Madre

...of course I saw her
she carried me within her
she juggled miracles
she gave me life.

She fed me hunger for learning
she taught me to live life
with a humble, yet adventurous curiosity
she taught me to be free.

She would sit on the couch, late at night
and listen to Tchaikovsky, Mozart, Vivaldi
I'd crawl to the living room, and curl up to her
as I grew older, it changed to Beethoven, Dvorak, Bach.
... and I don't really know if Classical music makes children smarter
but it sure is the only music worthy, to remember one's Mother.

She taught me to be fair
she taught me to be humble 
... well, she tried
but most of the time I was just too damn stupid to listen
always busy with the busy
but I guess something stuck.

She taught me to treat everyone equally and well
particularly those least favored in life.
She tried to teach me the way to the Lord, tirelessly
How could I not believe? Only the Lord could have given me this miracle.
I have no doubt, my Mother was Heaven sent
you could see it in her faith alone.

She taught me love is unconditional
she taught me to treat women respectfully
she taught me the power of mercy and solidarity
she taught me to be bold.

All this with the warmest embrace
the kindest eyes
a mischievous laughter
and a beautiful smile.

It was home
no matter what country we were in
she always made it a home.
I know this to be true
for when I became homeless (by my own choice)
I cried silently, every night
Now I do so again
and will for the rest of my nights.

She taught me to accept who I was
She showed me Brasil
She showed me Mexico
and how we live in a world
full of magic and beauty.

She showed me almost everything I love.
I was her youngest son
she loved me so much
she was so proud of me
she always said so.

Today I hope and pray
her teachings help me continue living
a simple life, worth living
now the sun is going down, giving way to the night
and any glimpse of happiness is hard to catch
today I saw her die.

Kaleidoscope

No more to say
and no more to do.
No places to go to
no songs to sing.

Just the cold
damp coffin.
Just the hole in the ground
where my body decomposes.

No wine to taste
no salty skin to lick
no mountain to climb
no life to live.

It's over, slowly
it's all over
this life
as tasteless as canned food.

I lay motionless
on a cardboard box at the bus station
same as on a king size bed
at the Westin, downtown,
like a lukewarm fuck.

All this effort
this road
these hardships
airports and passports
only to take a wrong turn
knowingly.

All this time
all this blood
all this work
paid back in sleepless nights.

All this anger
all this hate
and all this worthless love.
Always getting up
to fight again
to try once more
one last ditch effort
one last shot
like a blind man
pretending to see your colors
looking through broken kaleidoscopes.

Trench

You can travel the world
go see its wonders, far away
and meet your happiness
walking down the street.

I have traveled the world
seen its wonders, far away

but the depth of this unhappiness

is uncharted territory.

9/11 15th Anniversary

We haven't forgotten,
we can't
the Extremist Terrorists keep reminding us
killing us
while we remain quiet
chocking in the gag of political correctness.

We invaded the wrong country
then left at the wrong time
and now they have an entire region
victimizing, torturing, burning, drowning, beheading
while we're told to mind the weather.

Our Veterans are dying while standing in line
fighting a backlog, which must taste like disdain.
We found which foreign State gave more to terrorism
and sat to negotiate.

We forgot.
Well, the Liberal media tried to make us forget.
who we are, who we were
and most importantly, the sacrifice of those before us.
Four more years and we'll feel ashamed of that too.
Well, this Administration
and the terrorists that keep coming
reminding us
to Never Forget.

Home Away From Home

September 1985,
Somewhere between Buenos Aires and Sao Paulo, at approximately 30,000 feet. My Mom and I were flying back to our home in Brazil (from Argentina) when I heard the flight attendant speak to the cabin: "Ladies and Gentlemen, we regret to inform you Mexico City has been hit by a major earthquake and the city has now disappeared. Our personnel will be glad to assist passengers with connecting flights as soon as we land in Guarulhos International Airport, bla bla"
My sister, two of my brothers, aunts, uncles, cousins, and many friends all dead? My heart sunk.
My Mom remained calm, reassuring me everything was surely ok and the flight attendant was very poorly informed. As soon as we landed in Sao Paulo she was able to get a flight to Mexico, she gave me a few Amex travelers cheques and I was to continue straight to Recife (my hometown then), but I didn't.
The next leg of my trip was a stop in Rio with a connecting flight, which I was able to change, as I planned to skip school some more and spend a few days back in Rio before going back home.
Then another earthquake hit Mexico City again, and I knew my Mom's flight had landed by then, So I flew back to Recife immediately,
My stepdad was traveling with his political party, so only the maid was home, Edivaldo (the chauffeur) was away as well, driving my stepdad. Teachers and classmates at the American School were always incredibly nice, always asking me if I had any news and if my loved ones were ok...
By now I wasn't sure if even my Mom was ok. This was all pre-cellphones, pre-twitter, pre-youtube, pre-liveleak, fuck, it was even pre-email, only airports and travel agencies had fax machines, my only source of communication was through a Telex, at the Consulate, from which I never got any news from my siblings.
The pictures on TV, the constant reminder of the destruction, but above all, the uncertainty of having lost some of the closest people in my life was devastating. So I did what any young man does in that situation, which was to raid all the booze at home. My Mom and stepdad kept a large pantry filled with Stolichnaya and Tequila (and I hate tequila) so the vodka and I became best friends... I was 15 years old.
I'm pretty sure my friend (and classmate) Augusto figured out what was going on, so he kept inviting me to come over to his place. Once I got there his Mom insisted I spend the night (there was even a spare bed in his room), by the very next day I was almost instantly "adopted" into the family, and that was the first time I experienced the difference between a house and a home (which I hadn't really had till then).
My Mom thought my stepdad was home, my Stepdad thought I was in Mexico with my Mom, so it was about 3 months till they made their way back home.
That was almost 30 years ago (September 2015) so I'm hoping to fly back to see my adopted Mom and my adopted brother, as I miss them every single day and haven't been able to fly down there to see them since I left in 1989.

