the english version: http://www.oem
i could not be happier with myself than right now :)
speak with NPR, FOX, MTV, and TMZ soon enough... stay tuned :)
come monday, my name shall be splashed upon the most prestigious and circulated spanish written news publication world wide. woot me for having values that my actions can follow :)
the two of you are coming to an end, and you aren’t ready to accept it. neither am I, despite the emotional eruptions, physical abuse, tangible tension. we lie in denial ridden wait, gasping for the air we so desperately need in this gas-thick situation.
there is nothing more terrifying to me, than the thought of you rescuing yourself when it’s too late. you’ve always been my hero, sub-human, extraordinaire
you’ll always be my indestructible father.
it was mild this morning, as the sun slowly rose over the flat alien land that is Phoenix. i did not sleep, and it was as if I saw you grappling with yourself, approaching her room timidly, knocking softly, sitting on the edge of her bed, and looking at the pictures she has taken down and placed in the corner of the room; our pictures—you, me, her.
“are you going to leave while I am gone?”
“no. we have at least 3 months left at the house before it forecloses—I don’t want to spend the money to rent yet.”
“oh. please stay until I come back. you can move the furniture.”
no one will ever know how significant that is—that infinitesimal gesture of compromise. no one will understand the bruises, missing hair, scars from scratches, because of lint lying on the laundry dryer for a moment to long.
no one will understand the hateful spew over specs of dust inside the rim of a china bowl, the raised voices, tears, shaking of the body in a moment of adrenaline fueled anger. no one will understand how worse it became when you had your heart surgery, controlling every space you could, as if it could change the futility of our mortality, the fear of your death, the hate of your body, the paranoia of letting go.
the meaning behind those words is so poignant. it is the breaking of barriers.
it is the surrender of stubborn ideals, and morally wrong configurations of chase lounges, exercise machines, rugs, a big screen television. those glaring demands for her to give you the attention that you refused to speak aloud.
it was the silent plea for her to stay with you for just one more night.
the unclear apology for your shortcomings.
the universal confession of your humanity.
“you can move the furniture."
no one but i could understand what this meant. "i'll let you control it all--i'll let you eat away at the very thing i have based my life on, the control i so desperately need, the way i compensate for everything i can't and everything i'm not. let me be the pictures in the corner of this room, so long as you are in the room with me. i will remain even the smallest part of your life, surrender it all, so long as it is your life i remain in."
and I wept at the sheer obviousness of your procrastinatio
but mostly, i wept for you.
sometimes the only person in this world who can express my mind is gabriel faure.
Barcolle for Piano Number 10.
if i could portray spitting via typing, you'd be covered in lemon-water scented goo right now. i cannot describe the frustration and anger that get inside my head regarding the incompetence of the sanctioned willfully ignorant.
i am taking a stand. let's see you dodge a bullet this time.
awoke to day 2 of my great grandmother being dead. immediately played Suite Bergamasque, for Piano, L. 75: IV. Passepied .
i'm at peace, just wish everyone else was too. for God's sake, she was 94. it wasn't like it was before her time. she wrote a book, she travelled the world, she housed celebrities and owned a renowned ranch... she used to tell me that knitting with red yarn was too sexy :)
"there are two reasons why i want to throw up. first: cous-cose" B
"why do you keep calling it cous-cose? it's pronounced couscous." C
"cous-kiss. whatever. middle easterners screw up everything. i mean, look at nine eleven, they didn't even hit all five targets. now. second: everything that just went on just now." B
"just remember dad has a turtle tongue and they do this." C sticking tongue out like a worm
"OH GOD. LALALALALALA" B
twenty minutes later.
