06 January 2008
30 December 2007
when the courtesan sang
it seems like it doesn't matter what we say, what intentions we have, even whatever efforts we make in the same direction. there's still this dead air that's hanging between us. regardless of how much we would wish it any other way. doesn't mean i don't miss you (more than ever, perhaps). it's just...my, how distant you feel.
25 December 2007
when i ran dry
my words have outrun me. once again this silly blog feels useless. like an ancient riverbed, my orthographic mind is parched and dry. so for now i think i'll let this blog lie silent. what a funeral.
18 December 2007
15 December 2007
when i was a postman
I want you to know
one thing.
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists:
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loveing me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.
-neruda
one thing.
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists:
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loveing me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.
-neruda
14 December 2007
when i was hopelessly poor
you called me earlier, a bit drunk, and told me you miss me.
the idea just struck me to ask you if it was okay for me to come and see you wherever you were. i didn't ask you, though.
to tell the truth, i really wish you wanted to see me. i really do. even if we just sit in a coffee shop and not say anything to each other, except maybe some passing chatter.
"i was alone and freezing still trying hard to understand you..."
and looking at pictures of you only reminds me of every curve of your body, every whim of your fingers, the rhythm of your breathing, feeling you beneath me. i miss you a lot, y'know.
i' be lying if i said it didn't hurt a bit.
the idea just struck me to ask you if it was okay for me to come and see you wherever you were. i didn't ask you, though.
to tell the truth, i really wish you wanted to see me. i really do. even if we just sit in a coffee shop and not say anything to each other, except maybe some passing chatter.
"i was alone and freezing still trying hard to understand you..."
and looking at pictures of you only reminds me of every curve of your body, every whim of your fingers, the rhythm of your breathing, feeling you beneath me. i miss you a lot, y'know.
i' be lying if i said it didn't hurt a bit.
09 December 2007
when we were laughing in the bitter face of death
this was kind of a free association/stream of consciousness thing i wrote a little while ago.
--
Death was in the air and we were laughing. Can you believe that? Laughing! But it’s okay because you see we’re on this train and as far as I can tell it’s not going anywhere so I turn to Palomino and ask him what time it is and he leans over and sticks his wrist in my face, showing me his watch. It had no hands and was filled with sand and said TIME IS NOW and I called it his Zen watch but right now I wanted the time, not now. Now I have. Now I will always have. But what I always seem to lack is time; the ruin of seconds past; I see the trail I’ve left behind me but I can only look back if I’m moving forward, no? So I ask him again, “What time is it?” and again he shows me “TIME IS NOW” which got me wondering, if now is now what is the past but a pre-now?
What is then but post-now? So then I realized life is a three-stage process: pre-now, now, post-now. And I felt heavy and insightful and figured that everything really turns in to everything, so I thought about Lila and when she left and I realized that my now was here and she was just a fossil, a fermented, hung and dried pre-now. And I thought about how Pal and I, we’re so young and death seems so daunting: we’ve got so much shit left to do! And I said to myself death is just post-now meaning it is not yet come and that, hey, we’re still breathing and laughing, right? So when I asked Palomino what time is it? and he presented me with TIME IS NOW he was really just saying this is what it is – there is no ruin in the present. Lila was gone already and death was lingering somewhere off in the apocalyptic distance and now…now I guess it’s time to let as many nows pass, putting an immeasurable amount of distance between here and where I came from.
So when Pal turned to me and said “Time to get off the train,” I though “Now” and stepped off onto the platform, crossed the street, and was met full-on by a Dodge mini-van bursting with family, and the last word I remember saying before I met death was “Now” because really, nothing, neither the ruin of love nor the beauty of laughter nor the full impact of death can come at any other time but Now. And hey, it even hurt a little.
--
Death was in the air and we were laughing. Can you believe that? Laughing! But it’s okay because you see we’re on this train and as far as I can tell it’s not going anywhere so I turn to Palomino and ask him what time it is and he leans over and sticks his wrist in my face, showing me his watch. It had no hands and was filled with sand and said TIME IS NOW and I called it his Zen watch but right now I wanted the time, not now. Now I have. Now I will always have. But what I always seem to lack is time; the ruin of seconds past; I see the trail I’ve left behind me but I can only look back if I’m moving forward, no? So I ask him again, “What time is it?” and again he shows me “TIME IS NOW” which got me wondering, if now is now what is the past but a pre-now?
