The Spot

Hidden Me

2011-05-29T13:09:00.000-07:00

It wasn't a mirror, but me looking at you.
You resemble all those things familiar to me
reflect the world as I want to see it, quiet, undone, limitless, evolved.
You remind me of fear unprovoked, restless, creative.
You remind me of trees in an undisclosed forest, untouched, pristine, green in all its revelry.
You're the unmarked location on a map, the suspended bridge, the weathered trail
the brown, the green, the humidity, the cloudy stream.
It wasn't a mirror, but me looking at you.
You resemble me, but better, you're complete.
You resemble me, but eager, wishful, discrete.
You resemble me, the half, the piece that lets me breathe.

Pix: Notre Dame in Paris, France (2009)

Let Darkness Subside

2011-05-20T18:56:00.000-07:00

Like crickets and fireflies
only known to the night,
my thoughts linger there.
I watch steadily for the moon to peak
to give me a sense of light, a blanket of freedom through the night.
I remember the words, those words, to keep me leveled...maintained.
I remember the kiss, those kisses, that bring your heaven
to my earth.
I mourn for the crowded days, your days, my nights,
for the distilled waves of unsalted life.
Send me a line of faith, hope
anything for this darkness to subside.
Don't want to linger in the night by day or
in any of my afterlives.
There is a river in my room that won't stop flowing.
There is a snake in my room that won't stop hissing.
There is life in a day and many deaths in a night.
Don't let me linger in your day,
live unknowingly in my night.

Three's A Crowd

2011-05-02T18:14:00.000-07:00

“Hey Grace! Would you mind picking some up for dad?” “There isn’t enough room in the truck for this box. Where do I put these damn grocery bags?” says Grace. “Come on Grace! We have to go, it’s getting late.” “I’m coming Thornton. Turn on the radio will you.”

[music playing] Strangers in the night exchanging glances, wondering in the night, what were the chances…

“Not Frankie, please.”

[music playing] Lost in love and I don’t know much, just thinking about how I fell out of touch, now I’m back on my feet and eager to be…

“I don’t even know who’s singing. I never even heard of this song.”

[music playing] Hush little baby, don’t say a word, and never mind that noise you heard. It’s just the beast under your bed…

“Now this Thornton is music. Raise that daddy up!”

[music playing] … in your closet in your head! Exit light…

“There is too much static on that station. Oh wait a minute now, hold on, I think I’m getting it.”

[music playing] Take my hand, off to never never land.

“Forget it Thornton. Let’s just turn off the radio all together.” “Make up your mind woman. We’ll be getting there soon anyway. Did you forget my Doritos? You better have not forgotten my chips. You know how I get if I don’t have my sandwich with my chips. I’m so darn hungry too.” “ We’ll eat in a minute. Lord everyone is here. They better move that car right there cuz dad ain’t gonna fit through them cars.” “Hold on for a minute. Let me just turn right here.” “Hi, Aunt Mary and Uncle Joseph. Dear Lord they’re all here. Hurry up Thornton!” “We’re here. There’s Peter over there behind that tree stump. Hey Peter! Are you and Jude going to give me a hand with dad?” “Of course Thornton,” said Peter. “Okay, you’re going to hold the top and pull. Jude and I will wait until it’s half way out and we’ll grab either side of it.” He opens and quickly slams his truck’s door. The side mirror shakes. “Ready and pull. Jude you see the side handle there? Just hold on to it until it’s completely out of the truck. Hold it steady guys. We still have to walk up the church stairs.” “We’re almost there Thornton,” said Jude. “Hello Father,” said Thornton as his dad was held down for the last time. He lay there suspended in the world of the living by chrome pre-configured fixtures. There were no formalities or social conventions to adhere to, no phone calls or excuses to listen to, just regret replaced by endless tears and empty smudges above his face. He looked at everyone through his new window, in his own space and in his own time. “Hello, son. How are you holding up?” “I’m fine considering the circumstances.” “Okay, let’s begin. Everyone please stand. The services are going to begin.” In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost…

Ode to Water

2011-05-02T17:57:00.000-07:00

He walked in that night with dirt all over his clothes, his face and hands. He looked like he just came out of quick sand. He was hungry. He was so hungry he couldn’t eat. All he wanted was water. That was all he drank. He threw his keys on the kitchen table along with his navy blue blazer and black shoes he bought in Spain. He took off his big brown boots and left them by the kitchen door. There was always a draft by that door. He knew he could always depend on that draft for extra needed ventilation. He walked through the kitchen in his socks leaving subtle light brown powdered prints on the floor. He walked to the restroom and started to take off his clothes. He didn't know I was watching him. He never saw me at all. He began to unbuckle his black leather belt. The silver buckle gave the belt grace. It was a matted color with slight inclusions for character; the one I helped him build. He then unbuttoned his navy blue slacks and let them drop to the floor. As the slacks hit the floor, his orange light blue tie peeked out one of its side pockets. He took off his white boxer briefs and then his once white long sleeve shirt. He stayed in the shower for a very long time. It was longer than usual. After he took a shower, he decided to take a bath. Once he took a bath, we were not to disturb him under any circumstances. He left the restroom in a towel and put his clothes in the hamper. He walked to the kitchen, served himself a glass of water and went to bed. The next morning, I found him dead, lying next to the water dispenser in the kitchen wearing only his boots. There wasn’t water anywhere. There wasn’t a drop of anything in his glass.

Pix: Hvar, Croatia (2010)

Waiting for Spring

2011-04-27T19:10:00.000-07:00

“I’m leaving soon…”

My bedroom was all I had until then. The only place safe from pain, the only place where home starts and the rest of the world sleeps. It wasn’t the way she said it; it was all of those little things that wasn’t said which made this night different from the night before. Her eyes sung to me. Her lips reached out to me with frailty and confidence all in one. Her hands spun a new web and her words, well, lets just say thunderstorms pale in comparison. A moment was all I needed to know those words were a prelude of what was to come-- cold empty nights of what ifs with the occasional summer breeze to remind me that the season will soon change. Timing had to be perfect. No lingering in any store windows for the latest fad. No stamp collecting of places and events that could one day mean something or worth anything at all. All we had were quilted moments and endless thread. I closed the bedroom window. I could feel winter was near. I took out a hammer and a couple of nails, unsure how heavy the canvas would be and I prepared the wall. Draped the wall with blue sheets and used cotton balls to simulate clouds. I hung the canvas; it hung naked on my bedroom wall. Put on a pot of coffee, sat in my living room and waited for spring.

“I’m leaving soon,” she said. Now I don’t know who to wait for, her return or mine.

My Loneliness

2011-04-10T07:42:00.001-07:00

My loneliness has always
been yours.
Everything branded and bonded has always
been yours.
Every restraint, every nail, every blinded stare has always
been yours.
My loneliness has always been
yours.
You made my days into nights
and my nights eternal.
You tamed my laughs into smirks
and my words into coiled cords.
I no longer scream to breathe,
I breathe to feel.

Wishful Thinking

2011-03-18T05:26:00.000-07:00

I want to live in a moment and never die,
live in a place where worlds don't collide,
live by a river where there's always change,
live in your arms, our dreams, a lover's terrain.
I want to walk in the woods, naked, untouched,
walk among the leaves, another color, unwatched,
walk with the breeze, unmoved, not rattled,
walk to the years of our life and unravel.
I want to fly without wings with you as my glide.
I want to sing in the rain and let the water multiply.
I want to be in the dark, our love is our light.
I want to swing through this world with you to my afterlife.

The Gift of Life

2011-03-14T23:07:00.000-07:00

You took away the darkness on your way in.
You took away the pain that settled around the window panes.
You took away the nights I couldn't sleep,
You took away her place, her reign, her rooted feet.
I wonder how you did the things you did...
to think of tomorrow, yesterday,
to love me forever, every day.
I wonder how you did the things you did...
to find me in the road, without a face,
to lift me to my feet, walking without a name.
You gave me the breath I was longing for.
You gave me the dreams, I was hoping for.
You gave me my world, not in pieces, but whole.
You gave me my name, not a picture, but the frame.

Flowers in the Clouds

2011-03-13T12:13:00.000-07:00

Like tidbits of musical notes,
you laugh at me heretically.
Like empty faces in church clothes,
you take me in unforgivably.
How much of you is left in me?
How much is heard?
LIke glorious days and seamless skies
you stitch me in and tie after lie.
You leave my fields with acres of dreams;
your feet drink from the wells that
carry me.
You sleep and lull on that which
embraces me.
The vase has broken,
the flowers have been set free.

Fanjee

2011-02-20T07:34:00.000-08:00

She is wearing a white cotton slip. She doesn't have any shoes on; her feet are exposed, withered with dirt. She is crying. Two men escort her, each holding one of her arms. The crowd is silent. Her long soft curls had been damaged by the night's wind. She walks up five steps to her new given pedestal. She stretches out her hands in front of her and places them on a wooden plank, one groove per wrist. They fit perfectly. She starts to scream and begins to hear the loud knocking of iron against iron on either side of her. She looks to the right, she looks to the left and she could see the clamps coming near. They were her new fixture. One clamp on either hip, they squeeze her into place. A man standing in front of her on a higher ground yells out her sentence. She sees his lips moving but her screams are too loud for her to hear him. The guillotine falls and cuts her hands off. She is thrown back by the pain. Then five men, standing on an equal ground, pull their bows back and let go of their arrows; hitting her all at once. The clamps release her. She falls back. Her name was Fanjee.