"you are the most disgusting human beings in the world." B as he takes a magazine and his phone into the bathroom.
an average conversation with my little brother.
the grass felt like nettles pushing into my back, as you hovered over me, catching every breath i made. i know this is is a broken task, but it is so exquisitely beautiful, i cannot stand to let it go, to get up, to tell you to stop brushing your lips on my collar bone, or down the spindly valley of ribs between my breasts.
i should feel hallow, and alone, like a traitor rightfully feels. i should feel desolate, and dirty, like mud stuck in the grooves of a thickly built tire, traveling down the beach to this spot we've found. i should feel exploited and ruined, the camera taking every inch of my ghostly skin, and your softly-rough beard buried deep within it.
instead...i feel whole, i feel alive. we're blocking out a love scene for the next film we will create, you and i. this is the most exhilarating feeling in the world--making me feel like goddess earth, mother of nature and her abundance, that whom belongs to the tangled kelp on the salt land underneath my spine and the icy water that matches my touch.
you're staring intently at my eyes, and i'm hoping you'll break every barrier and suck every last illusion from my non-stop mind. your lips reach mine, and they burn, oh they burn, and i take every heated stroke as if midnight were coming with the tide.
gathering up my inoperable arms you crush me to your chest--i smell everything i've ever desired, in your skin.
"tell me in this moment, what you wouldn't say out loud" you're begging, you're ordering... you're making love to me for the first time.
"i am home."
the words simply won't come out. for once i am exhausted--muc
finished up with a hefty client today, get the check tomorrow... my computer's fan is going out, so i am scrambling to get the cash and get my dream macbook pro. and tomorrow is the day :)
although i make a pretty penny and rarely want, you have to understand that i am a disciplined money wench who pinches every red cent like its the last hot coal on earth. this is a big step for me...
and dare i venture out with the idea of both a macbook and a mid level ipad?.... oh my goodness i've quite spoken out of turn :)
(when i get past the initial guilt, i'll cave because having both are important.. macbook for every day conquering and ipad to impress and travel... it makes sense to get the ipad anyways, since last month i spent a grand total of 9 days at home in my own bed :))
on days like these i feel like a helpless puppet, and you hold the strings. i sit on your stage, go through the motions of your day, and then sleep every night in your cage. it is terrifying to think that you can leave me for as long as you wish, or keep me in a bag at your side. what would happen of you clipped these strings? would i fall to me knees never to return, or get up and fly like the wind out of your marionette theater?
i mentally draw the lines of your face, your legs, your palms... let it burn into this ocean memory. i'm on standby at the airport, knowing you won't be at the finish line... but we'll progress, to the rhythm of these waves, and that sandy beach will get in our clothes and under our skin... we'll be polished like the smoothest of rocks and shells, both unwilling vagrants at sea... but i will harbor you, and you will cling to me. you can't forget the thing that hones you down to the core of your being, that very honesty you fear and seek. you can't forget what makes you stronger, while holding the power to crush your lungs and heart and veins in one fell swoop. you don't forget what lulls you to sleep and what rocks you awake at the swell of a storm. it's in your bones; you breath it in--you bask and bathe in it's presence. you'll be back with the tide.
it twinkled in the sunlight, casting radiant spires of light into the air between us, as if our convictions were in the light apparitions of metal and sun. i was metal--somethi
do you know how much i want you? i want every fiber of your being... down to the courses you take on the coast. your mind can be yours, your body directed by yourself... but the words you give me will always be mine.
you shall be the subject of my greatest study.
it's in these lonely hours i feel strongest. sitting next to you again, the light flickering on the screen, your skin not quite touching, but the heat lingering in your presence--this is when i must force my body to obey my mind... and force my mind to not act...
i could drink your sin like wine. we could act on this tension. you had to get up twice tonight, each time you returned, you leaned closer. my posture was immaculate, my back never leaning or hunching in any direction but upwards...
your rugged fingers danced only once one my shoulder... i think you like having the power to make me tremble.
this is a losing battle. perhaps our resistance to action now, is our penance for thoughts we are aware of.
as your fingers lightly traced the outline of my bone, you leaned over.
