"....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....

"And we go through many changes Then all I really know..Is that I truly am".

June 15th, 2006:

Summer comes and i let the winds carry us through the ages. Chinese festivals, Hong Kong harbors, and Dragon Boat races on the River Charles.

Oh how i love that dirty water!

Peter Wolf said it best when the Boss took to the stage at Fenway years ago. And then Yawkey Way was never the same for me when i leapt onto a table in Incheon in sheer disbelief. Korea concluded and i came back to Cambridge after an exile and a half.

I missed the sights and sounds of my soundtrack to Asia provoking a sojourn the width of a heart unknown and the height of a desire unfulfilled. Odaiko drumming and Japanese wishes continue to haunt me with gray ghosts and beer-soaked mysteries. saddened silver moons and forgotten rainbows. double shots of whiskey and random prose on inspired nights to keep me alive through the mundane insanity.

singing songs of astonishing beauty. slurred speech capable of mincing words and reminiscing regret. love of travel i will never forget. A muse wearing silk kimonos and sake cups in my hands. Ethereal countrysides that are far and away distant lands.

I would swear I could keep hearing Shane McGowan singing drunken lullabies unto me and that once again I could cross dark waters across the Pacific for want of more…...Something to the effect of adventure and personal glory. as if that even exists anymore. I will have to settle for my favorite bards from Seattle. poetry and passion aside. i long for the simple aesthetics. seeing her face as we slept seven years waiting and i finally let go of her memory.

today I was told that they were going to Kristina’s grave… i remember her eyes and her hair skimming my line of sight. for her a song of sadness will be told into time lest she be cast aside.


sleepless insomnia in Salem and I already dreamt of those Dragon Boats and bridges time immemorial. For I went through many changes and summer is here...




....Then all I really know is that I truly am

....even it means disappearing for a while somewhere worse

some say that great suffering produces extraordinary character. i have always found it easy to encourage others, but never myself....

so its no wonder i smile when even my smallest desires come true because it takes the loneliness out of just merely existing.

sometimes i touch my face just to see if i am there

i don't know where i am going or what i will do when i get there. but even just in this exact moment. its past 3am....

i am more alive to the tune of when i stepped out of the plane.

the next 4 weeks will be full of detestable people and petty minds, currency exchange and language merchants.


hopefully there will be more long nights like this where i can just die to the world and failure will never know my doorstep....

the fire that burns behind eyes

 January 2004:

Massachusetts silent snow falls without remorse
life is my lantern to light my oil ablaze.

its been almost 5 years since i let you go....

i let go of your raven hair
and soulful eyes
and those gentle hands

gentle knowing hands.

i let you go free as a wild bird into the night.
We embraced one last time
in the dark futile shadows.
minds set adrift
kissing you in the white moonlight
with the honesty showing on our faces.

 we had woven our lonely fingers together
and made a fist of terrible beauty.
the raindrops fell on us
as you put your mouth on mine.

We sighed through our tongues
and we exhaled through our eyes.
I remember looking at yours
while closed
i cupped your face with vivid hands
 the warmth of your breath on mine.

Your mouth was as warm as Dutch apple pie
and tasted like a ripe lime.
The fullness of it overwhelmed my senses.
your touch was piano ivory keys.
surrealistic and pure.

i traced the lines of your painfully honest face
with my fingers
softly reading the moment into memory.
you don't see me the way i saw you.
Yet i couldn't give you what you needed
and i failed to realize what i had.
 i could not part the waters of the sea between you and me....

time passed as i walked the Great Wall in the rain,
you ran and embraced me
when i came back from my travels to China.
Thinking of you just made the return journey longer.
i cried inside as i let you see the smile on my face.
The small of your back was no longer a place
for me to rest my weary hands.... 

We drifted apart like a Ghost Ship lost in the Sea of Japan.


years later i last saw you wearing a black evening gown....
i looked as rough as i felt
you were surprised to see me
i shrugged my shoulders
and said goodbye inside of myself....
but sometimes i hear those dark piano riffs
and it helps me to forget

that





pure kiss in the honest moonlight....