Not my ideal destination this summer, but still.

Every time I travel, I expect it to change my life.

It's like minutes and hours piling upon each other to make days and months. All like the one before it. Breathing being the worst part.

Sera porque aun te quiero

Okay. So you take a bunch of shots of tequila. Not Patron, but the good kind. You muster all the liquid courage you can. Start swaying. Put your imaginary charro hat. You touch your heart. Cringe your face slightly to shown heartache. Turn the song loud. Feel the trumpets. You slowly mumble:

Las noches sin ti, agrandan mi soledad,
a veces he estado a punto de irte a buscar.

It's cheesy
You don't care.
You sing. Loudly:

¿Dime que cosa me hiciste, que no te puedo olvidar?

Come see me at..

anonymous-i.blogdrive.com Loads of fun, pictures and video. Some poetry. All wrapped up in anonymity. [I like blogger but I have hundreds of entries over there and I am having trouble moving the entries here, and I dunno, letting go]

p.s Been transfering the blog. Those videos/pics are gonna give me trouble, I can already tell. Slow and easy.

whatevers

duermo con una sonrisa en mis labios,

mis labios que nacieron para unirse a los tuyos

tuyas son mis palabras

palabras que salen en chorros hacia el mundo

el mundo que nos llaman y nos quiere unir

unir como gardenias a la tierra

la tierra que es nuestro porvenir.

que nos une atravez de las estrellas

estrellas que posan en tus ojos

ojos color cielo

tus ojos que me conectan a tu corazon

el corazon con quien sueño en la noche

la noche la compartes con otro

con otro corazon otro cuerpo otros labios.

pero yo duermo contento

porque sueño contigo

¿Y los ojos?

Her eyes are a Spanish blue, azul celeste, like the sky that connects us, not the blue of her first language, which is the blue of sadness.

Transcurrimos una corta parte del continente

Y hubiéramos recorrido más

Pero eres de otro y seguro con el lo caminaras.

Si es mi destino, te amare hasta que muera,

y aunque ame a alguien más,

porque la vida no me dejo amarte.

Y si quizás hoy ya no te amo

No es porque no te amo

Sino porque me aleje del amor

Que si me lo regresaras se te volverá amar

Ese amor que es de otro como un día lo fue mío,

empieza asi...

Niña mía, de mis ojos, de mi vida

de las alturas, de mi privacidad

de lo hondo, de lo mas hondo de mi

de las tierras y las nubes, del cielo azul,

del cielo, mar y luz.

De lo más profundo de los sentimientos

fuera del amor y la desesperanza

estas tu. Ojos, piernas y muslos de acero

excavaré en tu vientre lo que deseo de mí.

Despacio, desde abajo. Fuego y tierra

Rápido hacia arriba,

más lejos que besos, más profundo que sexo

más placentero. Más allá de lo carnal

hacia lo sublime, y lo inefable

hacia los vientos y la teoría.

Arriba hacia las nubes, los satélites, las estrellas

a lo místico, a lo mítico, fuera de lo terral.
hacia el centro; hacia lo esencial, hacia el átomo, lo celular, lo conceptual

y de una montaña emífera gritarte, (que lo seguro es mudo)
hasta EXPLOTAR!

niña mía, quisiera escribirte algo suave
algo suave, lejos, y sin mayúsculas
que las mayúsculas hacen tanto ruido.

y lo indeleble es de poco hablar.

te escribiría
algo suave y lejos...

dale tiempo al tiempo

que mariposas posan en tu alfombra
dale tiempo al tiempo

que despacio he de llegar

dale tiempo al tiempo

que si me asustas, he de regresar
dale tiempo al tiempo
que aunque no se vea,

I've thrown away everything I've written you.

All the drunken things I wanna say to you that you don't want to hear and will ultimately just push you away - I wanna say them but I don't. They are good things; they are all good things about struggle and end-results. And its not about who will love you the most, because I'm confident of who that its. It's about how they will love you and in which way. That's how it is with all things

"puedes verme pero no tocarme"

Xander:

So… the crux of this plan is

Anya:

Sexual intercourse. I've said it, like, a dozen times.

Xander:

Uh huh,

just working through a little hysterical deafness here.

Anya:

I think it's the secret of getting you out of my mind.

Putting you behind me. Behind me figuratively. I'm thinking face-to-face for the event itself.

Xander:

Ah. Right. It's just that we hardly know each other.

I mean I like you, and you have a certain… directness that I admire.

