Train Station Gitanes

Winter comes to quiet the crying Fall
turning evergreens into static brides
exposing the naked twigs
on the desert of blue


Cold crawls on my bed
like the dwelling phantom
of a wondering cadaver
as I bite the edge of the blanket
wondering where you are
and where I am
and write myself to sleep


Morning comes to chase the night away
swift sunbeams, fiery katana swords
slice its essence, as it bleeds in yellow and orange
and you're not here


Blood, coffee, rushing to my head (I can't tell them apart anymore)
hot water on my face
the decrepit piano of my body
stumbles from the bedroom to the bathroom
from the kitchen to hell


Maybe I'm just a picture in the photo album
corner of your scrapbook
napkin with a phone number tattoo


maybe you think I'll be waiting
like mortals wait for death
I know you think I missed my train
and I did
but I belong to somebody else

Autopsy

I can't
I'm out
no matter how hard I try
it's gone.
I stand naked before you
unzip my chest completely open
like the french doors of an autopsy room
my heart, in a platter, has always been yours.

Like a beggar begs for handouts
my soul, scarred and ran over
like a vegetable in life support
resembling a wrinkled pear.

Come, join me
let's walk on the train tracks
holding hands, on the way to the morgue
I want to see if you can recognize me
by something other than my lifelong scars.
Come, even if just out of pity
let's hitch a ride in the carpool hearse
I have a ditch to catch.

Like a kid with empty pockets
like a drunk without a bottle
the musical box is broken
and the tears have already dried up.
Look, at the procession in the distance
waving good bye.

My Grain

Sometimes I want to sail
feel the spray of the waves on my face
anchor in a quiet bay
with a mermaid swimming on my bed

Drive a Stingray
with the top down
her hair waving in the wind
a hotel card key and a joint

Living life
and the amazing dream it is
between patent leather and her skin
caught in the limbo
between her eyes and her lips

But not today
afternoon, coffee and rain
again, the migraine and the pain
today I hope I find the courage
and put a bullet in my head

A River

I write because I suffer
I die because I bleed
and if I didn't dream
I'd never sleep at all

my words make a ship
to sail the rivers of fate
your breath is the wind
the water is the pain

I sail because I'm a skipper
who has nowhere to go
and can't bear the hurting
of walking the world

I swim to meet my mermaid
since most two legged sirens are taken
insane, or drowned in worry
drugged in a constant high
of the stupid and mundane

I suffer because I love
I love because I live
and because I live I ache for love
and life goes on
dying
sleeping
fucking
and letting go

4titude

Finally 40 have set in
It took a while, there's no doubt about that
As mentally dispersed as I am (in reality it's just an overwhelming curiosity)
I've always sought answers and in that pursuit only deeper questions arise, they always do. Now I approach topics with a little bit more ingenuity and I no longer focus on just the answers, at least most of the time. Those supposed to guide me only blurred the path even more, throwing the blanket of their insecurities and frustrations over my quest, which is not theirs.
The very few, yet extremely valuable signs and directions always come from those you least expect, almost to the point of doubting coincidence. But sometimes you just have to let go to be free. I tried to reach the sky, but now I've got my feet on the ground and I've given up on that dream, and I also no longer fear being sent to Hell after I die. Hell is here and that is why I fear growing old and poor, everything else is just life and by now I've learned to deal with it.
I like to see people helping people, it reminds me some have learned the life lesson. I also like to see my mother's unbendable blind faith and I would love to see Obama do something for this nation other than giving Billions to the greedy and irresponsible corporations which are largely owned by the same Saudi and Middle Eastern men whom have partnerships in the Carlyle Group and are known to sponsor terrorism in Israel.
I try to make me believe that there are coincidences and not all is fate. Their purpose is to make life funny and leaving it all up to fate is like letting off the wheel. Which I do... but I also like to hold it and guide it, since I like to step on the gas sometimes. After all, if I die in a car accident it won't matter if it was fact.. or coincidence.
The guilt wheelbarrow I push everywhere I go has only strengthened my arms, the stronger I get, the heavier it gets. But my arms let me handle my woman in bed and I like pleasing her, cause it pleases me. The best book about sex you can find is exactly that, a woman next to you. If you fail once, she will understand, if you fail twice she will leave or grow ugly (like a bonzai twisted the wrong way) and you might as well give up and dedicate your life to greed and envy and making others miserable...or the church.
But now.. I have now.
I keep reminding myself to forget the past, and stop thinking about what didn't happen and what should have. Now.
I'm slowly giving up on future. No, not the common idea of a sun tomorrow. But the worry of a house, a job and a family, or retirement. Giving up on the worry of what is expected of me and all that garbage.
Now.. is now.
I have a roof over my head, good friends, decent health, a car to take me places and a cold, crisp Seattleite afternoon.
My vivace caramel is here, I never would have thought heaven was this simple and uncomplicated.
Unlike paradise, strong, curvy thighs, barely covered by skirt.
Forty
and still addicted to lust
in love with love
where music is my wine
and her sex my violin

