Music by Bajofondo Tangoclub.
Paintings by artists of Buenos Aires and Cochabamba.
Words by me. Photos by me.
Click on YouTube link inside the frame to see this in a larger version.

You tell me “No hoo ha!”
when you see ballyhooh-la-la
‘cuz you don’t know who (ha!)
who can getchya good hoopla
I ain’t the grand poo-bah
I ain’t got much moolah
but I sure like to fool ya
with verbal cubix zircoonia
cuttin’ them gems like a jewelah!

My soul’s as faded as my shoes as my sighs
slip in fragments,
slivers
down on the ground, among the earth
those that catch them (at times broadside, others like snowflakes)
look up.. think
how lonely! how selfish! how foolish!
what ghoulish heights you pretend to inhabit!
is that might that has set your sights?
wonder why I’m running in circles,
the insubstantial mists
churning
the color out of my habits,
spurning the formulation of any accumulation
of words, ideas, action just
wispful yearning is all
that is apparent.

yesterday I thought I heard
thunder
only to realize
someone was scraping metal
over concrete
last night I awoke to a roar
dreams scattered like butterflies
fluttering into dark woods

I sat halfway up in bed
straining to hear through
the darkness
I thought I heard a machine’s dead moan
only to find

the night had let out
a storm
like a long-held breath
rain
like old, pent-up tears
smiling, sighing
I fell asleep

Let me dive deep into the diverse!
Let restlessness lead me
so that the world, not I, may feed me
what random tidbits it sees fit to place in my path,
so that my spirit may sit still to feast
on the sustenance in each moment’s happenstance
(despite my feet’s fitful dance).

Let every “let” here (as elsewhere)
make poem into prayer!
…because I’m not even close to there.
I struggle to find rhythm
in disjointed verse whose rhyme
I stretch to find signs
of connect between malaligned
moments’ mottled meanings…
that is, I dive but run out of air,
I search furtively for phantom feasts,
and I think I think too much.

Tierra mi cuerpo
Agua mi sangre
Aire mi aliento
Fuego mi espíritu

O madre, llévame, contigo siempre estaré
O madre llévame, contigo hasta el mar
O madre llévame, tu hija siempre seré

Ven mijo, mija, te fijas
en mí y te muestro the key,
llave pa’ tesoro for rich and poor so
solo pisa el barro mi piel
pa’ nosotros no hay tomorrow
solo hay hoy y por eso te doy
de inmediato abrazos mojados
y de paso trazo a tu lado
una nueva visión, fusión
de tradición y futuro
de lo puro maduro
o sea mar y muro
conteniéndose en ladrillos
y mil solcillos poniéndose
en ventanas metropolitanas
skyscrapers whose nails
the sky fails to notice
the lotus y el rascacielos
no tienen celos
de su compadre
todos me tienen a mí su madre consigo
y no, no me contradigo
contengo multitudes
tu también tienes estas virtudes.

Tierra mi cuerpo
Agua mi sangre
Aire mi aliento
Fuego mi espíritu

O madre, llévame, contigo siempre estaré
O madre llévame, contigo hasta el mar
O madre llévame, tu hija siempre seré

Ven mijo, mija, te fijas
en mí y te muestro the key
talismán for your journey
sin miedo, son, go on, go on,
inúndate, ahógate y rógate
a tu alma que te lance soga, eh
agárrala y así fluye sin miedo
agua transcurriendo tu piel
trazando mapas tributarias
contienes tantas tierras incógnitas
explorémoslas andando
al ritmo del compás
de las ondas subiendo
del agua que me das
devolviéndomelo en forma de gas
tu aliento uniéndose con el viento –
no te miento cuando esto te cuento.

Tierra mi cuerpo
Agua mi sangre
Aire mi aliento
Fuego mi espíritu

O madre, llévame, contigo siempre estaré
O madre llévame, contigo hasta el mar
O madre llévame, tu hija siempre seré

Ven mijo, mija, te fijas
en mí y te muestro the key,
which must be skeleton
to fit in all my skins
since insubstantial they fall
like air from my essence
from whence I can call
walls of wind to send
supposed solidity – say, a city –
into death throes that
may be necessary
to evaporate rancidity
but carefully, carefully
know that usually fully
destroying only comes
through you, toying
without sense with the balance
that allows death and dying
to give breath to new life
the balance
that allows all strife to send seeds flying,
the balance
that allows all shit to fertilize the fitful
growing of this new sowing.

Tierra mi cuerpo
Agua mi sangre
Aire mi aliento
Fuego mi espíritu

O madre, llévame, contigo siempre estaré
O madre llévame, contigo hasta el mar
O madre llévame, tu hija siempre seré

Ven mijo, mija, te fijas
en mí y te muestro the key,
soy la llave clave pero no te dejaré
flee from this edificio en llamas;
el artificio fue tuyo, y la fama
de morir en ello será tuyo igual
and the door here just leads to the hall
where all that burns is falling
so what I’m calling you to do
is to not move, is to instead choose
to use what you need and leave
the rest to die – no lie,
let this structure fly as embers
into the sky, let destruction
decry false foundations
and make solid ground
the only sound basis
no sugiero que tierra es mero stasis
sino que tanto llano como magma
está fuera de nuestra
consciencia fija y que
lo que mueve, mija,
te muestra las formas
de crear normas
y lo puro y duro
es lo flojo que fluye
o sea: el cambio no cambia
so now that you heard me,
ojalá the Word, sí,
the house ‘s fallen ‘round you
and you have found you safe and sound
so now you, what are you gonna do?