Ego vs Me

About five years ago I began to recognize fears, thoughts, decisions and feelings which were not my own, but lived somewhere in my mind. Part of my mind is slave to my ego (Ego being the Paris Hilton we all have) telling me I'm not "capable enough", that my car isn't "new enough", that this rain has ruined the day, the waitress brought me a shitty meal, and as an employee I am this and that and blah blah blah... that stupid bitch doesn't know when to stop and for her it's never enough) but I believed her, because she was my mind and I thought my mind was Me. It's not, because I want to be HAPPY, Free from dogmas and from having to fulfill a certain lifestyle. Free from having to buy brand names,eating out at certain places, and just stuff.. what a yawn... and fear, because it's a prison full of doubts and anguish and seemingly endless worry. 

Acknowledgment isn't nearly enough, it's necessary (for me, at least) to exercise and apply what is learned. This was how (metaphorically speaking) I dug handlebars to my mind, got up to ride it, and well, there I go... trying to identify when Paris Hilton (it's so hard to unlearn) fills my mind with fears, uncertainties, low self esteem and tantrums. That's when I try to remember "Usually when I'm upset, I'm not really upset about what I thought I was upset about anyway, but due to self doubt, fears or doubts.) Sometimes she'll throw me down on the ground, but one must get up, and ride her again, and teach her (well, teach ourselves) that WE are in control, and WE decide. Not the sudden violent reactions, emotions, desires, or the empty and always hungry consumerist whore (our ego) always thinking of how to change the dwelving in the past, always afraid of an uncertain future which may never come, in the constant worry which seemingly changes nothing, but steals away our present, and presents (preferably wrapped in colorful prints and bows) are what it feeds of. 

This is how I quit drinking, this is how I quit smoking, this is how I lost weight, and began to feel complete. 

I began making better friends (and leaving others whom haven't developed an awareness to spiritual consciousness, or presence). Eckhart Tolle, Buddha, probably you (reading this because you're my friend) and Jesus have helped me unconditionally. Your anguish, your worry, your doubts they aren't yours... it's all just a trick your mind plays on you, don't fall for it, don't believe her, and chose instead for imagination, for self awareness, for the light, for your capability, for your strength and for your true Self. 

"The situation isn't the main cause for your sadness, but rather how you think about it” - Eckhart Tolle but don't mistake fear for instinct... There are times when fear can save your own life, so long as you don't let it reign).

.... Oh, I'm sorry. that Paris Hilton comment is a guy thing. For women, it is an angry version of Justin Bieber.

Motion

There's a feeling of uneasiness
that well known nervousness
unlike fear, it's anxiousness.
Not fearing the jump from the cliff
but the exhilarating emotion of flying
wings, wind, certainty
and the sudden loss of gravity.
Almost dizzy
drunk in anticipation
like when her clothes fall on the floor
in sweaty slow motion.
It's achieving, conquering
remembering all the selfish sacrifices
all the effort
and more than that
how I've had to chain, and choke
punish and torture my mind into submission.
Under a storm of blackmail and extortion
I finally got it to believe in me, 
to obey me,
for I am King.
Even when so many doubted me,
But, will you be there?
sharpening arrows and besieging my enemies?
or will you sit still, motionless
like the boring Rapunzel, waiting to be rescued.

Dead Stars

There's something missing

like the accidental wedding ring

flushed down the toilet, hurriedly.

It feels like a whirlpool, 

like my esophagus, opening and swallowing it all

down to the black hole of my stomach

in this eternally empty corpse of mine.

You were my horizon

my ocean

my parallel.

and now

without your light

without your eyes staring at me

all I have left, is time

and I don't want it anymore.

I sold my hope

I lent my strength

I donated my love 

and I pawned my soul

and now

I just want to drown.

If I could stop chocking on my words

If I could to stop writing

If I could stop lying

for I can fight it no more.

I just want to drown

and slowly and quietly sink

into the ocean

and into the night

back to the womb
back to the beginning

so I can stab it

so I can set it on fire

but that would mean erasing my existence,
and I could never do that
what else, then? to keep you awake at night.

Self-inflicted sorrow

It still hurts
whatever I do
wherever I go
whatever the season
for no reason
it hurts.

You remain in me
like a ghost, like pain
like an unpaid loan, like yesterday
like a whistling train.

...and it hurts.