Dies Natalis

Breathe in
exhale
and look around
my heart is finally keeping a pace
get up, stand up
the strength is coming back
my arms once more, feel like a pair of logs
my legs lift me effortlessly
and my lungs sing quietly and in harmony
My high blood pressure is back to normal
and I've already started losing weight
it's an awakening
finally letting go of that crazy nightmare
where I was a juggler, sinner and saint
now I have something that feels.. solid
there are no crumbling ceilings and no broken windows
there's nothing other than the base
a very solid base
weaving dreams together
her and I will continue walking
hand in hand
planning and drawing what may come
here, I can build something mine
this mountain I shall climb
done by two
brick by brick
seeing the world
and enjoying every morning
like today
it's like life reborn
God sent and godspeed
we'll see where it goes
I take another sip of perfection
breathe, exhale
and know that now I live
hand in hand
in the morning
lips with taste of coffee
her beauty is
where the sunbeams come from

Guera

My heart is so full of pain
it almost sounds like a piano
I thought it was love
or confusion
but it's just guilt
an ocean of remorse
on which my life is anchored
lonely sailboat on Hurt Bay
struggling to stay afloat

The wind of her words
brings tears in a storm
the hurricane of memories
the heavy life vest
sinking me
the whirlpool of her crying face
and divorce documents like paper airplanes
slashing my heart in a million paper cuts
pictures and post it notes
letters and songs and all the years
all the life reflected before me
as I listen to the siren's cry
and use the very last bit of courage left
(I never had much)
to jump overboard
and finally drown
in an ocean of remorse
slowly letting my life go
staring at the star of your eyes
at the beacon
and another thousand wonderful things you are
like a beacon
and the star in your eyes.

Lace

The ceiling fan keeps turning
blowing air on my face
naked and still wet from an after sex shower
I feel my body, cooling down

The night is here
I'm here, all alone
and darkness all around me
you're the dream
walking in and out of the dressing room
at some lingerie store downtown
exclusively for volcanic voluptuous girls like you
I'm the sweat drop
running down your thighs
the poisoned cherry
trapped between your lips
driving at top speeds
on this lustful avenue
this hunger to taste you
these handcuffs to free you
this riding crop to teach you
and an endless desire of you

Have you ever noticed
the morning corpuscle
is trapped in your eyes?
I guess you haven't looked deep enough in my eyes
you haven't seen the mad man, trapped in me
if you did, you would probably run
or surrender hopeless and fall on your knees

But if instead, forgetting all else
you looked in my heart
you would see I wouldn't care
if that fan spinning was an airplane's propeller
ready to tear me to shreds
life doesn't really matter anymore
if I can't run my tongue down your thighs
like that sweat drop
like lace

Nine Eleven

I'm not terrorized anymore, I never was. The images I saw on TV that day broke my heart. Seeing people jump to their deaths, knowing firefighters were still in the womb of the towers when they collapsed, all the instant orphans, the dust and a different landscape. I was angry, and perhaps I still am. I know that the terrorists were Middle Eastern, but I have Middle Eastern friends. I know the terrorists were "Muslims", but I have Muslim friends, and these people who supposedly did this are nothing like the Middle Easter Muslim friends I know.
I also know my uncles and other Civil Engineers, and we don't believe kerosene's burning temperature brought the buildings down, and President Bush left many unanswered questions. Except that his response was another Katrina and that he manipulated National Security information for Political gain. Then we went to Iraq, we didn't have to go, we didn't want to go, our allies didn't want to go and Powell lied to the U.N., but my friends are in the Armed Forces and I support the troops, always. Leaving a constant worry.
We elected a new President (I voted for him) and still there are many questions left unanswered. Still, that day something happened, something changed in the very fibers of this Country. I saw White Americans, First Nations (Native Americans), African Americans, Mexican Americans and Asian Americans come together as a whole. Together we raised from the ashes, we survived Bush and we are already recovering from the worst financial crisis we've ever seen.
We are not terrorized, I don't think we ever were.
We are angry and we will never forget, and Fuck You, Putos.

Nau Frago

A veces no te pienso,
pero eso es solo cuando no respiro.
Cuando me guardo el aire como un buzo,
y se me hinchan los cachetes, como globos aerostaticos.
Cuando me tapo la boca
con un bozal de periodista encarcelado,
y la sangre se me sube a la cabeza
 y no puedo pensar.

...pero siempre termina en jaqueca,
y un hipo de ti.

A veces te bebo, como si fueras agua
te amo en el vaiven de la marea
y chocamos, como las olas contra el coral
hacemos amor tormenta
besos diluvio
y terminamos de nuevo, con las velas empapadas
encallados en mi habitacion.

A veces me faltas,
como el aire que me asfixia las angustias,
como el agua que me ahoga
como el aire, que se me escapa.
y asi, en la gravedad del amor perfecto
entre tinaco y pesera
se apaga el fuego
y se despiden las anclas.

Toy Piano

I was dreaming of a land, far, far away
there was a forest
and a waterfall
lush with water,
and a muse
so beautiful and pleasant
no, not you.

I was dreaming,
when I felt something move
and I woke up, and still drowsy
I saw them, next to my pillow
I thought they were ants
marching on my breadcrumb bed
but they were "I love yous" instead
walking on a funerary procession
on a silent protest

to bury this poem in a manhole
inside an old toy piano
instead of a coffin
which my poor poem
could never afford.

Their tears lit up the path
like tiny little candles
in the Christmas you destroyed
each and everyone
and always.

