there is so much going on around you and i know you are tired. it is admiring to see you try so hard not to stumble as you make heavy steps, wading through the chaos that the world throws at your feet. you take yourself here and there without a thought of pausing for a while. even if you did, your thoughts would still be elsewhere far from you. i can see how you love to please everybody else at the expense of your own. you are everybody's hero, everyone's pillar, although it may not always be what you desire. you do not seem to be hurt nor do you know pain nor suffering, and you put up this facade of indifference. you retreat only to yourself yet without knowing the comfort that you seek. you heave out a little sigh and you think i do not know what is going on. when will you stop being arrogant about your own needs?

i wonder if you can be pleased at all. i wonder if you would like to be told that it does not always take doing great deeds to be a hero, and that you do not have to be one for today. i wonder if you know how to give up for a moment without quitting. i wonder if anyone has ever told you that imperfection never did equate to mediocrity and that perfection is optional. i wonder what sublime thoughts can be revealed through those eyes, and if you could hold them in a steady gaze so that i may see. i wonder if i can ever hear you breathe slowly, or sigh as you behold a thing of beauty, or hear your heart race for a better reason. i wonder if you do look upon yourself with beauty, and i wonder if you would love to hear that you are beautiful. i wonder if you are brave enough to ask for what you really want, or were you ever afraid of the naked truth of your own desires. i wonder if you are made with tenderness beneath that fortitude. i wonder if you know how incredible it is to be able to slow dance obliviously amidst the bustling crowd. i wonder if you want to be held tight in my arms, more than my own desire to know the feel of your hands. these arms do not have your strength, but they can hold you just as firmly. forget everyone and my own needs for now. hush, and let me cradle you and your lamentations. let me touch you where it hurts, and let the warmth of these hands ease the pain. be still and sink deeply into sleep in my embrace, knowing you can open your eyes to renewed hopes. give in not to any demands other than your own. you do not have to please anyone right now but yourself. you do not have to be anything else but yourself. not for anyone, not for me. hush. abandon all your worries now, for i shall keep watch over you while you escape in sweet slumber. so sleep my beautiful weary one, sleep. forget about this world and all that is temporal for a moment, and love yourself like i do.

journal entry on 16 february 2002

it is such a mystery how we love to drown ourselves in the potency of liquors such as the tasteful vodka or the fiery tequila. what great emotions swell with the rising levels of fermented fluids in our blood? what miseries do we throw up and out into neverland? in a jigger, or glass, a bottle, or two, warmth is quite joyous. then it leads us to want more. as if throwing more logs into a bonfire, to add to the glowing embers, to build more heat. or perhaps courage? and yet for some of us, we are just so lost in the revelry that we forget how far we have gone. but where is the warmth that we seek? that rush of fiery blood? our heads are spinning and perhaps our souls with it. but there is none. we are in no other state but wasted. do we not know any other forms of intoxication? would we not be intoxicated by the light of the moon, or the sun on our faces? the sand beneath our feet or the rush of waves against our bodies. at tiring our legs as we run across a field of soft grass. at running a trail in the woods on a mountain bike or a horse. at conversing about the most hilarious things. laughters. belly laughters. do we not get a high? out of hugs, and kisses. at staring at each others eyes, or hearing each others voices. at singing and dancing like nothing else matters. drawing or painting, and mixing up colors from a palette onto a canvass. the soft colors of sunrise, and the warm tones of sunset. the blue skies. the green fields. the hues of twilight. at writing down memories or sentiments in a poem, or ode, or free verse. in music. the song of a piano, a violin, or an electric guitar played by a virtuoso. in beethoven's sonatas. in satrianni's rifs. ice cream. chocolate. coffee. in giving something to people who had nothing. in the excitement in a child's eyes. at flying. at escaping to a far-off place to see the unseen, or revisit the beauty that has been seen. have we ever been in much madness? as singing our hearts out in the shower. dancing in the streets in street parties, fiestas, and parades. a new year's eve. in spending hours waxing your car or waxing your legs. talking all night to someone dear, or to the stranger on the night train. cartwheels. adrenalin rush, or multiple orgasms. have we known any greater euphoria than love? of your mother, father, sisters, brothers. from the love of a friend, or the love of a child. infatuations and falling in love. platonic love. true love. love for oneself. love for others. love for God. love for life. life is indeed the most potent liquor. it fills the heart. it intoxicates all senses. let us drink to that... bottoms up!

