i wish my words would hurt you

i wish my words would hurt you

but they don't.
they don't have that power.
of ripping any love
out from
your insides
and into an oblivion
of dark thoughts.

my words don't do that.
they don't have the power
to make you sad, or mad
or glad, they have no power;
none at all. over you,
my words might as well
float on by.
no matter how hard I try
you go on by.
as if no worth is of them.
to you,
my words are not worthy.

they don't hurt.
they don't feel anymore.
doesn't matter,
the love they once declared,
it's gone.  my words,
they don't want you. any more.

The words that are coming out
of my heart
don't mean anything to you.
they have
no meaning at all.
for you took it with your
cowardice.
you took it, when you decided
to give up on me.
For something less magical
than the words my heart can speak.

stop giving writers notebooks

stop giving writers notebooks to write on.
a writer will write, regardless of the paper
or software.

stop giving writers notebooks thinking that's
a true gift. it's not. we write regardless of papers
and backdrops, and ink.

stop giving a writer a notebook, instead,
give them something to write about.
giving a writer a notebook is accepting
you don't know them enough to inspire.

instagram

este es mi dilemma con instagram:

que belleza la pureza de ver todo

lo que a mis amigos rodea.
Amigos, cibernéticas, o de donde sea.

instagram le mete cuando

me ensaña vistas algaretes,

o hasta lo surreal. pero de vez en cuando

amanece una foto que no la hace.

y me lo tengo que chupar.

un célfi me demuestra una mujer bien apuesta

es ella con recorte nuevo. y yo en pleno des-apogeo

nunca pensé que iba a ponerse más hermosa. pero ahi está.

42 likes y los que falten, no importante la constante,
ahi esta. ella. este es mi dilemma con instagram.
ni importa cuan lejos este, su contenido va presente.

y me lo tengo que chupar.

 

There it is again

It finally reached the bottom of my stomach,
the feeling I always get when I realize

I once again failed to "let go".

To "forgive and forget",  none of that

seems to process fast enough in my headspace,

that is, in comparison to yours.

There it is, that emptiness of

knowing I'm not worthy enough

but someone else now seems to be.
The burning that goes through my veins

whenever I see you happy, for I'm not the source

and then I realize, how could I have ever been such a thing?

There it is again, the darkness in my thoughts.

Those that don't wanna let go. Because like you,

they are not sure what they want. And like you,

they are convinced nothing works between the two of us

anyways.

But, no matter what,

there it is again.

Me seeing you move ahead,
and you forget all that was left. 

Whatever little bit of us 

was actually still there. 

And this time, I hope the feeling stays long enough

for me not to have to greet it with open arms again.

There is it again. 

For that which you cannot control

Why you fussin? 
Can't you see the whole world
before your eyes,
is blossoming?
rain trickles down
from above.
clouds pass by
quickly,
         [look, all I'm trying to say is
stop trying to control things
that are
        [out of your control
let fate run its course,
atoms explode,
right before your eyes
a galaxy combines
in the shape of
         [dust balls,
winter is upon all of us,
and there's nothing you can
do about it, nothing. So
stop fussin over things you
cannot control.
         [it stopped being cute
months ago. With summer.

render

It takes 3 hours to render a 48 minute video on Avid.
It takes 3 hours to make 48 minutes of video be perfect for tv.
It take 3 hours to render 48 minutes made out of 20,000 hours of footage.
It takes 3 hours, 48 minutes, 20,000 hours of footage and 2 assistant editors to make video perfect for tv.

It takes 3 hours for 48 minutes of 20,000 hours, worked by 7 assistant editors, 4 producers, and one writer to make an episode.

It takes
to render.

Patterns and Tendencies

INT. BEDROOM- APT. HAPPY GROVE, BUSHWICK NY  -- NIGHT

My roommate just went to go fuck her boy toy of the night and I sit here wondering what is it that I'm supposed to be doing right now. I guess getting baked is starting to manage thoughts to become aroused and a text could "make it work".  Of helping me find manners more intense than what they're supposed to be. I always overthink things, right. So.
anyways, I thought to myself one day.

INSERT TEXT: "WHAT'S THE POINT?"

