12/4/10

Intermezzo

I spent most of this week throwing up, which is kind of unusual, since I'm used to eating all sorts of random shit as a daily diet.. mostly dispensed by vending machines or by drive thru employees (seeing their world from that little window)... having a cube is indeed a luxury... I just wish people understood that wearing headphones is a universal synonym of "I don't care to talk to you". Did you know I collect headphones? One of the items I'm giving myself for xmas is a new pair of cans, Shure SH440, I'll write a review on cnet once they get here.
Anyway, back to my puckings... Lauren has left on a cruise, Tobs is going to costa rica and the girl is also going on a cruise.. and my ex-wife unfriended me from FB... I can't really blame her but I sincerely miss having her friendship and we did have some amazing years for which I'm extremely thankful.. I have to respect her space and it is hard letting go of someone special.
Talking about special.. I'm glad to have this public space and I'm also very glad to have so many fans.. the newest one is from the 1950's.. it's Nazi ass grey and all covered in scrapes, a vintage Vornado which I picked up at some basement store in Fremont... that and upgrading this old P4 to Win 7 has kept me entertained, but don't think I've stopped writing those sexually charged short verses you like.. and Santa's elves are currently working on something very special to wave this year goodbye with a bang.

11/9/10

Nautical Chart

It isn't obsession
if there isn't some kind of perversion
almost forbidden
behind the mad desire of it all
There has to be a rhythm
to the mathematic swing of your hips
to our bodies, clashing like waves

I'm so glad I went to church
they taught me sex was something dirty
bad, almost evil
a completely punishable sin
which I've always loved to confess

It isn't wild
if the lust isn't animal
it has to be there
wild and rare
yet discretely hidden

Your fatty thighs
so strong and alive
my hands, exploring mischievously
trembling while hidden under your skirt



My mind becomes a locomotive
my breath a sinking ship
my lungs begin to fuel and fill up
while my body becomes a machine.
... and I see you, standing there
with a bullfighter's red cape
and twisted she-devil horns 
Ivory monument in black thigh highs
plump next-door Helénē
with perfect grapefruit breasts
salt water skin and apricot lips 
your shoulders, punished by the sun
your hair, chestnut curls and almond waterfalls 
with the casual sunbeam highlights, here and there
sometimes I drown in awe
and I wonder...
how can you be so beautiful
and giggle in porcelain vase innocence
only to torture me
slave, trapped between your schoolgirl smile
and your sadist nails

Like a fountain of blood
like a prison of gold
a beehive covered in tangled red and blonde hairs
like a jewel and it's tiny white cotton pillow
where my dreams collide
in sudden death
where all avenues converge
in a train of thought heading full steam ahead
accidentally derailed, since the second drink
and I measure the circumference of your legs
and the fire in your eyes
and my thoughts unravel in your arms
lost, adrift and completely stupefied
I inhale the chloroform of your hormone spiked perfume
almost too dizzy to regain control
and I think to myself
this life wouldn't be worth fighting for
without a woman to tame

11/3/10

Godless

I see my reflection
naked as a vegetable
amongst silver brush strokes
on the liquid tension of the water
on a forgotten pond
somewhere under the winter moon

Again, practicing the mastered art
of letting go
watching as my story unfolds before my eyes
how my magical hands aren't so magical anymore
how starting over (remember? it used to be so commonplace)
has now become an insurmountable task

How every step keeps getting heavier and heavier
and my eyelids plead for rest
how my heart feels heavy with you in it
and my stomach empty without
and my clumsy feet step on a rainbow of dead butterflies
on my way out the door
undoing the shoelaces of what we were
wishing I could dig my hands in my chest
to extract you, like a rotten fruit
like a ticking bomb
or a little hell
somewhere in my ribcage
between my heart and my lungs
somewhere in my mind
in hurtful razor sharp memories
bleeding teary eyes in regret

Then I reach the moonlit pond
and I let my body wash under the silverlight
and I let my dick hang freely, like a vegetable
that's when I'm a child again
in pure innocence, and bliss

