Final Solution

No, not Adolph's
I'm tan, remember?
yes, yes, I know, Gerber is doitschie
so what? I don't even speak German
So anyway, I give in
and finally started taking the quit smoking pill
no, not that ...
I said SMOKING

Wanderlust

Like Amundsen and Scott
I open one of my closet's doors courageously
only to discover it is still there
an Everest of laundry to be conquered
I stare in awe, terrorized

A roll of quarters inside my fist
detergent hooligan
with a cup of Tide I will conquer this monster

Goldfrapp, Miss Kittin and the hacker
come through my headphones for the first load
but at the third load I'm in total wanderlust
staring through the small round window
at the colors, going round and round
my thoughts, in random chaos
synching with the washer
like an alpha male iPod
reloading Tom Jones
via usb 2.0
am I going crazy?
This is the nemesis of the white soft foam
that comes in the Pacific waves
and drowns my head in sultry highs
One thing I know for sure
my imagination in mutation
is far more beautiful
than your scratched record mentality
But, should I change?
would you love me more if i was taller?
or perhaps if i was rich...
should I stop smoking for you?
or maybe lose weight?
sometimes I think you would change my name if you could

If you were perfect, then maybe I would
on a second thought ...fuck that
cause it wouldn't be me
I think optometrist is an erotic word
the best university is an airplane ticket
and karma makes me try to be humble
I don't think you are what you have
cause if you lose what you have you still exist
furthermore
I think you are what you do
when you love, when you write, when you work
when you eat, when you shit

And when you hate, when you interrogate
when you criticize and demand explanations
when you judge and ask me to justify myself
eat less french fries or wear a mask
or put on a different shirt
that is when I rejoice in dancing to Bowie
doing laundry or doing nothing
simply cause you're not there

Candlelight

Candlelight of my bedside table
dancing shadows on the wall
devils, demons and Faustus's on the ceiling
your head on my pillow
as I lay on top of you

I see your eyes
green, sometimes blue
in the candlelight are hazel
and your hair turns dark brown

I sometimes look at your thighs
and think you're somebody else
you look at me in the candlelight
and I think you don't know who I am
or where I'm from
or where I've been
it's all these mirrors
all these reflections
look at them
on the ceiling
on the doorway

My gypsy spirit
concave and convex
how our bodies seem to fight
how they hunger
how they ache
in the candlelight.

Black Leather

I was going to write about leather
that black, second skin of mine
the one that bleeds
the one that has that lusty scent
like sandalwood and gasoline
like Billy, you know?
No, not Joel the wuss
Idol
Like James Dean
Like Joey Ramone
and how we idealize rock Gods
and girlfriends and songs
and love and poems and motel rooms
and how cupid is mischievous sometimes
how this second skin camouflages the ethereal mind
the superfluous flesh
that yearns for thorns instead of roses.

