Archivo de la categoría: English

Rattle, rattle

Used to say we have not been taught to be older, just to be young.
But what I meant was we have been lied to about what getting older actually is.
It is nothing.
You don’t get to a point where you suddenly have your shit together.
Mostly because shit only knows to fall apart.
There is a wisdom that comes with age, but you will still feel very much inadequate, ill-equipped and/or odd at times.
In many ways, perhaps the worst ways, I still feel so young.
Not “oh, there’s still time” young. Thirteen young.
Perhaps because I don’t have the next generation breathing down my neck.
People are only expected/forced to “act their age” when they become parents.
Since I am yet to become anyone’s anything, I continue to be just me.
The same me I’ve always been. Perhaps since I was thirteen.
Nearly twenty years laters one could argue I’m on overtime, but I’m merely living.
And if you were afforded such a luxury, dear breeder, you’d be on the same boat.

I don’t know where I’m going with this.
My grandpa died less than a year ago. My dad died this past Saturday.
I have no children. I’ll have no children.
Feeling kind of out of context.
The last male, disconnected from lineage.
Also, I’ve missed both funerals so it’s kind of like cheating death a little bit.
But then again I am the end of the family line, so I am death in a way.
I’ve all these silly little thoughts in my head.
Like loose change, rattling inside my skull.
It’s kind of a drag.
It’s kind of familiar.
It’s thirteen going on thirty-three.

Ghosted

He took a look around my room

something

was declared to be very me.

 

Stumbled upon my cologne and quickly corrected

himself “No.

this is very you”.

 

The way he said it, I was already a memory

a fondness

standing right in front of him.                    Was I?

 

Deemed an inanimate object made me

small and lifeless

and round.

 

He put it down without even smelling it, as if he didn’t know

W                    H                     Y

he bothered picking it up in the first place.

 

I now live in his memory alone.                   Am I even flesh?

Some remote mausoleum in the corner of his mind

mere feet away from                       .

 

Notas que uno encuentra

Back when I didn’t write in English
I wrote in Spanish.
Back when I didn’t write in Spanish
I didn’t write.
Back when I didn’t write
I drew.
Back when I drew
I copied.
But all my copies
were mine.

“Nothing gets more in the way of saying something
than my need to say it”.
These things must not
have names at all.

 

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Un día fui al río con mi Moleskine y esto fue lo que salió. Send help, I guess?

Used to think, as a child, “I must’ve been a bird in a previous life”. Nothing made me rest as easy as wind flapping around me. I’d roll down the windows of all moving cars and stick my head out devilmaycarelessly unless instructed otherwise – and then I’d still sneak at least my whole face out. I don’t love rollercoasters quite as much, though, so I must not have been a bird of prey.

It was escapism I enjoyed, I’m sure. Being hastily taken away from wherever I was and fully wrapped in a gauzy airy cocoon. Wonderfully removed.  However, I find my soul seems to return time and time again to wherever there is water. As I write this I’m perched atop a rock, much like the seagulls staring off into the distance upon old docking remains on Brooklyn’s side of the East River, and so I wonder if perhaps that is precisely what I was: a seagull.

I don’t enjoy the ocean – or the river or any large body of water for that matter – as much as I enjoy air. Must be the consistency of it. That soft, fabric-like quality of being fully draped in fast moving wind is way more soothing – at least to me – than the pulsating embrace of water. Maybe it’s my reasons for liking air. Like I said, it’s escapism, it’s about jetting right off the face of the Earth, disappearing into thin or not-so-thin air. Whereas being immersed in water is a very present experience. You’re aware of every inch of your body because surrounding water exerts pressure on it.

The seagulls are mostly gone now. A few are still scattered further from the shore, as if wishing to make their way over to Manhattan undetected. I see you, seagulls. Your bright white coats will hardly go unnoticed, I’m afraid. Could I then have been one of you when I so often go unseen? And how would that have worked for me, being part of a flock, when I am rarely ever the gregarious creature? Prone to loneliness as I am, how does that work. I see some of you drifting apart but never truly away from the rest. There’s a sense of cohesion of all parts even as they scatter over a larger space over time. Me, I’m alone right now. As alone as can be even though there’s an entire African American family making their way across the rocks in front of me. The daughter is beautiful, though maybe much too young for me to make such remarks. Or maybe not. I’m a gay bird, either way.

The water does give me something, though. Or rather it takes something away. My restlessness licked clean off by the mere presence of rolling, living water. It’s unlike anything I know. I’d go mental without it, I know. How does anybody live in-land, locked away in the dirt? I’d die. So I wonder if perhaps my breathing has deceived me. Perhaps I was an underwater creature and I simply cannot remember what it was like to breathe a different way. Even when I think of water now, I hold my breath. How could I ever imagine a life without air.

I take a deep, deep breath now. Inhale all I can take, as if all this underwater talk has triggered some sort of impending-oxygen-deprivation anxiety. I make no sense, I know. I’m just kind of alone right now and most of the seagulls have flown away where I can’t follow. I sit here daydreaming about taking off, taking flight but that’s just it, I’m still here. I know very well I can’t fly.
But I know I sure as hell can sink.

5-1

Joy in the doing

Joy is alive
it rolls, it laughs
joy grows
it springs expands
where there is room to be had
to breathe
to sow.
There’s none here.
There’s none.
Where is the joy
the joy in doing.
What is this hell
of my own making.

 

expected

On this the holiest of days, The Holy Spearit is SPEAKING to me

Breathe you out
Breathe you in
You keep coming back to tell me you’re the one who could have been
And my eyes see it all so clear
It was long ago and far away but it never disappears
I try to put it in the past
Hold on to myself and don’t look back…

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I don’t wanna dream about all the things that never were
Maybe I can live without
When I’m out from under
I don’t wanna feel the pain
What good would it do me now
I’ll get it all figured out
When I’m out from under

So let me go
Just let me fly away
Let me feel the space between us growing deeper and much darker every day
Watch me now and I’ll be someone new
My heart will be unbroken
It will open up for everyone but you
Even when I cross the line it’s like a lie I’ve told a thousand times

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I don’t wanna dream about all the things that never were
Maybe I can live without
When I’m out from under
I don’t wanna feel the pain
What good would it do me now
I’ll get it all figured out
When I’m out from under

And part of me still believes when you say you’re gonna stick around
And part of me still believes we can find a way to work it out
But I know that we tried everything we could try so let’s just say goodbye
Forever

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I don’t wanna dream about all the things that never were
Maybe I can live without
When I’m out from under
I don’t wanna feel the pain
What good would it do me now
I’ll get it all figured out
When I’m out from under

I don’t wanna dream about all the things that never were
Maybe I can live without
When I’m out from under
And I don’t wanna feel the pain
What good would it do me now
I’ll get it all figured out
When I’m out from under
From under
From under
From under
From under

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