2011-01-08T17:10:00.002-08:00

An Afterthought

2010-11-05T17:20:00.000-07:00

You were an afterthought...
a heavy memory, unarmed, unhung,
far from the empty space
between now and then.
You were the challenged note...
a sequence of sounds, unheard, unsung,
too deep for a voice to reach
too high for the earth to keep.
You were my hummingbird
who came and went
like the seasonal rain,
in the occasional interrupted breath.
You were mine; you were theirs
You were sin; you were everywhere.
Too true to be seen; too painful to redeem.
You were mine, you were theirs
You were forever near; you are forever there.

Pix: bench inside a fortress in Hvar, Croatia (2010)

Amazing Sunset

2010-10-30T13:39:00.000-07:00

When something is as beautiful as this, how can you not take a picture? We were trying to find a place along the beach to get a drink and saw this amazing sunset in front of us. The sky seemed closer to the ground than usual and I almost felt as if the clouds were going to hug me!

Pix: Hvar, Croatia (2010)

The Inevitable Scream

2010-10-23T19:16:00.000-07:00

Loss is an inevitable thing...
a delayed emotion
to an irrepressible scream,
a jolt in the air
of mixed thoughts undisguised,
a veil over your hair,
the guilted smile; the unwilling good-bye,
the revolving door,
the battered sigh,
the tingling hairs,
one death; many changed lives,
the familiar stranger at the door,
no faith, no feelings left behind,
the widowed day, the silent night,
the distant fate,
the chalice,
your soul unrecognized.

Pix: returning from Montenegro (2010)

One Way Down

2010-10-11T10:19:00.000-07:00

If that's the scream you want to hear,
If that's the lie you want to live,
If that's the soul you want to keep,
You can't follow me.
If that's the turn you wish to make,
If that's the truth you sell and fake,
If that's the way you eat your prey,
You aren't right for me.
You need to choose your words
and mind your thoughts
and feel the days without a fault.
TIme your breath and tame your tone,
Stop their teeth from scratching
Your hollow floor.

The Darkness in Your Eyes

2010-05-18T21:51:00.000-07:00

There is darkness in me and you and other multitudes.
There is darkness in her and me and other fortitudes.
There is darkness here and there and other institutes.
There is darkness in fear and love and other shelters everywhere.
There is darkness in tears and stares and other lovers in despair.
I could see the winged chariot lurking in your night,
I could hear the tempest ticking beneath the frail moonlight.
Darkness isn't here, it isn't there, it isn't in me, it isn't in you.
Darkness is knowing your lover is there
and the mirror is still facing you.

Flowers for a Vase

2010-05-17T18:53:00.000-07:00

I'm sinking, lulled in a field of grief and roses and facts and scattered poses. She minces me with every word, every piece of thread she spins, she weaves into her own image. She is pragmatic, deceiving, thematic and intriguing. Picture a flower in a vase, untrimmed with the leaves in chaos, a mixture of beautiful silk petals and those that have given up, living for aesthetic purposes only. The level of water in the vase can't be determined because you don't know if it's evaporating or if the weight of the flower makes it seem as if it has enough to drink. Since it isn't rooted, you don't know if it's healthy because you can't see it grow. All you know is that it's a flower, in a vase, filled with water and has a short time to live. It's no wonder you can't decide what you should name it or if you should give it a name at all.

Owning a house in the woods was her birthday wish. She wanted to be able to open any door and see through any window, the trees, the leaves, the seasons-- life all around her. A reminder is never a bad thing. She hasn't had anyone over in years. She thought the furniture would be too new. She didn't know what to do. She wanted to cook, but the horrid thought of the food tasting awful shredded her stomach like pushing cheese against a grater. She couldn't order in. Who in their right mind would deliver food twenty miles into the woods? Hiring a private catering company was definitely out of the question; she was done with prefixed menus. She did have a few bottles of wine she brought back from Florence.

She opened the windows with such force, they made a crackling sound at every end. The paint was stuck together. As the sun revisited the inside of the home, the furniture looked different. The sofa had clearly warped in certain places; it had darker spots in others. The dust on the wooden furniture became a new type of lacquer and was very hard to remove. She just left it alone. The color of the walls became dim. She changed the light bulbs and cleared that problem up quite quickly. There was always more than enough china in the china cabinet, but never more than one stare at the table. Well, at least not after a few months of moving in. There are french doors leading to the back patio. She opened them gently, inhaling slowly as she let her home breathe again. She stood there. Looking into the woods, she stood there with her arms at her side. She took a few steps forward, slowly looked to her left, then to the right. It was just as she dreamed. The leaves seemed different. The windows didn't do them any justice. She picked up an tea cup from a small table. It was muddy with strands of little green things floating inside. She picked up what was left of a book with mold as its cover. She wasn't much of a reader anyway. A quilt lay there on top of two wooden chairs, abandoned from warmth. She quickly brought the quilt into her home, put it in the washer and washed it for hours. It was enough for one day.

"I can't believe it's Wednesday today. Should I have the dinner party not this weekend, but the following Saturday or Sunday? I'll let them choose. Hopefully they're available, since they have such busy schedules and all. Let me see. Where is the address book? Oh dear, where did I leave it?" Tugging on her own sweater, she was pacing back and forth.

She walked to a room connected to the main house. There was a small dresser with four drawers to the left of the door. It was dark wood with very beautiful carvings along the edges. Each drawer had two silver half moon handles. She opened the top one. She opened a small jewelry box and took out a necklace with a key as its pendant. This time she didn't hold it as long. She used the key to open the door. Then she put the necklace around her neck. She turned on the light. The room's windows had wooden shutters. They were closed. The air in the room was damp. Everything was still. It was free of clocks; free of any kind of noise. There weren't any dark patches on the sofa or on the chair behind the big desk. She sat on the grey chair and lingered there for a moment. She took several long deep breaths and exhaled slowly. She began to open the smaller drawers to each side. There were envelopes on top of the desk, a silver envelope opener, a pen on top of a desk calendar, a clean tea cup with a rusty tea pot and a chamomile tea bag still inside. She opened every drawer carefully. She moved everything delicately protecting their frailty--her memories. Everything was in order and order in everything left.

"Here it is. So this is where you've been hiding all this time. I'm going to also need some paper and envelopes for my invitations."

She leaves the room and locks it. After taking several steps, she looks behind her and grins slightly holding the key around her neck. She walks into the kitchen and sits down to write her invitation at the breakfast table.

I hope when you receive this invitation, it finds you in good health and spirit. I know this is such a short notice, but you're invited to a dinner party at my house. Since, I haven't seen any of you in such a long time, I thought you would tell me which day would be better for you to attend my dinner party. Circle Saturday or Sunday and I will prepare for whatever day the majority chooses. It's two in a half weeks from now. Hope to hear from you soon and I can't wait to see you all again. My address is on the envelope. I will send you which day and time it will be.

Yours truly,

Farah Wells

She didn't have enough of one stationary set to match each letter with the correct envelope. She improvised the best way she knew how. After stuffing the envelopes, she licked the flaps to seal them.

"Dear heavens! I've forgotten what that tasted like. I guess everything comes with its price. Where's that crazy glue?"

It was the most she had done in years. The sun was soon going to set. The winds announced the evening. The curtains moving wildly into the home reminded her of what life was like before it happened. She sat there staring at the curtains. What else was left to do but wait. She hasn't felt a longing for someone in years. She felt frightened and alone. She abruptly got up and ran to close the windows. It was too much for her. Her heart was pounding uncontrollably, rattling in its cage. She remembered how it began thirty years ago.

She was twenty-two years old and a freshman in college. She was tired of living at home and in desperate need to find a place of her own. She had the luxury of time in her hands. Well, not exactly.

... to be continued

Changing Your Perspective

2010-02-02T18:46:00.000-08:00

I sometimes find myself changing perspectives to make the best of any given situation. Recently, I've begun to think, "Why change it and not just feel my way through it?" February is a month I've grown to love and hate. Everything in my life, I mean everything that has meant anything to me, has occurred in this wretched month. Yet, in the midst of it all, LOVE is literally in its core... The irony of how many tears I've cried this month, or smiles I've been given all surround the month where love is overrated, commercialized, mimicked and perfected. This is when, people are momentarily and manipulatively on their 'best behavior' or at least attempt to be. Some of us go the extra mile for the one we love, simply because either everyone else is doing it and our competitive nature goes into overdrive. Others just use the cliche of it being 'overrated' and do what they have been doing all year long--under appreciating the person their with. It all depends on which perspective best suits you. Not everything/everyone that/who is in front of us, is what we see. Not everything we give, should be given and not everything we receive, should be received. We need to change our perspective every now and then so we can see beyond who/what is in front of us.

Pix: On top of a church in Sevilla, Spain (2006)

My Thief, My Light

2010-01-16T17:46:00.001-08:00

Shadows wait for no one,
they are a part of the light, the infinite light,
where night plays and tramples its life.
Shadows live on the ground beneath our feet,
they follow our seams, our triumphs, our defeats.
They live in the moment and parallel our lives.
They live what we live, only better,
unknown, out of sight.
I lived once a dream, untold, still in my mind,
it was about a thief who lived unseen by my side.
It saw me live a night, I should have seen,
It saw me live a night, I could not dream.
There it lay, still, faithful to my right.
There it lay, still, quiet, my thief, my light.

Raven

2009-08-24T22:07:00.000-07:00

I see a raven in flight
entering my light, my dresser, my ties,
I see its wings reaching out to me
with claws and teeth and shredded feet,
I see its eyes look my way
inch by inch tearing my face away.
I can feel the air it leaves behind,
it's thick and cold and hangs with fright.
I hear the raven calling me
with nails as words and hidden philosophies,
I see the raven in the night
in its hell,
me tasting its afterlife.
I know the raven doesn't fly for me,
it will only exist, if I cease to see.

2009-06-21T15:20:00.000-07:00

Moon River sung by Audrey Hepburn

It's Time For Mourning

2009-05-25T17:40:00.000-07:00

Twenty minutes into the night...
the water is still, clear, under the red river,
the window has broken.