They left footprints burnt
on the ground beneath them
spelling out your name
repeated, over, and over again
like the monotonic and rehearsed routine
of the metronome mechanical fuck
you dare call love

Every "Sorry" word I said
has began a rebellion
they are an army, if you recall
like little villagers they've come
with pitchforks and torches with that matchbox
where I first wrote my number, for a flag
My machine gun is loaded
with all those sad things you said
and as my heart burns in ache for love
I set you free
like a ship to sail
on the quicksand ocean
you call mirror

I thought they were an army of ants
but they were only words

Don Quijote

Son of Swiss-German-Swedish immigrants, originally from a family of cheese mongers in Thun, Switzerland. My old man was born in Los Angeles. He spent much of his childhood in La Jolla. Then his early twenties in Coyoacan, Mexico City. Since my grandfather was expanding his business to Mexico. They lived just a few blocks away from Frida Kahlo's Casa Azul.
He grew up to more than 6 feet tall. Thin, with a deep voice, short light brown hair, deep blue steel eyes. Two small gold hoops on the left ear, a van dyke, and his white skin. Suntanned from so many years on the tropics, made him look like an old gringo version of Don Quijote in the 21st century, which he was.
He wore the biggest Nike's I've ever seen, a willis leather bag with a book, several packs of smokes and a bottle of Hornitos, shorts, sunglasses, and a black Breton cap defined the regular uniform of a businessman, turned sailor.

I was the first kid on the neighborhood with a light saber
months before Star Wars was even announced
and at school I was the sole teenager with a yacht in Acapulco
the old man sure provided for me
and along the way he taught me a thing or two.

He stood in line so many times
at the space mountain
under the Anaheim sun
spent hours at the arcade, playing
swam on the riptide with a bodyboard
no matter what it was
go kart racing, or just watching TV
he was always next to me.

He taught me how to read the ocean currents
the air streams
how to handle an Evinrude
mix oil and care for it
and flip a Hobie cat
turned upside down in the middle of the bay

He showed me how to dig out clams
on the shallow shores of Baja
how to sail a two mast Catalina class sailboat
winch in the main, duck for the boom
and pee overboard
how to read a radar and measure depth
how to select wine, shoot and fish with a harpoon
How to shoot, since he was a Korean War Vet.

He taught me the importance of coffee
early in the morning
how waking up on the wake of a boat
is, amazingly unmatched
To sit and stop to see the sunset
and the green flash.

He taught me to dive, snorkel and fish
how to pull anchors
and make the marine knots
I tie around your wrists

He taught me how to do almost everything
he just forgot to show me how to carry on
without having a smaller version of me, of him

"If you ever get caught with a Playboy, just stare at them straight in the eyes and say "good articles"
1981 - somewhere in the Mexican Pacific
John R. Gerber

Today is 14 years without my old man, and yet, as time goes by, his presence behind my right shoulder has only grown stronger.

Spell #56

Sometimes, when I remember you
it feels like going for a teary walk downtown
by the waterfront
sitting on a bench, surrounded by witnesses
disguised as totem poles

Sometimes it feels like paper under my pen
as I write yet one more stupid poem for you
under the color changing trees

Sometimes it feels like clockwork
watching time crawling on my bedroom
listening how silence fills the air
in the tic toc deafness

I can remember you in so many ways
so many days and nights
places, outfits
it's like a chocolate factory
filled with sweet moments I can still taste
or when I see myself as the little boy
and see the little girl in you
yet you being the full woman that you are
would come out and play with me

I think of crowded airports
a thousand dreams and plans and notebooks
as my handkerchief wraps around my neck
and begins to drown me in the anaconda hug
and time crawls over me
I try to scream but utter only silence
the totem poles surround me
as my life escapes my grasp, slowly
like the leaves undress the trees in lonely autumn
and I wish this stupid poem
would somehow become a spell
to see my arm become a snake
and drive it down my throat
to reach and pull out
this poisoned apple I became used to.

but sometimes I wish remembering you
was just a teary walk downtown
by the waterfront.

Pontiac est Mort

Some of the most important icons in American culture are cars. They have fueled a main bloodstream in the history of this land, generation after generation, industrial leadership of the world, these four wheeled vehicles are far more than just automobiles, they are part of the heart and soul and identity of this land. Today we say farewell to the GTO, Trans-Am Firebird, The Judge, Grand Prix and even the Fiero. Some played parts in movies and TV shows, but they remain engraved in our memories, mostly for backseats an import will never match.

