Don't Panic

Fall

2011-08-11T21:32:00.000-07:00

You bring around a fragrance of a smiling fall.
If the taste wasn't so bitter, I'd lower my guard.
Makes me hesitant. But fall is so beautiful, and I'm done watching residual happiness.
Maybe it's the soft look at a safe distance. Maybe it's the trail of uninterrupted hands. I don't know if I'll understand, but it most certainly pins me against the wall. Renders me shapeless.

Downtown.

2011-05-14T13:54:00.000-07:00

The dim magenta lights uncovered thoughts. It painted all of our faces, shedding off the darkness, peeling it back. Some came and went, but we sat at the table finishing our drinks. Well, at least I was finishing my drink. She sat across from me. At times, friends occupied the vacant chairs beside us. We flipped through conversation topics like a photobook, selecting carefully our thoughts, soaking in the imagery. Then the chairs emptied again, she didn't budge. At this point it began to be a problem. I grew anxious. I wouldn't be able to escape this without a few blows to the chest. Her hands grazed mine, she held them for a while, asked about my bit fingernails. I smiled, told her I have anxiety problems. She showed me hers, she had the same problem. Blow #1. She smiled. We sat quietly. I didn't say a thing. I didn't have to. I would've stuttered if I did anyway. She called out an awkward silence. "I'm completely full of those," I told her. "I haven't felt awkward at all," she replied half-smilingly. Blow #2. I don't know if it was a peak of intentions that peaked through the veils of her eyes, or if it was the thunderous amount of alcohol I had consumed earlier, but she was trying to tell me something with that stare. Maybe I'm over-analyzing and it didn't mean a thing. Maybe I was hopeful. She dissected my brain with that stare. Her eyes wouldn't give in. It was like playing chicken with a beautiful Mack truck, the one you'd hope would crash into you. I shied my stare away. Looked at the black tabletop. Drew the graffitied names with my finger and my cup. I glanced again, and there it was; the beautiful Mack truck staring back, asking for another round of chicken. Blow #3 and we called it a night. We all left with our partied faces. Some with stories, telephone numbers and even some blow. I left with a sour feeling much like the sour mix I was drinking, a confused head and an intolerable sense of autophobia.

Just a series of blurs, like it never ocurred. Someday, you will be loved.

2011-02-23T04:23:00.000-08:00

Things you say, and the things you do sometimes make me believe that you need some type of reassurance that you are a woman. You dictate the things that most certainly describe you as one...over...and over...and over. You need to listen to yourself to inflate your ego. How silly of me to think we could remain good friends. So beautiful, but you still have a lot to learn. Pitiful...that you keep remembering what was wrong, trying to figure it out. It was pretty clear in the end. All I remember now are the good times. In 2 years and spare change, I think we amounted to a whole bunch of those. Just pick one to remember, instead of blowing old steam in second person informal pronouns. Then again, whatever. In the end you'll do what you want. You'll eventually mature. Until then, we'll just read our sporadic messages directed to each other. Have a good life.

Lips

2011-02-15T19:17:00.000-08:00

He doodled carelessly whatever came to mind.
The paper was too obviously saturated with triangles
dots, waves, squares, instead of what he would regularly jot down.

"Explore the complications of the Earth, but do
not dwell in the hallways of particles and waves."

You could see his tongue motioning the T's and L's and his lips folding to
form the V's and P's and F's, all in silence. Every word bounced inside the walls of his head, he could not follow. He struggled concentrating on the meaning of all this. He wrote it down next to his doodles. There was a disconnection between mind/body/brain. Our friend had been feeling this way for days. The doodles were a mere representation of the static in his head. It's not that his mind was blank. It was just too much. To catch a single thought was a feat. He would have to be quick, open his hand and snatch one. Everytime he tried, his grasp was too hard. The thought would fragment.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Her lips tactically moved, dressed in red, swift, precise. They called him to their trickery and mischief. But like everything drenched in brightness; "Oh Peligro!"
He calmed his soul looking to escape from whatever chained his eyes, to the pictures in his brain. Gestalt missed sexual attraction in his theory. He would have to snap his neck off to unchain. Her eyes motioned him to pour more. It seemed like the better idea, to soften the brick wall. After all, it was what stood between them. It never did soften, it never could anyway. He just beat his head against it and stared from the windows of his eyes. The conversation could go on all night long. He didn't mind feeling like he did. Ateast he felt something, and had someone beautiful to look at while feeling miserable. He gulped his glass of wine, knowing the harm he was doing to his liver. He smiled. It softened the harsh saw of thoughts and worries. Bottom line: He wanted her breath on his skin, but he couldn't have it. All the more reason to want something. Unattainability builds up expectations, false hopes,
alternate worlds. He lived in this alternate world for a little while. He smiled.