Fifteen minutes into the night...
the stems have torn,
the house has been shaken.

Ten minutes into the night...
my thoughts have found their voice,
the anger has found its journey.

Five minutes into the night...
I feel in strokes,
try the waves in their return.

One minute into the night
the mirror reflects not
standing still,
lingering in forgotten thoughts.

Minutes have mourned,
time has recoiled,
never spoken,
never taught.

Pix: Dali statue along the Thames River in London, England (2006)

Bond-Age

2009-05-21T11:55:00.000-07:00

So when I decided to write about the bond existing between two things/ideas/people, I wanted to first see how the dictionary defines it. Ironically, when I did the search for "bond" online, the results defined bond in financial and monetary terms, which I found very interesting. I had to do a different search and found one definition which, for me, is what I intended to write about. According to Dictionary.com, bond is:" having a regular pattern and intended to increase the strength or enhance the appearance of a construction." Now this definition is much more intriguing and on point than money! There are people that walk around making loose bonds with other people, flirt with various ideas and schools of thought, ransack other people's ideals all because they don't know who or what to bind with. Everyone pretty much understands and knows, if you go to a catholic church regularly, than people might view you as a catholic. If you go to a bar every night, people might view you as a drinker and so forth. Although the above may be construed as habits and/or mere traditions; however, because one goes to these places, the places and what they represent become a part of one's life, thus creating a bond. Even if it's only for a moment, but a regular pattern exists. Now the question is, "Does your affiliation/bond 'increase the strength or enhance the appearance' of you as 'a construction'?" Why have bonds that are destined to weaken us? Why nourish the tie or strengthen the rope if when you grow, it will be too weak to sustain you? We create bonds all of the time with people, ideas/ideals that maybe don't want us to bind with them. Maybe they just want to be understood, thought of and revisited but as an onlooker and passerby. Binding is what we are taught to do, but sometimes, with time it can become a bondage. Then that which we first sought to build us up, changes our ground, repositions us, unthreads us, making our flesh the new rope. We become a different leather with different cords. The more we age, the better we are at creating bonds...any bond.

Pix: statue in Prague, Czech Republic (2005)

Unleash the Beast

2009-05-17T17:10:00.000-07:00

When we domesticate an animal, any animal, we weaken them. When we personify an animal, any animal, we make it susceptible to further disintegration; we assign it a role and socially categorize it. In essence, when it is named, we change what is was meant to be-- free. Behavior modification is used to control the masses. Perfect examples are the church, schools and the government. Animals are meant to roam and be free. We may think, that by bringing them into our homes, we are protecting them. We're not. They protect us. We immediately tag the animals to let it be known who the owner is. We have to register them and vaccinate them. We make them safer for us to live with. Like everything else we own, its acquisition is self-serving. Thus, the leash is born. I hate to use it, but how about the umbilical cord? We need it while we are in the womb, in a perfectly confined space where temperature is regulated until we outgrow that space and in order to survive, the umbilical cord has to be cut. Sometimes it is necessary to remove the leash on your animals every once in a while so they may move freely in a larger space. If nourished appropriately, they won't fight as much the next time you put on that leash and you won't be so afraid to take it off.

Pix: Monkey Forest in Ubud Village, Indonesia (2008)

"Shackles! Don't confine me, release my inferior self!"

2009-04-14T10:07:00.000-07:00

"Put them on! Put them on, I'm starving to death!" she screamed. I didn't know what she was referring to. What kind of food does anyone wear? She bent over and opened her mouth. With her shoulders pushed back, her legs opened almost in a stance, and the veins on her neck bulging, she hurled everything she ate that day. Every single piece of everything she put inside her mouth was forgotten in one single moment. Tears were rolling down her cheeks like bowling balls in an alley--a long dark alley. Her face was flushed with a different rouge. She could breathe again. "Put them on!" she demanded. "Put them on, I'm starving to death!" I didn't realize how dark the room was. It had different shades of gray all over the walls. There was one single window really high, closer to the ceiling. I should have gone to visit her in the morning or afternoon. I didn't know how dark it could be in her room. I didn't know what she wanted. I didn't know if her being a mute for so long impaired her ability to communicate. "Put them on, I'm starving!" she screamed angrily. "Are you cold?" I asked. "Do you want a sweater?" I asked as I took a few steps back. She wouldn't answer. She stood by her vomit barefoot and was pacing side to side very precariously. Her hair was loose and damp. It looked as if she hadn't combed it for days. Her eyes sunken in with black semi-circles holding them up. "Put them on!" she demanded. She looked at me. She looked straight into my eyes. She looked directly inside of me. I began to get nervous. My palms began to sweat. "Why am I getting scared?" I thought to myself. "Put them on!" she screamed. I began to take steps back slowly. I had forgotten which direction the door was. Was it opposite the window? The room was so dark. My right heel stepped on something. It made a clinging sound. With her eyes still fixated on me, she screamed, "Put them on!" "I don't know what you want," I told her. I tried to slide the object to the side gently, but it was heavy. The clinging got louder. She began to salivate. "Put them on!" she screamed again. Her voice resonated like bells in an empty church. I fell backwards and landed on what felt like a pile of chain links. I felt them with my hands. They felt rusty. "Put them on!" she screamed. She couldn't possibly mean the chains? I pulled them closer, raising them to the light coming from the window. Her face began to soften as they got closer. She sat down on the floor with her legs crossed in an Indian position. She dropped her shoulders and patiently waited. The ends of the chains had what appeared to be metal bracelets. "Is this what you want?" I asked. "Put them on, I'm starving" she said in a soft almost seductive voice. I picked one chain and reached for her wrist. Her body was thrusting. She looked at her wrist as I put it on. She looked at me. I reached for the her right wrist and put the other chain on. She sat there with shackles on her wrists. She was calm. I began to walk toward the door, still facing her. She got up slowly and placed one of her t-shirts on top of the vomit. She started to clean it up. She then began to braid her hair. She didn't notice I left. I don't know if anyone else visited her after I left. I never went back. I can still hear the clinging of the chains. I can still see her, see me because of them.

Pix: in front of a museum in Venice, Italy (2008)

So Swiftly

2009-04-12T23:22:00.001-07:00

So swiftly it left,
like Camelot and knights.
So generously it left,
like tell tales of Arabian nights.
It tickled the storm that passed us by,
It pushed in the thorn, the splinter, the uncensored sky.
It dwarfs in days of should be heightened regrets
and wallows in days of fruitful intents.
The timepiece was only that,
a mirror on the wall
tick-tocking through her rights.
Its hands, symbiotic traps,
windmills in a trance
seizing with every single sight.

So swiftly it left,
like Camelot and knights
like flies and maggot bites.

Scheduling Conflicts

2009-04-06T20:03:00.001-07:00

Timing truly is everything. It's true that you can't be at two places at once. It's true that you can't serve two masters. It can't be day and night at one moment. Words like "afternoon" and "evening" are mere transition words. They bridge two known ideas. Some people say, "we don't know what the future holds." That's not entirely true. You see once you decide on where you're going, you've just envisioned your future. Everything you do in between the initial thought and that which you envisioned are calculated approximations to ensure what you've envisioned becomes your reality. Of course, nothing is ever easy. There is something you have to remember. There are two sets of tracks at every train station always leaving opposite directions. Once you've stepped onto one, understand the other is scheduled to leave without you.

Pix: Monterosso is one of the Cinque Terre off the coast of Italy. (2008) FYI: It's beautiful! Can't wait for round two!

Layers

2009-04-05T20:33:00.000-07:00

I don’t have that many layers.

They are emotional derivatives, derailed and left for dead , but ever so often they find their way into my thoughts, reenacting themselves, living through my breaths, and the pain resurfaces after having slept.

I don’t have many layers.

They are emotional shortcomings, disfigured, misconstrued and lost in the wind. Sometimes I find the thread not the yarn, the needle, not the buttons. I redeem myself in time and find a place in fragments.

I don’t have layers.

They are emotional films, reels left unseen. They are unspoken acts in black and white with an unsolicited audience and my voice in disguise.

I do not layer.

They are emotions too afraid to speak on their own, yet my eyes denounce them and I find my world, once again, unsold.

I do layer.

They are motives, innate ordinances of a child unprepared. They seek approval in random signs of affection. I find ways to heal, find a soul in different shoes. I find peace when I make visions and stutter in days I shouldn’t have lived.

Pix: Colliseum (2008)

Worlds Apart

2009-02-19T20:45:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I wonder where my world has gone. Has it been misplaced or have I just not seen it all along? Has my world mourned for me as I have for love? Are the colored leaves different or have I not noticed the tree’s need for change? I wonder if the clouds have spies in other worlds for me. If so, will they capture the moments that I will not see? Will they swim on the ocean’s current or glide on the wind’s breeze? Will they bring me the moments that I have changed for thee? Will they travel the world through desert storms and snow topped cones? Will they bring me the moments I could have sewn? I could see the world that was meant for me, with open wide acres of fields and dormant bees. I could see the world that escapes me, as I am tangled in these beaded weeds. I could see the world that awaits me, willing to exchange love for these gutted feet. I could see the world that sees me, as I sit and dream of what could be. I could hear my world call me, but I've tied my ears to someone else’s heartbeat.

