Quand J’étais le Flâneur

I was the man of leisure – the urban explorer and the connoisseur of the streets.  I was the “Jack of all Trades”; I was a young Flâneur.  The streets were my element – the energy of the crowds became my flesh, and the scenes of the city became my sight.  I was eloquently simple; I was the quiet observer.  I was the unit and the detached that played two roles – “The Man of the Crowd” who would adapt to the alienations of a busy conurbation, and “The Invisible Man” who would hide in plain sight.

How I came to escape my perfect romanticism and replaced it with the abstract expressionism of an indifferent angle is a fairytale mystery.

Mesmerized

Caught between the line of affection and logic,

I want to tell you the thoughts of my heart;

The ones my mind would dare not reveal.

I am mesmerized by her smile, and she does not know it.

I want to embrace your smile and be the cause of its resurface;

To be the reason of your laughter in the light of day,

And to drown your frowns under the covers of night;

Furthermore; and in my intrepid state,

I want to taste the frame of the curves on your lips,

To soothe its sorrows away,

To preserve the contours of your smirk.

I am mesmerized by her eyes, and she does not know it.

I want to stare at them without the bashfulness of my diffidence,

To glare at their green surface and understand their unspoken word;

I want to get lost in their colloquial translation,

So that I may learn of the language of origins

And see the soul that hides beneath the skin of your façade.

I am mesmerized by her thoughts, and she does not know it.

I want to peruse through your mind and interpret its creation

To understand the attraction that challenges my own

With every scripture, with every word;

I want to find the balance of the importance in your deliberation,

To unravel the value of your train of thought,

To enlighten perspectives; to add to your worth.

I am mesmerized by her presence, and she does not know it.

Would I betray my fragility for the cause and effect

Of clarity in confusion,

Or would I keep the silence vivid

As the songs of my intuition whisper gently

That my words should weigh upon the livid

And keep their secret strong?

I am mesmerized, in silence, though I think she already knows.

Quiero dormir el sueño de las manzanas - by Federico Garcia Lorca

Quiero dormir el sueño de las manzanas

alejarme del tumulto de los cementerios.

Quiero dormir el sueño de aquel niño

que quería cortarse el corazón en alta mar. 

No quiero que me repitan que los muertos no pierden la sangre;

que la boca podrida sigue pidiendo agua.

No quiero enterarme de los martirios que da la hierba,

ni de la luna con boca de serpiente

que trabaja antes del amanecer. 

Quiero dormir un rato,

un rato, un minuto, un siglo;

pero que todos sepan que no he muerto;

que haya un establo de oro en mis labios;

que soy un pequeño amigo del viento Oeste;

que soy la sombra inmensa de mis lágrimas. 

Cúbreme por la aurora con un velo,

porque me arrojará puñados de hormigas,

y moja con agua dura mis zapatos

para que resbale la pinza de su alacrán. 

Porque quiero dormir el sueño de las manzanas

para aprender un llanto que me limpie de tierra;

porque quiero vivir con aquel niño oscuro

que quería cortarse el corazón en alta mar.

GARCIA LORCA

The Request

The night was as hollow as the opaqueness of the moonless sky.  Not even the cold tears that poked whatever skin he exposed could awaken his desire to write what he felt.  He was lacking inspiration and the burden of abandonment wore him down.
It was at this point that he thought of a plan.  His instincts told him that it would be an impossible request to make, but he dared for the sake of creativity.

"You must be outta your mind!" she exclaimed.  It was clear to him that she did not like the request, though it was also evident that she was not bothered by the ridiculousness of his demand.
"No," he began, "I've never been more in my mind as I am now."

He stood there in silence, waiting for her eyes to divert from his - they did not.  And he waited like this for what seemed to be an hour of a speechless tableaux.  If her body language could scream it would yell of confusion but it also let him realize that she was thinking, decoding, and formulating.  She was torn between wanting to help him and wanting to run away.