santé!

journal entry on 23 march 2001

tequila.
warm golden blood
potent and lively
a toast to emotions
cold lifeless fancies
unfulfilling desires
of a weary spirit

lick.
as though to touch
your skin with my tongue
its smoothness
gliding

shoot.
a taste of bitterness
a scent through your nose
clearing, sliding
down your throat
feeling a river flow
and afterwards
comes a fire
warming its path
setting flames
to the abyss

suck.
to cleanse bitter tastes
rekindle the desire
as though to kiss
your lips
with mine

journal entry on 21 march 2001

woke up under a canopy of white stone blocking the daylight from my dreams puppies cryin coz they're missin their mama since the last minute she went away to the kitchen and i drove for fourteen and a quarter miles to the edge of the universe while the blue sky poured heavily on about a thousand horses running on a steel dust road looking for a reason for the orange colored roses to drag their skirts to the ball and they laugh when the sugar clouds touched their cheeks and their tongues so my mama tells me wake up sweet little dearie catch the train to the moon

in her gentle serene breaths
she sleeps like the calm seas
her breasts rise and fall
like ocean waves at low tide

so many faces walk by me. faces who had eyes and lips but no ears. i could not understand the ease in which they speak of banality as tho they were magical things. they speak loud and i know they are trying to tell me things to change the shape of my thoughts. although they have eyes, they stare blankly. like another insignificant appendage. i am almost convinced they must believe that i am no different than any of them, but in as much as i would like to believe likewise, to blend and disappear into that sea of familiarity, i walk past them and the noise of their bittersweet chattering that followed me. behind closed eyes i perceive my strageness coming to the fore and shame creeps into me, slowly like the shadow born with nightfall. i was never aware of the circumstance that placed me here and i do not know where to flee. i did not know that this force within me, with which i have pulled myself from the ordinariness of an inambitious existence, would reshape me into my own foe. a piece of abstract sculpture, shaped by uninspired hands, is better off in the dark. power and magic are futile things if you are among eyes which are never made to behold anything. the voices go on, and their tongues pierce me like a heavy sword thrust into my heart. it is an unbearable weight, and the pain stings like acid on an open wound. what would i give to be pulled out from the torments of my being, or the pestering of such visious tongues and oblivious eyes? now i know why they have no ears, but i do not understand why i still have mine.

and from what land have you flown in
to be in my line of sight?
what good deed have i done
that i should be blest
by your presence each day?
those bright hazel eyes
clear as this beautiful day
smile ever so delightedly
as are your lips
that seems to be holding back
some ravishing secret.
what sweet words
have been whisphered to you today
that they could not be vanquished
from your face
nor from the apparent pride
of your stance and your stride?
would it be too much to ask
for you to look my way
without the necessity of meeting my gaze
just to send my heart fluttering away?
turn your head
dear bronze skinned and clean shaven
this way beyond the tables and this crowd.
hey you
mister bright eyes
mister well chiseled nose
mister ethereal smile
in your crisp white shirt
and your silk corporate tie.
hey you
yes you
I LOVE YOU

journal entry 17 april 2002

i feel so estranged by your secrecy and i do not understand why there are things i am not made aware of. even your presence is as rare as your kind words for me. privileges that you cannot deservingly attribute to me by choice. i am resigned into this isolation and into the melancholy to which it is akin, not so long ago but for the longest time it seems. i must have made some great sin for which this very damnation must be inflicted upon me by your hand, your mind, and your heart. hope has no meaning where redemption does not exist. existence is such an amusing state. you live, and i exist beneath the shadows of a different light that never treads your path. this would have been more bearable if i could at least hear you breathe. atonement has no worth, not even precious tears, and the universe seems to conspire with you in being deaf and numb to my pleas. send me a redeemer, a savior i ask, to save myself from you, but the sky sends no rain nor angel to whose arms i could fall and lay my head. my fever burns and i could feel the heat with every droplet that roll down my cheeks. i am innundated with so much folly for you alone, the dam has burst out of a terrible neccessity. grace me simply with your mercy if not your sympathy or your affection, a lowly subject asks her prideful king. it must be a crime to be your friend but she does not know that. i am convicted of a crime never made known to me. cut your ties from me and that shall be my final request. this way i can never feel your hand upon my back, never hear your voice whispher sweetly into my ear, nor can i ever peer into your soul through your eyes. never to feel that we are one, nor share our lives as we do the sun. you never really knew the greatest of my torments, ah but you are a king and not a sage. do this for me now, swiftly, let me bleed. let my blood foretell the end of our little tale. you must be tired of this by now. i know i am.

