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[29 Jul 2007|03:57am] |
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Two bodies on the floor. Mike O' Malley on the television. A warm body next to me. Suddenly, I want to sleep. I can't sleep. Why? Because they are here. Talking incessantly about absolutely nothing.
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Comments: were you soaked with the ache of the sky?...
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[27 May 2007|03:29am] |
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I am a butterfly. Insect-like and graceful. I've been drinking vodka with apple juice. That is the only reason why I am writing these words. I can type. Can you type? I bet you can't. I like typing. It feels nice to have the word speak for itself. I am speaking for myself? Hardly. I hear something. I hear the night. It's calling out to me. What will I find? Cops. Authority. Ready to snatch me up to a holding cell. To question me. TO QUESTION ME? Yes. To question me. I dislike them. I do not hate them. Why should I hate them? There is no need to hate in this situation. There is no distinction in love. I find no lies comforting. Except my own. I've lied. Isn't it funny? These words. What powers they have. Powers to make someone think this or that. Hell, person. Yes, you! You are reading this. How are you? Oh, I am sure you have your problems. I have my problems. I am glad you're here. Reading this. It's comforting. Well, not RIGHT NOW. I mean, I don't know when you are reading this. It's comforting right now. I know you are reading this. In my head, you are reading this all the time. It's here. This shrine. A tower. A monument. A shit. A piss. A bird. A hair. A nail. A car. A song. A train. A chair. A message. A can. A key. A drink. A pick. A guitar. A bag. A phone. A book. A match. A computer. A kitchen. A door. A ceiling. A fan. A plant. A color. Ants. A floor. A spray. A toothbrush. A paste. A bed. A pillow. A lamp. A microphone. A bat. A mailbox. A road. A frog. A rabbit. An idea. A poem. Star Trek. Are you still reading this? You shouldn't. I've been drinking vodka all night. All night. I can still type like this. I can still think. Why don't we talk? It's going to get better. Right. Better? Better? How can it get better? It's great, right now! It's wonderful. I am riding on rainbows. I am mounting unicorns. I am king shit. I've my own mountain. I should erase this. But I won't. It's here. Like I am. I am here. It's cold. It's warm. It's everything. I am everything. I am not. I am nothing. I think things are going to be alright. The rooster is singing.
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Comments: 1 coughing up yawns, gently kissing the soldiers. - were you soaked with the ache of the sky?...
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[14 May 2007|02:25am] |
I've been reading what I wrote. So many images, so long ago. How can our memory keep up?
I forgot many, many things that I've been through. Now, I remember them.
It doesn't help me in any way. But now I remember.
Do you remember?
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Comments: were you soaked with the ache of the sky?...
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[13 Apr 2007|05:10am] |
Okay, fine. I will write something here.
So I just got back from doing what other young people do. It's 5:10 AM. I was attending a birthday party of an acquaintance and apparently I catched the attention of one of the attendees. I noticed that this one girl would look at me and laugh whenever I said comments during our group conversations. Apparently I am very funny to some, who knew? Anyway, at the end, when Erik wanted to leave, I struck a small conversation with her and she said I didn't really have to leave the party, that she could just drive Erik to his dorm and we could come back to the party. Vaya! I agreed and we did just that. We left Erik and while she was driving we were having a nice conversation. It appeared to me that she was intelligent and I still hold that opinion. Anyway, once I arrived back to the party the host prepared me some coffee. I've never drank coffee while drinking and let me tell you, it's fantastic! I was a new man. A new Jan... And so I kept at it, and talked with her and the party moved into a nightclub and well, I didn't know quite well what to do. I was thinking that she wanted to dance but I just couldn't do it. I didn't like the music. I was too compelled to look at the other people. I was asking myself many questions. It was interesting. I don't usually go to these places, you know? So I was there, watching people dancing perreo and watching other people doing whatever the hell they do, and I was asking myself "Does anyone here think anything that is happening here is dumb? Why are they moving their hands like that? etc" Suffice to say, I am not a very good partner for these sort of things and she let me have it at the end. We were walking back to our cars and she said that I should have "quedarse en corillo", that there was a birthday girl that I should have considered and that it would be nice that I would partake in mouthing lyrics to songs that I didn't know and moving my body with them because those are the memories that I will hold dear when I am living a monotonous life. What? I guess she was proyecting her own fears unto me. I felt awkward. I know that I won't lead a monotonous life. I said that. She answered, Oh Really? What makes you sure of that? and I answered that everyday I do things that lead me away from that, writing songs, making shows, writing, thinking, reading, learning, etc. and she said that was fine and it ended until she wanted me to have it again. I don't know. I guess she thought I was going to be more fun. I answered that I have to be true to my authentic self? What? Yeah, I know. Cheap counter-argument but I really didn't want to offend anyone in our company. I felt happy. When I was there, watching all the people, thinking how I would shoot it if I was making a movie, I was happy. I was watching people move around me. Certainly, I didn't know why they were there but they were there and I was enjoying it.