Pix: temple in Ubud village, Indonesia (2008)

Forgive Me

2009-02-09T22:13:00.000-08:00

The old Chevy pick-up truck began to merge to the side of the road. There was so much wind that day, there was a cloud of dust right behind it. The truck only had one side mirror on the driver’s side and it was broken. He rolled down his window. The glass shaking and squeaking of old age only managed to lower itself halfway. “Would you like a lift? Or are you looking for a ride all the way into town?” he asked. “I’ll do one for the other,” she replied. “Hop in then, cuz it’s a long way into town,” he said. She walked around the back of the truck to get in through the passenger’s side. She remembered her mother once telling her to never walk in front of a car because it’s dangerous. She opened the door, sat on the seat and brought in both of her legs before closing the door. The driver looked at her as he dangled a toothpick from his lips. “So where u comin’ from?” he asked. “Up north,” she replied. “Well it’s pretty warm down here. Do you mind the warm weather?” he asked. With her right hand on her lips and her elbow resting on the door, she doesn’t answer. “Well?” he asked. “Alright then, if you don’t feel like talking there is something else you can do,” he said. He unbuttoned his pants with his right hand and lowered his zipper. He exposed himself, his limp self. She looked at him and put him in her mouth. She was gentle. She bobbed her head like the day she bobbed for apples on her twelfth birthday. She was on her fifth apple when she noticed worms were floating in the water. “Ouch! What the hell are you doin’ down there?” he said angrily. “There’s nothing like having a bitch on her knees, instead of a girl on her side!” he yelled. The truck swerved to the side of the road and she got out of the car. She closed the door. The only thing she could see from afar was a church’s steeple. She walked and walked. She walked for days. The dirt became a part of her. She knew she didn’t know anyone there. She went to the only thing that was guiding her—the church. She leaned on the church doors and knocked. A priest came outside and let her in. She was exhausted. She fell to the ground on her knees. “Are you okay my daughter? Would you like a glass of water?” the priest asked. “Let me just get water for you. Wait here. Don’t move,” he said. “I heard this is a warm town. Is that true father?” slurring her words with her head dropped to the floor. “This is a God fearing town, my dear. We try to spend some of our time in prayer and on our knees, as a sign of humility and reverence to the almighty God,” he replied, lifting her chin up with his left hand. “Why are you crying my dear? Are those tears of joy because you think you’ve found a new home?” he asked. She looked into his eyes and replied, “Isn’t that your truck parked outside?”

Pix: face of warrior outside of Buddhist temple in Singapore (2008)

The Grey Area

2009-02-09T21:22:00.000-08:00

She walks in me making her own bridges, her own beaded storms and thrashes my intuition. I followed the mistress out of her room and into my home, my faded treasure, and captured my throne. Her pastels are my new greens and yellows, red and oranges, blues and blacks. She waves her spirit over the graves, pushes the water out of a cave and wishes her whims into existence. She lingers in my mind like wilted grapes. She hangs from every memory breaking my window, shattering it into quilted fields, shredded drapes. Damaging the way the flowers grow, she wraps them around her voice. They faint with her smile; she grins with desire. Life has warped. Funny favors measure my world. Dismal pleasures carry the torch. They clap and frown at the sky above. Who paved the way? Who can change my name? My vision is blurred. The canvas has been removed. I can paint without imagination. I can feel without sensation. I can dream without creating. Can I live without being sedated? Emotions pass me by like movie reels, hot chocolate and apple pies. I can smell the seasons before they change. I put on my winter coat just in case it rains, but nothing keeps me from feeling the cold. My hands try to wash away what I'm feeling inside. My hands try to keep me sane and keep my insides from being exposed. I'm draped with fear, while clenching to hope. I can picture me, you and everything in between. Time keeps me from being free. It holds me back like an invisible leash. It reminds me, that it won't ever stop just for me.

Pix: part of Alhambra Palace in Granada, Spain... reflected on a pond in front of it (2006)

Voices

2009-01-24T14:40:00.000-08:00

What is going on around me? I hear rumors of treasure chests and magic tricks, of saints and dwarves and cannibal ears. I can see the picture fading away. I could see her face by the window, by the willow tree, in the middle of night and day. I can hear him hitting her. He’s hitting her and she won’t move away. I can hear the cars go by and I’m yelling; I’m begging them to stay. I hear stories of torches, of sorcery and witches and angry slaves. I can see the mirror. I can see her eyes paving the way. I could hear her screaming. She’s screaming and he’s forcing her into the day. I could see her stare. Her stare is breathing, it’s breathing the night away. I can see his fear as her silence takes her closer to the light. I hear tales of white horses, men in armors and castles in the air. I could see her standing under my doorway, by the nightstand, in between me and the voices that won’t go away.

Pix: inside Gaudi's "La Sagrada Familia" in Barcelona, Spain (2006)

When Night Falls

2009-01-02T09:07:00.000-08:00

If the night waits for me to sleep,
Why can’t you?
You hold my time in your hands,
my dreams in front of your feet.
I stand bare, with wings and webbed sheets,
guilted stares follow me through.
It’s time for Artemis to be the moon!
To lessen the chain, hunt the wedding
of the refrained with the mundane.
It’s time for Hades to be the sun!
To dress the happiness in black, taste the weeds
push the chariots of the crazed,
eat the sheep, half now and the other half in between graves.
I’ve studied the pictures, studied them all.
I’ve seen the creatures, those that have gone,
those that still hold their value, beg and crawl.
I’ve visited the stories, those told and untold,
unbuckled the jewelry of the dead—the bourgeois,
the forsaken--those that are always sold and resold.
If the night waits for me to sleep,
will you be in the morning to wake me, shake me to my feet?

Pix: cupola in a church in Valencia, Spain

The Last of 2008

2008-12-31T22:04:00.000-08:00

Since this is the last entry for 2008, I wanted to end it with a bang. The following is a slice of T.S. Eliot's, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" (lines 23-36):

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

Ridding Your Self

2008-12-15T20:10:00.000-08:00

There was something about this statue that I loved. At first I thought, "Well do I like it because I'm standing next to it in front of the Uffizi Gallery in Florence, Italy?" It was among other statues so that couldn't have been it. Then it hit me! The statue has cut off the head and the head looks a lot like him. Where's the body? Does it even matter where the body is? No! Not really, but if you have to know, he's standing on top of it. He cut off that which controls everything else. I interpreted it as the separation of the mind, from the body and soul. I know, a bit to over analytical, but, hey, it can't be just a statue, right? Anywho, instead of proudly looking up or straight ahead, he is looking down. There is no sign of triumph or smile. He looks tired and humbling. Maybe he really is holding his prize/price for combat. Or maybe, just maybe he's won his inner battle and rid himself of that part of him that was overbearing and too controlling. There is sometimes a need for a renewal of the mind, body and soul. If any one of these three weighs the others down, it needs to be cut from its root. Rid your self of all of those people/things who/that weigh you down. If there are parts of your self that are a bit too heavy at times to carry, either change them or let them go. Options!!! WE ALWAYS HAVE OPTIONS!!!!!

Pix: Statue in Florence, Italy 2004

My Wonderland

2008-12-06T12:25:00.000-08:00

You’re the enchanted forest,
the point where time stops,
You’re the eerie skeptic,
the door, the stairs, the boiling pot.
You’re where the waterfall begins,
where the twigs are silent and the river flows.
You’re the tortured sin, that moment where everyone goes.
You’re the endangered sigh, that gift many deny.
You’re the treasured sip, the water only a few could try.
Let the flowers fall from you like wilted leaves.
Let the oceans run through you like silent thieves.
Let the clouds guide you to different skies.
Let the mind take you to other eyes.
Can you feel my life touching your hand?
Can you feel my soul seek the magic of your wonderland?

Only If

2008-12-02T20:41:00.000-08:00

If I only had a glimpse, a glimpse of what could be,
I would sail the seas with your stare ,
Walk through the mountains with your breath as my air.
If I only had a glimpse, a glimpse of what could be,
I would lay on the clouds and
wait for the winds to bring your hands to me.
If only I was Polaris!
If only I was the sea,
then your strands of hair would always be near me.

Pix: The Pantheon in Rome, Italy

Natalie Merchant/ Carnival

2008-11-25T19:16:00.001-08:00

No Hope, No Urge

2008-11-25T17:05:00.000-08:00

When something seems so effortlessly to build, why question it? When God made the world in six days (because he chilled on the 7th), we said, “It’s God; he’s all powerful!” When an artist changes the façade of a canvas from bland to “bursting with fruit flavor,” it’s talent. What do you call two people who just so happen to be at the right place, at the right time and there is an immediate connection? (FYI: This is not a joke…) Well let me see… try one of these words on: attraction, compatibility, intrigue, interest, pheromones (hormonal), alluring, thrilling, fearless, rare, and as abstract as a Dali painting. If there is no hope, no urge to build will exist. We need to find pleasure in moments and people who come to us so effortlessly, not through nagging or demanding attention. Not everything you work hard for brings its own reward. The more you chase the carrot, the less time you’ll have to water the fruit in your backyard; and if the carrot is more important to you, then don’t get upset if someone else reaps what you sew.

Pix: Pompeii, Italy 2008

The Avid Farmer

2008-10-26T20:40:00.000-07:00

I’m an avid farmer. I think of what crops to grow, plant them, irrigate them and eat them. I bring them to life. They grow because of me. They breathe because of me. They eat because of me. Then they become a part of me. I do in fact reap what I sew. I encourage the force of nature. I encourage life to exist. Their life ceases in my time and my time only. I dominate their existence and allow them to reach my potential not their own. They are created to feed me, live in me and die in me. I am with them in their first and last breath. I measure their life span with great calculation. I take advantage of every season. They try to deceive me but they can’t. They change colors and grow other life around them to camouflage their natural intention. They send out mating calls and allow themselves to be touched, stimulated and invigorated. They allow others to take away their essence by complying with natural order. They get physical in a world so self-indulged. It forces everything around it to succumb to the other’s way of life and ultimately the cause of their dissention. I could have used a white picket fence around the land to protect my crops, but barbwire works so much better. It blends in between the leaves and one can hardly see it, but it’s there. It’s there all morning. It’s there all afternoon. It’s there all night. It is so well hidden sometimes I can’t even see it. Are you there? Have you eaten? I have plenty of crops. Walk with me into the fields. Let the wind push the crops against you. Don’t lean into them for they are not accustomed to your scent. Don’t touch them. They are unfamiliar to your touch. Let me tell you which ones are ready to be picked. They’re the ones that curve into the land. They’re the ones that open when the night comes and hide when the sun rises. They pretend to be dead, but I know they’re not. I know what they’re up to. Those there are ready; those hiding in between the leaves. Those there. The ones whispering, “not me.” Yes, the ones falling from their stem, from their foundation, out of their soil. Yes, those there. You see, it’s the ones that fall on their own that are ready to be eaten. They are consumed by their owns fears. Try them. Tasty aren’t they?

