Sit quietly doing nothing,
spring comes, and the grass grows by itself.
-Zen
Crossing Guard
3.1.07
27.4.06
This is you, finally ~
I want to know the ordinary you. I want to know the small stuff that you sweat. I want to see your routinary Sundays. I want to smell your hair the morning after. I want to see how your shadow falls on the ground. I want to feel how you fit into place. I want to see my imprint on your existence. I want to prove your permanence in my life.
I want to know the ordinary you. I want to know the small stuff that you sweat. I want to see your routinary Sundays. I want to smell your hair the morning after. I want to see how your shadow falls on the ground. I want to feel how you fit into place. I want to see my imprint on your existence. I want to prove your permanence in my life.
31.12.05
J'apprends / I am learning
Lorsque j’étais petit garçon j’habitais une maison ancienne, et la légende racontait qu’un trésor y était enfoui. Bien sûr, jamais personne n’a su le decouvrir, ni, peut-être même ne l’a cherché. Mais il enchantait toute cette maison. Ma maison cachait un secret au fond de son cœur....Le petit prince
When I was a little boy I lived in an old house, and there was a legend that a treasure was buried in it somewhere. Of course, no one was ever able to find the treasure, perhaps no one even searched. But it cast a spell over that whole house. My house hid a secret in the depths of its heart...
4.12.05
7.10.05
A secret
"The secret is, to terrify yourself when you peer down the edge," he says. "Terrified enough that it becomes the point of jumping."That he knows it's time for another leap, is why he shares his secret.
20.9.05
An exercise on run ons
Fim do verão / Summer’s end
A warm evening breeze, a little drink--nothing too intoxicating--and your stories collected along the way. I remember how summer nights were spent like this. I remember a time when our fire was ablaze. I remember the feeling of completeness, of affection, of shared experiences. Then life happens like it always does, we grow up, we move on, and after the years, after our countless summer evenings, we realize: we may have become complete on our own now, but that our completeness, brought together, however infrequently tangential, because infrequently tangential, enriches our lives beyond measure. And that no matter the distance--through space, through time, through consciousness--we're still connected, we still yearn for each other's company, we'll still make plans for another evening like this: That one late summer twilight, as the warm breezes gently nudge us, we'll have a glass of blush in hand, we'll bring with us our stories collected along the way. An exercise on run ons. We'll look to the future, we'll look to our twilights, knowing that life will still be beautiful, no matter the distance.
A warm evening breeze, a little drink--nothing too intoxicating--and your stories collected along the way. I remember how summer nights were spent like this. I remember a time when our fire was ablaze. I remember the feeling of completeness, of affection, of shared experiences. Then life happens like it always does, we grow up, we move on, and after the years, after our countless summer evenings, we realize: we may have become complete on our own now, but that our completeness, brought together, however infrequently tangential, because infrequently tangential, enriches our lives beyond measure. And that no matter the distance--through space, through time, through consciousness--we're still connected, we still yearn for each other's company, we'll still make plans for another evening like this: That one late summer twilight, as the warm breezes gently nudge us, we'll have a glass of blush in hand, we'll bring with us our stories collected along the way. An exercise on run ons. We'll look to the future, we'll look to our twilights, knowing that life will still be beautiful, no matter the distance.
16.9.05
26.8.05
Plan B
One day you realize that it isn't anymore about winning every race you run. The competition isn't anymore who you thought they were. The competition is you, it is now about breaking your own records, it is about venturing beyond your self-imposed bounds, it is about rejecting conventions, turning every notion on its head. It is about the greater risks, challenging yourself, taking that one more step into the unknown--discovering, accepting, finally being convinced that you are only as big as the risks that you take.
2.8.05
24.7.05
Work in progress
I guess when you get right down to it, you realize this: the heart wants what it wants, notwithstanding the hurt. You can never force it to get over The One.12.7.05
Eu sou assim
Eu sou assim, quem quiser gostar de mim, eu sou assim:Meu mundo é hoje, não existe amanhã pra mim...
I am such, whoever may dare, I am such:
My world is today, tomorrow does not exist for me...
Wilson Batista, Eu sou assim
Here and now. He lives in the here and now. He never believed in retakes. He hardly plays reruns. You have to live with the outtakes, he says, you gotta accept the facts. There will be no alternate endings for him. The clapboard won't strike twice for anything. And when he goes, he's gone forever. And he'll leave before you do. For his world is now, tomorrow does not exist for him. Such is he.