Never quote Sartre to a girl that only wants to have a good time in a nightclub.
Hell is other people, I know, I know, but let's dance!
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Comments: 1 coughing up yawns, gently kissing the soldiers. - were you soaked with the ache of the sky?...
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[11 Feb 2007|02:18am] |
Hello -
I am starting to write again. (Or starting to think about things to write about)
and I am not going to write them here for the time being.
I started this blog last year. The original concept was to have many writers contributing to it but, alas, only one contributed. (And I think I am going to keep what she wrote because... it would be rude deleting it, right?) Most of my friends who write are lazy or doing other things.
Okay. So I guess this is goodbye.
Goodbye, empty space. It was a good run. 14 to 21. 7 years. Judas fucking Jesus, that long?
So long -
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Comments: were you soaked with the ache of the sky?...
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| Books 2006. |
[06 Jan 2007|01:59am] |
So a new year
and a list?
What is wrong with you?
The books that I read in 2006 (in the order that I remember them):
Fyodor Dostoyevsky – Crime and Punishment
The Brothers Karamazov
The Idiot
The Devils
Mark Twain – A Yankee in King Arthur’s Court
Al Franken – Lies and the Lying Liars Who Tell Them
Steven Blush – American Hardcore
Mark Abley – Spoken Here: Travels Among Threatened Languages
Michel Foucault – Civilization and Madness: A History of Insanity in the Age of Reason
Jack Kerouac – The Subterraneans
Frank Portman – King Dork
Hunter S. Thompson – Fear and Loathing in America: The Brutal Odyssey of an Outlaw Journalist
Ana Lydia Vega – Falsas Crónicas del Sur
Alasdair McIntyre – Trás La Virtud
J.D. Salinger – Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters / Seymour: an Introduction
Sylvia Plath – The Bell Jar
Charles Bukowski – Ham on Rye
John Fante – Dreams from Bunker Hill
Stephen Cooper – Full of Life: A Biography of John Fante
Joseph Frank – Dostoevsky: The Miraculous Years, 1865-1871
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Comments: were you soaked with the ache of the sky?...
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[25 Dec 2006|12:49am] |
My mom is watching Big and I am finishing The Eternal Husband. Somehow both stories connect to each other.
A child dies in both stories, literally and figuratively.
Maybe that's it.
But there is something more
- But anyway, earlier in bed, a lizard was jumping around the room. It made me nervous watching him. It moves fast. I don't know why it made me nervous. I could crush it easily with a flick of one of my wrists. So I was impatiently watching it, so I could get on with my reading.
The lizard jumped at the side of a mirror and hilarity ensued. It began to do push ups in order to be fearsome to its own reflection. It began to inflate its neck to a noteworthy size. I wondered who would win. The lizard or its reflection. Neither did, and I continued reading.
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Comments: 2 coughing up yawns, gently kissing the soldiers. - were you soaked with the ache of the sky?...
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[19 Dec 2006|01:03am] |
It seems that when I am tired as hell, someone wants my help.
An old lady asked me if I could give her a ride. I complied.
She had trouble getting into the car. She had an old, black cane.
I just looked straight, just catching a glimpse as to who she was.
I drove, and she started to tell me about her life -
Raising kids for years, and now abandoned
and no television in her room, no radio, no nothing
and when she sees people in suits, she remembers that she has nothing
and her offspring hardly visits her
and she sits in a tower, forgotten, old
and so I drove to where she wanted me to go
I told her I would drive her anywhere she wanted
and she was glad that I was being friendly to her
but she declined my offers for help
and I felt a bit sad because
I found where all her sadness comes from, her stubbornness
and this world full of strangers, how can anybody afford to be stubborn?
Anyway, I drove her to the pharmacy, and I gave her some one dollar bills - and I wanted to give her more, but I thought of everything that I had to pay, and I felt sad, but I was going to give her everything that was in my wallet, but I didn't because my initial movement gave way with 3 dollars, and she was very glad, and she said to give her a kiss on the cheek, and I gave her a kiss and she was on her way, she told me I should come visit her on 107, "Ana, me llamo"
and I want to visit her and bring her a TV - A small one, or something small but I can't fix anything that is wrong with her soul, and her eyes are little and she is fat, and she moves too slow, and the cane is tarnished and maybe I will visit you soon, Ana.
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Comments: 3 coughing up yawns, gently kissing the soldiers. - were you soaked with the ache of the sky?...
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[18 Dec 2006|04:08am] |
There is something in the roof.
It is heavy, and I am slightly scared. It could be a cat. It most probably is a cat, but it is unnerving. I have been having nightmares. Dreams that go on and on and on, and characters appearing for no reason at all, and my words and actions turn into violence, and there is never a point.