Pix: marketplace in Barcelona, Spain

Everyone Needs A Little Salvation

2008-10-26T20:05:00.000-07:00

The waiters float about the patio like inanimate fixtures in a Dali painting. Their faces blurred. Their mouths are crevices. When they speak, all I hear is the chanting sound of subservient foes. They wait on our table, not out of gratitude, but out of greed. They force their nature to be unnatural, unethical to itself, too superficial for its own creator. What more could we want out of dinner tonight? What more should I have expected?

“Can I get another glass of sangria, please?” she asks as he puts his right hand on her thigh.

“Aren’t you mixing your drinks? You have a glass of wine, a beer, an iced-tea and now a sangria. Your body isn’t going to know whether to be wired or slow down,” Dick says, as he looks at me from the corner of his right eye.

I wanted to offer the definition of the word “sangria”, but I thought it would be too archaic for him. Dick slouches over the table to take a sip of his drink. She reaches for her other’s hand, discretely under the table visible enough for me to feel.
Maybe it wouldn't be too archaic after all.

“Did you know the name ‘sangria’ comes from the Aztecs? It means "bloody." They would drink the blood of their sacrifice, and now, we have modernized it by adding fruits to sweeten the wine,” I said, drinking my iced-tea.

“I didn’t know that,” Dick says.

“Yeah, pretty much like with Jesus,” I said.

She lures her other closer to her. His right arm wraps around her while his left hand holds her hand, full of life. He leans into her and kisses her cheek. He does it again. And again. They giggle and look at each other for a second longer than I would have wanted.

“You know Jesus was the ultimate sacrifice. The rabbis every year had to offer a lamb as a sacrifice to God in exchange for a collective forgiveness. Jesus was the perfect sacrifice—the perfect lamb,” Dick says as he’s looking at her look at him.

Of course I know the story. Everything he’s telling me I know. Everything I’m hearing, isn’t new to me. Not at all. My ears are never deceptive. No, not at all.

“If you accept Jesus as your Lord and savior you will go to heaven. All you have to do is believe. When Jesus was on the cross, there was a man to his left and a man to his right crucified. One of them said, “remember me when you’re in heaven” to which Jesus replied, “assuredly I say to you, you will be with me in paradise,” Dick says.

She lets go of his hand and reaches for her glass with sangria. She takes her last drink. She holds the empty glass in her hand and contemplates to drink another. Of course she does. What else could quench her thirst?

Pix: church in Italy

2008-10-18T14:52:00.000-07:00

If ever there was a curtain big enough to wrap all of myself in, I would put all of the pieces and throw them in the deepest sea.

Love In Numbers

2008-08-28T20:42:00.000-07:00

When did people stop understanding words and start understanding numbers more? I have heard people say, “Emotions are overrated.” Is it possible that everything expressive has lost its value or content, per say, and is now replaced with a number of times you do this or the other, or the cost of a gift? It can’t be! Has the world gone mad? We are throwing away more of what “counts” and have minimized everything to the ever growing field of logic and numbers. We have reduced ourselves to something more tangible and foreseeable. I am seeing the absence of love all around me. Greed and selfishness have taken over. No, it’s not the end of the world; it’s the end of: neutrality, self-respect, integrity, trust, and ultimately love. I’m not in any way referring to familial love, because that is a completely different arena; I’m speaking of the love that exists between strangers. You know, the one that moves us and changes us…forever. Emotions have taken the back seat like second-class citizens. Most people are fighting for their civil rights in order to establish a more politically “equal” platform to discuss social issues. Who fights for love? Who discusses where love is headed in the world? We are becoming more and more impersonal everyday. We are identified by numbers, found by geographical coordinates, judged in measurements and loved in time frames. I know numbers (math) is a universal language. I guess love has become more of a universal fear than anything else. For all of the minimalists, love has the potential to earn daily compound interest, but your return will depend on how much YOU invest.

Pix: Buddhas people bought and placed in the Buddhist Temple in Singapore

"One who follows his nature, keeps his original nature in the end."

2008-08-24T11:31:00.000-07:00

Clip from The Lady from Shanghai (Orson Welles, 1947)

Another Thought

2008-08-19T19:37:00.000-07:00

I’ve got a thought for every day and every time you set me free.

It’s a thought of fear on strings I'm pretending not to feel; drifting into dreams, stumbling upon layers of fields retreating, digesting the innuendos of nearby adieus where wants and will coexist in trees and the breeze forgets to breathe; savoring the fruit of bountiful tears, it hurries the sand to sift through memories of years; sees in pinks, light green and blues; feels in reds and black, and sleeps in white, ropes and hidden hues.

Pix: a swan in Lucerne, Switzerland (2005)

Bridge of Sighs

2008-08-16T12:41:00.000-07:00

The Bridge of Sighs connected the prison cells to the interrogation rooms; it allowed the prisoners to have a glimpse of freedom. Freedom has always been a fleeting emotion; it's happiness in its cruelest and deceitful form. We pass through similar bridges all of the time in our lives. Some may vary with different degress of serenity and euphoria, but other times the moment is so brief it's as if it never existed. Cameras were invented to capture happy moments. The use of them affirms that creating genuine happy moments are rare. We become collectors of frame after frame, moment after moment. Some of us would never dare to take pictures of our sad events in life. Why would we? We need reminders, reassurance, that happiness does exist. We have the power to create happiness and sadness, disbelief, mistrust, a smile, any emotion we choose and with whom. Everyone knows that. We just have to find someone who wants to create those happy moments with you and at times, who understands that those moments should be mutually exclusive. People are not made to be in buildings. We were not made to be housed and alone. We are states and countries which require miles and miles of open roads or endless oceans that connect one happy moment to the next.

Pix: Bridge of Sighs in Venice, Italy

It's Complicated. Period!

2008-08-08T12:43:00.000-07:00

We are always trying to define ourselves as if finding out who we really are, is always fun. Seriously. Think about it. If we hid it from ourselves in the first place, what makes us think, we’ll be happy if we find it? Whenever you’re asked a question about your personal life and your response begins with, “it’s complicated…” there’s a problem. The truth is straightforward. There may be a handful of twists and a few darker than average closets, but it’s not that “complicated” to explain. If you’re hiding something, well then, that may be your complication. Since you’re not at liberty to fully disclose the truth, it’s much easier to say: “It’s complicated to explain …,” “We don’t have enough time in the day…,” or “It isn’t you, it’s me….” I know sometimes you just want to give a general answer to a specific question. We all do sometimes. As long as when we ask ourselves a question, we don’t begin our answers with: “It’s complicated…” we should be fine. Is it what you accept or what you deny that defines you?

Pix: Gaudi's House in Barcelona, Spain

Let Her In

2008-08-04T13:51:00.000-07:00

She lost track of time again. She didn't dream of it. Time just never existed for her. It pretended to tick; it simply pretended to pass. The train stations ran on other's schedules and never on hers. No matter where she was, she was always on a different time zone. Stop the music! Stop the music! Stop her from playing. She's wrapped up in her soul. "How are you father? Is it spring time again? Have you indulged in bird watching or have you refrained from staring? Do you breathe everyday? Do you stilll hear me praying?" She lost track of time again. Apparently they've never met. It's amazing really. She is always in the latter part of the week--the part that keeps religion and familial traditions awake. "How old is that bird on your lap? It's outgrown its cage. Its beak has grown inward and its feet have withered away." She lost track of time again. It is the time that didn't pass, which keeps her alive. She has no other choice but to knock on its door. She can get its attention by letting herself in, by not clipping her wings. She needs to reinvent herself without a cage, without having a minute to waste.

Pix: Doorknob in Singapore

Walking With Your Eyes Wide Shut

2008-08-02T10:01:00.000-07:00

There are so many beautiful things in the world. I don't understand how some people just don't like to get up and explore them. Not all sunsets are the same. Some people say, "it's just a sunset." It's not for me. It's the only time when I can visibly see the end and the beginning of something. The sky changes color. If a sunset is experienced on a beach, the reflection on the water is perfect- symmetrical. The sand and everything else that is flying in the sky gets shaded in as if they're not that important anymore. I have driven miles or across an island to capture the descent of the sun. We were given eyes to see everything around us and some people take that gift for granted. Don't walk around with your eyes wide shut!

Pix: sunset in Laussane, Switzerland

It's The Little Things That Count

2008-07-29T14:43:00.000-07:00

The first morning we walked to downtown Ubud Village from our hotel, we noticed a cute display of flower and leave petals floating together in a large cement bowl of water. I thought, "cute." The next day, we saw a different display, in the same place with different flower petals. I thought, "it is the little things that count." I started to look for things/displays that set themselves apart from everything else. You know, I wasn't looking for the huge golden arches or a starbucks, but the real things that keep an establishment afloat. It is the place that has more than a name that keeps you going or captures your trust. Everytime you visit a new "unknown" place, you take a leap of faith. You need faith to have the courage to break any monotony and relieve those unnecessary self-inflicted wounds as a result of staying in one place far more than needed. Every person you meet is new and "unknown." Every country you visit for the first time is new and "unknown." Even when you walk down the same street, to the same restaurant, but with a different person, the place becomes new and "unknown." To be known to something or someone means you have become familiar with him/her and his/her little things: ice or no ice, well done or rare, with or without covers (or a little bit of both), mayo or mustard, pork or chicken, etc.. Some people may or may not have a display of flowers at first sight. If you see them, take it as an invitation. If you don't see them, they were not meant for you to enjoy. Life is too short! Break the monotony! Live a little!