"What are you smiling about?"
He felt like a child, caught awake on a school night.

"Just something I remembered. I'll tell you later, go on."

"I think you also know Veronica and Jay, " she said, lacking curiosity.

"I know Jay," he said unenthused.

"They asked me and my boyfriend to appear in their music video they're shooting for..." she continued.

The words just reverberated into background noise. Our friend, Samuel, Sammy, Sandman, the day dreamer, felt his body sink into the chair. He felt the wine working its magic in his cerebral cortex, his libmic system (especially), and his hypothalamus. He welcomed it. In fact, he needed it. It would surpress the pain from beating his head with the brick wall between their souls.
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A good enough 50 degrees farenheit outside, slight fog, white atmosphere, birds chirping, some dogs barking far away, they all painted a quaint suburban picture. Chilly. Early. The suave chill crept up Sam's bedsheets. It wrapped his legs and caressed his cheeks. He opened one eye. He delicately grasped a thought with his hand. It didn't shatter. "I have to wake up" With one eye opened, face down swiming in his black and red sheet/comforter combo, Sam flipped over. He rubbed his face, feeling his soft smidgen of facial hair. He sat right up on his bed, cracked open the curtains a little bit. He always liked his room so dark. It helped him sleep. Thoughts don't linger as much in the dark. He stood up, peaking through the curtain. White sun dressed his bare chest, and static his brain. He could only remember short scenes from the previous night. He remembered the terra-cotta colored patio, the christmas lights that surrounded the low walls, the metal chairs. He could remember seeing some of the brighter stars. The wine. Red. Smiles.

Auxology

2010-10-11T19:05:00.000-07:00

Untangling the cables on the top of his head on one specific morning, just after brushing his teeth, and after getting out of bed, but necessarily before having his first bite of toast, our main friend described only in type had felt his soul gain a few hundred pounds. It was this sort of heaviness that made him breathe hard, and speak with the same amount of words as dollar bills he had in his wallet. Just so you know, he had only a few. With his clean teeth, and combed hair, he was presentable for his toast. It was the only thing he could get inside his stomach. Light and tasteless. The cables he tried to untangle that morning, weren't only the threads of hair attached to his scalp. His life also ran tangled throughout his head. He didn't have the same luck he did with his hair. Hair untangles far too easily in comparison. He tried not to think. Chew, swallow, drink, and repeat where the only commands that passed unfiltered through his body.

Almost as comatose as him, was his pet dog. Crazy little fella. He only had tangled hair. His life seemed quite easy. He woke up and protected his master faithfully, from the comfort of his makeshift dog-bed. Both of them were clueless as to how the world would end. Only one of them was clueless of how the day would end( hint: it's not the dog).

The day ends with three words, three syllables, two pronouns and a verb. Funnily enough, it used to begin with the same structure.

A universe dies collapsing on itself, while another one is recreated in misery. A little more on that later. We'll just follow out friend to work for a little while.

His soul felt heavy, but his body felt as light as a feather. His car seemed to speed up faster just because of this new super-power of lightness. He drowned what would become thoughts in an instant of chemical materialization with music. He would lyrically speak his mind through the words of other poets. His ideas, in that half hour trip, were those of his gurus. He abandoned all original thought.

Modern technology made the destruction and creation of the universe possible. His cellphone vibrated on top of the passenger seat. It was an armed high-power explosive device. In it you could find the equivalent nuclear weapon yield of something that could blow souls to other parts of the universe. The bullshit music that blasted through the speakers didn't just drown his thoughts.