4.7.05
Wait and see
Ninety seconds to wait for the lights to change. Ninety seconds to ponder on eternity.They say that on a clear day, you can see forever.
At two in the morning, when the world is still, under an unextinguished red light, eternity is also there. You see yourself waiting. You see yourself wanting more. You see yourself holding your breath, for something, someone, the most fantastic idea your imagination has yet conjured.
All the possibilities that exist in a mere 90 seconds of your young life, a taste of eternity, a vision of forever, on a clear day, under a red light, in the quiet episodes, the most life-changing 90 seconds of your life.
13.5.05
I remember you:
when it snows in the foothillson languid afternoons
in the hushed twilight
on Thursdays at 5
in the freeway where all the lanes but mine are moving
in the smell of a new book
from red bottles
during Februaries
when the cat begs to be let in
in archaic negations
and an irrevocable promise
with your plane ticket in hand
at every game, set, match point
16.4.05
Nonpareil
Presque jamais comme le soleil
qui est plus sombre, d'après moi
T'n'es guère comme la lune
tres indinstincte de la noir
Nonpareil, mon amour:
nonpareil es toi
Arrête-toi de luire
Tant pis pour moi
qui est plus sombre, d'après moi
T'n'es guère comme la lune
tres indinstincte de la noir
Nonpareil, mon amour:
nonpareil es toi
Arrête-toi de luire
Tant pis pour moi
«you blind me. stop it. not amusing at all.»
18.3.05
World is spinning
I was a little kid with little dreams; others dreamt the bigger ones for me. I was a kid who was content to ride his bike up and down the neighborhood and shoo the cats away from the flower bed. A succession of pets kept me busy. MTV kept me happy. Johnny Walker kept me quiet.I was also a kid who had apocalyptic visions of the future; the future being the day after, my apocalyptic visions invariably involving calculus exams. For some reason they're always there. Some nights I still awaken, startled, confounded by a differential problem. It's a prank that my mind likes to play on me.
"Where am I and what am I doing here?"
It's been years since I've stepped into a maths class, I realize; but the realization never ever lessens the distress.
I was a kid yesterday. But like most people, I had to grow up. I had to dream my own dreams. I had to learn to integrate experiences into lessons, to differentiate lessons into experiences. Tackle existence with calculus. Learn the secret geometry of my days, tucked in between which are bizarre episodes of maturation.
«Où est la voiture? Connaissez-la vous? La getaway car?»
The world sometimes spins too quickly. The »»fast»»forward»» button won't become unstuck. Such things happen; when they do, you'd best be properly braced. Learn to speed read. Learn to multi-task. Learn to pay your taxes and invest on retirement. And you gotta learn to say, sometime:
Stop the world! I wanna get off.
5.3.05
Green eyes
All that remain are a couple of phone messages. Garbled, barely intelligible, a testament to poor reception. My personal chronicle of events. I never pick up; but I also do not discard your messages. You gotta give me credit for that. When I am desolate, in need of company, I listen to your voice. I imagine your face. You look into my eyes. I glance away. I am afraid you will see too much, because you look too intently. I'm busy, I say to you, being lonely, I say to myself. The nights are still cold. I'll still need your company. I hope you won't stop calling. Your voice is all that remains.24.2.05
3016
The cats, photographs on the wall, scented candles, children in the house, listening to the disc I burnt, hot sex on hotter afternoons, a smoke outside on cold nights, drifting into slumber in each other's arms. Words only serve as adjuncts, it's the sentiments about it that speak best. A place I will forever remember with fondness, 3016. The number will remain, the characters will change soon, and the memories...sweet memories I will take away.3016 is in Riverside, CA
21.2.05
Everydays
More than friendsless than lovers
a hundred thousand
contiguous gradations
between gray and gray
17.2.05
16.2.05
Spin off
Rain wrote she does not drink coffee because it once made her heart palpitate.I don't anymore drink it too, because if I did I'd look like this:
and it lasts until nighttime.
14.2.05
The joy of living
The joy of living--to know you have been loved, and lived to tell the tale.At the end of this day, this will be all that's gonna be in my thoughts.
To my special someone, thank you for loving me so. I'll miss you.