"If you're so IN your mind," she answered finally breaking the silence, "then this should be easier than what you think."
"Yes, it should be," he replied, "but I am in there alone with nothing to provoke me."
Not surprisingly, her facial expression showed a mild level of perplexity to his words.  Before she could continue he interrupted her by insisting on his request.  "Just do it."
"You know I can't," she answered in shame.  She was not shy about the request, but felt ashamed that she would be unable to help him as she had in the past.
"Then I shall wait until you can," he replied with a tone of voice that signalled the end to the exchange of their thoughts.

Silence -
Even the crickets of the night succumbed to their words and listened intently to the white noise that filled the room.

"No man can walk out on their own story."

Time is distant and brief; it waits for noone.

Whoever said that "it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all" has not truly felt the weight of brevity, nor has reasoning captured the essence of distance as a loop that comes and goes.

So, how do you say good bye to a ghost that refuses to make an appearance?

Telepathy.

With the nature of words, the mind can learn to defy the physics of origin. Space does not belong to the theory of particles, and matter is but a fragment of various shared instances that come into play as six-degrees of separation. Gravity; therefore, is playful and non-existent.

It is illogical and senseless to believe that time could be fast-forwarded when the physicality of our being is stuck re-living and re-inventing the past.

And just like that, Time is Gone.

Midnight conversations bathed in Tequila

If a drink was meant to blurr the speech of memory, then the written word was meant to revive the metaphors of midnight conversations - when night becomes day and noon becomes a ghost of hidden intents.

The confessions are traced to the boldness of their flow and he is entertained by her sudden disposition.

"None that is said here tonight can be blamed on my own intent," she began to excuse her direct discourse, hoping that he'd believe her liberal remarks.  "I blame it on the tequila."

But as he struggled to keep his eyes focused on her, movement within his thoughts kept his instability at a slower pace.

"By this time tomorrow," he began, "I will have forgotten it all."
"Then we shall await the moment when The Eye blinks," she said.
"No proof," he interrupted, "as if it never happened."

I sat at the edge of the old bridge, awaiting the unobtainable.

I looked past the layer of smoke that escaped my breath and stared at the Moon in its fullness - and its greatest light instilled in me a recollection of fond memories and the sudden realization that fantasy could not cope with the most ideal of my realities.  Never again would the Sun rise from its chilly horizon.

Perhaps in another lifetime, I thought.

The sudden desire to scream the magic of the unimaginative blurred my instinct and the vision of the unamused.  Sitting alone, I heard the prayers of an old religion - it revealed my daily sins to the hearts of the unattainable, ( and soon after they became 'the unworthy').  Only the Moon hid my pain with great illusion and kept the fidelity of my imbalanced sensibility, while the common rhythms of my fragile nature skipped the sense to maintain the white noises of my darkness in the night.

Yes, I thought to myself once more, perhaps in another lifetime.

All split personalities reveal the same truths in different manners.

"I can see you having a split personality," she said
We all do, I argued.
"One minute you're drawing comics and the next you pour your soul into words."
That's still the same person, I smiled back. Comics are masked feelings; words are the make-up that melts away to reveal the truth.

She smiled as she took in my words before I continued.

All reveal the same disturbances.
"Ok, you're a writer; point made," she said as she took a sip of her tea. "You're a disturbed writer."
I wouldn't disagree, I smiled back, looking into her eyes for a response to my dialogue.
"Be proud of that," she continued, "now I understand why you wither away at nights while I get my beauty sleep."

That moment when you see the photo pop out of nowhere

You seek to move on, so you do - and it is grand!
Yet a part of your memory retains what little could be salvaged, though not ever by choice.
The breaths of fresh air are healthier, and night has found a way to tuck you in before dawn.
Then you stumble upon a photo of your past and realize the changes were mutual - though if not emotional, they are certainly physical.