Our friend, an average 5'10.5" had average intelligence quotient, average dick size, although scruffy looking, also had an average haircut. He always thought he was meant for something big, but he was just average all over. He was just another building block that provided a service to all the other average building blocks. He knew none to little that he would have a great responsibility bestowed upon him as soon as he noticed the flashing screen of his cellphone. Half-way done through "I'm Blue" by The Shangri-La's, his apathy turns to sadness. The toast made it's way easily to his intestine, leaving his stomach completely empty. His body, almost expressionless is feeling the pressure his soul is exerting on it. It wants to give up. The cellphone caught his glance. The red LED did what every woman with a red dress ever did to other men who trusted them; lure them in and leave their meat to the wolves. Dillinger had experienced this fate already when Anna Sage ratted him out to the cops. Just like John Dillinger, our friend fell in the snare. It was a message. The kind like this one you are reading. In type, in English, and exactly 3 words. It set off the infinite megaton power it held. It dismantled every single molecule in ground zero, creating a chain reaction of chaos. His soul was blasted elsewhere, the thread that hung it to its corresponding body snapped. Momentum. He was lo longer alive.

Oh my

2010-09-09T13:23:00.000-07:00

I had posted here more or less around this same date last year.
Today it doesn't seem any different.
Every September when it rains it pours.
It's usually very little tiny drops, but they come in millions bashing off the concrete and making small dents and cracks. Then the sun rises up high, and all you see is the vapor leaving the cracks. Nonetheless, it still cracked the concrete.

I was walking down a big city, wandering. I had been at a party. I was just standing by, no contact with anyone. The room is candlelit. A fight erupts and in my mind I think I hear gunshots and exit the bar. I lose consciousness until the next day. A painting at the entrance of the locale, when seen from sky view, depicts a murder. Skulls swallowing a body in an array of brilliant colors, pulling her down a hole.

At this point, I know what I have to do: I have to find the body. The police start a search, but I don't care. I want to know what happened by myself. It's cold outside and I don't have a jacket. There's snow. Loads. Police are looking in trash bags, sewers, empty buildings. I start running. I'm getting anxious. I feel I am being directed to where the body is. At this point, I don't want to just find the body, I want to know who did it. I run up the wet, cold streets warming up my hands. I know. I know where she is. I go running down to the pond by an old abandoned playground. It's all slush and grass. I have to me carefull not to fall in. I see bags hanging from a tree. I know its her. I don't want to peek in. Someone is watching me. I feel a stare coming from behind. I was being followed. It was a mexican woman. All the information sort of rushes through my brain. I had seen her at the bar. It was her, she's talking on the phone calling for someone up, and I see up in the distance a car coming up. I run. I run up atop the highest mountains. I skip and jump away, there is almost no ground at the top of these mountains. They are really thin and narrow. I fall and trot down scared running as fast as I can. I can see the university. The car appeared. The man inside draws a gun. He starts shooting like a maniac, he's not even pointing properly. I am scared. I find myself trapped inside high wire fences. He jumps in, and starts firing away emptying his bullets. I think that I am dead. He runs out of bullets, I go for his gun. I wake up.

Untitled Emotions

2009-10-12T21:00:00.000-07:00

Sometmes the words get filtered through the nodes, just like sand through endless hair. There is never a reason to fret, but I insist. Serenity sings like a mythical creature in these bothered states maybe because it lies across the sea. Certainty means you crash in the deepest oceans, called in by the sirens. The strings resonate throughout the ether and they remind you how you are more than flesh, it would take so much more to drown your thoughts. Of course...don't panic.

-- Post From My iPhone

The week condensed

2009-09-11T20:06:00.000-07:00

FUck the week.
Expanded:
I never really look forward to my birthday, and I easily forget why.
I hadn't noticed until the day after, that it is usually full of things that I don't want. Maybe it just feels that way because I am used to all of them being that way.
It's not that I don't have fun, it's not that I feel depressed,it's not that I feel old, but that usually the shitstorm heads my way on the surrounding days of my integer ways of surviving life. It feels like battling against the stream, until the water suddenly just freezes. Maybe tomorrow I'll be rowing with ease, but not for now, and not probably for a few days. I know I'll be tempted to just get out of the water, and watch the others play and swim, but I won't. My limbs can take so much more.