9.2.05
8.2.05
Mardi gris
He eats alone on Tuesdays, forsaking the company he loves with desperation. Within the silence he dwells, the calmness, the smooth fertile stillness whence images are birthed. He sees different versions of home he knows, same to the untrained eye but he sees their subtle variance, as the hues of a newly-minted morning sky are kind of, similar, but not quite the same. Kin surround him, cantankerous Luciano whose gray eyes were heavy with judgment, stressing, yelling, you always falling short of expectations, never making him forget, old man Vittorio, pounding him with words, gesticulated foreign hurtful words that strike down every fiber of his impious existence, Carmela, under whose shade he grew, defiant and tenacious woman, ineluctably fortunate, and she would cheat even death if it please the gods. He hears music, the one Ferrando always played, the father ever the gifted man of lyric. How haps it, they wondered, not the son? Who always had too much of Rachmaninov playing in his head--vespers--it's always the vespers--the protracted, liturgical hymn by the hours that plays in anticipation of the Day, the Hour, the Moment of the Feast. Within anticipation he characteristically places himself, going but not getting there, fleeing before the day arrives, with a confused past behind him, a missed future up ahead, upon nary a present he chooses to dwell, having had withered roots and impulsive wings, he rushes getting to nowhere, the only proof of his peripatetic predicament a rucksack of stories, succulent and fat and juicy stories for those who have the time to spare, an ear to lend (but never, oh never, pity to bestow), except not a one will be found; because on Tuesdays, on gray Tuesdays, Tuesdays like today, he eats alone.5.2.05
From the bluffs
Above the city lightsaway from the noise
is your voice which is all I hear
embers
bright orange
sodium infused embers of tungsten
orange and yellow street lamps
like the fire that you once were
refusing to die
and though the heat is there
I cannot begin to feel it
I've gone too far away you see
pushed by the voices that tell me
you're not worth my time
half a bottle of chardonnay
is all that keeps me company
tonight
the rest of it meant for you
who, I have decided,
should never grace my presence
ever
again
and the voices behind me beckon,
Come inside,
we'd like you to meet
someone
(else) .
1.2.05
Anglia reborn in my mind
She still visits me in my dreams, my good friend. Her auburn French curls and Anglican ways as vivid as I remember. She showed me how to think beyond conventions and to love life for what it can offer. I remember how I used to lecture her on the ill effects of coffee. "Drink tea instead, it's what your people are famous for." Yet. Yet it was me whom she got converted. Our caffeine dependence had now withdrawn. We've shed the giddiness of youth. But her laughter stays with me, her spirit keeps me moving forward.I still keep my half of the sense of humor we shared with no one else. I hope she keeps hers still.
In my dreams I greet her today.
31.1.05
28.1.05
Tag boards are funny
(found on a random tag board: My Life)Betsy: she commented on my blog too. i have no clue who she is.
Brandon: Who are you and why are you crying on my blog? There will be no tears shed on this tagboard.
starr:
starr: why arent you talking????????????????????????????????????
starr: u guys r not all related r u?
starr: hi asl? every one if u know what that means
----
Talk about having a disorder!
-CdG
"Prima facie"
As humans we are inclined to think that life must have a purpose, that we are here for a reason. We have a relentless appetite for interpretation, not the least of which is an obsession to define our self. We crave to find that one true universal albeit elusive meaning to "it all" and our proper place in it. We think of existence as a mystery to be solved. We run after that one great plan or one grand unifying theory, whose shadow we thought we saw turn just round the corner.I....I don't know; I just couldn't get myself to buy into that.
Maybe life just is. It isn't an equation with a plus and minus sign trailing at the end. Maybe it isn't a mystery novel that ties its loose ends so neatly before an epilogue. Maybe there is no epilogue. And maybe the point of living is more immediate than we care to think it to be. Fate, perhaps, does not exist; neither does a God, or gods, or goddesses, however omniscient and omnipresent and omnipotent we have dreamed them up to be.
And nothing...nothing is a metaphor for anything else.
Life just is.
26.1.05
In the news
Juan Manuel Alvarez is a very troubled man. Too troubled, that he thought of taking his life by the tracks, except when he thought he was ready to die, he jumped ship and abandoned his vehicle--in the direct path of a barrelling commuter train.Los Angeles woke up to the news of the terrible derailment today. As of this last hour authorities have confirmed one more casualty, the eleventh dead. Nearly 200 injured, a good deal of them seriously. These were teachers, office workers, parents and students--ordinary folks like you and me--who thought it was best to take the train, for the city roads were still recovering from last week's rains.