What is then but post-now? So then I realized life is a three-stage process: pre-now, now, post-now. And I felt heavy and insightful and figured that everything really turns in to everything, so I thought about Lila and when she left and I realized that my now was here and she was just a fossil, a fermented, hung and dried pre-now. And I thought about how Pal and I, we’re so young and death seems so daunting: we’ve got so much shit left to do! And I said to myself death is just post-now meaning it is not yet come and that, hey, we’re still breathing and laughing, right? So when I asked Palomino what time is it? and he presented me with TIME IS NOW he was really just saying this is what it is – there is no ruin in the present. Lila was gone already and death was lingering somewhere off in the apocalyptic distance and now…now I guess it’s time to let as many nows pass, putting an immeasurable amount of distance between here and where I came from.
So when Pal turned to me and said “Time to get off the train,” I though “Now” and stepped off onto the platform, crossed the street, and was met full-on by a Dodge mini-van bursting with family, and the last word I remember saying before I met death was “Now” because really, nothing, neither the ruin of love nor the beauty of laughter nor the full impact of death can come at any other time but Now. And hey, it even hurt a little.
04 December 2007
when i wanted to um, hm
i say something. you roll your eyes. i giggle. you laugh.
you know what i mean.
you know what i mean.
02 December 2007
when i had a dream, crispy crispy benjamin franklin
i had this dream last night and you were in it and i don't remember much of it, only segments, but i remember there being a dance or lip-sync competition and i was really jealous of the guy who won so i kept saying he was bad and then you and i were somewhere with someone and i was really upset and i just wanted to hug you and have you assure me i had no reason to be jealous about this guy, even though he entered the contest on a fluke and beat out all the competition. i don't know, there was something about him and i think i felt threatened by him or something or other. and Greek was in the dream for some reason. whether you were speaking or it what, i can't remember. but i know it was there. and then you got in my car with my family and we all went to nordstroms but you stayed in the car and i went in with my dad and i was looking at coats and hats and i wanted to try the hats on and i felt silly because i hadn't asked you to come inside with me; i wanted you to see me trying them, even though i know you would have just laughed at me relentlessly (which is okay because i know you love me).
and then i woke up.
and then i woke up.
26 November 2007
when i wrote a poem on a coffee cup
i play rhymes like the Volga
in the heart
of musical winter -
sweet little sunshine,
can you show me the way
to Elboa?
in the heart
of musical winter -
sweet little sunshine,
can you show me the way
to Elboa?
19 November 2007
when the rain had laughter
selected excerpts from a recent story i wrote:
--
My first thought earlier was what if the rain had laughter? What if every drop of water that fell from the sky was giggling or guffawing, chuckling or chortling, hee-hawing or howling, snickering or snorting, tittering or tee-heeing, cachinnating or cackling? Then the clouds would be more like mouths and the sky would be more like a face and the sun and moon would be funny-looking moles than appear at different times on your face depending on what you ate for breakfast or lunch or dinner and fog or smoke or smog would be what happens when you don't shave for varying lengths of time - only if you're a guy, of course. Or a woman of ethnic origins which I won't say in case it makes me seems racy. I mean racist. Though being racist is racy nowadays, isn't it?...