But then ...I remember
and I'm not that kid anymore
and I'm much too tired to start over
and I see my reflection
how I've grown old
the photo story of what I left behind, flashing by
and so I throw my belt over the branch where I engraved your name
and I let my corpse swing freely
on that forgotten oak, somewhere
under the winter moon
and in my stupid, idiotic heart
hoping you'll approve

10/7/10

Mothership

I can't ignore the warning signs
going off like a car alarm
at 2 am

like a railroad crossing
like a foghorn
like a dog bite
like a lighthouse on fire

I'm the drum boy staring in disbelief
at the angels blowing in their trumpets
at the wave, receding from the sand
about to come back in crushing tsunami


I can feel the ripples on the pond
the storm about to hit
in a sudden implosion of pain
like a sword, stabbing in a deadly blow
cutting me in half
separating a life with
and a life without
like towers collapsing
like castles, burnt to ashes
and if this strange engine feeds on pain
I'll have despair to write for years

The feared phone call
delivering a message, so unreal and deafening
like snow storm and Beethoven
hedge shears ripping my umbilical cord apart
stripping my childhood away
guillotine sudden
during the botched abortion of this midlife crisis.

Picassos, a white cotton dress with bright pink bougainvillea
post cards and a family album covered in blood
more pain than I could ever bear

my body, suspended in mid air
hanging from the fishing hooks of regret
chocking in the poison of all that was said
and all that wasn't

It will take more than a fifth to calm me down
more than a straight jacket to keep me warm
more than your shoulder and your handkerchief
more than an ocean of tears

It will take more than the pull of a locomotive
whistling goodbye

more than the continents we set sail for
many years ago

but I'll keep winding this clock
cause she raised a devil
with the heart of a bull
and two big horns

that's how I imagine it to be
whenever she leaves
but stay clear of my way
cause I know it will be
far, far worse.



10/5/10

Hard Times

Sometimes I miss you
and it feels like hail
crushed under people's hurried steps
cold and wet and I'm just glad I'm not barefoot anymore

Sometimes everything I said, moves
hiding in the light
making a grim silhouette
sometimes it looks like a door
sometimes a coffin
Like a headphone injection
the words and the voices and the songs
all inside my head
ignoring every painkiller
every letter
every self inflicted scar

and the years
fall one on top of each other
like monuments
like concrete
covering it all
until I see your face in somebody else
in the modern art gallery of everyday people
and suddenly I feel incredibly small
and I freeze
as they walk and I lay crushed
under your hurried steps

9/23/10

Umbrella

The rain curtain has finally fallen on this town
the wet, black and slippery pavement shines and sparkles
sudden reflections of the tax payer public lights
and every now and then, on almost every corner
sudden greens and reds, gifted by the traffic lights
hanging, swinging, dripping

Downtown buildings tower in their opulence
their history, peeking over clouds
dirt and oil wash down to the waterfront
the different characters gather at the coffee shop
along with a gumbo of diversity.

That's when time stops
clocks begin to stutter
and memory rivers flow
the pain taxi has arrived
dressed in fair vomit yellow
with a man with a turban inside
ready to take any unsuspecting suspect
wherever they may go
Me? I'm already there, again
walking down Regret Drive
corner with Anger Boulevard
and in this rain I wonder
if I could have done different
if I should have
if I failed
or if I've simply forgotten the way back
if I am who I think I am
or if I'm tired from trying to fit into this mold
into this worthless, empty, sad, trained mannequin
you wanted me to be

9/7/10

The Morrigan

There's a cloud floating around these places all the time
like a ghost, with intellectual aspirations
a coffee whore
wanting to be left alone

I rest my day in the coat hanger
and plop my mortal remains on the old, fluffy couch
and people watch


wondering what's hidden in the furnace
behind the brick wall
and so my thoughts wander through the sprinkler pipes
exposed, in the open
in a statement of safety
while my hand spyders all along the armrest
as if it were one big, fat thigh
Staring at life, running out
flowing unstoppable
until the banshee shows up


9/5/10

Free

I want to light up a cigarette
not out of desperation
or addiction
not for the habit
like customary sex
or affliction
it's just that.. right now I want a fucking smoke