It was the topic of hushed conversations at work today. One colleague remarked that if it were up to her, she'd condemn Alvarez to die by the electric chair. I disagreed, not on grounds that electrocution was already ruled inhumane; but that Alvarez, troubled though he was, deserves to die slowly.
Very.
Very.
Slowly.
22.1.05
By the fountain
I went tonight to a place we used to go to. I remembered the endless conversations, the tacit affirmations, the spilled drinks and fun times. Memories piled one on top of the other. Has it been that long? You always made me feel that everything everytime was the first time.Maybe that's it. We did not evolve.
When a relationship dies, we should allow ourselves enough time. Time to mourn, to regret, to doubt, to argue pro and contra. And then comes the time to accept what is, and then we move on.
So by the fountain, I took my first steps tonight. I sat where we used to sit. I pretended to be watching people, yonder by the splashes; when really all I could see are images of the past.
And then a hand from behind me covered my eyes. Guess who, the voice said. PANIC MODE. For I never, never, did like surprises. Well, only a few good ones. And I thought--
this had better be one of them.
21.1.05
Plastinated and all
Someone invited me to view the exhibit, which will be closing this weekend. Too bad I have to take my car to the shop for repairs.19.1.05
Secondhand narratives
from an earlier postA lot of things are where I want them to be at the moment, and I feel a semblance of peace settling within me. I'm learning how to apply the brakes and observe the posted speed limit for life, which unravels itself at its own unhurried pace. It would be a shame if I couldn't appreciate that. It's odd how stuff turn out right when you relax your grip on them.
For my part, I've had to insist on some people that they loosen their grip on me as well. It's not entirely unfair, as I have been a little more obliging than I ought to be. I want to be inaccessible again; and never mind that I burn bridges indiscriminately, tragically confident through the conviction of my own vanity, that the tab of rebuilding will be picked up by the other side. For although I know I will be proven wrong, it will be motivation enough for me to reassess my life and move on, and I'll reach out when I do.
Until then, they had best content themselves with secondhand narratives of my personal reality... postcards without the obligatory "Wish You Were Here."
16.1.05
À la plage
Tristan, Carmela, Monica, Andrew and I went to the beach last month.Photos courtesy of Tristan, which I was able to organize only today.
The waters were frigid, but I couldn't resist the waves lapping at the shore.
The sun--like how it is in my dreams--very nearly kissing the horizon.
They don't look like it, but that black blob were dolphins.
Pacific Palisades. The fog was starting to roll back in.
15.1.05
...
"We need to talk."They are the hardest words to say. You have to mean it when you say it. You have to be prepared.
11.1.05
A moment
A moment of silence to remember those who have gone, to remember always that life is made more precious by the people we have been given to love.To them, Godspeed.
6.1.05
5.1.05
28.12.04
Rocks
What shall we take away? What shall we leave behind? What bridges shall we burn, which way to go from here?Two thousand and four, for me, was a year like none before. It was a year I found my maturity. It was a year I knew for certain the things that should matter to me. It was a year devoted to reflection, and I was fortunate to have been able to do so. Two thousand and four was a year I met interesting personalities, made remarkable friends, let go of dear ones. It was a year where people moved in, moved up, moved away, and moved on.
Life circa 2004 was a nightmare on reruns, I guess, but tucked in between familiar episodes were moments of profound insights. And it surprised me to know that it is in the simplest things where we find the answers, it is in the most unexpected moments that lucidity is there. Amidst the haphazard narratives running in my head, I found my true voice.
Take out all the rocks you've stashed in your pocket along the way. Take a good look at them and take your pick. Which shall you leave behind, which shall you take away?
24.12.04
Season's greetings
I did not take much to decorating during the holidays. No, scratch that. I did not take at all to decorating during the holidays. It's just clutter, that's what it is, I keep telling myself. But some people, some clueless people just overdo the entire thing. I mean I'm okay with other people decorating the insides and outsides of their house, and maybe even put up yard decorations, I won't judge them for that. But wreaths and ribbons in front of a car? That's just going too far. A ribbon can easily slip through the grills, a wreath can become undone and mess up the radiator. Yesterday, I saw this dingy car with a sorry excuse for a wreath attached in front of its hood, with a little jaundiced ribbon on its side. Until I got a closer look, I thought it was just some freeway garbage the car had haplessly scooped up. A filthy wreath for a filthy car. That is just wrong.Happy holidays to you and yours.