It's more than uncool that my thoughts echo out to a place where they are just others.
Singular form ignored.
No indexing.
The words never muttered.
emotions?
Just make me look like a fool.
Then I remind myself that they are just chemical reactions, and that sleep will neutralize them. Even the ones happening in my stomach, my mouth, my lungs. They will all float away with the flick of a switch or two.

It's a weekend night and I ain't...

2009-08-28T06:29:00.000-07:00

Headlights peering through dark rimmed symmetrics, in single file line,
Bouncing frequencies...same reactions.
The lights have smashed on their skin all the same.
It has all turned more predictable than ever,
specially since the hues can map out their solid almost spaceless shape.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
(Pt.1)
It doesn't matter how much I steer my brain to not think of you,
your face seems to gamble in the noise.
Every movie is apparently staged in New York,
where I can see you walking like an extra
down the wet busy streets.
I can see you dancing or dining
in the corner of the screen.

Buraka Som SIstema

2009-07-14T09:14:00.000-07:00

Here is my remix of Buraka Som Sistema's Black Diamond.
ENjoy.

Buraka Som Sistema - Black Diamond(Seqz RMX) by Geometry

Excursions in Hyperbolic Emotion.

2009-07-02T22:56:00.000-07:00

To him, the fact that things looked so shitty in the given spectrum was a mystery. Things were indeed not shitty. Circumstances did fail to make things polished or "fine", but summing it up, it wasn't really that shitty. It just takes a tiny pebble to topple a whole mountain of arrangements that are so intricately designed to stay erect. The winds shook its foundations we guessed. To some of us it was just summer breeze, but to him...winds. I believed him when he said that the interactions only made him realize that the words were sandblasting him to the very core. It's such a shame to let words do such harm. He felt he was about to give up. But then he realized he had nothing to give up, and that made him only feel worse. "Give up what?" he thought. But no one heard him, he learned that thoughts are just that, the words no one hears. He had many thoughts, few words. I thought that maybe he longed for expression. We all thought the same thing. He never spoke endlessly about his thoughts like some of us do. Ranting on and on about interactions, intelects, and creativities."What is the purpose of the wind?" or "Why are dogs so mad at cats?" would rather fill his head than collective nonsense. This of couse would create miscommunication, trying to manifest these thoughts. Words, he thought, he rather not. Society? He still remained functional within parameters, but he knew, and I knew that the distance to the thin line was far from being a feat. That thin line between insanity and social functionality. He understood this very well. We almost did, but then again, I guess we really didn't. At least I know that all I knew was that he needed only to hop or trip to get to the other side. The other side promised many things. We had been shown since little darlings that we were. Promises of lonliness and silence, detailed schedules, padded rooms. This text means, of course, that someone hopped or tripped. Funnily enough, as functional and rational that I may seem, it is me who is writting across the padded walls. Circumstances made me trip. I am no longer part of the collective, and I am almost glad. I am satisfied observing through a looking glass from the other side. From silence,unparameterized.

2009-07-01T12:09:00.000-07:00

As I run through bolds and italics, matter seems to collapse behind me. God created a universe that is held up with duct-tape and toothpicks, rubber bands and paper clips. It can only hold up for so long. There is no amount of patchwork that could help fix this place, we are destined for destruction. The field longs for complex chaos. I guess it can all be summed up by one word.
Decay. D-e-c-a-y. It's a scary word. To decompose. Desintegrate. Human decomposition, radiactive decay, food decay, health deterioration. It is applied to most everything, because everything ages, and becomes everything it was not, and that is the scary part. It was perfect but it decayed. We were written down in the perfect equation, but we made it deteriorate. Maybe I'm just mad at us as I am writing this, or maybe I oversimplify things by using a word that simply describes the situation, blowing it up, applying it to everything I see at the moment. All I can say is that I am not happy with my broken window. I hope you deteriorate at a faster rate.

the universe is held together by a piece of continuous and recursive string.