I set my eyes on the sound horizon,
for the foreground flees too fast
to focus on before it’s past.
My clear vision thrives on, soars on, flies on
the path winding up and beyond
these troubles, puddles and ponds
towards the unblinking, plan-blinding ocean.
There thoughts sail far from the harsh wail
of the quick-set worry and the false-step hurry
of these daily daunting travails.

Sharp obstacles, shrill pain whistles
dart up and strut their smart urgency,
proclaiming immediacy and plea
with emergency siren voices
for short-sighted choices to remedy
their burning-bright blights, their pyre in
library plight.

I can’t focus on their flutter or
contain their capricious clutter,
to flow with their fuzzy shows
just sits me down quick or hits me with motion sickness
and I have no time to slow or stop
much less cheap tricks or any quick fix
and I don’t mind smashing change
as long as I can find (or sense) a view, no matter if newly strange
of the crashing, slapdash yet steadfast
Way of the waves in the distance.

So sometimes I think that I’m not sure I want more words in this world;
Before I was born already so many whispering such truths,
Hurled into the air to seep into my ears listening while I slept even.
Some of them (sooth) were glistening even before they were uttered,
Others so vile that spears of betrayal falling from heaven felt no more fettered to evil…
And I believed them all.


So… so why say more?
I’ve said so much before, you know, not with my own voice I suppose,
It’s just that my perspective’s as slippery as prose, so… should I speak in poetry??
So… yesterday (so wintry, lonely, fractured!) yesterday before I entered the library
I moved the air with that soft touch of sweet vocality that you exhale
Like trying to rid yourself of insomnia’s unreality;
And when I returned from the seat of wide-awake reason - those words in there -
I was spurned by the silence that had heard din where I’d breathed,
had called foul and fallacy refusing to hold that sleepless yet dreamy seething
(and was probably right)
Even so!... a slight tremor of recognition, a glimmer of bereaved sentiment
Any solace even in flight, just so that it’s not gone… might have conceived
Some sort of strength to hold together those palms that stretch from bed to bed
Of those separated sleeping silent lovers (current confusion with past certainty),
Strength to hold the parallel (communicating yet unconnected) lines from collapsing
Under the duration of the distance of the friction of such geometric reason…

So, can I at least awake without the sound of diction and composition,
The work of others in my ears? It’s not that I haven’t found them wonders
In the right season, but they rarely connect rationally to my own dreams and fears…
So how do I know which will unite me and which split me asunder?

She held the bitter memories in her mouth, tonguing them and feeling their shape and texture. Their original clean-slicing edges eventually turned ragged and infectious, and the places that she probed more often, circling with bitter gall, changed shape and soon morphed into entirely different things. Were she to either swallow or spit them out, she could perhaps digest or simply rid herself of them. This would of course fail to feed her—but it would free her.

Having grown accustomed to the taste, though, she grew to relish the intensity of the flavor of gall and blood: so much stronger than normal fare. And so she could not resist the temptation to savor again and again.

Due to a screen fast during the last couple of weeks' vagabonding, I haven't posted for a while... so now here's my 3-in-1 post, with something for everyone!

Debido a un ayuno de pantallas durante las últimas semanas de (di)vagar, hace rato que no escribo... pues he aquí ahora 3 por 1, con algo para todos!

A cause d'être à jeune d'écrans pendant les dernières semaines de déambuler, ça fait un peu que je n’ai rien écrit… donc voici 3, avec quelque chose pour tous !

--

POEM 1:

Joy is the secret to resistance!

If that don’t make sense,
then check your balance
since we’re all on the fence
that stands tall tween
not two worlds
but billions.

So, when those with trillions
claim system-wide control,
tell you what to do with body and soul,
and act as if the fences they stole
surrounded, swallowed you whole…
laugh!

Hence, no matter what your stance
at least do a little dance
for the freedom on the fence!


POEM 2:

putain!
les machins souverains…

salaud!
c’est chaud a Baghdad…

egad!
these all-over fads…

oh shite!
billboard might says I’m not quite right…

carajo!
ando atrasado… y si me compro una máquina-atajo…?

joder!
el puto poder…


POEM 3:

In las dos languages errores
En both lenguas thought’s porous
El mezclaje
mestizaje
del mensaje
de lo que traje
del alma inconsciente
a la palma de mi mente
con calma de repente
de atrás y de frente
el compás me lleva
más allá de mi cueva
la visión es tan nueva
the versión que me mueva
like the sun
with her fusión of two into one
who knew I’d come undone
unstrung—no porque I’m unsung,
as hero or Nero—only cuz
I’m lonely in the throngs
I long for my own song
that all love and sing along
is this wrong?