Achtung Baby

You believe Bush and "The World is a better place without Saddam" ?
Perhaps, but in the end it was just an excuse. We had Saddam for many years and it never really mattered (unless you're not particularly fond of Turkish BBQ's).
Truth is, we messed up. We supported (willing or unwillingly) a war because we were lied to. Which, honestly I don't care, I'm always up for the invasion of some far away land, and I do believe Saddam had a good amount of chemo-biological weapons too, we just don't know where they are (my wicked twisted mind tells me the obvious place is in your neighbour's basement - Yes, the math teacher that seems so mainstream, driving a late 90's dark green Asian import sedan, wearing Nordstrom Rack plaid shirts, Dockers khakis and Rockport docksiders). Anyway, Iraq wasn't even remotely close to developing enriched uranium and did not have an interest in the Taliban or Al Qaeda, durrr.
Then you have Iran and Mamut Imaginehad, trying to have a nuclear warhead, he'll get there, but it will still take a while. His rhetoric is far more dangerous, but then again, they aren't really Arab as much as they are Persian and their educated youth wants peace and progress.
Kim Jung Ill is living proof that "Extenze" doesn't work make anything larger, his rockets always fail and he is just a nut without a real ideology, therefore he is just a buffoon.
When we invaded Iraq we didn't have an exit strategy, Bin Laden did - Pakistan.
Pakistan is considerably more radical and extremist than other nations, shares a border with Afghanistan and has nuclear weapons (I mean the real McCoy, including test proven missiles that can reach India and Israel and nuclear warheads that can be converted into suitcase bombs in minutes). Well, ever since they killed Bhenazir Butto, then made Pervez step down and placed Bhenzair's widow as a puppet PM everything has gone downhill.
The question is: will Pakistan follow the Taliban and Al Qaeda movement? will the Taliban take over Pakistan? cause if they do then we will have to take dire decisions.
It's not the same when a rogue nation tries to acquire nuclear capabilities. That is a process that usually takes a long time... first we pay for their scholarships and give them visas to come to the US, teach them thermonuclear physics and how to ride a bike without letting your hair show, then they have to go back and use that knowledge to build reactors to enrich uranium, then they have to test their rockets, go through a couple of economic sanctions and then.... you know the story.
In this case it's a different situation, Pakistan already has nuclear weapons and missiles, and the Taliban goonies are about to take over. Russia? the cold war? this is nothing like the Motherland, Russians love art, literature, wealth, vodka and life (much like the rest of the World). The Taliban and extremists not so much. So buckle up, we're on for an interesting ride.

Pachamama

Ride your bike to work, eat your nuts, hug a tree, go for a hike, buy a granola bar, go skinny dipping, kiss your dog, snort catnip with your cat, go to the farmers market, smoke a bowl, plant a tree, switch to paperless mail, open your spam filter, rent Free Willy (the download), try tantra (Ommmmm it's ok, just stay still, like a dog) until you reach a valley, sign up for Tai Chi, buy a new teapot, listen to Yanni, watch Ciscoe, let Bob Ross tell you where those new gerberas live, buy a latte in recycled paper cup, no wait, bring your own tumbler, forget the umbrellas, let the rain drench you, reach out and kiss someone, look up to the sky and remember that if there are any Aliens in their UFO's looking at us it is only because we have the Coolest Fucking Planet in the Universe, a gift that makes the existence of God undeniable, a miracle within a thousand miracles, self sustainable and evolving life and beauty and truths and forces and just for once stop and think we are little tiny earthlings which have no right to act the way we have because we value an insignificant number printed on the remains of a dead tree.
Happy Birthday, Mother "Pachamama" Earth.

Poppers

My friend Manuel "Tum Tum" and I were vacationing in Acapulco. I can't even remember what day it was or where we had been the night before, since we had been in our own drinking marathon: beer and daiquiris galore. We ran into some other guys (also from Mexico City) at the parking lot of what was the hippest disco back then "Extravaganza" (now Palladium). We shared our weed, they shared a rainbow of poppers, and then went inside. Lasers, strobe lights, Meyer Sound speakers making everything jump, dry ice, pretty people and a river of Moet.
I don't think we could feel the floor we were walking on.... I couldn't.
We were in our twenties, invincible, indestructible, suntanned, we had a devil red Corrado, my dad's yacht (plus unrestricted access to the yacht club), and my dad's house in Aca. Young, we knew everything. Shit, we were Superman, we had no worry in life. Girls and pina coladas came and went, dancing the night away, until we eventually ended up at a little after-party in someones suite. Those guys, Tum Tum and some girls from PV.
I was getting a beer out of the fridge when one of our new friends pulled out yet another popper (little chemical tube) that very pleasant smell, the sudden rush of blood to the head, Major Tom blast off BAZINGA! Pastel color unicornic lightheadedness: it was like taking a whiff from Kylie Minogue's undies drenched in cotton candy chloroform. Sweet scent followed by a sudden loss of gravity and that's when he planted one on me. WTF?
I was high, stoned, drunk, confused and utterly shocked, since it was unexpected and something I had never done before. Well, I actually didn't do anything, but still.
I didn't punch him, which is the reaction I would have expected to have. Instead, I gracefully told him that was not my thing and went back to the jacuzzi with the rest of the guys and the girls.
It makes me happy (smug) that I have been able to have tried so many things (some unexpectedly) in this short trip called life. What did he look like? think Richard Grieco.
...unlike Katy Perry I can say I kissed a dude, and I didn't like it.