You see patterns, tendencies, some would say,
of how it all might go one way. Her way.  My way.
The only way. The way it always goes.  It just
goes.

The way you find yourself waiting for another call.
A text. Some sort of love con quest,
not "con queso", because sex tends to make things
difficult. And there's no point in trying to make
something beautiful out of something that
flourished and died already.
Or so she believes.

You see, flowers die because you take them from their root.
And here lies the problem I can't compute
we all can't seem to uncover a solution
to get away. From everything that not even sunshine can re array.
A pattern of breaking from the way, the only way.
Her way.

INSERT TEXT: I AM ON HIATUS

When you see patterns, and tendencies,
you try and steer away. But flowers
in spite of Global Warming,
still come back in May.

And roots form again.
It's a tendency we can't change.
Try to remember whose uprooting
destroyed the flourished garden, and regardless,
it's a stupid tendency to think about her flowers
any ways.

something broke inside her, fix me.

something broke, in her
mind, oh fragile mind,
something broke her.

something broke, and I can't fix it.
my rock, she broke, and I can't fix it.
someone come help me, fix it.
she's gone. she's not here. she's
broken. fix it.

half sense sentences,
compulsive hand usage,
urges to run free,
to organize EVERYTHING,
confusion reigns,
i can't do this without you,
someone fix her.

something broke inside her.
and she won't let me beside her.
to try and understand this new way
she sees the world.
fix me.

I want to dive into your psychosis.
Feel the new era upon me.
"ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE"
and I'm just part of your tech crew,
my dear. fix me.

So i can roam free like you.
So i can understand what you're going through.
let's fix this.

naked

it starts by removing all jewelry.

[it starts by removing all jealousy]
it follows by taking off the blouse.

[it follows by taking off the pride]
and in the same pattern, 

[and for that matter]

free yourself from pants.

[free yourself of the past]
now unhinge the bra.

[now unhinge the soul]

ever.so.gently.

[ever.so.slightly]
slip down those panties

[slip down those fears]

Continue by laying in bed.

[Continue by risking it all]

here we are.

naked. 

what shall we play now?

Una vez más entre mis brazos

¿cómo se siente estar en mis brazos?

me pregunto, a ver si en un segundo

me dices como se siente tener el mundo

en tu regazo.

yo la tenia a ella en mis brazos.
entre tantos suspiros, le susurre al oído

un "te amo", pero ella no lo escuchó.
en algún quinto sue~o andaba.
y yo admiraba aquella vista que poesía creaba.

su cara, tranquila, brillaba con la luz que entraba

por debajo de la puerta, En una encuesta me preguntaron

si creía en algo más fuerte que yo. "Este sentimiento. 

eso creo yo". y por ahí seguí explorando.

Su piel, más suave que papel "Charmin", 

me tentaba con el sube y baja de su respiración.

Contemplación, de lo que aquel roce de manos significaba.

Aquí, postrada en mi cama, andaba diciéndole más 

de lo que quería; Ay! de estas ansias por devorarla.

¿Cómo se siente estar en mis brazos?

porque tenerte es divino. Ay de este corazón intranquilo!

a ver cuando es que entenderé que no todo paraíso
es como el que yo imaginaba. 

"and i always thought the people you dated were dumbasses"

turns out I was one of those that got high hopes,
Dream big, fall hard, get up, do it again.
i was talking to the mother of my dead friend the other day.

[reality doesn't exist.] We concluded,
since this world is so dilluted,
A few seconds of lag between chat chirps
from Paris
To Brooklyn,
can make a life become deconstructed.

I type here. You see there. 5 seconds later because
tellecommunications
tends to control a lot of this made up time of ours.

There is nothing real.
And I always thought the people you dated were dumbasses
until i became one of those that falls too hard for the wrong thing.
Maybe it's
all some
sort of scheme.

I lose quality of my film by ganking off youtube.
and maybe I'm a dumbass that fell for you
in a reality that doesn't exist.

oh how this world is dilluted.
I'm one of those dumbasses that
falls for the guilt of you.