I lied
I want more
I need more
I want to kick the door wide open
and get the fuck out

sit on a bench downtown
take pictures or not
take a nap or just plant myself there
like the city rodent I've always been
sit at the Chinese cafe
take the train and make a video
pretend I live in miserable existentialism
like you
pretend I like you
and make you believe
that our stained glass window
will last forever
it won't look the same
not after the desperation wins me over
for a sudden irresponsible self-prescription
of some anti-monotony remedies
while I keep putting the writer on a schedule
and his poems in a jail

I wont light up a cigarette

or freak out in desperation
my addiction
was more than a habit
not as good as sex 
or affliction 
it's just that I used to fucking smoke



8/24/10

Cemetery Gates

It all began when I quit smoking
I knew that was butchering my alter-ego
literally
When I became more health conscious
and started pussyfooting about everything I eat
started tracking changes in my high blood pressure
like an impotent man stalks his wife
reading the sodium count on the labels behind the Campbell's
as if they were women, bending over before me
awaiting patiently for me to decide which one to fuck first
always ready, with a can opener, to eat yet one more flavorless meal
until the writer finally collapsed
drowned in the fake shopping mall air
overwhelmed by the constant time demands of a steady relationship
that's it
maybe it was when I stopped having drama filled narcotic romances
it was insane, but it was fun
it was killing me, but it gave me something to write about
after all, we all know we're going to get a few thorns on our hands
that's the price for the forbidden fruit
the apple Adam ate; he'd never regret

But now life is different
I'm loved and fulfilled and complete
and there's an equilibrium, a tranquility
an expected routine and confidence between mates
like the monotonic hanging plant that grows like moss
right here, inside of the cemetery gates

7/27/10

The Faun

Lost again
in the pillow of your thighs
found and fed
your blood and flesh become
a beggar's wine and bread
Lost in the cadence of your breasts
your skirt
my lust
and your whirlpooled decadence

Your godiva fingertips
and blood red nails
my stupid manlyhood
and drunk debaucheries
I'm anything but numb
a prisoner of your lips 
like an army of ants
bitting me in little pieces 
carried in mortuary caravan
to the cemetery of my soul
my grave
my via crucis
my heaven

I sin like a wild horse
running free in the open prairie
like a dolphin diving
to the deepest darkest oceans of you
lonely bat, stranded in the desert 
I drown on the blood your neck offers
I resuscitate
I fall orphan to fate
I become enslaved
and the bull becomes Minotaur
as your legs become labyrinth
with a pen instead of a flute
and a poem instead of a song
lost in feminine famine 

I am the faun.



watch on my VideoBlog

7/26/10

Compass


Have you seen yourself in a mirror
lately?
not hurriedly
running after yet one more penny
not impatiently
covering the wrinkles of your car crash ego
and accident prone self-esteem
I mean patiently
sitting down, staring in the mirror
staring at yourself
until it starts to talk.


Have you ridden the train to Real
and walked to Wirikuta?
Have you tasted the bare feet of the morgue?
the death dirt taste of the peyote
cold and watery, making you vomit
opening your eyes to it all


Have you tasted the bitter sweet dew of the morning
in the honey soaked mushroom
blackened with psilocybin
and seen the World in full color
to feel the Earth breathe?


Did you see them dancing in circles?
did you clap your hands in the Ciranda?
and did you see her body shaking
completely possessed?
You didn't?
You've never crossed that parallel
you've never seen an abnormality
or experienced, first hand
an alternate reality.


