Odio es amor truncado

Today, it seems, is a day for the past to rear it’s ugly head. You saw two such reminders, all within thirty minutes. Rather than dwell on the negativity they could bring up why not reflect on how you have changed and become a better person from those people and the experiences they created.

What is love without hate?
Is it anything at all?
Does love lose its importance without its opposite?

First there was the Indian girl. You ran into her on the streetcar ride to campus, she was leaving work. Apparently she had returned from Arizona. Despite all the time between she remembered where you used to live with the puta. It was, of course, right across the street. Silly you asked if she was still friends with the puta, to which you were surprised to hear yes and even that the Indian girl had spent Thanksgiving with her. Terrible feelings surfaced and you felt that familiar pesadez tapping on your soul. Fuck those bitches. Despite the years, the thought of her makes your blood run cold.

The second run-in was short, but still bitter on your part. It was that stupid boy, who said stupid things and still gives you stupid looks. It’s just stupid.  Don’t say what you don’t mean, after all. He’s still cute, even cuter maybe. Passing by him in the rain, him with his darting eyes and passive-aggressive silence reminded you of his boyfriend, the other man, yet another bitch. 

As it has been said: 
within the fool’s eyes lies love,
Love lies and al final, love truncated is just hate.  


חג שמח

"A menorah is, uh, like the nightlight of our people. In times of 
darkness it shines on the whole world reminding us not to be afraid to 
be different, but to be proud who we are. "
--Schlomo, Rugrats Chanukkah Special

Felis Janúca a todos!


The Georgia Rain

Ay ay ay, sometimes I wonder why I left this beautiful country and moved to the disgustingly damp Northwest. Then I met my sister's boyfriend last night and remembered. People here are charming, charmingly deceitful, until you get a few Coronas in them and happen to mention "global warming." Then it's all fucked. Fortunately my lesbian cousin is here so we can commiserate on pretending to be corn-fed heterosexuals. Also, there is no such thing as kosher in the South. More on that later.

Also, I would love to do Chris Messina.


Lo que quiero


Can a smile
lead to a hello

And a hello
lead to a first date and

a first date to a can't wait
to do it again?"

--Raheem Devaughn


Putas tristes

Hoy te vi inesperadamente  pasando por la calle. No me veías porque estaba colgado en el tren. Estuviste vestido de azul, mi color favorito. Era en aquel momento que me caí en la cuenta que no te echaba de menos y que soy mejor sin ti. Habrá sido dos años en febrero que separamos.

Hace mucho tiempo en que volvía a pensar en ti. A veces sopesaba si pensabas en mi, pero creía que no.  Así me dejaste solo, sin palabras suficientes ni la voluntad de llorar. No sé exactamente que quedaba en mi corazón después de ti pero que va…Ya no me importa.

A la vez es interesante verte así, caminando solo. ¿Qué haces ahora? ¿Qué piensas? ¿Estás solo o no? Ahora que no te espero algo mal como antes, espero que estés feliz por lo menos. Yo he logrado todo lo que quiero después de ti y por cierto que no hagas nada a mi corazón. No amor, ni vergüenza, ni odia. Es interesante, sí.

Te daba mucho de mi. Me fascinaba tu rostro, tus mejillas, tu sonrisa…Escribí un poema para ti pero nunca te entregué. Que dijeras si lo leíste? No acabaríamos entonces? Pero sé bien que no te amé. 


un deseo

Patent leather shoes
Bubble tea mornings

Smiling for no reason
In my head: diálogos em português

Wishing you sunny days.


A story about you and them

And so the boy with the Caribbean-blue pants ran far, far away into a new land, never to return.
He lived happily ever after. 

Or so it was believed. 


The reality was a bit different, however. The boy, whom we will call George, found himself in a strange world. The City. It was not as vast as some, but the City was a foreign land to George. The language spoken around him was his own yet he did not understand its speakers. There, no one smiled. They made the face motions, to be sure, but they were not smiling.
Not even their eyes smiled.  

It was a cold place, with its grey skies and unfriendly denizens.

George wanted to make the best for himself there in the City. So he attended university, to expand his mind. George began to smoke cigarettes and drink whiskey in secret. These things his parents didn’t read.  Instead, his parents grew so proud as he regaled them of a happier, false life within his myriad letters East.

George also made friends in the City; he tried to surround himself with kind genuine people so as not to be lonely. Yet years would pass and the always drifted apart. It was their way there.

This saddened George.

Lovers were even worse. George felt constantly spurned by their cold manner. He felt alien in his bright clothes, the fabled azure pants he loved so much. George felt used by those who did find him charming and backwards. The sex was never happy.

But George did not complain. He bore the unbearable winters alone in his flat, sipping tea and dreaming of Southern winds. The whiskey had lost its attraction so he lost himself in those blue-tinted dreams of warm sand and spicy food. George had slowly lost his accent and was in danger becoming as cold as the City. It was the end of one such a gloomy wintertime that George met Sam.

Sam. The two met by chance, growing closer and more intimate through weekly letter and phone calls.  Their lovemaking was brief yet cherished. George loved him with all his heart. George had never met a person that treated him the way Sam did. He had never felt such a way before. He was alive for the first time since he had come to the City. Their summer together was beautiful. Sam gave George his love and with it George got his will back.

Sadly their story was not to last, in fact it never really started. Sam journeyed away across an ocean with little promise of return…and just like that George was broken again.