...[W]hat if we held our friends over our heads like umbrellas when it rained laughter? When we needed them, of course. And they could do the same thing with us when they needed us. Laughter rains from everywhere and I hold my friend Anna above my head and she absorbs all the laughter and it makes her clothes all wet and hilarious and drips everywhere. But then, you see, the whole idea of an umbrella would be reversed, which is exactly my point. Let's say my friend James is sad because he's an attractive gay man but doesn't think he's an attractive gay man, much like a bush baby is happy because it thinks it's a cute little tree-climber when in fact it is quite hideous, or an author who is confused because he keeps having these thoughts that make sense but he thinks they don't and he just rambles on and on about his ideas and friends, like his friend James, who is sad because he doesn't think he's an attractive gay man, which he in fact is. So it starts to rain laughter outside and I say "James get your attractive gay person over here!" and he says "I'm not attractive. Though I am gay." which then proves my point that he needs to have buckets of laughter fall upon him from the heavens, so I lift him up and swing him over my head and it rains and rains and rains and I hear laughter everywhere - this time the laughter of two ridiculously flamboyant gay men sitting at a bar overusing the word "fabulous" - and James becomes soaked in it and he is then effectively wearing laughter, he showered in laughter, laughter going everywhere, and since laughter in inherently equal to happiness and happiness is inherently equal to thinking better of yourself than you do when you're unhappy, I can put James down when the brief storm is over (for laughter always comes in brief storms), confident that he now knows - or at least temporarily believes, rightly - that he is an attractive gay man. Gay in both senses, too! How punny. And let's say my friend Anna, who has large breasts and curly brown hair that she had straightened when she went off to college and pierced her belly button and lost her virginity is feeling rather gloomy because she hates everyone around her except her friends (which doesn't make much sense, because if she liked everyone else, wouldn't she call them friends, too?). So it begins to thunder chuckles and rain canals of cacchination and I whip her up over my head, which is rather easy, because she's rather thin, and, as proven earlier, she'll feel buckets better once the storm is gone.
--
My first thought earlier was what if the rain had laughter? What if every drop of water that fell from the sky was giggling or guffawing, chuckling or chortling, hee-hawing or howling, snickering or snorting, tittering or tee-heeing, cachinnating or cackling? Then the clouds would be more like mouths and the sky would be more like a face and the sun and moon would be funny-looking moles than appear at different times on your face depending on what you ate for breakfast or lunch or dinner and fog or smoke or smog would be what happens when you don't shave for varying lengths of time - only if you're a guy, of course. Or a woman of ethnic origins which I won't say in case it makes me seems racy. I mean racist. Though being racist is racy nowadays, isn't it?...
...[W]hat if we held our friends over our heads like umbrellas when it rained laughter? When we needed them, of course. And they could do the same thing with us when they needed us. Laughter rains from everywhere and I hold my friend Anna above my head and she absorbs all the laughter and it makes her clothes all wet and hilarious and drips everywhere. But then, you see, the whole idea of an umbrella would be reversed, which is exactly my point. Let's say my friend James is sad because he's an attractive gay man but doesn't think he's an attractive gay man, much like a bush baby is happy because it thinks it's a cute little tree-climber when in fact it is quite hideous, or an author who is confused because he keeps having these thoughts that make sense but he thinks they don't and he just rambles on and on about his ideas and friends, like his friend James, who is sad because he doesn't think he's an attractive gay man, which he in fact is. So it starts to rain laughter outside and I say "James get your attractive gay person over here!" and he says "I'm not attractive. Though I am gay." which then proves my point that he needs to have buckets of laughter fall upon him from the heavens, so I lift him up and swing him over my head and it rains and rains and rains and I hear laughter everywhere - this time the laughter of two ridiculously flamboyant gay men sitting at a bar overusing the word "fabulous" - and James becomes soaked in it and he is then effectively wearing laughter, he showered in laughter, laughter going everywhere, and since laughter in inherently equal to happiness and happiness is inherently equal to thinking better of yourself than you do when you're unhappy, I can put James down when the brief storm is over (for laughter always comes in brief storms), confident that he now knows - or at least temporarily believes, rightly - that he is an attractive gay man. Gay in both senses, too! How punny. And let's say my friend Anna, who has large breasts and curly brown hair that she had straightened when she went off to college and pierced her belly button and lost her virginity is feeling rather gloomy because she hates everyone around her except her friends (which doesn't make much sense, because if she liked everyone else, wouldn't she call them friends, too?). So it begins to thunder chuckles and rain canals of cacchination and I whip her up over my head, which is rather easy, because she's rather thin, and, as proven earlier, she'll feel buckets better once the storm is gone.