The bright red strands of hair now turned to an opaque black, as dead as the crows, are suitable for the condition - and the memory once cherished has moved on (though oddly enough, it has moved backwards from where it once came).
Yes, it is in that moment when your eyes meet the sparkling greens that once glared at your own mysteries;  though they seem to stare no further than their reflection - shoukran! And cheers is heard all inside the room, toasting with a glass of red that will most certainly end in a night of drunken touch.
How one image can impose a step, when all that is recalled by stranger presences is the hatred of intrusions that arrived from its neighbouring province - the instant reaction is but a blur.

But then the image is closed and you smile because your gut feeling never betrayed you - always trust your instincts! It was in the smile of the prettiest of faces that your discomfort awoke.
So you disconnect and spread the sheets to be filled by dreams, because it is in that moment, when you stumble upon that photo, that you receive your closure and you no longer care to hold on.

El escondite no tiene sentido cuando el escondido no tiene razón

"Mi corazón, como una sierpe,

se ha desprendido de su piel,

y aquí la miro entre mis dedos

llena de heridas y de miel."

 -GARCIA LORCA

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fue así que su piel se desprendió de mis caricias; 
y mis suspiros, aniquilados por sus tentaciones nocturnas,
ya no sufren por el reconocimiento de sus falsos sentimientos.
Las heridas diarias de sus contra-ofertas quedan solo como manchas
entre las huellas de mis manos.

El recuerdo de ella, cómo se desvanece en el tiempo,
ya ni me abstiene de los rencores que he guardado desde aquellos sueños olvidados.
Mi corazón siempre será un desarreglo a su imagen, pero nunca más va a sangrar por su desgraciada ausencia.

¡Qué dulce es saborear la libertad impuesta que me he ganado a través de las cicatrices con las que me abandonó!. Si realmente se trataba de un juego que jugamos para herir el uno al otro, entonces nuestros ojos fueron cegados a la búsqueda de la verdad de nuestra existencia.

El escondite no tiene sentido cuando el escondido no tiene razón.

A final drive-by: One last token left unwrapped

The marking of new eras and joyous times are exciting moments in one's life and they leave traces of unavoidable memories among those who partake in the occasion.

I can’t help but find our human nature to be quite peculiar, (if not unreasonable or unseasonable), when it comes to engaging in such celebratory traditions.  As surely as nothing lasts forever, under whatever circumstances, these souls are meant to part ways and all that remains are the scars of past revelries.  All that is left is the unwrapped token of appreciation that is kindly concealed within a blue envelope, abandoned in the darkness of a white box.

One final drive-by could only reaffirm the absence of the once loved; and the only desire is the unspoken richness of silence with the hopes that the words transcribed will be read in between their lines.

To those who have come and gone, who have made a past life unforgettable, I commend you for your presence as it has instilled (and intrigued) a greatness now  re-awakened.  In a few nights’ time, I shall look up to the new Moon from the heights of an old neighbouring bridge, wishing and smiling once again.

Cheers to life and our imperfect wisdom in age.

Song Medley 1

Another summer day has come and gone away

In Paris and Rome but I wanna go home
Mmmmmmmm
May be surrounded by a million people I
Still feel all alone, I just wanna go home
Oh, I miss you, you know
And I’ve been keeping all the letters that I wrote to you
Each one a line or two
“I’m fine baby, how are you?”
Well I would send them but I know that it’s just not enough
My words were cold and flat
And you deserve more than that

Para tu amor lo tengo todo
Desde mi sangre hasta la esencia de mi ser
Y para tu amor que es mi tesoro
Tengo mi vida toda entera a tus pies
Y tengo también
Un corazón que se muere por dar amor
Y que no conoce el fin
Un corazón que late por vos 

No me ames, porque estoy perdido
Porque cambie el mundo, porque es el destino
Porque no se puede, somos un espejo
Y tu asi serias lo que yo de mi reflejo

Para tu amor no hay despedidas
Para tu amor yo solo tengo eternidad
Y para tu amor que me ilumina
Tengo una luna, un arco iris y un clavel
Y tengo también
un corazón que se muere por dar amor
y que no conoce el fin
un corazón que late por vos 

And I feel just like I’m living someone else’s life
It’s like I just stepped outside
When everything was going right
And I know just why you could not
Come along with me
'Cause this was not your dream
But you always believed in me

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A medley composed of these three songs: (When played at the right key, they could blend nicely into a nice rhythm and sound like one song).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lbSOLBMUvIE

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EPpUub2hGyY

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hPQSTDaZrN0

A Thought on Moving On...