Playa Paraiso

Mexico City, Circa 1999.
It was a cold, polluted Mexico City afternoon, it felt like a Thursday but smelled like Monday and the rain barely touched the streets. It was one of those days on which you could barely see the silhouette of the WTC, far away in the distance, behind a misty grey smog screen. I heard a knock on the door and to my surprise it was my dear friend Santi. Tall, thin and pale, his sunk eyes and the unmistakable blond mullet.
"- Hermano" he said as he greeted me with great joy, like he always does.
He had just arrived from Helsinki and had brought along a couple of his friends from Finland, one of them was Ville, whom I had met on a previous occasion. Ville is quite the character: not as tall as Santi but taller than me, a 6" Nordic in his late 20's who works at a shipyard in the Finnish Lapland's at sub zero temperatures, I think he resembles one of those a-ha members who never appeared on the videos. The other friend, whom I had never met till that day was Ponu. Direct descendant of barbaric Viking ancestry, big, tall, pale and simply put he's a guy you wouldn't want to mess with.
They had come to Mexico with a decisive plan: get high beyond reason and drown in Tequila. This, of course was an occurrence that somehow seemed to repeat itself year after year.
"- Gerber" said Santy
"- Let's go to the beach, somewhere tourists don't know about"
I knew just the place, and a few hours later we were on the Bus to Playa Paraiso. How I miss it, it is a beautiful beach on the State of Guerrero, roughly 90 miles from the port of Acapulco, surrounded by palm trees and well, nothing more.
We arrived there by dawn and promptly set our tents and hammocks under a palm tree covered area, which is part of a restaurant run by Dona Guella, a dark skin, tough lady with indigenous background and long straight grey hair, I guess she must have been in her 60's then. Dona Guella was a very humble woman with a heart of gold, someone I considered an adoptive mother.
Her family, mostly fishermen, helped her run the place. A shack/restaurant located on this magical uncharted beach which actually is a sandbar. It must measure miles in length and only a couple of hundred feet across and sits between the ocean and a fresh water lake.
Blow dryer? stereo? No, there's not electricity, or streets or even brick and mortar houses and the closest telephone is 2 miles away.
Then the sun finally came out, shining bright through the palm tree plantations. The coffee was as always warm and disgusting and the company unparalleled.
After a filling breakfast we gathered $100 pesos, which is roughly ten bucks, with which we bought half a pound of pot, It was quite a stash. once gathered, on the mess table, I proceeded to form a mountain shape with it, a volcano at which the four of us stared in awe, since it resembled that one of Close Encounters of the Third Kind.
Santi and Ville got a bucket full of ice and Coronas, while I showed Ponu how to mix Absolut with coconut ice cream. Oh yeah baby, it was vacationing all the way.
I spent hours on the beach, watching pelicans flying in jet fighter formation on the crest of waves, I was in standby mode, relaxing in the Mexican comatose.
The rest of that evening went by very much uneventful, we sat around a campfire, cracked jokes, talked about life, the Leningrad Cowboys and made rolling paper origami, which we later smoked. Eventually I lit my diesel lamp and headed to my tent, sometime around an hour later silence covered the place like an old blanket, and I fell asleep. Well, I was, until a deafening scream ripped the night in half
" - Pablo!!!!, Paaabloo!!!"
It must have been Ville, yelling in complete horror, Santi and Ponu followed suit and in a split second they stormed my tent. " - Pablo!!!!, Paaablo get up, NOW"
I jumped out of my skin only to see their pale, long faces, as if they had seen a ghost. Tsunami, I thought. I ran outside my tent with them to see what was the commotion all about, and that is when they stopped me, put their hands to my mouth and told me to hush. " -Shhhhh!" they said in unison. " - wait", whispered Santi "...just wait" as I stood there with all my senses wondering WTF what had happened.
The night was still, quiet, I even saw a firefly flick in front of us, and that is when the screaming returned " - THAT!!!, WHAT IS THAT ????" they screamed while pointing at the blinking bug.
" - RUN !!!" I said. And these Vikings took off running down the beach, terrorized like teenage girls in a Tel Aviv mall during a bomb threat at Victoria's Secret.
That is how I learned that in Finland they don't have fireflies.
I also learned that shredded reindeer antlers don't really do a thing.
And perhaps it's time for me to pay them a visit.

Run, Pablo, Run

Back by popular request, a post on my favorite topic: Me.
It's almost 2008 and after a good scare I seem to finally have my blood pressure under control, the heart... well, that one is out of control. Renewed life, I have decided to reinvent myself, I have to, at least in some areas of my life. Yes, I am taking my high blood pressure meds with religious accuracy, obtained memberships to a world class gym and a massage parlor, began seeing my NEW dentist regularly and (.....drum roll) I'm starting the chantix program to quit smoking. Ta Daaaa!!!
Novus Pabulus Organicus Intoxicatus Non Plus Ultra Vasectomizatus Energizatus In Carnivorous Carnavalescus Caligulatus Attackus Irresponsibliatux El Kabongus Est (the beast will be unleashed and unchained).
What's the whole idea? It's a 360 degree change, comprised of exercise, healthy meals (not diets), no more smoking, a nice gym membership and massages every two weeks as well as a positive outlook in life. Why? cause NOW is the time. Yes, my dear pussycat, no application to fill out, just a new life.
I'll be keeping you posted on the titanical failures and missions accomplished, so don't tune out.

Hypertension

My face was numb
like some strange creature trapped under an ice age
as a matter of fact it still is
but it keeps improving
at this rate I might even blush someday
My heart raced
it's been a while since it pumped so fast
and now it seems to behave once more
I hope it stays that way
The migraines, well, those deep, dark holes
never seem to end
overall I felt like a fish
somewhat alive
somewhat in the frozen foods aisle
and after two days in an ER Tour
countless percocets, IV's
and other much more colorful drugs
I'm back
This is it, the fear of a stroke did it
it felt so close
so undeniable
I have decided with all conviction
to give deaf ears to Wiwille's countless Gym Horror Stories
and join one (it's been decades)
as a result, this also entails to turn my back on an old friend
Marlboro Man, I have decided to give up the smoke
Will I succeed? we'll see
I just know that.. "I don't ever want to feel, like I did that day"

The Chauffer

Happiness is a silhouette
and joy is envious
sad raindrops falling
in the immense loneliness of the ocean
unless, of course
when sacrificed in the senseless suicidal flight
bursting to milliliters on the umbrella that shelters you

But, this is my road map
birthmark and tattoo
destined to feed of hope
chasing after your shadow
living in the parallel worlds
of the stupid platonic romance

Is there any shame left?
crumbling to pieces like the mask of the Sphinx
and the pride
slowly dripping in tear drop disguise
from the kitchen sink
to the sewage
from my mouth
to your words.