The friends that had remained began to fade away, consumed with their own more interesting lives. George’s only companion was Alba at this time. George felt lost despite this.

Alba was afraid that George was disappearing, and it was true. Yet she did not really know how much. George’s heart had been shattered; it was too severe to be repaired. He was like an empty gourd. No sweet pulp left inside, just a hard dry shell.  He was like the others in the City now. He was just another empty person.

George tried to find solace in Alba’s love and friendship but he constantly pushed her away, fearing that she too would abandon him…though he was the one abandoning her.

They grew apart, until one day…George was gone. He didn’t die.  He didn’t run away, he didn’t disappear…he was just no longer there. No one noticed, not a single soul. That was George’s happily ever after.

Only the City remained.
And so ends the tale of the boy with the blue pants.


These days

These days it is just I, and not you.

If you break your own heart, then you don't have to worry about some asshole coming along and doing it for you.

Do you ever have one of those days where you feel uncomfortable and desperado, even in your own skin? I wish I could peel it all off and become someone else.


Small Joys

Sometimes I am inspired by the small joys of others.
It reminds me to live with joy.
Rubies within the piles of shit.
No me ahogo.



Tus ojos no me ven.
Tú miras a mí, pero no me ves.

¿Qué hay de nosotros, en esta ciudad cerrada?
La gente mira, pero no se ve.

Tienes ojos, pero has olvidado la usa.
Estás ciego, aunque tus ojos sean abiertos.


Trans-Atlantic Romance, Part 2

Waiting for the trans-Atlantic emails
Flowing data, words of love
Transmitting mis sentimientos tras el señal.
Waiting for these little pedazos of you
Digital smiles, pixelated caridad.
Te amo y...
Sign it, "Yours."
I am.


Good intentions?

Today I ran into a girl I used to know, used to work with. She alway was dying her hair. Today it was purple, that kind of fake punk rock grrl purple. I stopped only for a moment to say hi and catch up but I realised while chatting with her that she was a coke user. It made me feel odd. Kind of sick inside like when you've eaten too much spicy food.
Yet I am not unhappy for her.
You pave your own road to hell.


El Grito

There are somedays living in the Last Bastion of White America when I, surrounded by homogeneity in Powells or my favourite café, want to scream.
Just scream, a note.
Not a word, just a noise.

In this phonetically simple sound, would be reflected my frustration (admittedly sometimes hatred) of what society has created around me. Perhaps I should leave? Some do, some say. However, fleeing does not solve the problem. I would rather enfrentar las cosas con un par de cojones.

Like H. said to me, "If you ignore the problem then it becomes normalized for you."

This shit ain't normal.
What happens to a city once it loses its soul?


Soledad (Not)

Today on my way home I saw a wedding at the art museum and at the same moment, Baby Come Back to Me was playing on my headphones. Everyone looked so happy, the bride in her hanbok looked radiant, like some heavenly angel fallen to heaven for the afternoon.
"I don't want to be alone."
Sometimes those coincidences scare me.
                      I won't be alone.

"Even the stupidest songs could break my heart."



"You are all the shelter I need above me."

A veces I am so in awe of G-d's love for me and humanity. It is like that word, nistar, a Kabbalist term for something you cannot explain to another in any language. These are the feelings sin nombres.

It is that love that I need to remember sometimes. Those moments, estos sometimes cuando me quiero morir, o gritar, odiar, destruir...estos son aquellos momentos que tengo que recordar: la belleza del amor de Dios. And then let is fill me (and like that, el odio se va).
Be as Solomon, with G-d's love in your heart.


La estupidez humana

"Hay dos cosas infinitas: el Universo y la estupidez humana. 
Y del Universo no estoy seguro." --Alberto Einstein

"Papi, no te ahogues en tu odia. Tienes que recordar que no todos ellos son así. Mas, es difícil, yo sé."
Eso dice tu corazón.

And yet you hate them. You hate their easy skinniness, their smirks, their mean cockroach eyes and their empty hearts. Te dije a K. una vez que tú no sientes ná when you "see" them. You hate your Sight sometimes too because you don't want to feel their vindictive emptiness.

Ellos no te merecen. No merecen tu corazón dorao. And this is why you are single. You are not a miserable person by any means but you choose to be alone porque no hay nada to even choose from. Stop hating them and déjalos marchar.

"Somewhere, there's a someone."
Eso es lo que dijo Dean Martin. 


A letter to my uncle

Dear Uncle Gypsy,

Pobrecito, te han robado.
They ripped out your heart,
Burnt down your village,
Raped your wife.
Where are the children? Did they survive?

I’ll carry you in my memory, Uncle Gypsy…
Pa’ que no olvidemos lo que ha sido.
We don’t want to doom repetition.

You dear old man,
 With your twinkling ebony eyes,
Lines in your face to tell a story and
That welcoming smile…

You loved us and they killed you for your happiness.

Sweet Uncle Gypsy…there is nothing left to fear.
You didn’t die in vain. We’ll tell your story.
Yes, the children survived.


Sometimes I...

Sometimes I
Have so many thought-processes procesando en mi mente que I confused even myself.

"Your thought-processes are beautiful.
They make you único."

A la vez me confunde.  I don't always know how to feel. Maybe we're not supposed to know how to feel/decide how...can't we just feel? Can't I just feel? 
Déjalos pasar, los sentimientos.
Just feel. Stop thinking about feeling.