I can't breathe.
It's not that noose, that kills at breakneck speed,
but slow drowning in the tight tie knot of my daily asphyxia,

Your name aches, like a scarlet letter on me.
Not the pin prick of an expert needle and ink,
but the branding in a slow burn, all over me.

I can't drink anything other than your venom.
Not the sweet laudanum poison targeting my cerebellum
but the bitter hemlock when I bite my lips till they bleed, crying helplessly.

Crucified by memories we made.
Not the arthritic razor blades,
but the sharp thorns of all the nights without you,
knowing you're with somebody else.

Deaf to the world around me.
Not like the sudden sonic booms of jets flying to the rescue,
but the muffled, numbed echo of my voice in a velvet coffin..

Condemned to an ever repeating death sentence.
Not the quick fall of the guillotine, separating head from body
but the patient cowardice that keeps me from picking up the phone.

Fearful of what lies ahead.
not the frightening portrait of a tired future
but a life sentence in this prison of desperation, doubt and regret.

Thorns and Stubborn Marshmallows

Love isn't someone who completes you
You're complete already, just the way you are.
Love isn't the missing piece of the puzzle,
something you're lacking, or something that just "happens".
Love is, instead, something completely different.
Love is something you work on.
something you build, with somebody else.
With trust, and freedom
understanding, and dedication.
Not just a promise, but a commitment
love is the strength, and the weakness,
the friendship, the calm in the storm
the fire, the peace
in a timeless war,
love is a beacon.

56 Rivers

I can't bury the dream
I never hid it, and I won't start now.
It doesn't seem to drown in the fish tank either
so I must let it go
flow
river down.

I sat and dwelved for days
and they brought weeks
and then they brought months,
but those years afterwards
well, they showed up uninvited
I promise.

The yesterdays are still my today
sometimes,
but I've grown used to it
or so I wish,
and one must promise
or wish upon a star.
I tried to find one
hiding behind that cloudy Japanese screen
but all I found was rain
and it rained
and it rained
and I cried for you again
under a starless sky
again
and then I cried for me
and then I stood before your 56 smiles
like a mountain, I couldn't climb
like a tower
like my twisted horizons.

And the tide began to rise
and the floor began to move
and the poison promises
melting under the sun,
involuntarily venomous.

Well, here's my white flag
my rice paper sail
now folded into a little paper boat
floating swan I've set to sail
down the flow of tears it carries
river down.

12/21/12

The four gears have reset
the cycle of life starts again
and the same lesson
remains unlearned.
Human kind stays the course
sailing on a ship of fools,
thinking we're moving forward,
and ignoring the waterfall before us.

We still use religion to manipulate
we still use laws to corrupt
we still use money to buy
and we still use guns to silence.

We tolerate the intolerant
and are deemed infidels
We adapt to those unwilling to adapt
and lose our identity.
We let baby making automatons
whom have never planted a tree
hide behind a religion of fear
We see electric car snobs
burning coal indiscriminately
We sustain industrialized monsters
as they create a global sewer
and an economy of credit and unfairness.

... and the land keeps giving
and we keep extracting
fracking continental shelves
polluting, using, abusing
raping, buying, fucking
as we survive in the stretchmarks
in the fast food gluttony of the ugly fat whore we've become
forgetting the true heirs of this sacred Mother Earth:
First nations, and children.

Twenty Angels (Sandy Hook)

Like tiny footsteps on the sand
the wave came, and washed them away.
Their happiness, and their voices
were silenced forever, earlier today.

The ghosts of condensation
from tiny noses pressed against the window pane
might still be there tomorrow,
but they won't.
Just their lingering laughter
and an unanswered question.

Like tears in free fall,
at some random airport.
They were love promises
whispered between a man and a woman,
for they were little miracles
but now their light is gone.
And if the sky needed twenty stars
can't it do without?
and if the heavens needed twenty angels
can we have them back?

Like blue unicorns
their smiles, their laughter
their little scarves and mittens
all in a box.

My Dad's Divorce

I'm tired of sobriety

tired of suffering

tired of trying

I want to guide this ship to harbor

live the life I'd like to live.

Instead, like all of you,

I'm a prisoner of doing what's right,
wasting my life away.
Doing what's expected of me,
what other's expect of me.

Well, guess what?

Fuck the puppy

fuck the fish tank

fuck this worn out marriage

fuck the bank account

Cash out
raise the anchors

and sail the oceans
you're not the cancer that will kill me.

Red in Black

A King's Queen
a Viking's mare
that one thing I always wanted.
I feel attracted, with the gravitas of a failed parachute
like a UFO, pulling me up. 
I'm starstruck
dumbfounded, astonished
enchanted, ensnared, enamored,
simply put, I'm royally fucked.

She's a spell of glittering stars, floating on the lake
the scent of snow powder 
and as common as a unicorn.
As deadly as a Nordic siren
a Princess worth dying for.

My kingdom I surrendered effortlessly
since the first time I laid eyes on her
and I've yet to catch my breath

Emeralds in nuclear collision
fission, and streaks of blue cobalt fusion
could never match her eyes.
A dream inside a nightmare
a life worth living for
holy fuck
for such beauty, one could start a war
with anyone, for anything.