Verbal Throw Ups

2008-07-25T21:21:00.000-07:00

Like the water that leaves the statue, then falls into the fountain to then get recycled out of the statue, people throw up words they never meant to say. They give false hope and cross their fingers to make their game continue as long as they want. I don't know anymore about people and their intentions. I was always accused of being too forgiving, being a bad judge of character and focusing only on the nice things in people. I always give people the benefit of the doubt that they are not what others perceive them to be. In actuality, the people I have engaged with, aren't really well known by their family, "best friends" or even ex or current boyfriends or girlfriends. They are estranged even to themselves. When they appear to be strong, they are really weak and when they appear to be confident, they are overflowing with insecurities. I'm not suggesting everyone else doesn't have insecurities, I'm only talking to those selected few...you know who you are. This is for you...

The gentle wind breathes no longer,
the filtered stream exists, not for you,
but for the new other.
I swam oceans to get to the islands
you were left on;
I picked up the pieces, packed all your clothes,
I saw all the creases they left
and the ones you fail to see on your soul.
You linger in lives, throw the chains
and lock them to your feet;
but, you fail to believe that when you walk
you will feel the noise,
you will feel your fears
echoing in the islands
and noone will ever hear them,
will ever see them,
will ever touch them
like I have now and many lives before.

Roadblocks

2008-07-07T17:05:00.000-07:00

I accidentally burned the top of my hand while getting toast out of the toaster oven last week. I have been looking at my hand every day. I touched my burn as it turned from a burning sensation, to a pinkish red, to a dark brown and now a scab. Not that because I burned my hand, I didn't eat my toast,but it did; however, remind me, not everything I want in life will be easy to get. We all have roadblocks in our paths which delay us from getting to where we want to be. We just have to focus and remind ourselves, we will get there sooner or later. The scars left serve as reminders that we are only human and vulnerablele; we are breakable and moldable. We are all capable of healing our wounds. We all know what stands between us and where and who we want to be. It's just a matter of seeing it: the rock, the boulder, the pebble in your shoe, the anger within, the overspending tendencies, the lies, your inner voice. The feet with the withered limbs, the tree with it's broken wings, the psalms with its humming birds, the voice, the choice to do what you've never heard, to say what you've never said and to be the book noone else has ever read.

Pix: Street in Pompeii, Italy

2008-06-22T10:15:00.000-07:00

Why believe and say one thing and live something else?
We are walking contradictions,
mimicks of uncertainty,
We are pagan in a period where time is the monarch.
Nothing else exists.
No sovereignty.
No sanity.
We live in our dreams,
believe in what should be.
We want to find meaning in things
when people and life don't give us enough meaning to breathe.

Pix: Colloseum

What You See Is What You Get

2008-06-16T19:45:00.000-07:00

There is a story behind every door. Some doors are inviting while others are too creepy to even think of going inside. Some are new, carved with beautiful detail and accented with bronze handles while others are withered and tired from opening and closing. Doors are meant to keep the people we want inside and the people we don't need outside. Doors are meant to separate , isolate and protect. Sometimes it's done with style and class; but most of the time, it's done period. What ever happened to those old swinging doors? Those looked cool! I guess there was too much traffic and no one to watch the door. Our society is so great at taking preventitive measures. We are a fear driven, mistrusting bunch of people. We would be paranoid of our own shadow if we didn't know what it was. There is a reason why some of us use four locks on our door and others use one. There is a story behind every door; the door is only the intro.

Pix: Door in Rommagiano, Italy

The Only Thing Left Standing

2008-06-14T09:35:00.000-07:00

After all the ashes or excess debris has been taken away, only then can a person know what was strong enough to survive. It's hard sometimes to think about wha you would do if something really traumatic happened to you. I'm not speaking of any natural disasters (ie. earthquake, tornado, etc.); I am talking about losing someone or even misplacing them, if you will. When that happens, your world, your thoughts, your goals, your wants, your needs, everything as you knew it, no longer exists. It feels as if you're free falling. Everything around you is moving so fast and you are moving in slow motion. You can't even change the cd in your car for weeks because the slightest change reminds you that moment did happen and you have to move on. You feel as if there are two of you. I now think that one of me, me alone, could not have withstood it. I understand the immediate emotional detachment from everything/everyone. People think a lot of words are interchangeable because they "mean the same thing." That is incorrect! The word house is not the same as home. You can buy a house, but you can't buy a home. Father and dad are not the same. Mother and mom are not the same. The meaning of things and/or people in your life change because of your past and present experiences. What doesn't change about you is the one thing that keeps you alive. Everyone has something different that keeps him/her alive. It will be the only thing standing after all of the dust settles and you can see the sky again. Every person you choose to be in your life has something you need or want. Everytime you see them, you are looking at what you're lacking straight in the face. How scattered are you?

Pix: Pompeii in Italy

Time Is of Essence

2008-06-09T17:38:00.000-07:00

Where has all the retribution gone? Is it lying still in my back pocket? Is it playing dead somewhere in my mind? Or is it working? Is it working on how to skip tomorrow’s class? That’s where it should be. That’s where it belongs. If it doesn’t go tomorrow, then it won’t have more to live on. You see, she walks around me as if I’m a ritualistic sacrifice. Her presence is pagan in every way. The sight of her is a willed fear. She lurks like humidity does after a heavy rainfall. She speaks in spirits and breathes in words. How vivid is the life that seeks thee? How temperate is the life that feens for thee? She whales at night to soften the stroke of the morning. What more can the wind take to her if what she’s holding is melting away? She’s walking around with a puddle in her hands, and she doesn’t even know it’s losing its composition. Time is my sun and water is her new found love.

Pix: Trevi Fountain

When Waiting Is All You Have Left

2008-06-07T07:55:00.000-07:00

On our way from Sorrento to Rome, my overacheiver travel buddy decided to make a "quick stop" in Pompeii. Please note it was about 95 degrees and humid. We all agree and get off the train. It was a good thing the ruins of Pompeii are literally a block away from the train station. To understand the picture, Mount Vesuvius erupted in 79 AD and buried the entire town in ash and pumice. It was later discovered in 1748 and they have been doing gradual excavations ever since. Ironically, the ash and pumice also served as preservating agents. Some people were found and they are now displayed at the ruins. This person left an impression on me. You could just see that he or she was just waiting for "it" to all be over. The emotions of desperation and helplessness were captured. It was heart wrenching. I just wanted to sit with him or her for a minute. I just didn't want him or her to feel alone anymore. I know some of you have felt that some of the people around you only have an idea of what you are going through. They walk around you, watch you, just waiting to see what your response/ reaction is going to be. You're like a display to them and they only have a brief caption to go by, but only a few will stop walking. Only a few will sit with you. They may not hold your hand, because they don't know how, but at least they'll sit with you. Some people will hide in their own fears and will only extend a phone call or visit out of obligation or even a hug out of hypocritical courtesy!!!! It's the ones who will sit with you who know sometimes a hug or the slightest physical touch can push you over the edge when what you're going through is too overwhelming. How many people in your life know how to sit with you?

Pix: Pompeii, Italy

Italy: Where Time Stands Still

2008-06-03T17:42:00.000-07:00

There are places where you just feel as if you've been there before. It's like deja vu, but the sense of familiarity is a little more heightened and prolonged. That's what I felt as I was walking in the Colloseum. Aside from the portable restrooms, ticket booths and metal detectors, everything else was old and in its place. The walls with several layers of dust, tracking time in number of particles. The floor with countless grooves from wear and tear of the past and the present. It was amazing.
There isn't any place in the world, like EUROPE! It's infinite! Everything old is respected, treasured and kept for admiration. The traditions, the foods, the people are rich with a je ne sais quoi! Waking up is an experience in itself! The bread is crispier. Their presentation of sweets and ice cream is truly an art and guiltless endulgence. I know I went from describing somwhere specific, Italy, to somewhere general, Europe, but each country or city I've visited in Europe makes me want to see more of it. It pushes me to walk the extra three to five miles (after having walked five to six) through it's small streets and patio restaurants, into its colorful churches and painted ceilings, to the metro stations (line A and B) until getting to the hotel around 10pm almost everday for two to three weeks. Every ache was worth it!!

Pix: Colloseum in Rome

Back to the Basics

2008-05-10T11:28:00.000-07:00

Things start to get complicated when different and new elements are introduced. It always happens. It is as if, a counter offer has been presented and you don't even know what the initial offer is. New elements means new demands and new demands means new expectations. What's wrong with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich? Seriously...But no, some of us have to have a few thin slices of bananas and sprinkle a few sunflower seeds for an added kick. It is always good to go back to the basics. It reminds us how simple life can be, and how easily issues can be resolved. We just have to remember that everything we add on to our peanut butter and jelly sandwich is a part of our personality. It's what we add that makes the difference and changes our lives.

Pix: Rice Field in Ubud, Indonesia

"I've Got Your Back!"

2008-04-29T18:20:00.000-07:00

I knew the expression, "I've got your back!" came from somewhere... someone. Just didn't think I would ever literally see it happening. You can learn a lot from people, by the way they interact with each other. What they do and don't do together or for each other can show you their level of intimacy. Physical affection is so important. I know that past experiences and a person's upbringing has a lot to do with how much affection a person "knows" how to give when he/she is older. Unfortunately, not everyone had a loving, overly affectionate (smiley face), mother or a father who had time and cared enough to throw a ball every now and again. Whichever role model you didn't have, you shouldn't use it as an excuse to not show someone affection. Just as you didn't learn how to show it, you can unlearn it. Words aren't always enough; they should always be followed with actions.

