actually once and for all understand that what he did was just tiny stupid mistakes that are not wrong overall. Underneath it all, he was always sincere to you.
Overall.
Overall. But I mean, that is what matters, isn’t it? Who would tell somebody else they’ve cuddled with somebody, or that they are confused about somebody?
Yes, that is true.
Because in the end it doesn’t matter. What matters is that when it became indeed an important source of trouble, he told you and broke it off.
True. I think I’m going to tell him, I feel really bad this time.
You are going to tell him?
Yes.
Darla what for?
I don’t know. It seems that if I hide something else from him, things will not remain solid like they have been for the past months.
How do you think he will react?
He’ll probably get really mad, of course. He’ll understand he cannot trust me. But I need to tell him, because I also want explanations about what I have found, you know?
Don’t tell him, Darla. Why complicate it? You think all couples are honest with each other? You think your father knows everything about me, or me about him?
No, of course not. I’m not naive. But the thing is that I need closure, and if I don’t tell him, I will have these doubts in my head. And I cannot wait some days to think it over.
Because he would notice that you are unwell.
Because then I wouldn’t be able to really show him how sorry I am for being this fucked up.
Can he look in the computer to see if you looked?
I don’t think so. But, yeah, you raise a good point, what if he could?
Mmm Hmm. Well, if you think you know how to handle the conversation, and you trust your good intentions and his, then tell him, tell him. But please don’t be confrontational, especially if he gets mad.
You wouldn’t tell him, would you?
No, no, I would. I am worried that you feel that you have the right to be given explanations about behaviors that are much more in the past than what well, you’ve done your share of inappropriate things, Darla. I’m sorry, but I had to say it.
I know. But he doesn’t know, and there is nobody he could ever find out from, and he won’t ever know. Because I’m not as dumb as to save my messenger conversations in the computer he has access to.
Darla, you are terrible! And you don’t mean that, I know you.
Haha, I’m sorry. It’s true, though. If I look at the situation completely from outside of myself, I do believe the terrible deed here is for him to have done things so honestly and erratically that he didn’t even care to lock the doors behind him.
Hehe, Darla You are one to whom the term “stop thinking” should apply literally to, I swear.
I know. I don’t know what I will do.
Just wait until he comes through the door.
I’ll see how it goes once he gets here.

2006-09-13T17:05:00.000-07:00

Images of nests

Nonsensical and crooked, that is what they are!

Think of a diagram of a dream of a house
(not a dream house)
Think of a diagram of a dream of a house
when love has
bloomed but birds build
life inside of it after love is consumed.

Water washes it out
Memory cannot plot for or against it
, reverie refuses, to reconstruct it…

…And still they stand.

2006-09-10T12:19:00.000-07:00

Now

A lie was dodged and it rot my timber a tot lot.
Not by slitting, but by knitting
He has left me bothered.

Reconciling with it (perhaps) ravaged my rattrap.
In the face of you it clambered.
- Don’t stutter, don’t stutter -

Admit to myself I too have fed the lion’s mouth.
Twice within reach my flesh muttered.
I felt it watery.

It tattooed in my arm that the past would come back to
Spell, haunt him; unearthly
Determination not
Without doubt
Severe.

Not even this ego,
This ego that adores itself,
Would take the blow with fists and spears.
We laughed a bit and skipped a beat and forgot about it.
Had it ever really happened?
Barely, unless
Common sense my rattrap ravaged.

2006-09-09T19:21:00.000-07:00

I’ll tell you how you do it:

Es tu problema.
Lo evitás.
Lo insinuás.
Lo palpito.
Lo encaro.
Lo desvestís.
No lo dejas al desnudo.
Pregunto lo mismo, de otra manera.
Intento ser más cauteloso, incisivo.
Lo esquivás.
Ya no lo entiendo.
Te lo sacás de encima.
Me lo cargo al hombro.

Te enojás conmigo por intentar saber qué anda pasando, sin problemas me decís que quiero saber for my own benefit, not yours. Quizá sea cierto, aunque al principio no lo fuera, y en los próximos minutos tu creencia falaz se haga completamente verdadera.

Ahora va a ser cierto.
Con razón, lo cortás.
Y yo me lo guardo en el pecho.
Te vas a dormir.
Te dejo tranquilo.
Me dejás conmigo.

2006-09-09T19:16:00.000-07:00

Circularity, like a planet's route, is the easiest way to explain us and everything else,
but somehow our consciousness (as well as our unconsciousness) resists the incorporation
of such a simple principle.

We apply convergence to seemingly disparate events and entities. We try to find the cause of everything. We ask questions that are sometimes inevitably irrelevant. We measure heartbeats. We verbalize emotions.

them: Chance is never coincidental.
me: Egos are never beneficial.

.-.-._.-._.-.___andthenastraightline.

Like the universe, let us proceed, determine, and complete, by making the least amount of effort, and taking the shortest path available.

Let us become the universe, where serenity is not contradictory to being deserving, and minimal struggle is unlike laziness.

Achieve, by using the simplest means possible, with
your spiritual economy set in full motion.
If so comes to be
We will rest,
Together,
We will rest together in peace,
Unsuccessfully (fully at our best);
right next to Everything.