there are things i may never ever fathom, like how i could not even be made to fall in love with your mystery.

à quoi ça sert l'amour

pourquoi je ne peux pas le comprendre?
pourquoi je ne peux pas le trouver?
peut-être ce n'est pas pour moi.
peut-être je dois me coucher.
vraiment dans ce sommeil,
facilement je peux l'oublier.


journal post entry on 17 february 2002

tell me something about wildness. the hem of my dress that scrapes the floor and kisses my heels hides the impatience in my stride, which speaks the secret language of legs parting forward, one after the other, as i pace back and forth in this little room. the sway of my arms appear to be as meek as my hands are, but they cant wait to spread like eagle's wings and play the songs of birds and crickets that enchant my days and nights. my breasts heave with every word that my heart hopes to hear as it beats like a pounding drum summoning magic powers of an entranced shaman. i am filled with eagerness to the brim and my parted lips are the only thing that eases my breathing. by now you should have noticed my excitement, my dear champion.

is it something like when i move my hips like the trees sway when zephyr passes by? if those trees could leap, they would be dancing like gypsies, twisting their trunks, and clapping their twigs like tambourines. i would be dancing with them and the larks would be singing us songs. we will wait for the moonrise and recite incantations by the fire, until the nightingales join us. the rain will fall, lightly like magic dust, and all who know about the night's passion will glow like a multitude of fireflies when they fall upon our bare skins. we would not know a lord from a serf. we would not know man from tree or bird. we would not know pride from shame. we would not know weariness. when the morrow comes you will find all things as they were, but the birds and the trees and i will know a deeper truth.

would it be anything like riding a horse, galloping swiftly across a vast meadow? have i told you of the day when i met celestine, a mighty white steed, by the river. he was borne by his mother the river where i had found him. his father was a cloud that had lost his way to atlantis. celestine spoke to me of the stories of the many rivers, meadows, and mountains that his father had met along his journeys. like his father he was a wanderer. he had met most of the rivers, meadows, and mountains that his father spoke about, and he even have met more. he invited me to ride upon his back and promised me to let me meet all of them. his coat was as soft as the clouds against my skin and he rode like the wind.

could it be the same as speaking about virginity? at a time when i didnt know what it is, a goddess spoke to me about it like it were a flawless diamond. time perfects that beauty, she said. a broken diamond is never beautiful and it would be a shame to let any man find it upon your hands. i never understood her words because i find it difficult to agree with her thoughts. i could not fathom how beauty can come undone, all because of a broken diamond, broken by love. that very day i opened my eyes and naivete was taken away, and then i tossed aside virginity along with it with much amusement.

is it like when i scream at the top of my lungs for so many reasons? like on the day i screamed with my mother because i had to be born into this world. like when my heart first knew pain, and the nectars of sorrow flowed from it and out of my eyes. like when i found out how winning felt. like when i was kissed by unbounded happiness. like when a green little insect hopped onto my face. or perhaps, like the day when life will spring out from the passage between my own two legs.

or maybe, just maybe, it could be like the day when i first laid my eyes upon you? when i could not blink in fear that you were just a figment of a dream. my legs felt like melting wax. blood rushed through all of my being but my hands grew pale and cold. your presence can make a woman unlearn all that she knew. the fire in your eyes had reduced me into a mute statue for i was ashamed you would hear the quiver in my voice. i may have forgotten for a moment how to breathe. it was a moment when i froze with time, and i knew not of past nor future, but only of a present that was too glorious for words.

speak to me of wildness. a dreamer like me has yet to understand a lot of things and i am all too eager to begin. speak to me that which i do not know. speak, for i am listening.

journal post on 22 july 2002