"....its not me, its you...."

no but really...


South Florida has proved obnoxious in its reliability to be somewhere i can extol the virtues of being unproductive.


not much anything got accomplished.

i can only begin the blame with myself. i could never fault Carlos with these things....


Late night TV movies, lack of sensible haircuts, i don't even know what I am gonna do now. Sweat descends upon every tooth in my mouth, anxiety-ridden bedspreads and regrettable strawberry daiquiris. Forgotten mixtapes filed away in my mind play out loud whenever they choose to. its like some sort of suffocating heartbreak because there never is enough time to just enjoy the music.

this soundtrack of life passes like the thief in the night. days bleed into the next with dried blood on the hilt of the blade. The knife twists ever so slowly until i am covered in unfeeling oblivion...

Frantic excursions, passports, foreign airports, language immersion...am i really going to put myself through this again? the xenophobia, culture clash, only time will tell if it will all pass. for i keep living in the past fucking the future....






but it makes much more sense to live in the present tense.

A anti-climatic Exit from Massachusetts....

...here is to hoping that my departure from the North Shore will not be something of mere nonchalance.


Heavy calloused hearts and light maple syrup to color my recent tragedy. Bipolar nonsense within the start of an engine.

it makes no difference i keep telling myself.

This sort of thing was inevitable as i pack my meager belongings in some Dickensian fashion. feeling all the while faint and transparent from the gravity of the situation....

My life has been much like a dime store novel. the protagonist well-meaning, but most often if not. woefully misunderstood and misconstrued.

What will become of him?


there are no likely scenarios at this point. i intend to hurl myself into the Great Wide Open and i hope to garner some great kernel of truth from it. it has been a Mestizo Love Story from the outset. my love for things greater than myself and my awkwardness in expressing that to others....

for i am a migrant worker. intending to embark on some misadventure with a Kerouac-like conscience and a fatalism borne out of being an individual thorn.

wherever i will go i will practice personal politics and oral story-telling to stave off the mundane....

 well-needed infusion of fantasy. i will continue to pine for my vinyl record collection. and i will always miss people more than places....