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.