Luciano Pavarotti est Mort

There are men that can sing and then there was Pavarotti.
Arrivederci Luciano
Tonight nessun dorme.

7 Sins

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

Magic

I sat on the sidewalk
and saw cars, and trucks and people go by
it was good to see them smile
and then it made me feel small
Like the Magician
after the trick is performed
he matters no more

Then the rabbit escapes his hat
and the dove would fly away in the first act
and then there's nothing
just an empty theater
a war widow with a lump in her throat
and a broken cookie jar
nothing
absolutely nothing
how it weighs on my shoulders
as I get up and carry on.

Equinox (Automne)

Darkness grows like a plague
covering my days
as Autumn arrives
and Summer leaves
they equinox my heart

Windy evenings
the occasional rain
deciduous trees will shed their leaves
and I will feel the chill in my bones
walking on maple leaf carpets

and then, before I know it
Winter
and with the first snow
my soul will freeze forever.

Moonlight

I wake up
sometimes in the morning
sometimes at night
yearning for the coffee scent
always eager to walk
the path beneath my feet

moonlight blankets me
in fluorescent tones
in the morning, dawn
and the Sun's bright sunbeams
will come down her face
and reveal once more her beauty
on which I swim, ensnared

Summer is here
the snow has long melted
then I think of the present
as she holds my hand and paints the day
Thursday was as important as water
as I laid plugged like dead car battery
in the hospital room
grasping to life
or whatever was left in me

I heard her tears as she made her way over
and she taught me it is the present that matters most

Since this will happen again
and I might not be so lucky
I thought I'd step into the summer
the summer love
under the moonlight
I am finally fulfilled.

Here come the Baobabs

I can't say I feel like St Exupery's main character
but I do at times, why deny it?
Roaming this Planet, looking for who knows what
tripping the light fantastic
spinning the rock

Then, I saw this rose
she has grown full, red, plump petals
with glass and steel thorns
from which you could make
the deadliest and strongest razor wire
but her petals
gentle, tempting and sultry
make me feel like home

It is almost unreal
how her beauty makes me dizzy
the bull in me awakened
huffing, puffing

I have the arms to make her shelter
as she sinks her face in my chest
as my hands surround her definitively
and the thorns surrender
and become something like a soft, warm, tender peach

I let my walls fall and crack
tumbling desperately crushed to my feet
they are rendered useless
for we have shared our fears and weaknesses
invented kisses and built bridges with hugs

I look in her eyes and I see the world
and when she kisses my lips
and whispers my name
I know I'm finally home

Love is a geometrical shape
I do not understand.

Hands

I love this city
Emerald of the Pacific
though sometimes her gloomy days
can cloud your mind
Then again, I love the rain
always have
it washes away the worthless sorrow
the downtown dirt
the ocean salt
and the seagull shit

My soul, cleansed
bleached, purified
My heart pumping
beating, raging

I was walking down ALki last week
and walking up Gasworks on Friday
if you had seen us then
you would have thought that we were holding hands
when in reality she was pulling me out of hell
and perhaps so was I

But if you see us now
you will have no doubt that we are holding hands

"...as long as I know how to love, I know I'm still alive"
Gloria Gaynor

Desiderata

I felt so old last night
sitting on a rocking chair
watching raindrops
falling in a suicidal slide
down the window pane

Roberta Flack is trapped
or so it seems
inside an old AM radio
I could let her out
but then I would be alone

I look at the clock, again
then at a butcher knife
waiting for the perfect time
to cut off one of my ears
like Vincent
or to shave my eyebrows and nipples
like Geldof

But then I light another cigarette
and I wonder if that would change a thing
if it would distract me from the pain
as I hide under an umbrella
from melancholy bombs

As the poison of love
travels through my vessels
a distorted vision of my present
continues to haunt my future
like a ghost
as I face the daunting task
of living day
after day

Bipartisanship

I'll hug your Elephant
if you kiss my Ass

(bumpersticker philosophy)
- Unknown (no, it's not Plato, I'm guessing an Ex-Nader supporter gone Postal)

To say goodbye

To say goodbye
and turn your back on love
will make you cry

To turn your back on blue eyes
with a titanical sunk look
is sincerely impossible
and impossibly sincere

It's Roberta Flack, Mario Benedetti
Pablo Picasso and Paul Gaugin crying at a funeral
the funeral of hope

To give deaf ears to a broken voice
with a Callas sudden sigh
is the darkness all around me
in a deadly embrace

It's Nat King Cole, Vincent Van Gogh and Chavela Vargas
Arthur Rimbaud and Salvador Dali carrying the hearse
the hearse of love

That is why to say goodbye
and turn my back on you
will make me die.