But sexual interc-- What you are talking about.

And I am actually turning into a woman as I say this.

But it's about expressing something. And accepting consequences.

Anya:

Oh I have condoms.

Some are black.

Xander:

That's….

That's very considerate

Anya:

I like you. You are nice and you are nicely shaped…and frankly,

It's ludicrous to have these interlocking bodies and not…interlock

quiet

I amo you.

So I should write a daily, 'cause let's face it, random poem and thoughts are boring. So here is my day. I worked. It was super slow. It was fun though. I worked with some cool people. I have to add that some of the girls I work with are just beautiful, one in particular, I cannot believe how beautiful she is, it blows me away. I came home, chilled, tried to make it to Jacki's bbq but I couldn't make it, I hope she isn't mad.

Hung out with Tom, played cards and drank SoCo and coke took lots of pictures it was a lot of fun.

I realized that a certain someone only asks me to hangout when she has nothing else to do, when her roommates are busy or away for the weekend. She probably doesn't realize it, but it sucks ya know, because when she has things to do she never includes me, only when there is no other option. I think I deserve better than that.

Tomorrow Brian comes down to celebrate Amy's bday, it should be fun hanging out with him. I really love Brian he is like my 4^th brother, I really do love him.

Lots of good news with my family: We are great.

That is it I guess. Thanks for visiting.

I like girls who are affectionate, girls who appreciate a romantic gesture, and are sensitive by nature. I've had experience with girls who aren't and it gets me thinking about my dad because he is married to a girl who isn't at all like that. I really don't know how he does it. I find it hard to encapsulate my feelings with that type of girl, because I associate reciprocal-ness as a statement of feelings, of love etcetera.

My mom isn't affectionate (she is a more now than before, but still not super). Just not how she is. She isn't the talk about feelings, let's hug it out type. She is the brash, honest, direct type. My dad is the exact opposite, he is the "are you happy?" asking, I love you saying, compliment giving, always wanting to hug you and kiss you type. So in a sense there is a role reversal to the "gender roles" that exist between the sexes.

Anyway what I don't understand is how someone so affection-driven, so open about how he feels and of his love can be with someone that doesn't reciprocate that. My dad compliments my mom daily, tells her all sorts of romantic things like "eres mi todo," "mi reina," "te amo," etcetera. It is a well know belief that my dad thinks my mom is the most beautiful woman in the history of the world (he is right by the way). My mom doesn't really liked to be kissed or hugged or be complimented. She is driven by logic and my dad by his heart. Here is an example of the dichotomy between them: I get a haircut – regardless of how it looks my dad always says "wow, it looks great!" even if it sucks. He is encouraging. My mom would say: "It's ugly!"

I would need more. I wouldn't mind a girl that is honest and speaks her mind at all, but one that isn't affectionate in the least… I dunno, I don't think I'm that strong.

So this is what I concluded, either:

a) really confident of my mom's love for him or

b) he is so madly and completely inlove with her that he could care less how affectionate she is.

He probably knows who she is and realizes that to someone like her, logic driven and honest, marrying him, baring his children, sharing a bed and a home and the loud laughter that comes from her and penetrates the walls and the floors of our house and infects us all is her way of kissing and hugging and saying "I love you too mi rey."

luna

Shannon Lucid was an astronaut. Studied her way to space but could not reach the moon.

starDUST

Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life... You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.

~ "Rose Walker" in The Sandman #65

be still my heart...

I held this book, a good book, not a particularly great or important book, and I realized that I can never be with someone who does not understand their importance, truly happily I should say. Not necessarily someone that likes to read or is into literature, but someone that deep inside realizes that the binding and the ink on the pages are an important thing, capable of unimaginable things: Of torture, of understanding, of mimicry, of changing the world. Now I know this sounds stupid, and maybe it's the late night talking but a book is important. Not necessarily all books, but a particular book is a big deal to someone somewhere. I know i'm not the only one.

[poetry escapes me and all the pretty syrupy sentences i used to come up with. I do not know where they have gone…all those scattered letters that made the words i loved so much.] They've gone and left a lower case of me.

...

In the bedroom was playing in Bravo. It’s a movie based on Andre Dubus short story “Killings.” It’s a really powerful movie about loss, grief and revenge. I always tell people that when I first saw it I wanted to leave, but that by the end of the movie it had become one of the best movies I had ever seen. It is the story of a family of 3, Frank, the only son becomes involve with a married woman with 2 kids, who is not yet fully divorced from her abusive ex-husband. After an altercation with the ex-husband, Frank dies. He was 21 years old. What happens next is the story of the parent’s grief at their son’s murder and the agony that they endure at their sudden loss. As they try to piece their lives back together and their marriage, they struggle with sleepless nights, and being haunted wit the memory of their dead son.