Pix: Monkey Forest in Ubud Village

Reading Between the Lines

2008-04-27T18:55:00.000-07:00

What ever happened to good old fashioned, "Say what you mean; mean what you say" we were taught growing up? I mean I get we should all be sensitive to other people's feelings and accepting of their ideas and beliefs, but C'MON!!!!!!! Some of us are wasting our time being polite with people. "I really don't want to be with you, but I may need you in my life in a few weeks, months or years." What the heck? Love is an instrument, not a tool!! Some of us can't always read in between the lines. We need a more direct, at times brute, way to be told things. If you're ever in doubt how to deliver what you have on your mind, ask the person who you'll be telling it to. Give them the option to either hear it with sugar coating or straightforward like an axe on a log. We have a responsibility to be emotionally honest with each other. If you're not emotionally available to be in a relationship, than say so. Don't take away years, moments, experiences from a person's life, making them think and feel one thing, when they shouldn't be at liberty to do so. It's harsh. Tell them the truth. You never know what could happen, but at least you won't lose a friend.

Pix: Monument in Singapore

Not Ashamed to Show It

2008-04-22T16:30:00.000-07:00

One of the things I like about travelling, is gaining a new/different perspective. There are just moments that literally widen your eyes and take your breath away. Everything you think you've seen, is quickly replaced with a new image. Some people tend to forget how things are done in other countries. They don't have animal activists or tough (very appreciated) health and sanitation regulations to adhere to. They just do what they have to do, the best way they know or can do it. It's that simple. While we hide or try to conceal what we do, like the cute and lively painted slaughter house in East Los Angeles, others aren't afraid or unaccustomed to live freely. They understand things are done in order for people to survive. If we could only live every aspect of our lives in the same manner, there would be less of a need to categorize and more desire to grow as an individual.

Pix: Man on bike with chickens in Jakarta,Indonesia

When Isolation Is More than Enough

2008-04-20T11:43:00.000-07:00

A little quiet time is always necessary. It's a time to reflect on the things that happened, and a chance to think about the things to come. I try to go far enough where a satellite can't find my cell phone. What better place than a small, hip, exotically delicious restaurant, next to a rice field in the middle of downtown Ubud in Indonesia. Yup! The birds were just as loud as the music playing in the restaurant. For me, having peace of mind, is one of the hardest things to attain. I'll go anywhere for it... even if it means going half way around the world.

Pix: Three Monkeys Restaurant in Ubud, Indonesia

Aesthetics: Is It In or Out?

2008-04-18T10:12:00.000-07:00

Our society has made us focus only on the aesthetics. Everyone is always trying to do things to look better. The motto being, "If you look better, you'll feel better." Bunch of crap! The emphasis on visual entertainment makes us regress from the personal to the impersonal. We no longer see people for who they are, but for how they appear to be. Take for instance the new generation. They've replaced reading and listening with watching tv and video games. We stopped feeding the inner self and started to entertain the Jones'. What makes the value of something, anything, rise? For example, you have an old house and you want to sell it. One of the first things some people do is paint it on the outside and maybe, just maybe, work their way into fixing the "little" things like the plumbing, electricity or that mold stain in the bathroom you just happened to paint over last year. What about cars? They may look nice on the outside, but the seats are uncomfortable. American cars suck! I'm sorry, but their engines have no power. No matter how much gold you dip them in, if the engine is weak, why buy it? Candy stores? Marketting to kids is the easiest. They disguise the corn syrup, fine processed sugar and possible lead, with these colorful dyes or wrappers. Hypnotize them with how they look, then they won't care how bad they really are. Some of us tend to want to change or feel better by working our way from the outside to the inside, when I think, change should occur from the inside to the outside. Change made on the outside is always momentary and it's the momentary change you should never trust. If a change isn't natural, meaning, it only occurs because it benefits the current situation you may be in, the old habit will eventually surface. It's the little things that count. It is always the little things that count. The more you mask an emotion, the harder it will be for you to deal with it. If you fix and clean the inside first, the outside will surely follow.

Pix: Sanur Beach in Bali, Indonesia

Options: The Cost of Living

2008-04-12T19:19:00.000-07:00

I've always been a believer on having options. If I can't seem to see any options for my dilemma or situation; I give myself options. I don't think about what it may cost me. Of course I'm not speaking of monetary costs. If I would, it wouldn't be an option, it would be a band aid for a minor cut. Money comes and goes. It's fluid, water like almost. It comes like tides and as the ocean, it subsides depending on the wind or gravitational pull. I find options when I need a solution or a simple breath of fresh air. At that moment, that precise moment when my grin changes into a smile, the possible cost doesn't enter my mind. Cookie cutter happiness doesn't exist. If it does for you, you're in denial. We lie to ourselves so much, that after a while, we begin to see the lies as the truth. We deny things so much, we aren't able to see the truth even if it's in front of our faces, at concerts or late dinners with friends. I guess it works for some people. Then people wonder, why some people make it a point to not form attachments. Honestly why should we? If my reality shifts depending on my situation, how would I know what to look forward to in the future? What do I have left to predict? Not that life is ever predictable, but when you feel you've walked a mile in sand, and then you look back and the sand is quick sand, you begin to question every decision you've made when you thought it was sand. My reality becomes my cage. It becomes the utmost respected home I have grown fond of. Everything in its place and a place for everything. Anytime you feel as if you're free falling, make sure the person who catches you, really wants to be there. Living conditions change and the cost of living can change everything. I guess it is a good thing to have a "diversified portfolio," as many financial analysts advise people to have. Having options is the calculated approach to a healthier lifestyle...sometimes.

Pix: Mercat de la Boqueria in Barcelona, Spain

Everything Isn't Always Black and White

2008-04-03T19:20:00.000-07:00

Not everything in life is black and white. One of my favorite ALL TIME movies is Pleasantville. This is a movie that plays with color, imagery and the implications of seeing in color or colors themselves. It brought back memories of Nathaniel Hawthorne's reoccuring mention/use of the color red and its relation to Hester Prynn, the main character in The Scarlet Letter. For some reason, the color red has taken on connotations like: passion, sin, power, communism, etc. Where as pink, green, brown and orange are more "earthy" colors. The use of colors in our nation's/country's flags emphasizes the importance each color has and what it represents for the people of the nation/country. The very short synopsis of Pleasantville, is two kids, brother and sister, from the future enjoy watching a show from the early 50s which is shown in black and white. One day they begin to fight over the remote control (issue number one: control) and they "click" themselves into the show. They are the new bread in the show and introduce "progressive" ideas: literature, music, art and love, to the now not so fictional characters changing the course of their lives from the simple black and white to the power of color. When the people of this town do, think or act in a way contrary to how they should, they begin to appear in color and are able to see everything around them in color. This suggests they begin to think outside of the box. No more monotany; no more preset ideas. When they get what they yearn for, whether it's a reaction from the person they secretly love, or their passion to do what they want, color denounces them. Of course with color comes embarrasment. Knowledge gives them more than insight; it gives them a new life. They were no longer restrained and confined to social constructs and their boring norms. When I travel, every one of my senses is activated. When I see a new country, hear a different language, taste a different spice, smell different aromas, I feel alive. Travelling adds color to my life. Anywho, when I went to the Buddhist temple in Singapore, I had just seen the Hindu temple around the corner, heard Muslims worship Ala at dawn all over Jakarta, and went to a medicine man to read my palm in Bali. I know people gravitate to the religion that best fits who they are, almost defines them and their place in their culture and/or society. This would explain why some people may switch from the religion fed at birth, to another religion as they get older. Some of us, because of our natural instinct, tend to want to compare for the sake of who's right, but we fail to forget that we all plea for help. We all seek some kind of refuge when we believe in a higher power, and we all need to believe that this world can't be it! There has to be more, because if there isn't, there is no drive to do good and succeed. A friend said she was grateful some people fear God or else there would be much more evil in the world. I never heard it put quite like that before. The incense sticks seen in the picture are placed by the people who say a prayer or as a sign of respect, before entering the temple. They are not just sticks in a cool, carved, over grown pot. Did you know that there are houses or temples full of people SCAT-tered all over the United States, who their only duty is to pray for the world, in shifts, around the clock? Amazing! I guess we need more than our border patrol to protect us.