She's like discovering fire
like making music
like sleeping
like breathing oxygen.

And yet, she can't see me
I feel invisible
suffocating in her indifference
it's torture
it's pain
to her, I'm just like everybody else.

The Equilibrist

Dead,
and cold, and dry.
Hollow,
motionless, and grey,
sad.

Not just lonely,
but alone.
Whistling a happy tune in an empty mortuary,
carving a gravestone with my nails.
The bitter monotony brews into a sour poison,
as darkness blinds my sight,
folding my dreams in a tiny suitcase.

Like a drunk equilibrist
holding back tears,
suspended on the edge of my eyes.
Like a madman,
standing on the edge of a cliff.
Like an ugly vegetable at a grocery store,
like an empty garbage bag
like a fat beggar
like a communist with a lottery ticket
like a cripple with a bycicle
like a cancer patient in love
like a broken tv set
like a guitar with parkinson's disease
like a baby's coffin floating to a beach
like an open wound
like a deaf Beethoven
as I sit on a bench at this public park
chocking on my words
wishing I could just unzip myself in half
and let this love flow like sewage
down to the sea
that's how I feel when I look at you
knowing you'll never look at me.

Clandestine and Destiny

You can just tell yourself this is all fiction,
it's a fantasy you'll never fulfill.
If you dare open this door
your eyes must be ready to see the thoughts you repress
the things we're supposed to hide, stupidly
the recurring dreams when we meet...

When the night comes
my teeth become fangs
and my mouth begins to hurt
May I have this dance?

My hands ache, 
and I can see in the dark,
and under your dress
my hands caress your thighs.
My mouth salivates, 
and my mind spirals for a moment
as we hide, under the veil of the night.

I laugh behind my twisted smile
as my kisses undress your neck
and my hands play with your hair
disarming your defenses
... walls and monuments and dogmas
come crushing down on the floor,
with everything your mother told you
that day, at church.

It's your hungry mouth
and your skillful fingers
unzipping my jeans,
as I flat line in a temporary comma.
It's your sleepy eyes
your poisoned tongue around me
dictating every beat of my heart
every breath,
listening carefully to every unrehearsed word
every sound escaping my Alcatraz mouth.

It's your wedding band, blushing on my bedside table
it's your cellphone, purposely forgotten in the car
it's all the lights out
and the candlelight, outlining your perfect face
resting like shame, on my pillow.

And as you give yourself
and you begin to lose control
I asphyxiate between your thighs
impatiently, like a sailor adrift
like a thirsty drunk 
and I taste you, and I levitate in joy
and I die
and I resuscitate
and my tongue toys with you
as I drink you
as I guzzle you
in the scent of dry ambergris and labdanum
absinthe, laudanum
drowned in your cotton candy chloroform.

It's my firm hand, turning your hair into reins
it's my firm stroke
making you my mare
it's my blood, burning in your veins
it's my tongue, poisoning your throat 
as I sink my teeth on your shoulder
and we melt together
like two candles left lit 
left forgotten, 
burning in secrecy.

Water Lilies

I walk naked on the old boardwalk
feeling the board cracking under my weight
barefoot and undressed
dipping in the lukewarm bay.
Letting my body float on the sea
it feels so familiar, so safe
closing my eyes, letting go

Dreaming of the stars in your eyes
of the diamond dust on your skin
of your water lily footsteps
and your peaches of lips
of the light in your spirit
and the beacon in my horizon.

Titanic

It's almost like untying my shoe laces
and running barefoot on the beach
diving into the coming waves
swimming, away from you.

Here I can't hear you calling, 
and you never answer when I call.
Here I can't hear you,
asking why I'm late,
why I picked up a friend (instead of you),
why I chose a different road,
why I thought for myself.

Here I can't hear you,
asking me for absolute certainties,
your open questions,
with hidden promises to be made.

Here I can't see you,
to patch up your crumbling ego,
as you gobble in a feast of fear,
and  insecurities.

Here I can be me
all alone
in the darkness
in my ocean
sinking slowly to my death
with the heavy anchor I chained to my foot.
You wouldn't understand
just how liberating it feels.

I guess it's goodbye

I guess I missed that bus, again
that train, that sudden glimpse
that door in time
that very last chance
and again, I have to let go

This is when I question everything
and when I come back to question it all
all over again
and your face in my eyes
and your smile and your laughter
and your silly little girl way of answering the phone
and your voice and your eyes
clear blue sky
on the white pinkish marble of your skin
sin fort, soft and warm and strong
And now the minutes evaporate in my hands
your kisses begin to melt, and run down my skin
down to the floor
your smiles begin to fade
one by one, all fifty six of them
waving goodbye
and the ocean turns purple
out of sadness and misery
and the lifeless life begins
and the counting of the days
in a meaningless paradox
stranded in an airport
alone, sitting at a table
at the local coffee shop
hiding my face in my hands
holding on to my suitcase
bidding farewell
and hope and strength
and rings and reason
and words and the sour blood and the hopeful dreams
begin their last trip
their slow and painful walk
to this dead bed
nothing new
after all these years
it seems almost normal
it seems like me

