Monday, October 24, 2011

99% of the time

It´s not about everything yet about nothing
People gathering in parks where benches hold their steps for a little rest, a smoke, a coffee break, perhaps just some time, to pause the day or a shortcut back home, yet the same path to get to work. The same park that hold protests started in another place, international copycats, for a movement that claims guilt to the ones on the top, from the ones in the bottom. It´s a shame they never look down that way. Pigeons waiting for that hero that doesn´t give a fuck about the sign: “Do not feed the Pigeons” written both English and French.
It´s not about everything still is about nothing
A theatre that has seen better times, waiting for his personal Christmas, like a dying lady waiting for her cribbage pals to stop by and say hi. Witness of individual plays from the characters that pass by without noticing it. Like blinds on a parade or the Pope giving the bless to an endless crowd.
To say nothing we still can talk about everything.
Over-informed societies, Pouring drinks, the last drop goes first... And when the glass is empty let´s refill the void, another week to forget, more free space to learn. 
There´s always more. It´s not about breaking the tide is about learning to dive.
It´s not about everything, yet about nothing...
Sometimes what they say versus what they do.
Like what the writer´s kit used to be down there in the good old south: a couple of red bulls, Tenessee whiskey cocktails mixed in a can marked with the brand jack daniels, smokey endless back up provided by a couple of camel packs and ganja free... Now everything is different, yet still the same.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Sad grocery list

- Pointless
- Useless
- Absurd
- Ridiculously unreasonable
- Unsound
- Incongruous
- Meaningless
- Nonsensical
- Senseless
- Flawed
                                                             Without you...

Good Old Abe

The ocean has no owner
The wind still is free
Every window has a viewer
Every needle holds a tear

This one wispers shiny voices at dawn
And at sunrise tissues blured,  always throughout a mosquito screen:
Abe and the remaining three sets of chops,
A blue stringed hanging chair  profiting inertia from the wind;
Swinging from a tree.

While the river plays his music and the night starts to sing
They I´ll be ready for a feast at fall in a couple of months.

To the west nests a Bold Eagle
For her bundle from the river she provides...

- Suspecting she has already scanned those lambs. Not shure though, just guessing

New water

Long endless feelings
Waiting for you handbrush to split their will:
In countless tears...

The river carries  souls gathering to reach the sea
The streets filled with noise pushing the rain towards me
Are we there yet? Is it that we never moved?
Moon guide us with your inmaculate light
So we can find our way through this life
And never again be where we were... Tomorrow.

Glance away

I am sorry
The blink that prays for rejection
When my touch
Clamis to draw on skin it´s vision of redemption...

Hold me even when tou turn your back to my watching range
Because holding the breath it´s like feeling far away nightmares called revenge...
Blink and when you are tired of falling: awake!

Blind dubbed rime

Faded light sculping the dark
A critter crying like a charcroal caressed by the wind
Spaceless voices, surrounding arms
The blist of wisdom a night to kill...

Concrete rivers making people scape to their own personal ocean
The gas tank is almos empty... got my nicottine fixed