Perhaps even more than the amazing performances by the lead actors, we are transported into emotional habitat of anguish, silence and slow torture. The movie’s lack of dialogue perfectly shapes and represents the emotions that these people are feeling as they try to move on with their lives, each living a quiet hell of unending grief that is unsettled and turned into rage at the realization that the killer won’t have any jail time because of legal technicalities.

Most scenes are void of music; the dialogue and the environment do more than enough convey the emotions of the situation. Marisa Tomei gives the performance that blows away the one she was awarded the Oscar for, and Wilkinson and Sissy Spacek prove once again why they are the among the best in their craft and why they were nominated for an Oscar for their performance.

This movie is as consuming and as powerful as any ever made. The only negative audience’s give it is that it is slow, but it is that pace which allows the audience to grasp at the bleakness and desperation that the Fowler household is feeling. The pace represents that anguish, each second crawls by as the next approaches and every minute seems like an hour as Mr. and Mrs. Fowler try to cope with their loss. All of this culminates to an ending that is a product of the suffering and their realization that there is only one way in which they can continue with their lives.

This is one of the most beautiful and artistic movies that has come along in a long time. A story about loss, family, grief, morality and revenge, “In the bedroom” will end and not leave you. When I first watched it I almost walked out of the theater because of the slow pace, I didn’t understand the importance of pace and the silence, regardless its excellence cannot be denied. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow resumes the Fowler’s feelings well:

“There are things of which I may not speak;

There are dreams that cannot die;

There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,

And bring a pallor into the cheek,

And a mist before the eye.

And the words of that fatal song

Come over me like a chill:

'A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.’”

and like this movie shows, so are the ones of death.

I wanna be a writer :D

“I wish you love affairs and plenty of hot water,

and women kinder than I treated you.

I forget the reasons, but I loved you once,

remember?

Maybe in this season, drunk

and sentimental, I’m willing to admit

a part of me, crazed and kamikaze,

ripe for anarchy, loves still.”

– Sandra Cisneros

us theory

The sky was inconsequential, clouds hung in the night, absolute in their anonymity. The wind paraded across body and skins, unnoticed. It would begin suddenly and instantaneously, the moments it would last would linger past their continuance and drip away slowly towards memory. In retrospect, it would be described as a slow moving blur: green eyes, brown hair, and lips moving towards a postmodern romantic ideal. Modernist would be more definite in their description, the clouds hung by their desires to lay witness to a roof that housed our multiple, yet fleeting kisses.

"Liberty or death"

I used to have this uncanny ability to express myself, very poignantly and uniquely. It’s been a while since I recognized it wither away. It just moved past me, and I don’t recall watching it go, but it feels as if I did. Like a father watching his only son go to college never again to return. If I were to remember it, I would have watched it slither past me, in a liquid state, off of my brain and lips, through my chest, out of my heart. Made a dumb-mute out of me. Left me with the words in my tongue, and the rhetoric in my thoughts. People now see me in the streets, and whispered to each other; “see him up yonder? He had the wit of a fox and words laced with syrup...Look at him now.”

you are more than a pretty face, a 3.9gpa, big breasts, muscles, a big brain...etcetera

The notion of the re-invented self is very much alive in livejournals, xangas, facebooks, myspaces, blogs and what not. Who are we trying to be by writing in these things, pressing enter and throwing it to the wolves, I mean the world? I remember why I started this, but I am not sure if it still remains that. If I read this, and I wasn’t me, I would have a set opinion on who I would be, AI the author, the narrator. Truth is, I am not this blog, the blog is me, but I am not this blog. I worry [feel sorry more like it] for the person that looks at these entries and says ‘this is how -insert my name- is.’

I just took off on a tangent:

If I read this, and I wasn’t me, many things would happen. If I was a guy, I would say, this person is a loser. If I was a girl, I would say, this guy is a wimp I would never date him in a million years. [Rationalizing this into gender oversimplifies this to my purpose]. I worry [feel sorry more like it] for the person that looks at these entries and says ‘this is how -insert my name- is, wow he is –insert overgeneralization-‘

We are so much more you and I.

We are so much.

I am not this blog.

I am many things.