Father

I remember the first time I fucked a girl, in the yacht 

(well, fuck, I was just a kid)

in the morning I saw my old man, staring at me

he knew what had happened

and he looked at me, straight in the eye

and he smiled.. but not just any smile

this is my motherfucking father we're talking bout

it was the biggest smile

and I knew, right there and then

I had made my old man proud

Everything after that, is just everything after that

The Christmas List

Winter is almost here
and we're all getting ready for it
some of us still wear nothing more than hoodies
but most are out in jackets and peacoats
mittens, scarfs and hats

My skin feels dry and the air is cold
and I hide the knot in my throat
politely, behind the seasonal cough

Pulling out the box, stowed under the bed
where I keep those broken heart ornaments
ready to pierce them and hang them up on a Douglas fir
all of them, neatly lit up, in LED whites
yours, will probably be at the very top
like a star, pointing down at me

and just like every year
I'll make up for all the lies and tears and hurtful words
with apologies and excuses disguised as presents
all neatly wrapped is shinny paper
with insignificant cards and bows

Truffles and fucking are just to forget
in the spirit of the holidays
that Moet and Chandon, chilled
is just to swallow it all
but leave the candles lit
just for tonight
it's Christmas eve
who knows, I might catch a glimpse
of my old man's ghost
coming back to laugh at me.

Tony Levin

I've listened to Tony Levin's work with the bass and chapman stick for a long time now. It was easy to chose as my favorite bass player. His work with King Crimson and Peter Gabriel are the most known and notable, and his participation on Bryan Ferry's "Boys and Girls" is pivotal. Still don't know what I'm talking about? How about this: he played the bass for Pink Floyd's "A Momentary Lapse of Reason", Yes "Union", James Taylor's "That's Why I'm Here" and "New Moon Shine", with Lennon, Lou Reed and many more.
I saw him live for the first time in 1993, at the Palacio de los Deportes in Mexico City, in Peter Gabriel's Secret World Tour, with my friend Jorge "Grillo" Casar. I say I saw, as you see any of the greats... from a hundred feet away.
This weekend (Oct 15, 2011) I got to see him again (the girl tagged along). His band "Stick Men" and Adrian Belew's "Power Trio" gave a one night concert at the Triple Door, here in Seattle. Yup, that was Tony Levin, Pat Mastelotto, Markus Reuter, Adrian Belew and Julie Slick, a bassist I hadn't heard of, she was great!
Stick Men played their set and so the Power Trio, and after a short break they all went back to the stage and played a fantastic King Crimson encore. It was one of those unforgettable moments, one of the few.
Ah, almost forgot.. during the first break I got to meet Tony Levin and shake his hand. He kindly signed his new record (which I had purchased for him to sign) and my Windows Phone and my tickets. Above all, I got to do something I had always wanted to do; thank him for the music, for taking the time to create such wonderful tunes I've listened to for years, and will continue to till I die.

Old Lady

Her black leather purse resting on the floor
well, what remains of it
some of the black leather skin has worn off
showing the tan canvas beneath it, as if unraveling
like a varicose plant
Her umbrella, folded and recoiled
with a cheap, white plastic ivory handle, with gold plated rings
it is so thin I can see through it
the many rains it's seen, have eaten its color away.

Then her shoes
that classic style, I call it "old french nun"
with wooden heels
and a sole, so thin and old
it can taste the years left forgotten on the pavement.

She doesn't stand out in this coffee shop,
everyone else is so young next to her,
everyone is so busy, with their smartphones and their hurry
they don't see this old lady,
barely holding it together
hiding her tears, very discretely.
She holds her coffee cup between her hands
and sinks her eyes and thoughts in it.
She glances from time to time,
but sees no one in particular.
Her makeup is completely ruined,
an accident of vanity,
giving her a slight evil clownish look,
And yet, there's nothing funny happening here.

Her sunken eyes
her long fingers
and a knot in her throat.

She's almost camouflaged,
her unassuming grey coat, her calmness
her long solid brown skirt make her disappear in the crowd.
But I can see her,
sitting on straight across from me,
and I can feel her sadness,
her empty loneliness.
Nothing to go home to,
other than her color tv.
And so she goes
revolving her coffee in hypnotic introspective,
preparing to walk into her coffin,
laying down and just letting it all finally end.
.. yet another couple of tears
skillfully wiped away,
no one noticed
.... but me.

Aging has taken its toll on this woman
as merciless as a war.
No medals, no honor
just a constant left lip twitch.
Then the world suddenly stops turning
and I come to one frightening truth:
there's no one as lonely
as the old.

Excalibur

I need a pack of smokes
if only to keep me from shooting myself in the head
... at least till tomorrow
a bottle of Remy Martin, to drown the rest
a lighter to burn your six scents
for the seventh, (which we made together)
I've repeated with many others...
some on long lasting relationships, some just casual lovers
all of whom have failed to replace you.