La Rue Bondage

It’s a new moon night
And this bible black sky
becomes canvas for neon claws

Cold and overcast
this night on which the sun hides
blushing in shame

Slowly and patiently
a river of obsession begins to flow in my veins
the look of fixation clouds my sight
and this author’s alter-ego comes to life
Dom Pablo, as he demands to be called
A strange personification
of some obscure emerald smuggler
Witty and powerful
all dressed in black
Leather boots and tight denim
Leather jacket, no shirt and and ominous black whip

Clean cut Ibero-latin man
or Mexican pool boy with a twisted smile
with a very thick accent
handcuffs and carabiners
smoking Gitanes

She knows he is a teddy bear
his love shows through his eyes
and yet, she will obey
“Porque lo digo yo” - because I say so, he says
as he lands the whip on her naked derriere
with deadly accuracy
“Weppo” leaving a bright red kiss shaped mark
on her pale white skin
“Weppo” – Because I say so, mami
as the door closes behind them
the light that escapes through the keyhole
is now a flashlight that unveils a hidden world
a world you never knew about
or maybe you have....

Graceland

I remember when I was a kid
all my friends wanted to be Superman
Aquaman, Ultraman
Spiderman or Captain America
Me? I wanted to be Elvis
Like a steamroller baby

James Dean was before my time
Mickey Rourke was just starting
but The King
aah, he was something else

The mystic, the aplomb, the charm
"a little less conversation
a little more action"
and women would fall at his feet
like popcorn in a matinee

"When I was a teen I used to vandalize public phones,
now that I've grown up I vandalize my own"
- Cazuza

The Fountain of Salmacis

That bright yellow thing is out
shinning all over us
summer is here, without a doubt

I might go bathe in it
and while the Acapulco Plaza
or the Yacht Club seem farther than they have ever been
I still embrace the Sun

and son of a bitch, how bored am I
on this sunny late morning friday
it's one of my days off but everyone is at work
and there's no scandinavian princess to spank

Friday, like no other
I will go again to that special place of mine
you know where I'll be
keeping the tan, tan
maybe listening to Plant
or the trickling water falling
in the fountain I've renamed
as "The Fountain of Salmacis"

4th of July 2007

Spent the 4th of July with Erik, the Pretty Girl, Tadster et al.
As always a time to reflect on the amazing beauty and grandeur of this land, of this beloved Country that I have embraced ever since I remember.
Skateboarding on Orange Ave in Coronado Calif is one of my best memories of my childhood. While I did grow up in Mexico we also had a condo at the Coronado Seashore Towers (better known as the Taco Towers) and a house in La Jolla.
My dad and I would come twice a year and do the whole San Diego Zoo, Sea World, Disneyland thing, and of course, shopping sprees that were out of control. We would spend most of the time in Coronado, where I would spend hours hanging out at the local pizza place playing centipede after buying obnoxious amounts of candy bars at the now defunct Alpha-Beta.
We would also stay in Newport Beach, at my brother's (Johnny Gerber - Wolrd Champion Formula Ford 1971) and he would always take me go-kart racing and coach me.
While I am Mexican American I am a Proud American and I took this day to reflect and humbly thank our Troops, those boys are out there KICKING ASS while we sit and watch fireworks from the comfort and peace of our homes, this is thanks to THEM.
Pictures from the Fireworks Display, here in Lake Union, WA.

Door Mat

I still have my heart
somewhere...
I'll find it one of these days
when I least need it
under a box
or all rolled up, like a poster, in a corner somewhere
maybe gardening in the attic
maybe inside an empty plastic bag
but more than probably
it will be replacing the door mat
waiting for the wrong person to return
he doesn't know
my poor and stupid heart
who never knew.

That is why I understand when you ask me to write
and that is how I know why you can't love
though sometimes I wish you could
and I ask you to do things I can't
like love
like the washer, tumbling, tumbling, tumbling.

Cause I wanna take you downtown...