12 November 2007
when i was so much more than something
my darling here,
i ask you:
can we explode
(bedridden - not
and rose drenched)
into nothingness?
pretty your eyes parting
and your cool lips
aflutter
you do but say
naught and
in great stead,
unbreakable like a diamond,
you prefer
to kiss me
as an answer that
sings Yes and
screams No
and electrifies
all in between
(why nothingness
perhaps you ponder?
why because new
when i hold you
there is nothing else
but the hum of your body,
so beautiful and new a thing
every time).
i ask you:
can we explode
(bedridden - not
and rose drenched)
into nothingness?
pretty your eyes parting
and your cool lips
aflutter
you do but say
naught and
in great stead,
unbreakable like a diamond,
you prefer
to kiss me
as an answer that
sings Yes and
screams No
and electrifies
all in between
(why nothingness
perhaps you ponder?
why because new
when i hold you
there is nothing else
but the hum of your body,
so beautiful and new a thing
every time).
04 November 2007
when i was timeless
how is that i seem to have hours upon end to fill with nothingness, yet in the end of the day i feel like i have no time at all, like the list of things i want to read and need to write just slowly add their weight to my eyes and hands? i've been barely making it through reading Amerika, a fairly easy read; it's been 2 weeks and i'm only about half way done. i'm neglecting my thucydides reading more than i should, i have to write my humanities paper (contrasting homer and herodotus' respective views on how the gods play a role in war in ancient greece and thus how herodotus ultimately sees the truth and reality in human agency), i have tons of books i want to read for fun, i have to come up with an extended bibliography for my spanish research paper (mercifully, i am allowed to write it in english) comparing the trichotomy of heaven/earth/hell to that of the three levels of existence of Comala in Pedro Paramo, i (feel like i) have to constantly be writing and working on some story i've got going or other...
but when it comes down to having time to do these things, i throw a blanket over my head and pretend like almost nothing exists. i just look at the clock and wonder what would really happen if it just stopped.
but when it comes down to having time to do these things, i throw a blanket over my head and pretend like almost nothing exists. i just look at the clock and wonder what would really happen if it just stopped.
30 October 2007
when i had an idea
Directions
1: Start out going EAST on ******* ST toward ******** AVE. <0.1 miles
2: Turn LEFT onto ******** AVE. <0.1 miles
3: Turn RIGHT onto CHATSWORTH ST. 0.7 miles
4: Turn LEFT onto RESEDA BLVD. 0.6 miles
5: Merge onto CA-118 E. 3.4 miles
6: Merge onto I-405 N toward SACRAMENTO. 3.0 miles
7: Merge onto I-5 N (Crossing into OREGON). 938.7 miles
8: Take the OR-43 / MACADAM AVE. exit- EXIT 299A- toward US-26 E / ROSS IS. BR.. 0.1 miles
9: Stay STRAIGHT to go onto SW MACADAM AVE / OR-43 N. Continue to follow OR-43 N. 0.4 miles
10: Turn SLIGHT LEFT onto SW HOOD AVE. 0.2 miles
11: Turn RIGHT onto SW WHITAKER ST. <0.1 miles
12: Turn RIGHT onto SW KELLY AVE. <0.1 miles
13: Turn SLIGHT LEFT to take the ramp toward US-26 E / ROSS IS. BR. / MT. HOOD. <0.1 miles
14: Turn SLIGHT RIGHT onto US-26. 0.6 miles
15: Merge onto SE MCLOUGHLIN BLVD / OR-99E S / PACIFIC HWY E. 2.2 miles
16: Turn RIGHT onto SE 23RD AVE. <0.1 miles
17: Turn RIGHT onto SE BYBEE BLVD. 0.2 miles
18: Stay STRAIGHT to go onto SE TOLMAN ST. <0.1 miles
19: SE TOLMAN ST becomes SE 28TH AVE. 0.3 miles
20: Stay STRAIGHT to go onto SE WOODSTOCK BLVD. 0.2 miles
21: End at 3203 Se Woodstock Blvd, Portland, OR 97202-8138, US
Total Est. Time: 14 hours, 37 minutes
Total Est. Distance: 951.71 miles
i'll see you here. :)
1: Start out going EAST on ******* ST toward ******** AVE. <0.1 miles
2: Turn LEFT onto ******** AVE. <0.1 miles