I need a shovel to exhume the man I used to be
and a grave to bury the dead corpse I've become
A mountain of dirt, to cover two mountains of shame
and a wheelbarrow full of bitterness
A sword.. I don't need Excalibur, a rust box cutter will do
... to cut through whatever passion is left in me
I need 3 metric tons of letter size paper
to print this garbage I write,
not the only questionable thing you like
I also need a shoebox, for my watches
and a used condom to bury my lust
.. and my tears

A blank Bible to write a couple of lies
and a gravestone to remind you that;
when I had your blue eyes
staring at me
I didn't need much of anything.

9/11 10th Anniversary

I began thinking about writing my thoughts about this date about a month ago, and while I can't deny  procrastination made me wait till the last minute, I guess it was mostly due to the fact that I am still utterly conflicted with all the thoughts and possible truths which have been brewing and simmering for a decade now. The thought of voicing my thoughts, from the plush, leather couch at the local snobby Starbucks seemed awfully convenient, and not serving in our Armed Forces when I could have, sure adds a feeling of debt.
The truth; what is the truth? we all saw what happened, perhaps much more often than we should have. Were the towers imploded? why was Tower 7 "pulled"? how was it "pulled" in minutes? (prepping a building with demo charges takes time and planing) but then again, we don't really know for a fact what happened.
The truth is, there are still many questions left unanswered and the 9/11 Commission Report is inconclusive.
The truth is we launched a preemptive war and invaded a foreign country based on the strongest political momentum this country had seen in the past two decades, add a (misused) strong sense of patriotism, biased intelligence, a false case presented before the U.N. and a war declaration and war budget blindly approved by representatives from both parties in Congress; for this I blame the Democrats, whom should have served as the counterweight of power. Instead of doing their job and embarking on their own research, they danced along to the tune the Republicans played (that same scratched record keeps playing today).
The Iraqi insurgency was much more than a natural response to a foreign invasion, as it was aided by terrorist groups from other countries. It should have been expected and avoided.
Was it an inside job? if it was, then the Obama administration should have launched an independent probe into the matter.
If it wasn't? then we can all go back to watching Fox News and continue living happily, thinking that relocating the Great Wall of China to the southern border will keep us safe from terrorists. Wait, you know they all had Visas (yup, they all did, even the shoe bomber and the underwear bomber, heck, even a couple of them were sworn Citizens).
Either way, the Obama administration should have started an independent probe into the atrocious money mismanagement, and human rights violations of the Iraqi war. As well as multiple cases of conflict of interest between big oil, Halliburton, Blackwater and the Bush administration. Instead, he engaged in his own Vietnam in Egypt and Libya (you think I'm a pessimist? just give it a year) and his own money mismanagement blunder with the massive bailouts of both American and foreign banks (the largest shareholder of Citibank is a Saudi Prince) and we still have to deal with an ever growing Anti-American sentiment in the Middle East, a threat that should not be taken lightly.
Above all, we need to make sure our Vets (on tour or at home), our Firefighters (with dust in their lungs or fighting to keep their unions) and all our men and women in uniform receive the care and resources they require and fucking deserve.
Credit were it should be: Obama has supported drone strikes which have killed more terrorist militants than 8 years of the Bush administration, including Osama Bin Laden. The Obama administration has also deported more illegal immigrants than the Bush administration and has kept Gitmo and FISA going. Like it or not, we haven't had a terrorist attack since he was elected.
What does this date mean to me? I'm an American born overseas and I have always identified with America (this I owe to my Old Man). I attended American Schools, learned to speak English, understood and embraced its core values, and followed most of our ways, even while living overseas (I mean Christmas and other celebrations at home, don't think I tried imposing 4th of July on foreign countries). Yet, it is undeniable that there's a sense of pride for being part Mexican, and there is also a place in my heart for Brasil.
Ten years ago today, things began to change... I knew it was a violent act from the moment the first plane hit the North Tower, the hit on the South Tower confirmed my suspicion, and my heart sunk to the bottom of my stomach. I was working at the same building where I still work at, in Issaquah, and the sadness, the heartbreak, the disbelief set on our faces and our hearts. It was almost like a heavy blanket, like a punch in the stomach. Something had been torn and broken, something had been taken from all these people around me, something had been taken from me.
I stared at the towers, collapsing on the projector at a conference room, and thought of my dad growing up in La Jolla and the Glorietta Bay Beach in Coronado, same beach I used to go to as a child, same house, always free of worry. That sense of peace and security, had been shattered.
While living in Mexico and Brazil I was taught to always be aware of my surroundings, and of those around me, and stuff.. not in The States.. here I was safe, here I didn't have to worry about all that, till 9/11.
My ex-wife and I went to the International Fountain, at the Seattle Center on Sept. 12, 2001 for a flower vigil. There must have been over 30,000 people there, putting up a temporary wall of flowers, and cards, and balloons, and words and... we were all mourning. 
We walked around the fountain a few times, then all that sadness and sorrow forged into a lake of tears and flames and broken glass when the Seattle's Fire Department Pipe Band marched in, with their uniforms and bagpipes. Their faces were as still as solemnity, almost like statues, to the tune of a funeral march. That's when I saw everyone come together in a single voice of pain and strength, of brotherhood, of a deep sense of pride and belonging. It was by far one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen, and one of the most powerful things I've ever been a part of. It was then that I truly felt I belonged here, that I would gladly serve and defend this land with my life, it was then that I knew I'd never leave. I'm an American in every way, and I will never forget and I will never forgive, and I can tell you that if you're still pissed off at the people who did this, well, so am I... and everyday I meet more and more people who feel the same way.
We love America, as imperfect as it may be, but we love it, and we like it just the way it is.