But you read it in a book
and you come to tell me about it
the broken telephone story
the moral and the right and wrong
stupidity without inquisition
repetitiveness without reason
everyone is doing it
while I've tasted the bitter earth
and seen stars shift

6/24/10

Antithesis

Sometimes it's an ant
sometimes an army of them
slowly stealing my time

Sometimes it's a mouse
I guess
it comes and takes a bite of my soul
then runs away and hides
until it comes back
back for more

But inertia is the worst
the static couch
floating on the carpet
the lonely table and chair
at the empty cafe

It's when the stroke prone clock decides to stop
serving me more than just a few minutes
more than a box full of memories
where I store your face and your voice and moments
and years and months and words
and it suddenly rushes in
all of it
in the machine gun of reproaches
in the hanging rope of regret

Now the discolored brick wall
the stained window pane
the squeaky desk drawers
and the monotonous routine
slowly gather around me
and I suffocate
wondering if I really tried my best
if everything that happened was meant
or if it was simply all my fault

Sometimes it's an ant
sometimes an army of them
slowly tearing me apart

6/2/10

El Pan Nuestro

En silencio
llego a casa cansado y sin anunciar
me quito las botas en sigilio
no quiero sabotear sorpresivamente
un encuentro mas contigo

Quiero destelefonearte del mundo afuera

descomponer el despertador que me mira con prisas
y asi tomarme el tiempo sin medida
para armar el rompecabezas de tu corazon

Quiero susurrarte estrofas

y fajarte contra la estufa
poner tu cabeza sobre mi hombro
sentir tu calor, como un horno en mis manos
y asi
entre cocinas, y telefonos y manecillas
comerte a besos de merengue
como si fueras pan de leña recien horneado.

VIDEOBLOG

Snow

I can smell the snow
not cashew's bittersweet amarige
or chocolate's moist debauchery
but the dry, crisp, shaved ice grasp

The first time I became completely enamored
piled up on mountains
snowboarders coming down on Snoqualmie
going back up on the lifts
I think it was cold
but I don't remember if it was
lost in complete wanderlust
it was so... alpine
so nordic
I guess I'm a little bit Swiss, after all

Now it's different
it's almost expected
the rush of snowflakes in hurricanes
twirling around the light post
coming down in circles, like little blessings
I know, some people think it's a nuissance
it get's icy and slick and you can't get out
but for some of us it's Christmas
for some of us it's a miracle

My mother can see a pyramid
from her living room
I can see the Olympic Mountains
from mine
and I miss the Columbia
but there's something here
and it feels like I belong
someone told me I would love it here
that it was beautiful
and she was right
I just never expected it to be home

Between Puget Sound and the Cascades
people, places, almost a decade
I've let go of my itchy shoes
and amongst friends and lattes
I can smell the sea salt linger
and on white dressed endless evergreens
tears cristalize in thankfulness
I'm home
and I want it the way it is

There's a bottle of DiSaronno waiting for you
a thick, fleece blanket, spread by the fireplace