3: Turn RIGHT onto CHATSWORTH ST. 0.7 miles
4: Turn LEFT onto RESEDA BLVD. 0.6 miles
5: Merge onto CA-118 E. 3.4 miles
6: Merge onto I-405 N toward SACRAMENTO. 3.0 miles
7: Merge onto I-5 N (Crossing into OREGON). 938.7 miles
8: Take the OR-43 / MACADAM AVE. exit- EXIT 299A- toward US-26 E / ROSS IS. BR.. 0.1 miles
9: Stay STRAIGHT to go onto SW MACADAM AVE / OR-43 N. Continue to follow OR-43 N. 0.4 miles
10: Turn SLIGHT LEFT onto SW HOOD AVE. 0.2 miles
11: Turn RIGHT onto SW WHITAKER ST. <0.1 miles
12: Turn RIGHT onto SW KELLY AVE. <0.1 miles
13: Turn SLIGHT LEFT to take the ramp toward US-26 E / ROSS IS. BR. / MT. HOOD. <0.1 miles
14: Turn SLIGHT RIGHT onto US-26. 0.6 miles
15: Merge onto SE MCLOUGHLIN BLVD / OR-99E S / PACIFIC HWY E. 2.2 miles
16: Turn RIGHT onto SE 23RD AVE. <0.1 miles
17: Turn RIGHT onto SE BYBEE BLVD. 0.2 miles
18: Stay STRAIGHT to go onto SE TOLMAN ST. <0.1 miles
19: SE TOLMAN ST becomes SE 28TH AVE. 0.3 miles
20: Stay STRAIGHT to go onto SE WOODSTOCK BLVD. 0.2 miles
21: End at 3203 Se Woodstock Blvd, Portland, OR 97202-8138, US
Total Est. Time: 14 hours, 37 minutes
Total Est. Distance: 951.71 miles
i'll see you here. :)
24 October 2007
when i was hopelessly poor
lord.
i miss you/her so much.
to me, every day and every minute and every hour and every span of time is merely marked by how long it is until i see you again. two weeks from friday i will see you. yes, if i had a choice i would never leave your arms (i speak grandly; practically, of course, we'd have to be separate for some things. showers, working, to cool down because of the intense intense heat). but i do not care that it is only for two days, effectively, that i will see you. that fact that your reality will be reaffirmed again and again for me until we will be together for good keeps me going.
my body is restless inside because you are not sitting here next to me, because i cannot smell you in the air, because i cannot stretch my arm out and touch you, because i cannot hold your face and kiss you.
you are so truly in everything i see and touch, whether i mentally associate you with something or not. you are just there, almost as if part of you is constantly harboring inside my fingers and just behind my eyes.
but thinking about the ephemeral state of time makes things better because, honestly, life is so very long and now goes running fast into the past like wild horses over the hills at sunset until i am holding your hand and looking into your eyes and never having to let you go.
i miss you/her so much.
to me, every day and every minute and every hour and every span of time is merely marked by how long it is until i see you again. two weeks from friday i will see you. yes, if i had a choice i would never leave your arms (i speak grandly; practically, of course, we'd have to be separate for some things. showers, working, to cool down because of the intense intense heat). but i do not care that it is only for two days, effectively, that i will see you. that fact that your reality will be reaffirmed again and again for me until we will be together for good keeps me going.
my body is restless inside because you are not sitting here next to me, because i cannot smell you in the air, because i cannot stretch my arm out and touch you, because i cannot hold your face and kiss you.
you are so truly in everything i see and touch, whether i mentally associate you with something or not. you are just there, almost as if part of you is constantly harboring inside my fingers and just behind my eyes.
but thinking about the ephemeral state of time makes things better because, honestly, life is so very long and now goes running fast into the past like wild horses over the hills at sunset until i am holding your hand and looking into your eyes and never having to let you go.
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