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.

12/17/09

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

12/3/09

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.


10/15/09

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

10/12/09

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

10/10/09

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

9/29/09

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

9/24/09

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.

9/23/09

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

9/11/09

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.

8/15/09

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.

8/5/09

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

7/9/09

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.

5/15/09

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.

4/28/09

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.

4/23/09

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.

4/22/09

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.