Graffi-

hare un graffiti por toda la ciudad,
desde el bronx a bushwick, lo leerán

todas las voces que se les hace prohibido callar.

veras la fecha que comenzó un amor fugaz.
Lo haré en tinta no permanente para que no

te de miedo una

"eternidad".

I Hereby Declare: I Am Alive

I AM ALIVE!

I BREATHE THE OXYGEN

THAT LACKS IN THESE 

BUSHWICK STREETS.

I TAKE CABS HOME

AFTER HAVING BUTT SEX

WITH THIS MONTH'S LATEST

CONQUEST. I AM ALIVE.

I SIT AND TYPE ON MY COMPUTER

AND THE BIRDS CHIRP OUTSIDE. 

I GO TO THE BATHROOM. ALIVE!

I EAT. I BRUSH MY TEETH. I'M THE

MOST FREQUENT FLYER

OF ONE NIGHTS STANDS.

I'LL NEVER TEXT HIM AGAIN.

I AM ALIVE. I AM. I SWEAR.

I SEE THE SUN RISE AND SET

IN FROM EAST TO WEST.

I RUN. I JUMP. I PLAY BASKET

BALL. I AM ALIVE. 

I JUST FEEL DEAD

SOMETIMES. 

ÑETA.

te(chnology)quiero

if tumblr could express

what it feels like to be in 

[the same space,]

kissing ever so gently,

your face,

if every post on tumblr

 i

could feel 

like your embrace,

the kind that heightens

the heart rate,

ending in the shower,

some sort of passionate haze,

don't feel scared if I sound irate,

this is just another one 

of my plays

[with words.]

if a facebook like could tell you

all the things that in my heart you enable,

with your presence. hide all the notifications

of your eyes, in essence, you are trending

all over my wall, and I don't want to sound

appalled, but Zuckerburg can suck

on his relationship status quo.

"Mark as read, I do not want to read any more

from this comment."

now now, don't hurry,

this is not a race.

a lover's internal quarrels,

tend to leave a good taste.

now if i by posting this

i make some sort of headway,

i guess i'm not the only one 

wondering,

"if i like it, will she know that i thought it for her,

or will she wonder who i'm truly liking it for." 

Tan pronto te fuiste

As soon as you left, walked out the door
of my apartment/dorm
I took the liberty of making the bed,
we made and un made,
in a previous night/weekend of fury.
You went on your way:

[-to catch a bus,
-or an M train
-back to school,
-head to work,
-find apartments
-meet a friend
-grab some drinks]

{sometimesilosecountoftheways
 that you manage to weave
 i n a n d o u t o f m y l i f e.}

I proceeded to wash my face,
rid myself from your taste,
but a strand of your hair

[-curly,
-long
-short
-black
-purple
-castaño.]

A distracted me, decided to scrub away.
Get on my knees, and fabuloso the shit out of
 the shower you just took.
A misplaced bobby pin took me
to the back of your neck a n d

As soon as you left,
I took the liberty of baptising a new era.
the one that will end when you come back
to leave again.

As soon as you left:

[-Santurce
-Guaynabo
-Brooklyn
-Guashington
-Manhattan
-Syracuse
-Boston
-Madrid]

I get the urge to wash away.  All that lingers. The smell of your tingles.
I proceed to expurgate, all that is left,
as soon as you left.

Pecas.

tu que pecas por mis pecas,
cuéntame, ¿de qué están compuestas?
Son acaso chispas de un sol caribeño
que quema. Que mucho quemas.

tu que pecas por mi pecas,
cuéntame, ¿de qué están echas?

Son acaso rostros de noches abatiendo

la cama, en vela. Que nochesitas las nuestras.

tu que pecas por mis pecas,
cuéntame, ¿qué tanto te atrae a ellas?
Son acaso evidencia de amor,
de playeo incesante,tu y yo

en perfecta brisa y marea.

tu que pecas por mis pecas,
cuéntame, ¿qué ves en ellas?

Porque yo no le veo ningún encanto.
Sonblock mal usado, testigo de  los años

y los que me restan, pecando.