Mota

Medical Pot has increased 50 to 300 percent since Obama became President... apparently since he won't let federal marijuana laws to override state laws (unlike Bush). I think I saw a picture of Obama smoking a reefer somewhere... and I do recall Bush getting a DUI and dressing as a cheerleader. I think Clinton also confessed to smoking a joint and ended up getting a bj from a curvy intern.
Pot was banned primarily due to racism (since this would allow the detention of Mexicans and African-Americans) arguing they got "nuts" when smoking pot.
I've owned, managed, and co-owned bars and live music venues, and I've seen what happens when people drink and when they smoke weed, trust me, the alcoholic crowd is obnoxious, loud, and belligerent, while the rasta crowd is peaceful and just having a good time (with a Cheshire cat-idiotic smile). Oh, and I would much rather catch a ride with a stoned driver than with a drunk. I was once a serious drunk, and a master pothead afterwards, but that was a long time ago). But we all know the effects and the truth is that there's money funding the illegality of pot. Not from kingpins, but from lobbying pharmaceutical companies and brainwashed evangelists. It's the satanization of natural remedies so that they can profit from selling you Prozac (which is so acceptable in our society) and yet fucks you up even worse.
What if we legalized pot? not as a hobby but as a drug. What if we learned, embraced, developed and used all the natural remedies civilizations have used for centuries? sometimes taking a med in a pill is as bad as food in a box. We had never seen obesity, cancer, MS and Parkinson's as high as we do now, maybe we should reconsider that mayb.... nevermind, I'll just say I'm glad Obama is more open minded than the tyrant asshole before him and that these next years to come will hopefully bring some much fucking needed collyrium. Yes, that's me practicing origami.

Lucky Strikes (again)

Another rainy afternoon at the cafe
the wind is blowing, barely
and I miss smoking a cigarette
I can go outside
take a deep breath
smell the trees, the flowers
the dawn of spring
clogging my nose with allergies
and my puffy watery eyes
I sure make a lousy tree hugger
I'd rather stay inside
see her walk around the house
in boyshorts and a shirt
while I light another one up
carefully thinking, planning
lips, teeth and telemetry
inadvertently pounce on her
the next time she walks by.
I still get to do all those things
but dammit
sometimes I really want a fucking cigarette

(I quit a year and a half ago and I still can't see why)

Diva La Revolucion II (First Blood)

(Revised and extended edition due to priceless feedback)
Mexico City, circa 1995
I can see the airport and most of the city from my office, I am the manager of a million dollar spa, located at the top floor of a major hotel across from the airport. I supervise customer service, a cleaning crew, a small group of massage therapists, the aerobic instructors and personal trainers as well as purchases and operations. I have unrestricted access to corian clad high pressure showers, Egyptian cotton towels and robes and I am the only employee with membership rights to the spa. The place is owned by an American consortium of slave masters that pay the employees almost nothing, I make just slightly more, which still is pretty much nothing. I have the power to hire, fire and the place is pretty much at my mercy, but my income is rubbish and my shift is 16 hours a day six days a week.
I'm working there while I find something else, and the "Manager" title will eventually add up. But in the meantime I'm wasting my life away.
Since I'm making very little money (I have never made so little) my residence is a small bedroom, roughly 10" x 10" in a very old mansion which has been converted into a "guest house". Rent is due weekly, there's no security deposit and the bathrooms are shared. In previous posts I've recalled living a homeless life at a bus station on which I describe their fetid restrooms in detail. Well, they have nothing on those of these guest house. They are like crapping barefoot in the middle of an 18Th Century Bulgarian morgue during summertime. Flies are just an indication that there's life, which on such conditions is a good thing.
Fortunately I seldom used them, since I had more than enough time at the spa to bathe, as for the rest, well, let's just say it was Dantesque.
The rest of the "guests" were mostly women, which all seemed to look like a high speed collision between an SUV packed with Female Lucha Libre Mexican Wrestlers, two sub compacts with the Mexican version of Jerry Springer and the Jenny Craig bus. Nasty Fat (no, not sexy buxom devils, ex-trophy wife plump milfs or cute and chubby angel face cherubs) I mean NASTY FAT Prostitutes that provided more layaway than the local Credit Union and were significantly overpaid (if they ever actually got paid).
But not everything was bad: on one occasion I was witness to a windstorm sweeping the airport, from a top the hotel. The wind gusts were so strong that the skylights over the pool began to peel out and fly, like 6 feet eggshells floating in the air and then falling 18 stories only to crumble on the street below. So now I had a crappy job, a shit hole for crib and the pool area (at work) completely fucked.
After the storm I began assessing the damages, fortunately nobody got hurt. Anyway, the position of the SPA (tenant) was that the Hotel (landlord) had to fix it, but the Hotel wanted the roofing company to fix the skylights, lawyers became involved and 2 weeks later we still didn't have a roof over the pool, and it rained.
Have you ever seen what happens to a pool and astro turf when exposed directly to Mexico City's polluted rain? the once Mediterranean and navy blue bottom and aura of the pool was fully covered by a green miasma that would sometimes bubble as strange insects raised to the surface, some could be seen crawling on the water tension of this Olympic cesspool. The AstroTurf became quicksand, it was one giant and unrolled seaweed sushi roll that would devour the shoes of anyone who dared walk to the cardio area. If you know me well then you can imagine how happy I was with the whole fuckedupness of this shit, add to it the constant negative feedback and crass complaints from the SPA members and the bureaucratic crap that stalled any effort to ameliorate the situation, and it sucked.
Those days I could usually be seen sporting an anger green expression before my first cup of coffee and having new skylights in place couldn't come soon enough, and after 2 weeks, it finally did.
Relief, now that we had a roof once more I could actually do something about things.
The maintenance dude, a fat and balding Mexican from the countryside in his early fifties who dressed like a Middle Eastern SQL Developer living in Crossroads (you know who you are, those shirts that have been through 5 discount markdowns at Nordstrom Rack really are a big no no) thought it would take three to four days to treat the green puddle we had for a pool with chemicals to balance it's pH. Gross, right? That's when I was enlightened by one of the best ideas I have ever had and also had someone to listen to it: empty the pool and replace it with fresh, clean water. Maintenance guy said it would take half a day to empty and one day to fill, Eureka! He was to open the OUT valves and leave it emptying when he left that night and I was supposed to fill it up when I arrived, next morning, which I did, ultimately.
I woke up early the next day, picked up an Atole and Torta de Tamal at the subway station (that's something like thin cream of wheat and a tamal inside of a bun, yeah baby I rock the carbs) and made my way to work.
The Hotel's general manager, a gentleman who always had something nice to say and a very positive and upbeat attitude all the time, was standing at the front door as if waiting for me (employees were supposed to use the back door, rule he knew I olympically ignored). He had an expression of worry and fear he couldn't hide.
"Buenos Dias Senor Gerber" - he said
"apparently somebody emptied your pool last night and... floors 14Th and 15Th (exactly below the SPA) on which we have our VIP and Presidential Suites are completely flooded, this had never happened before and we found the cause was that the pipes where overwhelmed by the amount of water..."
I had no choice other than put on my poker face, immediately
and had to retort "are you trying to tell me that my SPA members don't have a pool to swim? I will look into it right away, don't worry about it, EVERYTHING IS UNDER CONTROL" tapped his shoulder and hurriedly made my way to the elevator before exploding in uncontrollable, torture-chamber-cat laughter.
By the end of the day the pool was filled, mission accomplished.
I eventually quit my job, packed my room in a box and moved back in with my Parents until the next itchy feet attack took me to the Caribbean.
This experience makes me thank God every single day for my job and my place. Far away from the whore house where I learned how to dance to Technotronic.