Pix: Buddhist Temple in Chinatown, Singapore

"Fight or Flight"

2008-03-31T17:25:00.000-07:00

According to physiologists, psychologists, psychiatrists, etc., our physiological response when we perceive or see an attack is coming, is to either fight or flee (flight). It is better known as the “fight or flight system” and is believed to be our body’s reaction to stress. However, they also state it is the primitive part of the brain that is activated which makes us see everything in our environment as a possible threat by bypassing our rational thought. I started to think if it was much like when you put your hand on top of a burner, but then there would be no “perceived attack” and only a willful act of self-destruction. Which I actually believe can be the same thing. The only difference being, the perceived attack is internal as opposed to external, but I don’t have a title that ends in –ist so I could be wrong. Then I started to think of all the possible factors that could trigger this response, but then that would only justify the people who are always uptight or in “fight” mode. Then I started to imagine different scenarios that would inhibit a person and make them shy/introverted/refrained, but then that would mean the ones with less sociable skills have a scientific explanation as to why they don’t know how to communicate. This system is always on. It doesn’t just go on when we’re driving or when a “weird” looking stranger walks into the room, but your palms can start to sweat and your heart can start to beat faster, when you’re all alone. What then would be the “perceived attack?” Some may say that is what you call an anxiety attack, which is simply a state of mind when you don’t know whether to fight or flee and you’re stuck in the middle. Subsequently, the underlying reason is, our reaction to known and unknown fear. Fear of what? Well, it could be fear of death, fear of abandonment, fear of heights, fear of people, fear of small places/ spaces (which I find the most interesting, because confinement can be at the core of commitment issues with the help of fear of abandonment, fear of love, fear of people etc.) and even fear of happiness. At the core of every single one of our personality traits or what we commonly refer to as, strengths and weaknesses, is really how well or how poorly we were able to cope with the very first time we came into contact with that specific type of fear. If we coped well, it is now one of our strengths; if we didn’t cope well, it is now one of our weaknesses. In essence we are individually wrapped bundles of fear. Some of our fight and flight responses have been learned or even taught to us. There was nothing primitive about them. Some people may suggest, the system can be a part of Carl Jung’s theory of collective unconscious trapped in our primitive mind but then that would only mean we have more of an explanation/understanding of fear than we do of love. That’s kind of sad isn’t it? Can the system be used to explain why people are in wrong or unhealthy relationships? Absolutely. Look at the battered wives/girlfriends or husbands/boyfriends! Look at the cheater and the faithful girlfriend/boyfriend who just sits there with his/her eyes shut. Sometimes your significant other (s), “friend”, relative, co-worker or even the guy/girl at the bar can be better acquainted with your fear than you are. Try not to let this happen to you. They can pull the plug even before you see them coming deactivating the response. Whose brain would be more primitive then? We should get better acquainted with our fears and revisit them from time to time, alone, to create an internal resistance and be able to stand still, and begin to see the “perceived attacks” as weak attempts rather than mortal danger. If we can reduce the level of suspicion, we can maintain the psychological equivalent to homeostasis.

Pix: Monkey Forest in Ubud, Indonesia

Bridge of Opportunity

2008-03-15T20:25:00.000-07:00

What truth is there in the old saying, "One shouldn't burn his/her bridges?" Honestly, I do understand people tend to use that phrase/saying in the work place because they want to keep ties with people who someday can be in a position to help them in their time of need. Hmmm... aka user, opportunist, liar, hypocrite... you catch my drift. However, people seldom refer to that saying in relationships when in fact it is done all of the time. "Why are you still talking to your ex-boyfriend," asks third party. "Well, we're just friends, now," says the girl to the person she cheated on him with. Friends? Really? I know it's possible to carry civil, friendly conversations with your ex, without the "bridge of opportunity" ever crossing one's mind; however, someone told me that behind every relationship there is or was an interest involved. It was suggested that people befriend each other because they are interested in something they have, who they are or what they can provide for you. That's pretty sad, when you start to think of it, considering we all have different motivators in our lives which guides us to either be attracted to or attract a certain type of person/people time after time after time, relationship after relationship, problem after problem, mistake after mistake. The lonely attract the needy. The needy attract the vain. The pushover attracts the bully. The social butterfly attracts the introvert. Is that really who we seek? Is that really who we need? Is that really who we want? It sucks actually because right when you think you've pinpointed your motivator, you realize the motivator is using you to focus on something other than itself. You don't really want to know why you seek and find the people you do. You just want to know how to keep them around long enough for you to realize, you never needed or wanted them after all. It is that little girl inside of you who saw her mom with bruises all over, who doesn't want to know. It is that little boy who ran away from home and decided to fend for himself, who doesn't want to know. It's the reoccurring dream you have that doesn't want you to know. I know, I'm probably over analyzing relationships instead of simply accepting it could just all be chemistry. I can't help but think, that Love has been hijacked. Love has always been the bridge that unites people, but have you ever wondered, what is Love dragging on its feet? Remember that bridges always connect the old with the new. Which one are you?

Pix: Charles Bridge in Prague

Vive La Resistance: Power, Position and Everything in Between

2008-03-06T18:26:00.000-08:00

It's true, I know, we live in a world where the word "hierarchy" has slowly made its way from politics and religion to relationships. When it happened? Well, some may think it all began when Eve's existance depended on the needs of "the man," Adam, which resulted in her creation. Others may feel social darwinism stemmed from the actual food chain or most commonly known as the "circle of life." Whichever view point you wish to use, one thing is certain, there is always a weak and a strong or the prey and the hunter. What determines who plays which role can depend on your sex, religion, ethnicity and back account. Or can it be defined by who brings coffee to whom in the morning, who picks up the kids while the other is at home watching TV as usual, or is it who keeps his/ her secrets the best? There is no better position than being the one who resists. Whether you resist to listen to someone who constantly lies to you or refuse to believe what they say because actions speak louder than words, you know power comes with resistance. It's all that gray area meshed in with emotions trying to find their place, that has us ping-ponging our way through situations instead of stopping to think, "this too can have an end." To resist is to want change and whoever wants the change has the power to attain control of his/her own life. What are you resisting today?

Pix: Prague, Czech Republic

Two Birds On A Wire

2008-03-03T14:27:00.000-08:00

The killer awoke outside my room this morning. It was hungry. It went to feed in the wilderness. It had cravings though. It was yearning for something familiar, something so tasty, it couldn't help but begin to salivate at the very thought of it. It left the house with a one-track mind--to feast on its prey. If it only had a brain it wouldn't dream of doing such a thing. It would have logically discarded the idea and thought of another way to fight its loneliness. If it only had a brain it wouldn't want to fill the void or justify its killing. It walked for days like an aimless hunter. It lurked alone with its fears, its pain, and its love for someone other than itself. It walked to a sixteen-floor apartment building. It went into the lobby, found the elevators and pressed the button to the sixteenth floor. The elevator was much like it, rattling and unsteady, and both did things on command. The elevator doors opened. It walked out holding on to the wall as it found a door ajar. It knocked. "Hello," it said. "Hi, can I help you?" she said, wiping her eyes with what was left of a tissue. "May I borrow your window?" it asked. "For what?" she replied. "I am looking for my love," it said. There was a moment of silence. "The window in the living room is nailed shut, but you can use the one in my bedroom," she said, as her tissue fell from her hand, hit the floor and cracked in several places. "Thank you. It will just be a minute," it said. "My husband used the one in the living room but it didn't work," she said. The wind lured it to the bedroom. The sunlight forced its way through the living room window. Its reflection was her only light. "Is this the one?" it asked. "Yes, isn't it beautiful," she said. As it walked closer to the window, the clouds got bigger and bigger. The sky looked clear. It saw two birds sitting on an electric wire outside the window. They were singing. They were singing to each other. Their beaks were touching. Their eyes were fluttering back and forth. "Look those birds there! They are in love, " it said, with a grin on its face. "Birds? What birds?" she said. "The ones on the wire," it said, as it got closer to the window. "Those aren't birds. Those are shoes hanging from their strings," she said. "I thought they were birds," it said. "He did too. I guess things seem different from this window. It could be the glare from the sun," she said. Its eyelids closed. It leaned forward, put one leg out of the window, then the next. It closed its jacket and let go of the world. She watched, two feet behind it. After it leaped, she walked to the living room, looked through her living room window and saw the two birds on the electric wire. "I could have sworn they were shoes," she said. "What's the difference? Love always makes you do funny things. Doesn't it?"

In and Out Without Reservations

2008-03-02T10:26:00.000-08:00

Sometimes no matter how hard you try not to listen or take in crap, the words or images just force themselves into your brain. The messed up part, is the interpretation, which always takes you through a loop, frontward or backward spiral or whatever you want to call that crazy feeling. Then when you try to verbalize it, dress it up to make it seem less brute, you dismiss your feelings to not hurt someone elses. We try to sculpt a beautiful image out of crap. It may be considered art, but not everyone is an artist. Anywho, this is one of Dali's paintings. To simplify and minimize is always the better alternative.

Life Filed Away

2008-02-27T12:25:00.000-08:00

I saw a Dali exhibit in Spain. Of course, it was awesome. Some objects were recreated using exaggerated dimensions. Salvador Dali's recorded voice could be heard in the background and it felt as if we were a part of his imagination. Since everything in my life is separated into compartments this painting reeled me in.

The Unexpected

2008-02-26T20:08:00.000-08:00

So on my last trip to Europe, I decided to go to Spain. I went with a friend to Barcelona, Madrid, Granada, Sevilla, Valencia, Ibiza and Mallorca. Nonetheless, it was awesome. There were a few things I saw a long the way which just made me think, "What the heck?" We were in Valencia and were told one of the churches is said to "own" the Holy Grail. Of course, being a skeptic at times, I had to see. We had to wait for someone who worked at the church to bring the key to let us into this part of the church. As we were waiting, we were wandering around. You know, just browsing. I notice a huge wooden door on one of the sides of the church and it was carved. For some reason, it looked (from top to bottom) as if a cross was being taken apart and put back together and vice versa from side to side. I know it sounds kinda weird, but what I saw next was stranger. I kept that in the back of my head. I see a huge window made out of colored glass and an image looked familiar. It was the star of David. It was very beautiful with all of the colors of the rainbow randomly used. As we walk back toward the front door of the church, one of the doors was still shut and it had several Nazi symbols carved into it. Now, does anything seem wrong with this church? I know, if you look back into history, the outfits used by the Klu Klux Klan originated in Spain. It is only in the US that the outfits have bad connotations. Anywho, it was just crazy to see how so many different symbols, which we are taught to either respect or fear, were all housed under one roof-- an old church in the middle of Valencia, Spain. We finally got to see the Holy Grail! It was in a glass and wooden container under heavy surveillance. The room had high ceilings and it was circular. There were black chains hanging from certiain points in pairs... actually four to five feet apart. It may sound morbid, but the room where the Holy Grail was/is felt creepy. So much symbolizm trapped in one place and we were the only ones interested to see them.