"It's madness, to hate all roses, because you got scratched by one thorn. To give up on all your dreams; because one did not come true. To give up on all effort; because one of them failed. To lose faith in prayers; because one was not answered. To condemn all your friends; because one of them betrayed. Not to believe in love; because someone was unfaithful. Remember another chance may come up. A new friend, a new love, a new life. Never give up on anything."

It should go without mention that Trust is a delicate trait that we all possess.  When abused and/or maltreated, it takes time, (days, weeks, years), to heal.  Though experience and wisdom would teach us that it is better to forgive and forget, it is often the latter that is the hardest to achieve.  And I guess I ponder often why it is that life seemed much simpler in the years of youth, when naivety was vast and trust was given freely (and often tested by the curse of disappointments).  The damage was done, and as soon as the perpetrator walked away, it would all be forgotten - And I would be left to walk along my path, with a new perspective, carelessly and effortlessly.  Life would go on.

If there is no Trust, there is no Relationship (romantic or not).

But to those who have been hurt several times; whose Trust and Hopes and Dreams have been burnt by the emotional disregard of another; is it really as simple as just learning to let go?  I would have to agree, against my own convenience, that it would be the respectful thing to do - Respect for yourself and for the new person that is eager to write a few (if not a lot of) pages in the next chapter that comes.

It is, indeed, madness to give it all up because one (or many) individuals were oblivious to the repercussions of their actions - Perhaps they were simply mislead by their own selfish deeds in trying to figure out their place in the world?  Perhaps their actions were unintentional and now (one would hope) they know better than to live with that regret once again?

If one is to grow in love, one must learn to love oneself first.  And to continue to love oneself again, one must give life another chance.  As it would, this realm we live in now is filled with stages - some call them tests. There is no age for perfection, nor is there perfection in such lifetime, but the illusion of it is grand and one usually feels it when all voids seem to be filled.  But how could these be filled unless we allow them to be?  If ignorance is bliss, what, then, is knowledge?

Betrayal or a Story just Meant to Happen? - the secret lover

The man who stood behind the semi-permeable curtains saw her move around, taking the recollection of every men that surrounded her - because she was too beautiful to be given up, and this much he knew.  So he leaned back with silence, watching her, and suffering because he was simply a label known to her as the "best friend".

Time would have it that she would be seen alone once again, and he saw his chance to claim what was rightfully his.  He had played the role far too long, and his feelings could not be kept secret from her - though she had always known since the time they first experimented with each other's lips...something she had chosen to forget as sacrifice to retain their friendship.  But he wanted her more than ever.  Age, it seemed, was not a matter for him and he knew that it would not matter to her if he only showed her how mature he could appear to be, (and this role he played too well).
And so came the day when she gave in to him, to try what could have been and to live without regrets, until the day that she had to leave the country for unnecessary adventures.

But little did she know that the eyes of those she had lied to were observant and they noticed the truth of what they had always known: he wanted her, and that, secretly, she wanted him.

Their Sundays of spending time together by the light of his basement, watching online videos, were simply a foreshadow to the lies that they were playing - and it was much too visible to hide, though she tried and he tried for their sake.
But now nothing stood in their way - no more strangers to come between him and his feelings for her; nor for her and her feelings for him, (whether they remained physical or driven by their intellect).

Now, he has come to replace her lovers.  He is now another pawn to her game - but he no longer cares.