Continents

Sometimes your distance
your silence
when you throw my imperfections on my face
the same you used to love not long ago


When our words become battleships
and torpedo one another with deadly accuracy
or simply when you pretend I'm not there
and I pretend to be strong


When I no longer know which way is up
and I have nowhere to run to
I walk and walk some more
not knowing what to do


Wishing to evaporate in sighs
or dilute in the bath tub
letting this broken heart bleed to death
leaving a Goya on the floor
letting go

Tides

There are times to write
when I leave my soul
naked on a leaf
when I abandon my heart
bleeding on a handkerchief

When my stomach opens
like a lunchbox
and childhood memories float on helium balloons
or when my suicidal sadness plays hangman
on the neighbors clothesline

When your Moon commands
the constant tide ashore
eroding slowly
the bark of this tree that was younger once

I can see it clearly
from up here
as I gravitate in an empty nothing
in eternal orbit around you
like a sailboat sinking
and what could have been.

Escapista del escaparate

Hoy desperte
y como siempre me arrastro
como plomo hacia la alberca
veinte vueltas en mariposa
en la tibia taza de cafe

Uno que otro globero
suspendido en el aire
en la yoga del medio dia
dos o tres taxistas
queriendo secuestrarme de ti
no saben que soy peaton
y que te perdi hace mas de mil petalos
hace mas de un par de nubes

Entonces es otro ciclo
otra moneda de 25 centavos de dolar
en esta lavadora de pecados
esta secadora de ilusiones
television a color

Mi sabana es una hoja blanca
mi cama un cuaderno
manchada de tanta tinta
de estrofas olvidadas por pasajeras
y restos de nicocafeina
me dejo frijoles en la estufa para callarme la boca
y mis pantuflas de ataud
y asi voy
por este mundo de floreros rotos
pegados con lagañas
de maldita vida de trapo
espiritu de foco fundido
y amores efervescentes
todos andando de la mano
en la marcha funebre
del reloj hitlerita

Hoy desperte
quien sabe que horas eran
pero seguia adicto a ti
quando vi pasar el tren...

Sometimes Daily

Suddenly tempests
uncertainty storms
fear and guilt and
lust and passion and
it doesn't take much
never has
until I miss you again

Sometimes it takes just a slight reminder
a black and white picture
or a missed phone call, a song
a slight breeze
this category 5 love hurricane
comes to plunder whatever peace I had left

That's when my tired eyes
seek for long lost sunsets
when my dried up fountain pen
tries to chissel your cold steel name
on polished pink marble
when my heart is deflated
when my soul is lost
and my blood I've sold to the devil
as you keep my body pawned

But sometimes, when I feel stronger
I think of grabbing this love
roll it up like yesterdays newspaper
and beat the crap out of this living bitch life
or put it in a bottle
and drown it in this anguish
it's all I have left
sometimes daily
unquestionable sentence
and certainly torn.

