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DEDICATED TO YOU

Australia. Muggy darkness, voodoo, and cowboy boots. Distrust from the floating eyeballs that line your path. The junkies occupy your fears. The ocean waves crash, the wind whips past like a thief. Everything is cursed.

FUCK HOW YOU FEEL

Like a cold chewed up piece of bubble gum, you lay drained of life. And I continue to uppercut the villains with a rhythmic precision as sharp as a knife.

He died for your sins. For your habitual masturbation.

Man: What are those? Me: Pupusas. Man: What did you just call me?

MOMENTOUS HUE I ride my bicycle through Brooklyn, poor but in love with Summer. Fear chases my tail – a trail of inky malice painting the streets black. But the Sun still shines wherever I reside, feeding me passions from the dewy mornings I awaken to, puffy-eyed and alive, to the lazy sun-baked tumble into myterious moonlight. I clutch the rays and save them for the oppressive Winter days. I burn the memories in my mind and sing the songs of heartbreak to remind me of better days. I ride my bicycle through Brooklyn, and feel the violent pavement like a machine gun under my grip. The loud breeze chapping my cheek and hands – this is where life meets bliss, I've come to realize, in the momentum and abrasion, in nature's precarious dance with danger. I will ride into the dark, ride into the light, ride into death and ride into life.

Back to delicious violence. Dancing into utter selfishness and overindulgence. My sensitive facade is stripped to reveal cold steel and third degree burns. Those lovely old thoughts are a distant dream and this is the real world, where bodies are flesh and narcissism fistfucks your bleeding holes. The only purity is in intangible sounds and chords, the rest are whiplashed conclusions rooted in confusion. Will it ever be the same? Probably not. Are these the right choices? Probably not. This biological clock is giving me hints but what's the point? Abort the family line. End of ignorance and navievté, and thereby ending the immaculate joy. Crude and jaded, crass and getting ass. I don't feel the same. Welcome back to the wellspring of hate where all my favorite monsters live, it's been 4 years since we've said good-bye. Give it up harder, give it up faster. Don't stop 'til it hurts. Don't stop 'til it feels like regret.

RIP Juan Gabriel English lyrics: I didn't know what sadness meant, I didn't know what tears meant, These tears that make me cry, I didn't know about any of that, I only knew about affection and tenderness, Because ever since I was little, That's what my mother taught me, That's what my mother taught me This and much more... I never suffered I never cried I was so happy My life was great oh My life was so different, something beautiful, divine Full of happiness I knew only about joy, about the beauty of life, I didn't know about loneliness. I never suffered, I never cried, I was so happy....My life was great... Chorus(x2) Until one day we met, I then started to see life with pain I'm not lying to you, I was happy, Even though I had so little love, And I realized too late, That I shouldn't have loved you, Because now I think only of you, More than yesterday, much more than before... I never suffered, I never cried, I was so happy... Until I met you Now I want you to tell me Whether it was worth or not the trouble Of meeting you Because I don't believe you anymore And you were so bad Yes, you were so bad to me That's why I never want... I never want to see you Leave, leave, go... go away, I don't want you I never want to see you Leave

Sometimes I write notes about what I see in New York. I had this one sitting on my desktop for a while, thinking I was going to expand it. So much time had passed that I've just decided to leave them as is: Down in the 59th street subway station there was a man who would drum on buckets for tips while his young son danced. As time passed I'd see them less and less but catch them every now and then at different stations. Eventually I stopped seeing them altogether, until one night I saw the man's son in place of his father, playing the same beats on the same buckets. The boy had a fierce determination to match his father's precision and energy. It was a heartwarming sight but it filled me with a peculiar feeling. The boy no longer looked like a boy, but a young man shedding what little traces of his childhood he had left. I turned away, thinking about how long I've been living in New York, feeling like maybe I've grown past or lost something here too. My train arrived but in my distracted state I forgot to board. It departed the station and left me behind. First warm day after Winter: On the neon lit streets outside one of my favorite panini spots, I did my best to avoid a schizophrenic man talking out loud about how all the women stop to check him out because he's so fine. On my walk back to the subway I saw East Village art bros wearing fleece and backward caps on the rooftop of an overpriced tenement building. They were listening to 90s gangster rap and drinking craft beer. At the street level I came across a senior citizen pissing on a car and his other senior citizen friend keeping watch . The look out called back to his friend, "Don't worry, he's gone now." Shortly after, three drunk people walked by me and one of the girls screamed, "I love penis!" Her outburst bleeding right into the rant of another man on the opposite end of the street yelling into his phone, "I got dis n*gga's pajamas in my backpack!" I saw a nicely dressed couple parting ways, sharing a romantic kiss at the woman's apartment entrance. Down in the subway station, a hippie was playing Final Fantasy songs on an accordion, and I when I boarded the train everyone inside was packed like sardines - young, painfully beautiful sardines.