Stars and stripes are now inked on my right arm, emblazoned forever, and rightly so.

Barefoot Siren

Another night awake
the stress and worry she'll never understand
The dead calm of the shallow rain
the tireless clock routine
a mute siren, drowning by the reef
My skin, ripping apart
under the sharp edge of your broken mirror
scarring a new tattoo with its jagged edges
painting her face in join the dots
of my blood spilled on the floor

The endless Mondays
and Tuesdays and Wednesdays
and Fridays and another fucking month gone by
Another evening at the coffee shop
vomiting in nostalgic bulimia
dragging my soul under traffic lights
with the heaviness of wet clothes

I miss driving to Leavenworth
just for the day
the cats (now dead)
show up every now and then
and I continue to swallow my words
trying to make them disappear

And it's elevators and stairs and songs and birds
as I keep looking for a grave
deep enough to bury my past
an ocean to drown this pain
it feels, I guess
like a lonely firefighter
crying in an empty church.

Sakura

I see your feet,
short and fat and white and on your wooden sandals
like two baby whales, on separate chopping boards
carrying you, as if floating
levitating on the long and green and swampy rice grass
standing like a statue in motion, drifting river down


Your face, so perfect and beautiful and white and pale
and perfectly oval, like a porcelain mask
like a static and motionless haiku on a sad expression
almost like a watermark
Your hair, barely covering your forehead
black bangs, like razor sharp brush strokes
and your eyes
marbles of onyx and pearl
perfectly tilted, wandering
telling the story of tears,
rolling down your cheeks like hydrogen bombs


I feel the cold frost on the water lilies
and I dare not say a word
I only witness the soft movement of your lotus flower lips
your perfectly bleached teeth
and behind a forest of exploding cherry blossoms
I see you disappear.

Pointe du Lac

You've come to me
to this theater of faces and masks
led by curiosity
by your inner devils perhaps
heaven sent by biblical mistake
a willing victim for my dungeon
sitting at the end of the bar...
Unless, of course
you came to hunt pretending to be prey
either way
you'll be mine before the sunlight kills the night.


I walk across the aisle
and down the hall
making clouds
while I put my horns and halos
in an old wooden chest


I've been waiting for you
like redemption
like a cigarette
like a drink of water.
Your full pink-grapefruit breasts
and your deadly curves
like a highway, like a cello
covered with that black dress
perfectly painted on you
as I pretend to be perfectly at ease
I retract my shoulders, sit back
and take another sip
that blood, is still warm
Your swollen peach lips
your feline almond eyes
glowing emeralds
on perfect high cheeks
My mind turns and turns
spiraling in lust chloroform
as I see a thousand stills of you
doing what I want
I play with my glasses and I look away
pretending distraction, carelessness
while observing your every move...
Now we're smiling and singing and loving and kissing
and melting and burning
like a fool chasing after whirlwinds
I try to grasp your breath with my hand on your throat
loving caress becomes grope
as I kneel you before the fireplace
on the cold hardwood floor
tie your ankles and wrists with a black silk rope
behind your back
letting you wonder
how far I'll go this time


The flogger bites your train of thought
you're losing control
and as your handcuffs tighten you begin to let go
you can see it reflected on the skylight
the pull of your hair
turns your face upwards to see the stars
tears and whispers and you can hear me speaking in a different tongue
as together we walk the wire
juggling between pleasure and pain
as your open thighs
(and everything within and around)
becomes my domain


We grasp for air
one in each other
you show me your strength
and we drive to madness
and beneath the starry sky
I surrender to your drunk and bitter venom
wake up and find myself hanging on the edge of the bed
with your name branded on me
making this blood thirsty vampire yours
embodying a tamed Bull.

100th anniversary of International Women’s Day

God is a woman
and so is war.
The most beautiful creature to ever walk this Earth
the most delicate sound,
a brook, a waterfall.

They nurture you,
and make you fall in love.
They inspire songs, poetry, art
and on rare occasion
when you least expect it,
almost as if by accident, walk by and break your heart.

Just look at them, playing by the sprinklers,
putting out a fire, ruling countries, flying out to space.
Caring for you when you're sick
expecting little in return.
You can kill a dragon for them,
or a mouse,
or even a tiny little spider,
they will praise it all.

Their words can illuminate the night
they are the ones who close the doors,
and turn out the light.

A hydroelectric dam is a woman,
and so is magnetism, electricity
gravity, pressure.

The fountain of life
is a woman,
and so is every single pleasure.

and so is the ocean
and the sea
and the blood on the sword
and the sword itself.

And the moon, and the cloud
crying each, and every tear,
raining from the thundering storm
shaking the skies, flooding it all, like a woman.

And so is the film, and the paper,
and the ink with which we write our lives,
and the spear, and the arrow, and the cross.
The virgin, and the prostitute are a woman
almost every single star, painting constellations in the sky,
women as the infinite sign is.

