A nosotros

A nosotros los artistas
se nos debe confiar,
sin confiar.
Se nos deberia de alabar
aun sin ganas de proclamar.
Le entregamos sentimientos
en bandejas de plata
y le reflejamos discernimiento
con espejos de oro.
A nosotros los artistas
se nos deberia pagar,
sin pagar.
Se nos deberian de ofrecer,
no tomar un decreto y forzarlos por ley.
Tomamos una historia
y la volvemos realidad
los persuadimos por un pedazo de hilo
y les cosemos un final.
A nosotros los artistas
se nos debe amar,
sin amar.
Se nos deberia de agradecer
aun sin ganas de simpatizar.
Le ofrecemos sentimientos ajenos
y voluntades propias
palabras nuevas
y verdades opuestas.
A nosotros los artistas
se nos debe confiar,
sin confiar.

8/1/07
1:49AM

Bartender

Bartender.
Hagame un trago.
un trago que opaque el silencio
de la amargura
y un poco mas.
Paseme la botella si quiere
le dejo saber
que desde hoy
no hay mas mañanas
ni momentos por contemplar.
Bartender.
aviseme cuando el reloj
deje de pestañar
y sus punteros
apunten hacia un mismo lugar,
hoy le hacemos homenaje
a su forma de empinar las cejas
y a mi vida de bazar. Salud.
Bartender.
Otra copa por favor.
Hagalo un whisky al azar
mezclado con su risa
y forma de mirar.
La mente me vaga por sus lunares
uno en el pie, otro en la nariz
uno en la espalda y otro que lo cubre su cabello
cerca de su oreja.
Bartender.
Prepareme cuatro tragos.
4 whiskies a la roca
uno por cada lunar
para que me hagan llorar.
haga que cada gota me recuerde
la novela en su espalda
y su trasero que me arrebata.
Bartender.
Deme otro whisky.
Usted me comprende
es una sed que viene
no del paladar
sino del alma.
hagalo otra vez a la roca
y desbordelo sin paciencia.

8/1/07
1:00AM

Drive(Part I)

Today i did it.
I drove with my eyes closed.
It felt disturbingly great
as i breezed through the corners of my memories
revisiting those moments that evolved into me,
into my today.
Look here, it`s the time when i wanted
to become an adult already.
How silly. And ironic.
Now older i wish to not grow older.
Never thought i`d be wishing to return to my youth.
It feels like home.
Look here now, it`s the memory of me
trusting anybody, anywhere
opening my heart to anyone that seemed interested.
How innocent.
If i`d only known that betrayal is a human weakness
as well as human nature.
Look there, it`s me on the bridge
exchanging my heart for a cheap price.
How foolish.
If i`d only known that love is a double sided sword.
It kills and it heals.
Look at me over there, sitting down
being a dreamer.
with a thought in my head and a pen in my hand.
How creative.
I would`ve never thought i`d be able to describe things
i`d never seen nor feel.

7/19/07
9:00PM

Unperceived

It`s the idea of speaking without talking
of dancing without moving
of celebrating without laughing
...of intranquility

It`s the idea of running without sweating
of fearing without trembling
of seeing without staring
...of immobility

It`s the idea of drinking without swallowing
of eating without tasting
of touching without feeling
...of numbness

It`s the idea of stretching without flexing
of loathing without hating
of loving without taking
...of calmness

7/18/07
11:00pm

1 out of 2

Chapter I.


He flips the coin. Heads. He pauses, then he flips the coin once again. Heads. He looks out the window of his car as if trying to figure out which way to go. The night is calm and steady. There`s no wind and barely any light to see the surroundings, just the dim and shimmering lights of his car. He lights a cigarette and inhales the smoke smoothly, as if he had all the time in the world to do it. The motor is still running but he doesn`t make a move, he still doesn`t know where he`s headed. This way or that way? He`s still stopped at the intersection. He glances at each road, left then right, as if trying to read them and analyze them. Makes no difference, still doesn`t know. The cigarette burns while he inhales once again, the smoke covering his face. He watches how the cigarette burns, and it reminds him of tonight, of why he`s leaving and of why his life resembles the life of a cigarette. There are so many stories in a cigarette. The sleepless nights where the cigarette was your only friend; the partying nights where its smoke was amidst your joy; the moments of tears that fell on the cigarette, absorbing the tears like a sponge, and it still lit up; the moments of most personal freedom, doubts and questions, just like this moment right now. There are so many stories in them. You take them out of the box new, unlit, like when we come to this world, then you light them up and start to puff their life away, little by little, centimeter by centimeter, the everyday hustle taking our life away, shortening our life span, until we are nothing but a cigarette butt, just as disposable. He tosses the cigarette butt out the window. He pauses for a second. He then mumbles to himself, "Heads` left, tails` right". He flips the coin. Heads. "Oh well...", he says. "...it might as well mean something". He then takes a left while dissapearing into the night.


7/17/07

7-1-07

7-1-07
6:57pm


its a product of 5am sleep drepavation
a rush of flashbacks, u in all of them
from the head to my toes, its all i see and hear

the guitar sound breaks the night
the moonlit night swaggering; boasting, yet deceitful
i cant get no sleep with u in my mind

this stream of chords crying to a never end
a playlist, a view of my shrinking heart
it really feels like the biggest pain

its late and im afraid to move
you swept me away and i wonder how i lost u
it really feels like the biggest mistake


*While listening to Damien Rice`s cd.