A stranger in a not-so-strange land

I'm a stranger in a not-so-strange land.
The streets, the views, the panorama - it is all familiar, as if it was all a carbon-copy of "home sweet home."  And yet, the foreign eyes with which I view every curb, every boulevard, every blade of summer pasture have me pondering without discontent.  I am a visitor, an outsider, and yet I have a strange sensation of belonging.
Have I come away from far, or am I just far away from where I came?
The clock strikes back trice more the hour, and the delayed presence of my routine is played twice again - truly, there is something magical to this feeling of my pacific time frame.
The lights are a sparkling reminder of my humble beginnings, an the street noises of a busy night life remind me that I am not yet dreaming.
But I remain a stranger in a not-so-strange land, and sleep has found a new hit zone to provoke my dilemma with silence.  And I am contented enough to disregard this struggle.  And I am oblivious to acknowledging that I am still awake in a dream not once forgotten.  Serenity now sits by my side, accompanying my mesmerized pleasure to measure the distance between my narrative and the surface of the ocean from where I was born.
Where today's venture had me re-acquainted with the inner child, tomorrow's sunlight shall bring forth an adventure unknown.
After all, I am no more a stranger than this stranger land.

Boredom made this

There are days when no matter how sunny it is outside, and no matter how many activities there are to be done, one can't help but feel bored...  Perhaps, due to procrastination; perhaps, due to the inability to break free from what instigates unnecessary thoughts...  Either way, it is possible to feel bored even when there are so many things and activities available.  The question is, (and it seems to always be), "WHY?"

The most reasonable answer revolves around the concept of self, and the ability for self to re-animate itself and lead a life full of adventure or be trapped by the unsolicited binds of laziness that sometimes gets the best of moods.  I would call it a disease, as it were, because it affects even the most healthiest and the most active of individuals.  Only those who are most affected by boredom may find something adequate to do - though, in truth, their moment of satisfaction is temporary.  So why is the cure as simple as doing something?  Is it that boredom is tied to a sense of depression?  Or is it as simple as getting rid of the laziness that keeps one hiding underneath the blankets of their home?  And with that said, could boredom be restricted to the four walls that shelter us at night?  No, I think we all know that boredom can exist in any place, at any time.

But the boredom I'm referring to is the type of boredom that has one confined to feeling a sense of nostalgia, which in turn could affect one's eagerness to enjoy the sunshine, (or the moonlight, for that matter).  To those who would disagree with my perception of boredom, what else, if not nostalgic depression, could keep someone away from enjoying some healthy vitamin D for a change?  Too much of it? Too repetitive in the days?  I must admit that even an individual who claims to love sunshine and to be active on a daily basis can get to feeling bored at times - choosing to use the word 'bored' with discontent.  Alas, perhaps I begin to think more than what is adequate for this posting... So before I digress, read the message of the image above, and re-read this with caution.

Speaking to a Ghost in the Ringing Silence

I tried to speak with the ghost of my past, but the silent ringing muted my speech.

Post-mortem and indecisive, how it lingered in my thoughts to be played and re-played until the discs of words became a jumble of impersonations, and I would lose the interest to see the lighted aura of this ghost's shadow.

In the dark-half of the blue moon, I traversed the distance that kept me waiting, and the ghost sounded whispers of an unwanted awakening.  And I, too lost in translation, forgot the lyrics to an old song composed for deaf ears.

The rain melted away my distress, and in dialling the forgotten digits, the ghost of my past answered, "hello?"  But only silence replied throughout the commotion, and in the black encasing that parked by my drive-way, I stayed awakened by disbelief.

That thought that still lingers at the end of my memory lane

That old fresh fragrance of your hair,

It still lingers beneath the surface of my skin.

Oh, what a scent that was embedded in my memory,

As I held you close every night.

That perfume of your delicate skin,

That taste of your softest kiss,

That smoothness of your playful touch;

It lingers in stillness at the end of my dreams.

That soothing voice,

Which echoes in the tunnels of my recollection,

Tunes my sense of reality in an out of its idealist setting;

And that deep stare of your contemplative eyes,

How they used to see me through the night

Keeping company to my darkest of measures,

Exercising their discrete distance

To see my inspiration come to life.