Reading America is in the Heart by Carlos Bulosan. I had to put the book down and switch to listening to music for fear that I might start getting too emotional on the crowded train. Reading this story feels like remembering a forgotten past.

I dreamed a typical dream with transluscent images and vague prophecies. California. On the phone, it's Jessica. She tells of mommy visiting and says, "She's coming out this time to tell you she didn't want you to move to New York because she didn't want you to be far from her." The California coast, mountains and cool breeze - landline between my sister and I. I tell her I'm coming back but I won't return empty-handed. What am I missing? What haven't I written? A sense of urgency fills my heart but a sadness of loss and passing time accompanies it simultaneously. I wake up in a warm dank room. It's overcast out. 6:10am. It's too early to get out of bed but the realization of discomfort hits me as I roll in sheets damp with sweat. I want to cry, but not out of sheer misery like the last time. It's a color of sadness that gives life to motivation and purpose. My heart is cautious and hopefully wiser.

Finding a new partner is exciting. It feels good to be wanted and pursued. The early courtship days are like a dance - you move one way and he moves another, testing what you can say, what makes him smile, slowly revealing things about yourself to see how he would respond. You put your best foot forward, wearing your best outfits and taking time on your appearance. He does the same, and you see little things about him that make you like him even more - his reactions, his voice, his face and body. The first touches are magical, like setting foot in a new country and allowing your senses to take it all in - the smells, how it touches your nose, the weather, like his touch, how it feels on your skin. It feels good to be be wanted and pursued. The first kiss is exhilarating, like those moments just before you shoot down on the first big descent on a roller coaster ride. "This is really happening," you think, "Oh, my goodness, this is really happening!" The sensation is even more intoxicating than the wine that swirled in your head the moment you thought, "Fuck it". Your body reacts and you live with his image and his smell for the days that follow. You think about him when you're going to sleep and find happiness in knowing that someone out there wants you - someone out there wants to appreciate you. This is a good person, you think, this might be a good match. Give him a chance, they say. He's got his goals figured out, he comes from a good family and has a solid path in life. He lives in a nice home and does fun things. He has good habits and best of all, he's attractive! It feels good to be wanted and pursued. You overlook the red flags because there are too many good things to dwell on the bad. It's been so long since you've dragged your heart in the mud, to have held out for so long for something to change - the possibilities shrinking to an impossibility. But don't worry, finding a new partner is exciting, and it feels good to be wanted and pursued. Look at all the cool and fun things he knows and does. It's okay that you don't know what makes him mad, what truly makes him mad - that will come later. It's okay that he doesn't know what makes you sad, what truly makes you sad - that will come later. It's easy to live in the now, because worries, fears and insecurities are not sexy and new, they're scary and heartbreaking and difficult to navigate. Your pride, your fears and your needs are not date-talk, they are frustrating and sad and difficult to mend. A person eventually becomes old and familiar and the truth is like a hangover following a blissful evening drunk on infatuation, drugged on euphoric new pursuits. You'll find that he's just like the rest of them - strange and painfully ordinary. But it's okay, it feels good to be wanted and pursued.

I see a red door and I want it painted black No colors any more, I want them to turn black I see the girls walk by, dressed in their summer clothes I have to turn my head until my darkness goes I see a line of cars and they're all painted black With flowers and my love both never to come back I see people turn their heads and quickly look away Like a newborn baby, it just happens every day I look inside myself and see my heart is black I see my red door I must have it painted black Maybe then I'll fade away and not have to face the facts It's not easy facing up when your whole world is black No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue I could not foresee this thing happening to you If I look hard enough into the setting sun My love will laugh with me before the morning comes I see a red door and I want it painted black No colors any more, I want them to turn black I see the girls walk by, dressed in their summer clothes I have to turn my head until my darkness goes Hmm, hmm, hmm, .. I wanna see it painted, painted black Black as night, black as coal I wanna see the sun blotted out from the sky I wanna see it painted, painted, painted, painted black Yeah!

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