Sleeping with exes

I.
Pick the deepest,
dirtiest,
scab.
and just rip it.
Now watch the skin
get put back together.

II.
exes: because who doesn't love
the nothingness in the morning.

III.
It feels the same.
It tastes the same.
The kiss, the same.
The touch, the same.
But, I mean, it's not the same.

IV.
I'm sure this time will be different
than the other "last times".

V.
"This is closure...right?"

VI.
Maybe if we try the same positions we'll get the feeling
we had before.

VII.
Maybe if we try different positions I forget we ever had a
before.

VIII.
Ok. This is the last time. I swear.

IX.
Because I like to remember who I was before you broke me.

X.
Because maybe if we do it enough times it'll become monotonous,
like we became, and you'll dump it too.

XI.
Because "some memory" is better than
no memory. At all.

XII.
"I can't come with anyone else."

XIII.
Because of the way my name rolls off
the toun
             gue.

XIV.
It's just physical. Or somewhat critical
to the heart's health. So you do it.

XV.
Because you know you won't be with them again.
And you want to preserve as much as you can get,
even if it's just
lousy sex.

XVI.
Ultimately, there's no justification
to this annihilation
of
self respect.

The Letters I Never Sent: Numero Dós.

Marzo, 8, 2014

Se nos fue tio 'afo. You already know this but, it takes time to process the information. Similar to the time it took to acquire the information. For example, they pulled the plug at 2PM. I texted aunt 'eidi at 2:45PM. As the message that travelled from my nanotransmitted finger taps, to my iPhone and then through ATT transmitters in space, and into her phone in Maryland, and her neurotransmitted eyes see my message, she was processing  a text from my cousin bearing the news.

Communication gaps between us. It's funny how I ended up closer to my aunt than tio 'afo. I bet you were closer to him than her. I bet you have more memories with him than I do. I hope he now makes you laugh like he made me laugh. Mi recomendación, aprovéchalo.

It's amazing how I learned about him through other people's perception of him. Whether he was a good husband/father/brother/son. I got to experience him as an uncle. An older one. A man with many stories. Women related mostly, but great stories. When you see him, since I'm assuming you will stop your busy life and meet up with him, tell him thanks for opening my eyes. El sabe.

I wish I would have talked to him more. I mean, do you think he'll have a voice in his after life? If only I knew how to say that in sign language. But I can't keep asking him silly questions. I can't keep making him laugh like he always did. The deaf have the best laughs. No les importa un carajo. 

Communication gaps between us, made us closer in a sense. We understand we won't understand everything that's said or read, or bled. I'm glad you and I can still talk like this.

Que en paz descanse tío. Y que no se nos olvide que la vida es maravillosa.

la Séptima. 

Entre otras cosas

INT. COCINA LA CASA EN BLEECKER- BROOKLYN,NY-NIGHT

Sonando desde el "BOOM BOT" que le regalaron "It's Always Like This" de Bombay Bicycle Club, ELLA (20's) mira lo que le resta de la COPA DE WHISKEY que se sirvió mientras AQUELLA (20's) juega con su pelo, dando vueltas entre sus dedos, y dice;

ELLA
(jarta)

Siempre es así

de porvenir en por
venir.

yo me voy,

tu te quedas.

Yo regreso,

tu me esperas.

Un cambio.

Aquí todo parece ser estático

"Buenas noches, bienvenidos a más de lo mismo,
Alcohol, marihuana

peste a sudor--

LA PENDEJA DE LA ESQUINA

(V.O)

que importa, si la pasaste cabrón

AQUELLA

el que trabaja se queda chiquito,

frente a un tipo, 

con la mano alza.

Un titiritero que controla

el criquero que es

mi diario vivir.
y como dice la canción,
siempre es así.
Te levantas, así por que si.

un sol, un nuevo día pa' vivir.
y te encaminas a un trabajo que no te importa un carajo,
pa' pagar las deudas de una
colonia.

ELLA
entre otras cosas.

FIN

Las Nauseas

Despertó,
y ahí estaban.
las nauseas,
no cesaban.

              "De nuevo esta mierda"

y se fue directo a la bañera. 
Entre suspiros vómicos,
se paso la mano por los ojos
y se dijo
       "No vuelvas Carmen,
               no vuelvas--"

El whiskey exento excesivo de la noche anterior
va por el drenaje de su apartamento en Nueva York.
Nauseas, que van y vuelven como el amor en los veintes,
te dejan y te vuelven, trizas,
se te fueron las sonrisas.
Y con un enguaje e' boca
acabó.

