April 2010
3 posts
perdóname
I’d like to think I oversleep to avoid the morning commute. To avoid looking on fellow people as despicable, self-serving vermin, vying, pushing, scrambling to get ahead of the next caffeine-crazed corpse. No, I choose the path less taken, for which I may appreciate the smile of a stranger whose kind image might linger with me throughout the day.
writing and deliberation
Sitting down to write is a very deliberate act. If only typewriters had been born in the mind,
Then we could dance.
Instead, we sit, think, spend too much money on a Starbuck’s tea—for coffee at this hour would be unwise—gaze out the window at unsuspecting tourists as I grope for inspiration, procrastinating with yet another piece of chocolate—yes I know that has caffeine too—all for the sake of...
¿tienes hambre?
¿Tienes hambre? I would say.
I am Jack’s lingering guilt. There can be only one reason for inspecting a bag such as that. It, piercing the nose when you first pick it up while oily fluid leaks onto your hands, is yet another reminder of my fortune.
¿Tienes hambre?
I would say, not knowing what would follow. He might look up for a moment, his face sad and incredulous. The streetlight casts...
March 2010
3 posts
los detalles más finos
Si tengo que ir, iré. Si tú tienes que ir, no me importará.
Si me importara, yo iría contigo. Si fuera contigo, no estaría aquí.
Si no hubiera estado allí, no hubiera hecho esto. Y si no hubiera hecho esto,
quizás, te hubiera importado.
jódete vecino
the rap tap tapping in my head the rap tap tapping right above my bed slam smack splitting saws through my mind dirty manga-less men molesting all the time.
to be a writer
I think a lot about what it would be like to be a writer. Sitting at the typewriter, leaning over a coffee-stained table poorly lit by one of those tiny lamps with the green ceramic shades. Smoking cigarettes is always a bad idea. Another hour passes as I peck away on my Underwood Portable, acquired by means not simply of my own doing, no doubt, but mine nonetheless. It was probably a...
August 2009
2 posts
noise
When you’re by yourself for a long time
My thoughts become very loud.
But they never seem to go anywhere.
What’s there to think about when there’s no one to talk to?
If I started to write them down,
Would they go anywhere?
Or would they just keep looping
Incessantly, molestingly, endlessly?
How do singers turn words into melodies?
What comes first? The music or the...