It must have been 2:00am this morning when I found myself surfing, smoking, brewing and chasing my tail like I usually do. This fucking insomnia has got to go.
Then again, what fun.
Hunger strike, I mean, stroke.
I think hunger strikes are as stupid as that Carpenter girl... errr, nevermind.
So, like Amundsen I set sail to my favorite late night eatery.
The Hurricane, a retroish very non-art-deco, rather warehousy, shady coffee shop a block from the Needdle. Yes, it has a bar, but this one breaks your dreams before you even walk in.
But that's not the "It" about this place. I go there because it's open, the bacon is always fried to perfection (not charred yet crunchy enough to provide the neccesary traction for the tomato not to slide). Three or four girls with multicolored hair, a army of emo's and the always sparkling pair of curvy blondes (I believe that for the purpose of general understanding of the ALWAYS BELOVED QUORUM I will have to classify their booties as BBW) of course, in their early 40's.
No, I was so NOT checking them out, really. I was incredibly entertained with the wiffity.
The what?? (and people ask if we have TV's in Mexico)
Wiffity! a wi-fi networked big ASS LCD screen that displays txt's> This, of course, is like giving me a full breakfast and a megaphone, at 2:00am.
The service sucked royal ass, but who is in a hurry at 2:00am? I mean, bush kept reading "Curious George" after being informed of the COWARD attacks in 9/11 (we're gonna get you one of these days fuckers, just wait till the shield is up and we're going to be cooking glass like a trailer park in Pierce County).
But by then I might find myself locked up in Get Mo' not becuase of my blurbs, but because I'm tan. So much for voting. Anyway. It's the Hurricane and they were playing Johnny Cash, Simple Minds, Erasure, Depeche and unfortunately Howard Jones.
Tah Tah.

Oh, yes, I almost forgot....
Being single allows you to stay up all night, eat basted eggs and an absolutely fucking magnific waffle topped with bluberries and whip cream at 2am WITHOUT having to convince anyone that the bacon is always crunchier, though Hester Prynne might disagree.
(when in fact IT IS) and fuck the tomato, it just fell on the floor.

Life Brew

Tripping on my own shadow
sleeping as little as possible
feeding on stale crackers
and using pillows as masks
I go
living my days in pairs
while the shower is a river of handkerchiefs

I wake up to the evening news
the moon is my sun
and the whistling coffee pot my songbird
Her face is everywhere
my heart becomes an empty plastic bag
a merky fishtank
a cat ran over
by the garbage truck

I watch her slipping away
like a sad kid in the park
seeing his balloon fly into the air

Yesterday Starts Tomorrow

I'm standing by the window
barefoot, smoking my last cigarette
and there's no moon tonight
just the dark, starless sky
there are no planets either
and no 747's with their blinking lights
there's nothing
not even a super nova to come and take me away
or a comet to hitch a ride with.

Tomorrow,
tomorrow the sun won't come out
all the yellow flowers on the curb will die
bunnies will disappear in the forest
and all life will stand still
motionless
as I stand barefoot by the window and cry

Tomorrow there will be no more highway
there are two plane tickets
but there's nowhere to go
no raft in the ocean
no lifeguard, no nurse

There will be no wine
no diving boards
no children riding on their bikes
there will be no phone calls
and no cards in the mail

Tomorrow there will be the most absolute nothing
it will be the last page of a book
"The End" of a motion picture
the end of the camera film
and the end of the song
which I heard in your eyes

Nothing
Absolutely nothing
only yesterday
and the yesterday before that
and the one before

The yesterdays when I had you with me
when we said goodbye in the crowded airport
when we sat and prayed for safe trips
when we made incredible love promises
when we wrote pages in our book
and all of your 56 smiles will be replayed in my mind

I will hear all your different laughs
and remember all your words
your blue eyes will be forever present
reminding me there's hope
when there isn't
as the scarlett letter burns me at the stake
because there's nothing
nothing, nothing, nothing
just an abyss of emptiness
two jars of darkness
a bottle of air that is hard to breathe
and an endless ocean of pain
and guilt
and beyond that ocean
there's only more nothing
much more...

As I walk the empty Seattle streets
remembering my yesterdays with you
as life slowly escapes from me
and I roam in comatose insomnia
I bid you farewell
and I know it was all my own doing
but now that the tulips are dead
I stand barefoot by the window
and slowly begin to die
yesterday starts tomorrow
tomorrow starts today.

