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