The strongest fortress is in the arms of a woman,
the warmest shelter.
Their eyes, the most delicate gem
and their heart an engine
driving this universe in every direction
every law of physics we choose to ignore,
every snowflake, every petal,
warmth for evermore.

Their lips are like fruit
some forbidden, some sweet, some bitter
Their breasts can be colossal cathedrals
full sails, chapels, or pitiless camping tents.
Either way, they feed us
and they feed the World
in endless Niles of milk.

Their thighs are monuments of monuments
pink marble wonders
curves that make my mind spiral,
sensuality that makes my hands sweat.
and yet... we sell them and we buy them,
and we force them into marriage
and we hurt them, and we beat them. and we rape them.
And we use them, and we denigrate them,
and we cheat and lie to them.
And we enslave them, and we deny them the most basic birthrights,
...and stupidly think we can get away with it,
and they say nothing.
They endure the pain, as if it were their cross to bear,
until you can't see them..
That's when they'll cry their wounds in silence,
putting them away, in a little cabinet
all neatly folded, in chronological order.
...But make no mistake about it,
in the morning they will sharpen your shame
and forge it into arrows
cause we forget that love is a woman
and so is a shotgun
and so is History, and if you truly know a woman
then you know their memory is flawless.
So don't forget, they are so much more than what you see
for a woman can be a lover to some
and a mother to others
for a woman is both a flower,
and a hydrogen bomb.

Tsunami Sayonara

I heard the wind rushing in last night
it was cold and dark
it seemed as if the blackout was beyond the market square
so solemnly quiet.
I thought none of the neighbors were home
I couldn't see candles or flashlights there,
I forgot their houses were gone.

It's all so strange and eerie
there's a boat on top of city hall
and no one is answering their phone
there's no one here but me,
and the sudden helicopters which come and go.

First I felt the earthquake
it rattled my bones and my faith
then it brought me to my knees
then the water came rushing in.
I saw the waves crashing through the streets,
dragging cars and boats and barges to the other end of town
dogs and cats and people,
in the biggest human blender I've ever seen before.
I'm so glad I stayed home that day
to think I used to complain about living on the 3rd floor
haven't stopped crying since then
(I know it isn't helping)
but by now most of the water is gone anyway.

There's flotsam and jetsam everywhere
boards and wood and cars and ships and bodies
a dishwasher, debris, a couple of toilets and a kitchen sink
all piled up and torn to pieces
it's like a morgue and a town hit by a tornado
all in a cesspool, roughly the size of hell
Neighbors, friends and fathers
daughters, sons and mothers
priests and prostitutes
whores and politicians
thieves and lawyers
young and old
gays and lesbians
foreigners and journalists
mates and captains
and many fishermen
unrecognizable and dead.

But I survived
I have 3 bottles of water
and a little bit of rice
flashlight, batteries, a radio
and a chocolate bar
I heard a man in the helicopter
shouting on a megaphone
it seems a reactor is exposed
and I must stay inside
and so it's plastic bags
scissors and duct tape
I cry for the one I love
in an ocean of dead widows
please excuse me
I must seal my house
and this is the last window...

In Store

Floating
making bubbles underwater
with my mouth, playfully
with my nose underwater
and my eyes above the surface
I think I'm a submarine, full of weight
a fat whale, a stealth shark
a secret spy
floating in the water buoy
just staring
and breathing.
It's just like being on her thighs
gliding on the sheets
crawling at the speed of nibbles
left and right
hiding between her legs
breathing on the thin cotton undergarment
which, still covers her warmth, undeniably
and there I find myself
making bubbles underwater
drowning whatever sanity remained

My hands, buried deep in the sand
go discovering
or digging my grave
and my thoughts piled up high
like a club sandwich of lust
and desire and everything wrong
slowly and patiently
reason decays
time to turn the TV off
time for another drink
and I climb through the hole in the wall
crawling and sensing and defying all rules of gravity
separating and classifying everything I see
everything about you
and in record player motion
I fall to my death
in the boysenberry devotion
and the bitter lemon obsession I have for you

"Jolly roger in a pickup
Has a packet on the horses
He's a docker with a bucket -
Just the ticket in a thicket" - Brian Eno

The Crown Jewels - Tapestry by Carole King

My left sock turned into a gag, a pillowcase on my head and I'm locked in the closet... who could have been capable of doing this to an almost white American? Is it Abdullah the terrorist? 
No, just my sister trying to keep me away from the turntable, I really can't blame her, now that my earwax has matured I wouldn't stand listening to Kiss's Dressed to Kill over and over again. 
This is what she played... and I think Tapestry is an incredible album. 

Kites

I'm desperate
I wake up shivering
clinching my jaws
with fists ever so tight
ripping those 400 count sheets
and I breathe
I hyperventilate
as I bury my head in the pillows
slowly turning into one big disgusting pig
in fetal position
crying myself to sleep
thinking of using my pen as a chisel
and engrave a heart on your door 
or a can opener and switchblade
to pry you out of my heart
like a tumor
like a foreign terrorist
like a drug
like a kite on the sky