Bundabar

Playa Paraiso, Mexico circa 1999
Silverflakes dancing on the ripples of the sea, announcing the new day. Sudden sunbeams burst through palm trees as a trio of pelicans fly on the crest of the waves. We are finally here, once more Wilson and I have come to Playa Paraiso in search of sun, sand, sea, somewhat decent sea food, pot, and mezcal binges, while continuing the never ending hunt for the next half muse or pseudo-Juliette to have casual sex and roman candle romance with.
There are tents right and left, but everyone still seems to be sleeping, and since we just got here we really can't think of nothing else other than a cup of joe and a wicked joint. There were a couple of "Gueros" in the distance, and in this part of the world they only come down for a couple of things, so we decided to go meet them...
Once there it was clear they were not Americans (Continentally speaking).
I said, "Hey guys, how goes it? we just got here and we were wondering if we could bum a joint?"
one of them turned to us and handed me a Hustler mag with a baggie full of weed on it and some Pope John Paul II rolling papers as he said "Zhurrre, wherrre arrgghhe you fromgh?"
"I'm from Mexico City and we live in a small town called Tepoztlan" as Wilson proceeded to roll a masterpiece.
"isn't English awesome?" I said
"I mean, here we are in Mexico, in an uncharted beach, you guys are European, my friend is from Guatemala and we can all communicate just fine, it sure makes the world seem a little bit smaller"
They just looked at me and nodded, which should have been an indication that they were stoned beyond Camelot and I was (as always) talking too much (and since Wilson didn't care to tell me to shut the fuck up I kept on yapping) "almost everybody in Europe speaks English" and again they nodded "- Ya"
"except for the French, they hate it" this time they smiled, and nodded once more "Ya.."
"I think it's preposterous, they should, if any merely just as a cordiality, ultimately it was us (Americans) that went there to kick the Germans out of there while the French hid in the attics with their hands on their asses..."
and at that precise moment their sunny smile changed to a frown and both replied in unison... "We're GERMAN".

Saudade

I can't help but daydream in wanderlust
tiny white porcelain cups
dancing in rolling boiling water
ready to serve yet one more cafezinho
while I stroll through Cinelandia
like Veloso's estrangeiro
rediscovering Laranjeiras
wondering why Russo and Cazuza had to die.
Walk on the wide Ipanema sidewalks
all dressed in their black and white stones
snaking along the beach
feeling the cool air on my hair
mesmerized by the mermaid army
suntanning in colorful tiny kites
and listen to their voices
speaking that cat language
softly, like passionfruit raindrops
has always thrown me overboard
helplessly.

Suddenly 2010 can't come soon enough
stand guard in red and black
proudly at the Maracana
kneel before the Redeemer
and probably baptize the floor beneath me
this Country that is a big chunk of my heart
where I became a man
where I was humbled by it's beauty
and will forever remain a son.

One week in Rio
city of beauty and drums and Carnaval
I'll never forget the first one
when I was twelve
I must have liked something about
for I returned seven times
to feel my heart beaiting to samba
Then head north to Recife
to meet friends and brothers and sisters
lovers and witnesses
to the happiest days of my life
It's been 20 years
and with all honesty and my heart on my chest
it's just too much saudade
from all the eagles flying home
I wonder
is any of you afraid of not making it back?
We left Brazil once
and my heart made sure to let me know
through tears in iguacus
that I could never leave twice.

“Mandou me chamar eu vou...Pra Recife festejar..."

Nanosegundo

Nanosegundo
casi nada
milmillonésima parte de un segundo
morusa del tiempo
en la que soy feliz sin ti
casi nada

Despues recuerdo
crucificado junto al reloj en la pared
fria y humeda
colgado, esperandote
sangrando tiempo, lentamente
nanosegundo a nanosegundo
llenos de palabras

Despues regreso al comienzo
donde no me queda mas que mentir
y decir que no te pienso
ni te escribo
ni te hablo ni te siento
y niego no decir verdad
tan delicada y dolorosa
casi tanto como el tiempo
torpe y amarga

y es verdad
que casi nunca te recuerdo
solo cuando no estornudo
y cuando no respiro
y generalmente suceden a la vez

y a diario niego que me faltas
a cada rato
en cada momento
cada viaje
con sus estrofas y sus calles
que sin tu mirada es un balon desinflado
y cincuenta y seis navajas en my piel

y asi voy por la vida
como casi todos los demas
muriendo lento
y pretendiendo ser feliz.

Vancouver BC

It's been almost 9 years since I moved to Washington State and I'd been wanting to go to Canada ever since... finally I get to add it to my tourist list as 8th Country I've been to (it doesn't really count since I was there for less than 24 hours, but I'll go back). Vancouver's skyline is gorgeous, full of open spaces while at the same time packed with high rise buildings from side to side. Downtown is very urban, storefronts and apartments in the same buildings  people out on the streets at all times, sidewalk cafes and an HMV give it a somewhat European touch, perfect. Seems like there's a strong Asian presence, as always very trendy and refreshing, didn't see any harajuku girls but I'm sure there's something like that.
Stanley Park is a must, it has endless possibilities for photography and just hanging out.
The Above and Beyond concert was awesome, I finally got to dance for a whole night (I don't really like rap or hip-hop) to some amazing euro-dance/techno, and while it was at the equivalent of Neighbors  I must say the Vancouver female quorum was definitely something to look at, but since I'm taken I pretty much danced alone for the most part. Tobs and I had a great time and I can't wait to go back.

Rei Momo

It's that time of year again

I see a little sunbeam

smell the coffee roasting

and the scent of the sea

remembering how I can't wait

hear the drums beating

like the heart of the jungle

an engine of strength, rhythm and lust

that we follow in procession

down the street, by the beach.

The taste of cachaça

in the sweet and sour caipirinhas

and vodka

in a socialist caipiroska

float weightless

in the lança perfume cloud

surrounded by happiness on an endless crowd

Lost in her green and stormy eyes

dance and walk and follow

her flame throwing hips

sea salted cinnamon skin

sun and surfboard wax highlights

sand in my shoes and in my ears

as Chiclete com Banana plays all night

and we dance and we kiss

and we love and we melt

on a warm summer night

it's the Brazilian Carnaval

and I can't wait to be back

and forro my way straight to hell

on Boa Viagem beach.