That thought that still lingers at the end of my memory lane,

How it remains alive despite the disillusion of its deceit;

And I converse with it during every full moon,

And I salute it every time I drive by the lonely road,

Hoping that when amnesia overcomes me,

My recall will fold over the pages to oblivion

And your lingering memory shall be no more.

Time to grow up and act your age!

There's a difference between keeping your inner-child alive, and refusing to act your age. Some people need to realize that their behaviour has consequences and it is time to grow up and take on the responsibility of life.
There's a fine line between acting a certain way because you were robbed of those experiences in your youth, (or because you were sheltered in one way or another), and acting like a careless being that disregards the cause and effect of your actions.
Go to clubs, go get drunk, go travel, but don't forget to grow up and act your age!

Mis-representation of Dreams 2: Drive-by Car Wash

I stood by the corner of the busy avenue...My car broken, down in the middle of the busy traffic, stood on three wheels, (the other was nowhere to be found).  The trunk was left open and I stood behind it, paying no mind to the tools, forgetting that the rain threatened to fill up the space with the splashing sounds of rushing vehicles.

I stood there, looking past the other side of the road.

Thoughts arrived, which asserted my diversion from ignoring the oncoming dangers of the blind traffic madness:

-------------------------

Most people here have taken the 'blue pill' rather than the 'red pill'
"People frustrate me..."
Just let them be.  There's a grand illusion that people keep trying to make when they're special, different, and unique
"I want to let them be despite their arrogance and lack of humanity."
They're way less grandiose than we'd like them to be
"There's something to be said about the civility of their mind and how it interacts with their surroundings.  Some claim to be attentive, others claim to be apathetic...I try to believe them but they prove me wrong all the time with their actions."

---------------------

Towel hanging from my hips; the rain caressing every follicle, every pore of my body.  My hair, long as it ever was, pointed to the surface of gravity.  The drops of water, hanging from the tip of my split ends, tried to connect my body with the fluidity of the puddles on the road.

To my left, a grey vehicle is turning towards me.  The license plate on the front bumper is missing, (it is an out-of-province car), replaced by a sticker resembling the German flag.
My heart pounds slightly faster as it slows down before me.

----------------------------

You ponder too much about something so certain

"Who am I?  What am I?

The post-modern classic dilemma of existentialism

"No, I've been through this phase before...I can't be thinking of this now at this day and age.  It is something else...something uncommon and yet quite familiar."

I am born and I am dead on a daily basis, always with that thought in mind

"I thought I was past this worry...I was content."

Look up, you've just missed the sunrise

-----------------------------

The rain had stopped.  The road was quiet, deserted.

The grey car had come to a complete stop, and I attempted to sneak a glance at the driver.  Drips of sweat still held onto the metallic shell of the sedan, confirming that rain had indeed fallen - I was not completely imagining it all.

The window is rolled down gently only to reveal its vacancy.  Who was the drive-by Samaritan that stood beside me in my moment of need, offering no help but the presence of meaningful essence?

I will never know.

That feeling when you're surrounded by a crowd, and yet you can't help but to feel alone...

Ever get that feeling of loneliness when you are in a room full of familiar faces?

There are times when even the most crowded of spaces cannot offer a sense of peace, and solitude is lost in translation - the only feeling, (behind all the masks), is that of emptiness.

Why?

How is it that all the external smiles that impose on your sudden thought cannot bring fulfilment to your heart?  How is it that nobody can see past the façade you apply with effort in order to cover the frown that hides beneath the skin?  How is it that the fresh air that surrounds your being cannot fill the lungs with the breath needed to stop the incessant sighs?


The feeling is awkward.  It does not cease to exist and it is discomforting.

If I was to offer an answer that explains this imbalance, I would have to get personal, and it would mean that I would need to generalize the primal effects that are instilled in us by experience.  (And if I was able to offer a piece of sense, my mind would not be requiring the answer to the question stemmed by this intriguing empty effect).  Therefore, look within next time this feeling comes and ask yourself a series of questions:
Do you feel this way because you feel something has been taken away from you?
Do you feel this way because you're unhappy with the location of your meeting?
Do you feel this way because you're unhappy with the crowd that keeps your company?
Do you feel this way because of a need to make a connection with the right personalities?
Do you feel this way because you're unhappy with yourself?