2009-06-17T16:48:00.000-07:00

The windows would let in a variety of rays once the sun came up from its cage called gravity. The only reason the light bounces off the concrete is that there is not a hole through where the particle/waves can seep through. No holes through where my eyes can peek through. Landscapes are matte grey, and pastel painted. I've no reason to believe that these giants are keeping me inside, but I look at them, and they smile. I know they want to keep me here. The walls, they all stand and stare and sing. The songs beat beautifully on my membranes. I curse the damned sirens.
It's 9:36 in the morning, sun is up, people are awake and my digestive meats growl from their cave. Fuel: one of the many reasons to slide off from bed. wishwecouldjustphotosynthesize. Wish I could be a Jackalope. I wish to be a hoax, so I could swim between streams, among ideas and great plans. Plans to destroy and to unite. Swim along chaos, swim along comformity. Swim along structure and order. I aim to be multidirectional or maybe not; omnidirectional...like the Jackalope, and in my tiny little deathbox carved by hand, on the header, title page, epitaph "here lies the only living hoax".

2009-04-30T10:01:00.000-07:00

There are two kinds of people in the world; those who fuck up and those who get fucked over.

It's funny wh
en you stop d
ividing the w
orld into the
usual black &
white, and pu
sh a gradients
in between. P
erspective. I
n my honest o
pinion, the o
pening senten
ce rings true
anyway, desp
ite these wat
ered down ver
sions of sol
id tones. At
least in my e
ars. Makes se
nse that I wou
ld be the sec
ond kind, not
because of st
upidity, or be
cause I would
be the submis
sive kind. Ju
st because I c
are too much
to be the one
that fucks o
ver.

Therefore I must be the other kind.

Whisper through complex electronics the truths of a happy life.
How every year I die, and there rest your flowers on my grave.
At least make me believe so.
There is no space in this skull for more.
The thoughts linger, and never leave.
How to explode?

=]

2009-04-26T20:06:00.001-07:00

Greens
Circle I Limbo

PETA Members
Circle II Whirling in a Dark & Stormy Wind

Hipsters
Circle III Mud, Rain, Cold, Hail & Snow

Republicans
Circle IV Rolling Weights

Goths
Circle V Stuck in Mud, Mangled

River Styx

Rednecks
Circle VI Buried for Eternity

River Phlegyas

The Pope
Circle VII Burning Sands

General asshats
Circle IIX Immersed in Excrement

Scientologists
Circle IX Frozen in Ice

Design your own hell

Please

2007-11-14T21:20:00.003-08:00

Tell me where did hope go.

Here Comes The Night, And The Cold

2007-11-14T09:54:00.000-08:00

He had felt a gentle breeze, as if everything was alright. He knew it was all far from ok. But sometimes, in life, you have to let things flow, because you'd go insane. There was nothing that could change everything back to the way it was. Even now, where technology can give us babies, there's no device, or formula in the known world that could take everything he did and said and make it future tense. He simply learned to live with it. When he rushed home, back from work, Daniel had taken out a notebook and bled all the ink that was etched on the back of his head. He had seen some light in darkness, and finally decided to let go on paper. The wine, pulled by mere gravity, fell down and burned the bottom of Daniel's stomach. As did the smoke, when conquering the breathing pathways, burn his lungs. This method, used by many, seems to link the ideal world, with our material world. Relaxed brains, much less rigid and scientific, explore a plane like no other. The asymmetrical design that took form of a note on a paper, reeked of regret. And so falls the night, and the stories of human beings. Simultaneously writing notes to each other, simultaneously killing, feeding, robbing and crying for each other.

La vida debajo de una piedra.

2007-11-14T09:37:00.000-08:00

No se donde me levante, pero aparentemente fue en el lugar equivocado. Las calles están silenciosas, no hay ni un alma vagabundeando en los pasillos. No puede ser posible todo esto, que se hayan sincronizado los hechos que me llevaran al punto de ebullición. Me pregunto como me veré al estallar. Nada fluye. Todos los artistas están obsesionados con hablar del fluir de algo, siempre me preguntaba ...el fluir de que?, pues no se todavía....pero me hace falta. Creo que me falta un poco de vida, y no se donde la deje, si fue debajo de mi cama, o si se la preste a alguien. Tal vez alguien me la quito. Solo se que la necesito, y muy pronto. Don't Panic.
Fuck you. Atleast I'm out of here in a few days. Días de paz me harán bien...

You have no idea.