"your breath goes to the timing of the music."
you said it proudly, as if to boast something. and then your hand dropped lightly onto your thigh.
i knew you wanted me to lean in towards you, let my hair drop near your neck, take your hand.
this is the game we play though... and so far i'm "winning..."
when you're stumbling over your finger tips, waiting for my breath to rise, do you consider the effect you have on me... the very touch, your glance, your hypnotic smile?
it's been weeks and when my thoughts wander, i freeze.
the blast of tepid air kept circling my steps. sometimes i close my eyes and imagine with each step an orb of color is deposited on whatever i step on. it's an exercise of focus, and that morning i was utilizing it with desperation.
in one side of my thoughts resided an insolent pride--we had created it, and despite everyone trying to stop us, we had not only succeeded, the very people who had tried to stop us were now the ones carrying it through an extended run. i knew the film like my palm--i had written it beside you, seeing in my mind every perceptual still frame; i had not seen it with my eyes as of yet, wanting only to drink it in with you by my side, knowing the consequences of a dark room and your green eyes watching my reactions to my written words given the breath of life by your vision.
gray pervaded the sky, but not the dark dank gray of melancholy. this gray was airy, light, as if embracing the rays of the sun and the blue of the atmosphere. the cinder block of the building might as well have been marble, with how reverently i glanced up at the show times; the matinee might as well been a lost temple, sacred yet strikingly empty.
"one adult ticket please."
"for the showing right now?"
"yes."
"your ticket is at will call, miss."
beat.
"how do you know it's mine?"
"because i was told the only person who would come this early would be a girl with long brown hair."
"it has already been purchased?"
"yes ma'am."
"please let me at least pay for an additional admission."
"but ma'am! you already have a ticket waiting for you."
"i insist."
"alright, if you insist. it's going to be theatre 14, on the left."
he handed me the stub, and i walked through the glass doors with blocks of invisible concrete making an exercise of my will to continue forward. the deep red of the carpet, and soft yellow of the overhead lamps instantly made me think of dante's inferno--the choice to continue forward was a labored effort of my conscious mind battling with my subconscious' chiding emotional plight.
shuffling across the hot coals of the carpet, i bent my head to the beating heat of the mood lighting above. i knew you were watching my arrival, before i even looked up. when i fully realized your telescope eyes, it caused an instantaneous pull--one half of me instantly redeemed by the value of your gaze, strongly pulled me forward, demanded that i straighten my spine, and pull my chin out of my chest, i had returned as the queen to her rightful throne; the opposing part of me screaming in my head that your eyes would damn me with treason, screaming that i run before the gauntlet opened to the world around me and swallowed my dry throat in an abyss of guilt, making due fact of the ridiculous notion that i may be the hanging man in this situation.
my eyes drifted to focus with wide open dilation--meet
"you're not nearly as endearing without the pen marks on your chin." you teased me softly, daring a new world of familiarity between us.
"funny, i see a lens attached to your eye, no matter what you wear, or where you are." i returned it in blows, my eyes never turning away. your smile widened like an open field of daisies, looking up to the sky in exaltation of themselves and the light they demanded.
"shall we?" you held your arm out.
i knew more than anything what that touch would mean. and if i were to loop my arm in yours, there would be no welcome return to this inferno. if i ever attempted to return, i would endure more pain than i had walking through the entrance of the theater. not because i was ashamed of taking your arm--the opposite, actually; if i were to be ripped away from the feeling of ecstasy when i joined your side, i would be spurned into a darkness far worse than what i would be willing to endure to keep your lips, fingers, words, and mind.
i stepped forward, and curled my arm and side into the comforting angles of your body.
i was home.
pour it down, feel it steam my veins, dull my pulse. this deep blue dress feels smooth against my legs.. i even curled my hair... it fell in loose ringlets around my neck, like soft branches on a willow tree.
'don't come. it's unbearable. we should celebrate without hesitation, and tonight offers no solace of that sort. tomorrow we can see it in peace. i'll be there at 11:30 for the early showing--we'll have it to ourselves. i'll see you then."
i'm drinking the '89 pinot noir that i would have given to your wife to celebrate your victory... our victory...
in my palm i'm crushing the stem of my glass, and drinking this down as fast as possible. if i do this, i embrace everything i know is right, while commiting a terrible wrong. if i don't, i'm damned to remember what might be. damned to this mediocre life of apologizing for what i am. damned to keep silent the looks, my trembling fingers, the adoration of your smile... our work...
drink drink drink. forget.
i am sick with anticipation. let this work pay off. if it does not, i have failed, simply because i have not done enough to achieve that which i seek. breath in. breath out.