Where does this feeling of emptiness stem from???

So many questions could be equated to help determine the source of this lament...  But when one question begins, another one follows, and at times these just build up and are jumbled upon a mountain of scribbles that lose their sense.

Perhaps the solution lies not in asking questions but in looking within yourself because only you will understand the reasons behind your sudden sense of emptiness...

Everyone's a critic when it comes to someone else's Train of Thought

The eyes that read my mind with their critical intent (and even those unfamiliar with my text) judged my scribbles as dark and as depressing.  I said "I don't care" with respect to the labyrinth of my journey - and so thoughts come and go; they are sad and happy, dark and familiar.  It is a means of salvation from the dangers of self, and not for the faint of heart: "Read with Caution..."


However, the thought alone intrigued me enough to realize that there needs to be a change of page - whereby the chapter has been read and re-read and my pen should reconsider where it attains its ink.  There is no room for sulking in the lanes of my memory, would it not be for amnesia that is sometimes contested with, challenging oblivion.  What's done is done and what is to come shall come - this is (somewhat) out of my control.


Things are looking up.

Una y Otra Vez - Sergent Garcia

Una Y Otra Vez


Caminando por las calles de mi alma
Laberinto extraño de mi soledad
Pensando en las claves de mi existencia
Viajando en el desierto de mi intimidad
Repasando y analizando de mi vida los sabores
Cuando fueron mis errores
Mis alegrías y desamores
Con que piedra yo tropecé
Cuál fue la meta que yo no alcancé
Cuáles tragos amargos de tragedias y otros milagros
Caminando entre fieles y fieras
Recorriendo el sendero una y otra vez
Una y otra vez
Poco a poco se diluyen y se van
Las nubes que desde años, nuestros sueños alborotan
A lo lejos en la niebla, voces se escuchan
Bajan de las montañas, los tambores reclaman
Soñadores con soluciones vibramos con inteligencia
Nuestro sueños no son ilusiones
Tenemos corazón y tenemos consciencia
Y aunque caigamos mil y una vez
Naceremos con más fuerza una y otra vez
Una y otra vez
Caminando en las calles de la ciudad
No tengo miedo porque sé que un día
Todo vuelve a empezar
Y ese día caminaremos con alegría
Porque nuestros sueños se habrán hecho realidad
Seguiremos soñando, seguiremos cantando
Aunque te cueste aceptarlo
Estaremos siempre como sombras vigilando
Una y otra vez

Blue Moon with a pearly smile

Oh Blue Moon with the pearly white smile;

Oh frozen Moon that keeps me warm beyond desire -

How are you this fine night?

What's that?  It's past the hour of night?

I'm sorry, I did not mean to wake you;

Nor to have the birds serenade you.

But where is the Sun this early hour?

Does the sky not share your translucence

And the bright light of morning rays?

Oh silly Blue Moon that smiles and smiles;

You had me fooled,

You had me bailing on my dreams,

Contemplating you tonight,

As every other night. 

The Chase

Sling swings of a summer fling that in time diffuses and boils into the soil - oh, but the chase was worth the tears, the frustrations, and the fears of never living it down.

But gather this, my obscene realization, that once obtained it is taken for granted.

The smiles, the joys; when one would have run miles and miles, it is then gone with the wind, and the chase is no more.

The honeymooners last a few decades, the frustrated breathe eternal.

But what do I tell those whose blinded faith engaged them so soon when they lied: "I just knew"?  My point becomes senseless as their chase was not discontinued.

Flaggerdust!

Back to the start of my equation.

You will never find another Me

You will certainly move on, and in doing so, you will find someone new who makes you happy (because life definitely goes on).  But you will never find another one like me.