Longest Chapter

We met at a bar in Mexico City
it was 1999 and sheer coincidence
or so we thought
Blonde with green-blue eyes
ensnared I saw her
dancing on the bar
with her friend Rachelle
I was with my coworkers Miguel Angel, Julio, and Mariana
celebrating Miguel's birthday
Hugo, Frida and I shared an apartment in La Condesa
and I had never heard of Wenatchee
She then returned and stayed for a month with me
on a small apartment I moved to, in the Napoles neighborhood
Then my mother finally found my certificate of birth
in the bottom of a safe she keeps at a bank
I then got a new American Passport
and flew to Seattle
Two suitcases, two hand drums
as hippie as I could be
I arrived in seatac in time to drive by the Kingdome
which was imploded the very next day
From there to Orondo, in Eastern Washington
in the beautiful Pacific Northwest
Snow was a first for me
and daytrips to Leavenworth magical
then I learned to drive a tractor
and went to work in the fields
Damn that beginning was tough
getting food from the food bank
buying cheap cigarretes
and Starbucks was a treat
Yet, I never lost hope
We flew to Palm Springs
to spend Christmas with my mom and family
then we came back and I started working at GTC
my first job as a csr at a micro call center
one fine day someone from the College called
asking me to teach Windows and Office in Spanish
little did I know
that would change my life
pretty soon I quit GTC and went to work for an ISP
Northwest Internet, but that didn't last very long
I got a call from Volt, saying there was a temp job at Microsoft
woohoo, my dream come true
Then this guy named Sergio called me, and we spoke of Windows 98 and NT
and of soccer and cachaca
in English, Spanish and Portuguese (little did I know, we would become great friends)
Next thing I see is Bellevue
and here we come, to Lincoln Plaza
Truly I never expected to be hired
I came to network, for when I graduated from WVC
Instead, the very next day they told me I was in
That's how I started
as an evil volt trilingual csr
That's when I met Travers, Norberg, Hayes, Lee, and Smith.
We moved to Issaquah and I worked my ass off
8 months later it all paid off
When my badge finally turned blue
We got married in 12/03/2005
shortly after chacha came into our life
in Acapulco, Mexico
where I spent so many months with my Dad in his yacht
but this time we went out on Juan Emilio's 48" Benetteau
We then returned back to Issy
and she went back to working at the tanning place
We lived a long relationship
the longest I've ever had
and the washer that life is
with its cycles and tumbles
bleached the mesh away, at least some of it
and tomorrow I will stand before a judge
who will tell me it's all finally over
I like to think we have moved on
after over a year separated I believe we have
still, it hurts
Now all I see is a suitcase
and it is all I keep
I'm glad to say it has nothing
but incredibly wonderful memories.

" - Everything goes and everything remains
But going is our thing
Go making path
Path on the sea
I never pursued glory
or leave in the memory
of men my song

I love the subtle worlds
Gravityless and gentle
like soap bubbles

I like to see them paint themselves
In blue and red in flight
Trembling under the blue sky
suddenly and breaking
I never pursued glory

Traveller, your footprints are of the path and nothing more
You make the path by walking, and by looking back
You see the meadow that should never be walked again
Traveller, there is no path, you make the path by walking

Sometime ago, in that place
Where forests wear thorns
The screaming voice of a poet was heard
Traveller, there is no path
You make the path by walking
Punch by punch, verse by verse

The poet died, far from home
The dust of a neighboring country covers him
In the distance they saw him cry
Traveller, there is no path
You make the path by walking
Punch by punch, verse by verse

When the songbird doesn't want to sing
When the poet is a nomad
When praying doesn't help us
Traveller, there is no path
You make the path by walking
Punch by punch, verse by verse"

N. Hinojosa

Gordon Matthew Sumner

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, 1982

I can't quite pinpoint the exact moment
on which I first listened "Invisible Sun"
but one thing I do remember
is that I'll never forget

"The Mathematicians"
is how my friend Poncho Soto referred to them
accurate and metronomically perfect
always in that distinctive synchronicity
with a refined sarcasm that brought me up
"don't stand so close, Miss Gradenko"
or the infamous "Oh, Mother"

It's been 25 years
and now, for the very first time
I have tickets to see THEM
all 3 of them, together
this year, June, in Seattle
at Key Arena
(Ronda came with me).