2007-10-10T22:33:00.000-07:00

I might explode. That's what they tell me when I have bottled feelings like these.
My thoughts have been colliding, fragmenting, some getting lost. Not a soul knows what it feels like. I can be almost certain.

We were discussing the consciousness of things. How light is conscious, and that struck me, because it can explain the behavior of particles, especially light. Then we went in deeper into talking how objects are conscious, but only that they are for example a table, and that's the only thing they can be, tables don't talk, nor do they have fur. Then I asked if we could elevate other object's state of consciousness...and he answered that that's precisely what magi do, manipulate the object's consciousness, but only with knowledge of God's divine plan.

A guy got killed this morning...50 bullets.
All the car next to me could think was...why me? Why this morning?
Out of all days, why did this guy have to die on the route that I take to work?

Aveces siento que no existo...

2007-09-05T14:25:00.000-07:00

Today a young man on acid realized that all matter is mearly energy condensed through a slow vibration, we are all one consciousness experiencing itself subjectively, life is only a dream and we are the imaginations of ourselves. Here's Tom with the weather.

- Bill Hicks

Aveces me imagino un día levantándome, y no sabiendo donde estoy. No saber en que cuerpo me habré metido. Levantarme y no reconocer a nadie, ni la criatura que soy. Aveces lo trato de hacer, preguntarme por que andamos con animales amarrados caminando, y por que bebemos brebajes inyectados con gas. Por que nos grabamos haciendo cosas imitando la vida real. Por que nos asombramos con la partida de un ser querido, y como alabamos a un ser superior, personificandolo
a nuestra conveniencia. Como nos reunimos en centros a comprar y a comprar una unidad de intercambio común. Como tenemos un sinnúmero de sistemas comunes , incluyendo los sonidos que a diario escuchamos para entretenernos. Como estamos divididos por la forma de hablar y el color de piel, en que ser superior creemos. Como enseñamos los dientes, y esto atrae a ambos gente del mismo y opuesto género .

Aveces me pregunto todo esto sentado en los pasillos, y muchas cosas mas. Después me pregunto si alguien mas piensa lo mismo, y si lo hace, por que?

Ascending in the driver's seat.

2007-09-04T09:35:00.000-07:00

Nunca te has dado cuenta, del mundo alrededor tuyo en el camino a plaza? Aveces pienso que es el estar pendiente que el cabron que esta al lado tuyo no te corte, acabando en un choque desastroso. No es por ser pesimista, pero esque asi son las cosas. Entonces te das cuenta de las bellezas no solamente en Puerto Rico, por que eso seria egoista, el solamente pensar en lo que nos dieron aqui. Piensas en todo y como esta compuesto todo, y lo que rige cada cosa. De momento puedes ver el sistema y no lo entiendes por que no eres capaz de reconocer unos conceptos incogniscibles, por que esos conceptos son Dios. Y que es Dios? Dios es. Super rarisimo, yo escribiendo de Dios, pero no confundan con un fanatico, pero con alguien que anda buscando, no en las iglesias ni centros de rezo, ni en templos ni sinagogas (aunque deberia pasar por ahi aunque sea por 5 minutos) pero desde el asiento del chofer. Vamos a ver si se me da con las 22 letras, y la variedad de libros.

The Murderous Island

2007-08-18T11:29:00.000-07:00

The doors rattle, making an instrumental percussive lullaby to sing us to sleep. Us, the ones that roam around at night. The power went out. It packed it's bags and walked south, towards a hungry cat. 3 beast. No pretty pictures, no communication, just rain. Just the instruments of slumber. Everytime I close my eyes, I try to fade away. It's been a very unlucky week, and I asky my self "Why?" Then a story takes life, and it becomes a cycle.

Baby the door is locked. Even though the shadows seep in through the bottom crack, we are safe in here, from their wandering senses. We can always hide under the sheets and pretend it's our touring circus, performing in Vegas, under the radioactive fireflies. The beating of the skin drums, and the spring metronomes cry in tune. The rain...the springs, the rain...the drums, and doors...and now she leads. How she whispers , taking delight in the midnight jam. A twenty minute track. Intermission.

Me cago en diez.