3/1/10

If 6 Was 9

I moved to the US 10 years ago today, specifically Washington State. I was living in Mexico City at the time, a city rat. Amongst the gray skies, the contrast of buildings, old and new, and the endless concrete maze, I met a beautiful woman, blue eyed blonde, from the Apple orchards of Washington State. She told me I would love it, she told me Washington was beautiful, and she was right.
I had a decent job, friends and family, but living in the States was something I had never done, and being an American and speaking English fluently, I decided it would be a good idea, I loved her (I still do and always will) and so I packed my world in a suitcase and moved to a different country yet again.
Renewed my US Passport at the Embassy and hopped a flight from Mexico City to Seattle and it was nice to hear the customs agent say "Welcome Home" when I landed in San Antonio.
First things first: toilet seat covers... in Mexico we don't have those, if we did probably some idiot would get other idiots to wear them around their necks as if they were clocks and start a new religion. I like them, I've become used to them (I'm not a germophobe but I'm all for anything hygienic and easy to do), I just don't get why some people here have such a tough time flushing, and it has nothing to do with the paper seat covers, since there are folks at work who chose to cover the toilet seat with toilet paper instead, and yet they won't flush either. But it's not all bad, since some chose to keep their privacy at all costs by hanging toilet paper strands in an effort to cover the milimetric gap between the stall doors and walls (as if every other guy in the bathroom was interested in peeking) we know you're watching gay porn on your iPhone, it's ok... just take the toilet paper vines off when you leave (I think it's a waste of paper and 3G coverage).. And don't be so gung ho about reusing the compostable coffee paper cups... closet hypocrite.
Me? I chose to use the paper covers, most men don't trim and ... have I become a metrosexual? Hardly.
Beats public restrooms in Mexico, where sometimes you have to pay for toilet paper.
Fashion: hey look, we're all a bunch of tree hugging, granola eating, Birkenstock wearing, lesbian hippies... not. We just prefer wearing khakis, jeans or shorts with vintage Nike sneakers or sandals-and-socks and the unmistakable messenger bag. In my book, that trumps wearing the typical Suit and Tie Mexico City uniform... Never again.
Oh yeah, Starbucks... I became an instant coffee whore, nuff said.
Smoking... let's just say I quit 2 years ago and I couldn't be happier. I hope Mexico City and the rest of the world don't take long to adopt our smoking ban rules.
T.V: Oh God... ok, here we go: during the first couple of months here, it was almost impossible for me to even get a job interview... my resume only listed Mexican Companies and there really wasn't much for me to do in Wenatchee... therefore I got to stay at home and watch the tube in the mornings, while my then fiancé worked. Yup, that means Maury and Springer... don't think I was shocked at the content, not at all. I've never claimed to be a prude and I grew up dancing with semi naked women in the yearly Brazilian carnivals... what shocked me was that it was on at 10:00am.
Mexico, in contrast, not only has really bad TV... in Mexico is 24x7, but I do believe shows like that come in a bit later at night.. At least they did back then.
I don't know how entertainment tech is in Mexico nowadays, here we have HD Cable, Netflix and HD streams. Plus 20gbps for less than 50 bucks (in Mexico you won't get that, dancing in Chalma won't help.
Food: There's no Mexican Food in Seattle, and the sooner you get that through your head, the better. Now the rest of the cuisines: I don't like Indian or Thai, but I'm told there's decent chutney and stuff. Chinese is gross, no matter what planet you're in. Italian food here would be wonderful if they stopped adding sugar to the pomodoro paste.
Burgers, Prime Rib and BBQ Ribs rule, if you go to Mexico, don't get them there. Vegans are the Mexican blondes and I wish the avocados we get here weren't so goddamn expensive and shitty. But Seattle's seafood makes up for everything, hands down.
Drinks: what's up with the plastic cups and the sloppy drinks? You’re ruining it. But I must acknowledge jagermeister rocks and pierced buttery nipples are the bomb (nope, we didn't have those in Mexico back then). Beer: this one is too personal, but here people go nuts over some award winning microbrews and Seattleites might very well have better beer than Mexico, but Americans will never drink as much beer as Mexicans... and you haven't truly experienced Mexican Beer until you've gotten pissed drunk on Victoria and Indio in Tierra Colorada.
Wines: Columbia valley wines aren't bad at all, but in true reality they are as half ass as their Mexican counterparts, I still prefer Chilean.
Drugs: Oaxaca's Caca de chango (monkey shit), Morelos's Cola de Borrego (sheep tail) and Guerrero's pelo rojo (red hair) have absolutely nothing on BC Bud... I read it on National Geographic... or was it the Cosmo?
Anyway, Meth is bad and Washington has to eradicate it faster than you can say Mike McGinn.
Traffic: Seattleites don't know what the word Traffic means, no, really. In Mexico City traffic jams are so bad, there's enough time for a hoard of homeless children to perform the first act of Othello, shake their stomachs up and down, clean your windshield and then sell you bubblegum while scratching your hood.
Rain: it rains for months, but it's still a long shot from the tropical downpours.
Weather: Mexico City is either hot or not hot. It’s never cold. If it rains you better not drink it.