This figure is dominant in my imagination. This figure with horns, and when I am walking to another room, I have a feeling that it is there, waiting for me; but when I open the door, nothing is there, just furniture.
And those eyes are still with me, an expression of fear or compassion. I am not sure which. How can I be sure? How could I have judged there, according to my state... I was taken, and I didn't care. It had to happen someday.
And I was whistling, waiting for it to end. It ended and I was silent.
And now I can't sleep.
Because I still ask myself that time consuming question - What am I?
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Comments: were you soaked with the ache of the sky?...
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[21 Nov 2006|04:28am] |
Usually when I write a song, I begin with playing a combination of chords; then, I usually hum a melody or sing words that I tack on in the moment. I have noticed that whenever I am in the last process, I use the idea of nothigness. I can't explain my fascination with that idea, but it is there and I can easily trace it back for years. I remember that the first song I tried to write when I was 14 or 13 was titled "nothing". It was about being nothing, or living in nothingness. Something that deals with the idea of nothingness. I think I had no clear idea of why I was writing it. Maybe it had to do that I was going through a nihilistic phase in my life, and I long for everything to end, and that the natural conclusion for everything would be that it will end into nothingness; and I ask myself "but what if I never left that phase?" Which brings me to the present, I wrote a few months ago these lines in a piece of paper without really knowing what I was writing:
Soy nada, y nada seré – Al volver a nacer, seré nada otra vez.
I liked it enough to turn it into a song. I am not sure what it is about but it seems to be a song about the sudden realization that we are nothing. We have a custom where we congratulate others and others congratulate us with being alive another year. Yearly we do this without really thinking about why we do this and why we have to do this yearly. Why do we have to keep celebrating things yearly?
Anyway, I am having moments of déjà vu lately. It reminds me when I was obsessed with circles and the shape of the nautilus. I remember I encountered someone I once went to middle school in the library, and I began to explain my half-assed theory or thoughts about circles. For the life of me, I can't remember what I thought. It was only a passing thought that got stuck in me for some time. Now, I am wondering how I am going to choose to put the pieces together - It is terribly exciting for me because I seem to be drawing a conclusion of something; or, at least, the questions that will plague me until my expected death are becoming clearer; and my chance to answer my demons is slowly coming.
I can wait, but I can't.
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Comments: were you soaked with the ache of the sky?...
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[20 Nov 2006|05:28am] |
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I was watching I Vitelloni on cable and I saw a scene that played in my dream last night. Maybe I thought I dreamt it, but why did I react so rapidly as I did? I was watching your wrist, and I saw the scars. A few going in one direction and many others going in the other. You were alive, talking on the cel. phone and I wondered why I am still alive. I was entranced with your wrist and I relived certain things that were upsetting for me at the time. My thoughts turned into a musical montage full of sympathy and rage. I used to find your voice annoying with its shrill tone, but it grew on me. The rooster is crowing and I didn't read the rest of that essay with that old bishop turning away the outside world for the internal one. I liked yesterday and I liked what was left of today. You just keep waving because we knew we weren't going to see each other later. And it felt great to leave with a slight kick in my step even if you did kick me when I wasn't looking, and you laughed. I laughed too.
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Comments: were you soaked with the ache of the sky?...
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[21 Oct 2006|05:51am] |
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A wave and a curl, a slow haze covering your eyes, and these incessant questions that I don't know the answer to, but I am alive, and I see the rain coming towards us, and I think that everything is fine. I have no idea what you're saying, you're talking too fast, but I know enough to nod and say the correct thing. Aja; claro; ah; y por qué; no puede ser; explicame eso. The same beaten path, I am here taking other steps and when you ask me about this person or the other, who cares? To hell with those people. They were a headache. I am a headache. Why do people shake my hand? What, you know me? I don't remember you but I have to pretend. Sí, and this band is terrible; but look at then, they're kids. Don't you remember how it was like? Yeah, I do, but this sounds like shit. Okay, I am getting the hell outta here. I had my beers, and I payed the entrance fee as I was going out. They were afraid of me. They asked me nicely to pay the entrance fee. They saw me going straight to the bar. I asked for a beer, holy, expensive local beer - paying two dollars for this rotting piece of garbage so I can die a little bit more tonight. I am not feeling anything here. I here, with my little cup but I am not, I am outside. I am watching the cars pass by. I am waiting for her. I was in the ballet, and I saw human bodies do whatever human bodies do, but now I am outside and I am waiting for her, so I can get back to my house, and the wine is over, I drank it on the way here, and there is no more beer, thank something that there is no more beer because I don't want any more things to add to a big fat nothing.
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Comments: 2 coughing up yawns, gently kissing the soldiers. - were you soaked with the ache of the sky?...
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abstractpunk's journal