2007-05-15T08:14:00.000-07:00

La semana no acaba, por que solamente empieza. En el patio hay un desastre "waiting to happen". La madre de las bombas de hydrogeno. Silencio, solamente el viento soplando la mierda de la grama, como si le quisiera quitar el alma penetrando su interior con aire. Las sirenas suenan....air raid. Nos jodimos Julian. Nos jodimos , que eso cae y nos despedaza hasta el ultimo atomo. El diablo no estara feliz hasta no ver que cada particula subatomica no este ligada electronicamente. Alomejor todo esta en mi cabeza, pero se siente que el patio dejara de existir. Ni se diga la azotea, ahi hay polvo del malo, del que no te deja pensar. Un reguero, revistas, libros sin imagenes.Cd's. Y lo surreal. Lo surreal se apodera y no tiene fin ni comienzo. Aveces va y viene como si estuviese hecha de seda o alguna tela translucente, o talvez de agua donde lo real aveces penetra, para solamente disolverse 20 segundos despues. Aunque no parezca mucho 20 segundos son una eternidad.Una eternidad en mi cerebro, mi asotea. Uno abre la nevera, otro lee un libro y el perro ladra a las 12:40 am, exxactamente cuando decidimos que FLASH. Silencio. La alarma para. Nos dissolvemos.

Rings and things...

2007-04-16T05:50:00.000-07:00

You wake up, and the clock reads 9:15. In half a minute the connections in your brain, find the right path to your consciousness, making you realize that you have 15 minutes to get ready and go to work. You can't get up, you only slept 4 hours and your body is not recharged enough to burst out of bed. But you try. Then you realize, in those exact 15 minutes, you must BE at work. By the end your shift, your cellphone will have 15 missed calls, and you have to go pick up your brother, who's been waiting for someone to pick him up from the bus terminal. The sun starts having his share of fun, poking and poking your cranium. Then you just want to drop dead. Right there, right now...Then of course, the most prettiest of things start to happen, and you forget about it all. Because you let yourself fall down, on your bed. Asleep. All the pretty pictures, all the great stimulation for the senses awaiting somewhere else. It's the only way to keep sane, to escape for a few hours. Some just never come back, others never even realize that they were here to begin with. Others, grow bitter because they never saw that place. Cheers...

Traffic

2007-02-21T09:45:00.001-08:00

He was lying there, and all I could think about was tangled up on the insides of my head.However it had nothing to do with my curiosity of the exact events that led him to lie there in the middle of the street. His breaths became shorter and faster.As did mine.All I could really think about, instead of what happened that caused this, was the connection I felt I had with this quadruped on the road, I suddenly felt the sadness of everyone around me, and maybe even his. His veins had become his prison, still pumping fuel into the machine, not letting him escape. His whole body twitched. The blood seeped through his ears, and down through his nose, his breaths shorter and faster. I couldnt believe it. I had no reason too, I was sleepy, and not at all happy because of previous situations that morning.As the light turned green, I stared through the mirror to catch another glimpse of what would now probably bee a corpse, even though I promised my self it was too cruel an image to look at again. He was nowhere to be found. I thought maybe another car had run over him, or maybe I was imagining things, which would be highly unlikely since I could see it clearly.I drove along trying to forget, because I had no reason to go back to what had happened.

Musings

2007-02-20T16:47:00.001-08:00

'"I'm comin.I'm comin'.Goddammit." I have been hearing the knocking for quite a while now.I had been having trouble finding the remote to pause this episode of Family Guy I've been wanting to see all week. As I opened the little view slit on the door, I wondered...what could be of this much importance to come and bother me while Family Guy is on. "Open up, can I use your machine washer?" Ugh Freck."Sure, go head come on in, you know where it is.What happened to yours...?" "They stole it," he replied. I bursted laughing in the insdide of my head "Man I don't get it, why would someone steal a fucking washing machine?" I looked at him, until finally my thoughts seeped out, and I let out a chuckle."See if I knew, I wouldn't be laughing at you.Did they take anything else though?" Freck looked at me with a straight face. " Some DVD's but that's it, like just a few of them. It's a really odd robbery if you tell me.Shit is, I was sleeping the whole time.I was fucking there and I didn't hear a single thing."