Happiness is a silhouette
and joy is envious
sad raindrops falling
in the immense loneliness of the ocean
unless, of course
when sacrificed in the senseless suicidal flight
bursting to milliliters on the umbrella that shelters you
But, this is my road map
birthmark and tattoo
destined to feed of hope
chasing after your shadow
living in the parallel worlds
of the stupid platonic romance
Is there any shame left?
crumbling to pieces like the mask of the Sphinx
and the pride
slowly dripping in tear drop disguise
from the kitchen sink
to the sewage
from my mouth
to your words.
Sometimes I want to jump in the coffee bag
grope the goth barista
bite her shoulder
and leave that strawberry mark
which is so mine
I would
I honestly would
if I knew that paper dollar tip
would become an instant trip
to teleport me back to Brazil
if only for a second
for a minute
for a week
To walk the broad sidewalks in Rio
to be reminded of romances
on a Saturday in Ipanema beach
Encounter the child in me
climbing Caju trees
devouring its fruit, which is like a woman
rediscovering Itamaraca and its Fort
or sipping cafezinho at the Cinelandia
in downtown Rio de Janeiro
listening to Renato Russo and his Legiao
Maybe, just maybe
drink cachaca made in carmo
go back to my condo in Botafogo
stroll by the marina
with the Christ looking down at me
in total redemption
and then maybe, just maybe
the bite in your shoulder would glow
and maybe, just maybe
I'd bite those buttocks like a dog
If you let me
and if you walk with me
I could take you to a land
far, far away
where everything is real
and bathing suits are worshiped
where palm trees dance at night
and truth is deflected
I know, I used to be conceited
but now I am absolutely perfect.
It was a clear, sunny morning here in Seattle, Sergio and I had just returned to work after our religious Starbucks pit stop and the usual five minute cigarette in the parking lot. I remember he was cracking jokes about my failed marriage while I was mocking his relentless balding, I remember that day like if it was yesterday. The mockery continued, of course, spoken loudly and openly over the cube hives at work. It was business as usual, when a Boeing 767, American Airlines flight 11 crashed into the northern side of the North Tower of the World Trade Center, it was 5:46:30 am here in Seattle.
The rest we already know... or we think we do, as with almost everything, but let’s not go there, yet.
I believe what I saw on TV that day, a day I will never forget. 2993 people died in a matter of minutes. People, not just Christians or Muslims or Jews, not just Black, Hispanic, Asian or White, not just Democrats or Republicans. People, women and men, people of all walks of life, from many countries, creeds and colors. People jumping to their deaths from skyscrapers on fire, people crushed under tons of concrete and steel rubble, firefighters and children, all tossed and charred and crushed like rag dolls. It was plural murder, and the common denominator of the people that died that day is that they were mostly American Civilians.
My heart broke, it still is. But then sadness turned to anger and then anger turned to hatred. I have never felt so American and I have never wanted to put on a black shirt, but this day changed it all.
Six years have gone by and now there are all these conspiracy theories. Were the towers imploded? Why did WTC 7 collapse? Without 9/11 would the Bush/Cheney/Rove Administration have been re-elected? Is this the excuse they needed in order to impose this fascist regime? To strip us from our individual civil rights? To steal our privacy? Did they produce it? Is the Viacomm/Rove propaganda machine similar to that one of Joseph Goebbels by coincidence? Is the Patriot Act a rough draft of an Ultra-Conservative Meine Kampf? I don’t know, but I sure keep my handy, dandy notebook.
Is it that all these people whom are fed hatred for the free world don't recognize that maybe the immigrant influx reflects that America is a great country that welcomes people from all over the world who come searching for a better life? for opportunities not found in their countries of origin?
The 9/11 terrorists were welcome with Visas into this Country just the same as the Israel Olympic Team. They were able to make a living, go to school, date, some even learned to fly, and look what they did.
I can recognize that we do rub people the wrong way and that our foreign policy has sometimes been rather despotic. But that does not justify terrorism or xenophobia, and it goes both ways. Today I grieve and think of all the children who have suffered from this violence, the children of the victims of 9/11, of our fallen troops and all the children in the World who suffer the atrocities of war. Alternative fuel is just one more thing to return to a sustainable environment, but it should not be used to isolate us from the rest of the world, we have just one, after all.
"All men are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality."
Martin Luther King Jr.
There are men that can sing and then there was Pavarotti.
Arrivederci Luciano
Tonight nessun dorme.
Early morning coffee
my first cigarette
dreams still sleep
curled inside a newspaper
I see her walking down the street
I teeter-totter and stutter
in the seesaw of her derrière
Her hair waterfalls in chestnuts
and honeycomb sunbeams
on her naked ivory shoulders
relentlessly brushed and toned
by the constant unforgiving sun
I remain a lazy prisoner
in the ambush of her thighs
sailor adrift drowning
as she comes in tidal waves
Titanical tiramisu
as I commit five deadly sins
... the two remaining
are leftovers for you