Morango (Strawberry)

Sometimes I want to jump in the coffee bag
grope the goth barista
bite her shoulder
and leave that strawberry mark
which is so mine
I would
I honestly would
if I knew that paper dollar tip
would become an instant trip
to teleport me back to Brazil
if only for a second
for a minute
for a week

To walk the broad sidewalks in Rio
to be reminded of romances
on a Saturday in Ipanema beach
Encounter the child in me
climbing Caju trees
devouring its fruit, which is like a woman
rediscovering Itamaraca and its Fort
or sipping cafezinho at the Cinelandia
in downtown Rio de Janeiro
listening to Renato Russo and his Legiao

Maybe, just maybe
drink cachaca made in carmo
go back to my condo in Botafogo
stroll by the marina
with the Christ looking down at me
in total redemption

and then maybe, just maybe
the bite in your shoulder would glow
and maybe, just maybe
I'd bite those buttocks like a dog

If you let me
and if you walk with me
I could take you to a land
far, far away
where everything is real
and bathing suits are worshiped
where palm trees dance at night
and truth is deflected
I know, I used to be conceited
but now I am absolutely perfect.

The Enemy Within

It was a clear, sunny morning here in Seattle, Sergio and I had just returned to work after our religious Starbucks pit stop and the usual five minute cigarette in the parking lot. I remember he was cracking jokes about my failed marriage while I was mocking his relentless balding, I remember that day like if it was yesterday. The mockery continued, of course, spoken loudly and openly over the cube hives at work. It was business as usual, when a Boeing 767, American Airlines flight 11 crashed into the northern side of the North Tower of the World Trade Center, it was 5:46:30 am here in Seattle.
The rest we already know... or we think we do, as with almost everything, but let’s not go there, yet.
I believe what I saw on TV that day, a day I will never forget. 2993 people died in a matter of minutes. People, not just Christians or Muslims or Jews, not just Black, Hispanic, Asian or White, not just Democrats or Republicans. People, women and men, people of all walks of life, from many countries, creeds and colors. People jumping to their deaths from skyscrapers on fire, people crushed under tons of concrete and steel rubble, firefighters and children, all tossed and charred and crushed like rag dolls. It was plural murder, and the common denominator of the people that died that day is that they were mostly American Civilians.
My heart broke, it still is. But then sadness turned to anger and then anger turned to hatred. I have never felt so American and I have never wanted to put on a black shirt, but this day changed it all.
Six years have gone by and now there are all these conspiracy theories. Were the towers imploded? Why did WTC 7 collapse? Without 9/11 would the Bush/Cheney/Rove Administration have been re-elected? Is this the excuse they needed in order to impose this fascist regime? To strip us from our individual civil rights? To steal our privacy? Did they produce it? Is the Viacomm/Rove propaganda machine similar to that one of Joseph Goebbels by coincidence? Is the Patriot Act a rough draft of an Ultra-Conservative Meine Kampf? I don’t know, but I sure keep my handy, dandy notebook.
Is it that all these people whom are fed hatred for the free world don't recognize that maybe the immigrant influx reflects that America is a great country that welcomes people from all over the world who come searching for a better life? for opportunities not found in their countries of origin?
The 9/11 terrorists were welcome with Visas into this Country just the same as the Israel Olympic Team. They were able to make a living, go to school, date, some even learned to fly, and look what they did.
I can recognize that we do rub people the wrong way and that our foreign policy has sometimes been rather despotic. But that does not justify terrorism or xenophobia, and it goes both ways. Today I grieve and think of all the children who have suffered from this violence, the children of the victims of 9/11, of our fallen troops and all the children in the World who suffer the atrocities of war. Alternative fuel is just one more thing to return to a sustainable environment, but it should not be used to isolate us from the rest of the world, we have just one, after all.
"All men are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality."
Martin Luther King Jr.

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.