               "No más nauseas, por favor." 

Lista de cosas que extravie en su apartamento

• jacket negro, talla small 
• jacket gris, talla medium
• camisa de flores, casi transparente
• sombrero azul marino marca Neff
• bolsa de tabaco semi vacia
• el amor en el 2010
• el amor en el 2012
• mil y un "perdon".
• un beso borracho en la cocina. 
• mi virginidad
• mi dignidad
• mi querida
• mi locura, y por consecuencia
• mi cordura.
• Perdí mi musa

a ver quien las recoge. 

Every now and then

Every now and then I have the blessing of feeling like shit.
Yes. I get to do things like fuck my ex and and send a good morning text
to someone that's 1,200 miles away, with a smile on my face.
Consciously accepting that I just fell into a trap again.
The trap in which I lie to myself that I'm over my ex and
totally into this other person. But neither. Or.

I get to feel, what it's like to not feel loved or loving.
I destroy all that is coming. I take my way and shove it,
up my own ass. Ain't that one heck of a blast?
My own emotional enema to rid myself of all this crap.

Every now and then, I have the blessing of realizing my mistakes,
and taking it all as it may, and feel sad, in a certain way.
And understand that this is all a series of processess on processes
And all that is left is "moving forward".

Move ahead. Get away, enjoy what is left. See,
every now and then, I get to not give a fuck
about you, or my heart, and fall back into this trap again.
Until the moment where I forget, that you are there.

Every now and then
I am bare.

The letters I never sent: Number One

Sometimes I wish you were here to talk me through my current existential crisis. About how I don't know how to love myself but I yearn for love. I find myself clinging to the past and wanting to just text you and tell you about my current job opportunity, or more like slackpportunity because I don't have the will to step up my game. Riding out the current gig. "Todo cae, ya veras", you'd say.  I chose to write you a letter instead.

que pendeja soy

You're not here to sit down next to me and caress my hair as I told you I didn't feel like eating today so I drank  beer instead. I'm getting used to not having to pay for my drinks. You know about that baby face. We both share that gene.I look for my phone and almost let you know that I need a haircut and nothing seems to make fashion sense to me. Who gives a shit? Verdad?

About how it's Thursday, and I'm in my apartment in Brooklyn and I don't have any plan of moving other than to shower and take this work stank away. Because tomorrow is Friday and I have 5 different going out plans and I just want to spend time with you. And normally, today,  I'd be out getting into trouble but I chose to stick around and watch a movie by myself.
Finally some rest. Que rico es. 



I almost told him I loved him you know?



 I almost told her again, too. 



But I fell in love with the guy that sits in front of me at work today so. Corazon salvaje. Yo ahi, bien Novela de medio dia en univision. His last day is tomorrow so we are now life buddies. This is my "production life". 

If only you knew how much i wanted to text you all this. And maybe I will someday but 

you're always here so.


Séptima

andaba tu piel, Carmín

andaba extrañando tu piel carmín
caminando por Madrid,
aquella tarde cualquiera
sin embargo, este cuento puede ser largo,
andaba en west village,
caminando en adoquines,
y pa' los fines de esta historia,
no te cuento en donde me metí.
Andaba buscando un calor así,
ese que te lleva de allí
a aquí, es que andaba
una memoria cualquiera,
aquellas que llegamos a crear,
sin decir, caminando esa noche,
de adoquin,
             
                      en      adoquin.

andaba una memoria merodeando,
el frío y el viento no le dio espanto,
y por si acaso, no diré en donde andábamos,
no seguiré divulgando,
andaba ya de camino a casa,
a evitarme un des encanto.
con tanto alcohol en el sistema,
siempre aparecen llantos,
me voy para evitar un duro estallo.
y en lo que me transportaba a la plaza de las Armas,
sin demoras ni despacios,
andaba tu piel carmín
debajo de mi sabana "tri li li".
parece que andaba la memoria repasando
los recuerdos por Madrid.