Seattle weather is amazing... cool sunny spring, warm sexy summers, romantic suicidal fall and bridal virginal snow white chilly winters. I am in love with this town.
People: middle class and upper middle class people are very similar worldwide, we work hard to have a good life and we respect others... except for Mexico. Men (complete strangers) lock eyes by mere coincidence; the immediate reaction is a hostile challenge. Taught me to walk with my head held high, but it's childish, stupid, immature, backwards and narrow minded. I was bewildered to find men here nod and say "hello" in a friendly way, almost inviting to conversation... that is so civilized it makes me fit right in. Just don't try to start a conversation with someone you don't know, not in Seattle. They'll look at you and reply in an educated and polite manner, while having an expression of worry; you can tell they're wondering how to get rid of you, wondering if they're safe... Then they look at themselves, all over, maybe trying to find if that toilet paper strand from the stall is hanging from their butt like a tail, or the some rogue usb cable from their messenger bag, something... Something had to call your attention so you would talk to them, and they can't seem to stop it soon enough. So don't do it... just say "How's it going...” and keep walking. People here are either introduced or met online. Casual conversation is as miraculous as seeing a UFO. I call it the "Don't Feed the Monkeys" Seattleite Syndrome and I love not having strangers approach me and try to sell me shit, ask for money or try to convert me to Jehovah’s Witnesses.
Women: women are incredibly beautiful, irresistible, smart, intelligent, caring and insane, no matter where.
Music: I live in the same neighborhood where Jimi Hendrix grew up, Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Sasquatch Festival, The Gorge, Heart, The Melvins, Soundgarden, Alice in Chains and Mudhoney should settle that one.
Religion: in Mexico if you aren't Christian or Catholic you're just weird. If you act normal and speak normal then no one will care. But you sure don't see the tutty fruity chimichanga chaos which supposedly coexists at the Renton Wal-Mart. Personally I couldn't care less, I love Mexico as it is and I love America as it is, leave it alone or leave.
Brazil (oh yeah, did I mention I also lived for a decade over there?) also had slavery, so did Mexico. It was the Mexicans whom were enslaved just the same; it's a horrible chapter in the history of the world and just like the holocaust or the nuclear bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki should never be repeated. It saddens me to see that some people here live with a huge chip on their shoulders about something that happened to a different generation. Yes, it was wrong, but now is not then and I just wish everyone could live their life without that weight over them. In the same token, I see racists deny they are racist while being racist, not only towards African Americans or myself, but towards anyone who isn't white. I hope one day they can live their lives without that ignorance and arrogance. In Mexico racism is much more straightforward, Mexicans denigrate Mexicans, the darker your skin color, or the more indigenous or poorer you are, the worse you are treated. Makes you wonder which group is educated, in reality.
The big eye opener was to see how the World is mistaken about America. I think they need to be reminded that people here live paycheck to paycheck and it isn't necessarily tied to mismanagement of credit. How there's an infuckingcredible number of super hard working, responsible and caring single moms, whom are the equal reflection of yet another infuckingcredible number of irresponsible males (sorry guys, the term Man is something you earn). Many people in other countries and who have never traveled think Americans live in opulence; yes in general we do have a better living standard, or better yet... more "stuff". But that by no means equals higher "quality of life" or wealth.
I've made many mistakes in my life, during the first months of my move, I spoke about Americans as "you guys" and I spoke about Mexicans as "We".
I'm Mexican-American since I was born, but it really hadn't sinked in.
And then September 11 happened. That day and the days that followed, I saw Americans come together, mourn, fight, endure, support, struggle and rise even stronger than before, and I wasn't just amongst them, I was with them... I was with US and that's when I understood. In the tears that can't put out the flame of a firefighter, in the grieving bagpipes, in the flight of bald eagles and in the flowers falling on graves from the hands of children I felt my heart fill with anger and hatred and then love and hope and strength and I everyone around me seemed familiar all of a sudden. I realized I would gladly serve for this land like my old man did in the Korean War, I felt like I truly belonged, and I do. In the end of it all, I am the son of the Sioux, Hopi and Aztec (native to this lands) and of the Teutonic immigrants of the late 1800's.
Then again, it just takes one of the many known Mariachi songs to shake my soul like an earthquake, I am from the Bronze Race, proudly even after death.
It has been a decade on which I've accomplished a few things, I'm well on my way for more and I can honestly declare myself a Seattleite, and a damn good one at that. Please come visit, just remember not to honk your horn if you think we can't drive when it rains, don't smoke right outside the doors and if you happen to visit one of the downtown coffee shops, please bus after yourself.