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.
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...
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.
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".
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
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.