Mi Buenos Aires Querido

Argentina
how I yearn for you
as I swim in the melancholic raft
my nostalgic mind dreams away
I let my memory walk your cobblestone streets
in the mist and marble
old brick and mortar buildings
and colorful flashes of indigo
in the city of fury

To put on a wool jacket
and walk with you on leather soles
sit for bife and tinto
on one of your many sidewalk cafes
See the children walking on the sidewalk
holding their parent's hands
late, on a saturday night
light up a cohiba
go to the burlesque
and hope to find you

Check in at a suite at the Camino Real
go back to that bar
where we used to grab peanuts from an old bathtub
and drink pitcher after pitcher
of lager and sangria
smell you at the dark corner were we used to tango
where soul and toenails fall in love
in sigh serenades

That city of Diego Armando
where you kept a poster of Che in your bedroom
how I want to
and be the foreigner that I am
in a city that has never been foreign to me
in so many ways so similar to were I live
and yet hemispheres away
years, rains, snowstorms
maybe ages, certainly summers have gone by
and yet I'm still stuck
like that parking meter downtown
immovable, relentlessly stubborn
I keep looking for you.

The Beast

There's an immediate sense of urgency
again
a constant rush to the head
a worry in vertical free fall
trapped in guitar chord stress
and in angst, like love
I swallowed a ticking bomb
and I'm tied on the train rails
like those 10 minutes before sex
between the living room and the bed
It's all in my head
I can hear the wheels turning
the machine in the basement
huffing and puffing and burning oil
the beast, feeding
Random ideas stand in a springboard
diving into an ice cream cake of thoughts
a puzzle and blender
coffeemaker brewing it all together
with invented color palettes
lonely breasts and photographs
thought of you surrounded by darkness
lip gloss, giggles and 56 smiles
a train whistling goodbye
hats, cigars and handkerchiefs
a ship departing
amidst a foghorn chorus
Then Van Goghs and Picassos
the unbearable weight of morning
with it's beauty and the lack of you
remembering that long ago
when we had much more than what I needed
when I despissed the greed of others
and still do
looking at you
at all of you
from within this fishtank
and the air bubbles, fake plants and glass
it seems, how weird
that it is the World that's trapped
The world
so small and destroyed
but who cares?
I don't
it's my day off and I'm swimming in lattes
ready to go suntan
in a hadron collider somewhere
drop a potato in the microwave
or just sit and write about the nonsense
and the random paintings that fill my mind.

Yesterday in Auburn

Tuberose

Come, sit next to me
lay down, breathe in
close your eyes and look at the starless sky
open your eyes and look at the end of the world
and pretend it's not there

Kiss me with your angel wing lips
touch me with your morning moss hands
hold me in a sea salt hug
put me in your bottle
your bubble
ignore the city hum
the lernaean hydra
and the barking dogs

Come
and scoop me, ice cream cone
tempt me, bite me
in black and blue love
raw, wild, rare
desperate
on the tight nylon on your legs
in your deadly roller coaster curls

Take me with you
hold my hand
hide me in your closet
plant me in your room
put me in a suitcase
throw me down a rainbow of stairs
kill me
cut me
crucify me
sirloin my heart
drown me in your thighs
make me feel alive

I'm dead walking
I eat like a dog
if I sleep my dreams runaway
I make love like a machine
and I'm alone

You're a diamond
I'm a briquette waiting to be set ablaze
You're a forest fire
I'm the infatuated matchstick
The catalyst
the laudanum, the evil side

Come,
tango my heart
bring me your truffle smile
sleep on a bench, at the park
dream in a telephone booth

Come,
look at me
walk with me
be as beautiful as you are
and smile
should we fly?

Come,
put on a bunny costume
and hop around my bed
come,
play hide and seek
hide with me under the blanket of time
chase me
swim with me in the open ocean
let me wrap you in a soap bubble
pop you in the air
touch you in shameless sarsoap
and tie you up

Come, be my pinball machine
my tears
my lies
my cotton candy
my life.

Marbles

That bright star in the night
tonight glows full
becomes a KGB questioning spotlight
that not even the bull can escape.

Your unforgettable face
branded on my memory
follows me wherever I go.
I try to run away from the beautiful pain
walking down the sidewalk of life
hoping to trip on the answers
or on my broken question.

Looking for a manhole escape exit
or deadly trap under my feet
anything to take me back
to take me there
to Bach's BWV ten forty three
largo ma non tanto.
To where your hammock breasts
put me to sleep in your chloroform curls
as your hands cover my dreams in candy wrappings
melting me, like caramel
in you warm, tender lips.

That's what I mean when I say
your mouth is gateway to insanity
that you're an angelical demon
when we make a Miró on my bed.
The reflection of perfection
in a concave mirror
the zebras you paint on my back
the leopard prints I bite on your thighs
oceans of oceans of pleasures and broken fingernails
lenghts and miles and dusks and dawns and there's no measure
as we fuck in metronomes
and make love in bone crushing marble floors
when pillows are marshmallows
and tickles are thorns
when you become my world
and everything worth living for.