No, you will never find another one like me, who showed you unconditional affection, who worked hard to entertain your soul, who made sure to maintain a smile on your face, and who recognized your fears and tried to show you the path of your way.

No, you will never find another one like me, who did not mind putting forth more effort to try to make things work, who loved you for what lies beneath your skin, who saw past your pretty face.

No, you will never find another one like me, who cherished the treasures of your thoughts, who encouraged you to think outside the box, who loved the every word that escaped your randomness.

No, you will never find another one like me, who put up with your white lies, who embraced your lost cause, who loved you more than what seemed unfair.

You will certainly move on with someone new, who will understand you and who will love you.  But you will never find another one like me, who loved you of mind, body, and soul.

From the words of a woman:

"Never trust a girl who has more guy friends than girl friends.  Even less if one of her best friends is a man, (it is highly likely that there is a history between them)."


Amen.

The drive by coincidence

Last evening I saw you drive by - your car carried you and a passenger by your side.
Needless to say, I should have felt rage that it was him who accompanied you, but instead, (and oddly enough), I felt a sigh of relief.


I'm happy that you've moved on.
Maybe he can convince you to stay in ways that I could not.

The place where it all began

I parked by the doorway of the coffee shop where it all began.

My mind, infused with the memories of that early summer day, felt the incommodities of not knowing what and how to feel.  In reminiscent times, the acquaintance proved fruitful - even I, who no longer believed in "love at first sight" became infatuated by the idea of tasting her lips as we walked through the greens of a nearby park.  And I knew of her more than I thought to know her; and vice-versa.

But the interest scripted the story, which has now come in full circle.  Three times of trials and error were amplified once more by sudden realizations.  And so, the acquaintances who gave in to lust and hopeless ideals, now became stranger than strangers; forgotten in the distance that seems so close and yet so far; forgetting the breaths of one another's existence.

So I am parked here again, standing in front of the doorway of the coffee shop where it all began...

"One medium ice-cap, please."

Rain, Rain, DON'T go away!

Oh rain that drips above my shelter;

Soothing, calming;

Adding tranquility to the serenity of my way.

Oh drops that trickle down my veins;

Exposing, nurturing;

Caressing the mood of this gloomy day.

How rapid was your instinct to read the matters of my mind,

How unnerving was your unearthing and the thoughts you could find;

How slow was your reaction to avoid the shell of my bones;

How you revealed the treasures once forgotten and turned into stone.

Oh rain that came, oh rain that went;

Your quick temper tickles my pain.

Oh rain that carries a wind of repent;

Your short visit will fade with the plains.

Random Conversation 2

The memory of her became tainted by the unveiling of recent truths.
The passion, the affection, the connection - all shrouded by the bitterness of visible lies and the realization that I was played for a fool.


"But you knew there was something there that was not quite right."
True, but I thought it may just have been something my mind conjured due to the need for proof of trust...
"You mean, due to the paranoia that had you believe it was too good to be true?"
NEVER! I've given her all the benefit of the doubt!
"In your own way, perhaps.  But they did not perceive it that way, I presume?"
Yes...but it was given nonetheless!
"So why were they not confronted?"
I saw her in his arms, and she had posted the images purposefully.  And then I saw the other wearing half his clothes and his hands on her ass!
"Oh? And what did these two say?"
That nothing happened really...I was overreacting.
"Bullshit!"
I know!  And she dared to challenge my questioning, claiming I was a fool for not trusting her!
"Nobody with respect for their own relationship would stay up past dawn partying in another continent with a complete stranger who keeps his hands all over her drunken body!"
Exactly my point.  Even if she told him that she was seeing me, we both knew that something happened that night!
"I hear ya.  And what about this last one? What did she do?"
Well what can I tell you.  It started too well that it made me uncomfortable.  And how was I to prove it when she made sure to keep the photos of him hidden from me?
"So how did you find out?"
He wrote to her often and I read it all - but she could deny contact with him whenever I'd ask.
"I see...well burn them all in the hell of your past!"
I intend to.  And so now, when I see the memory of us, I can't help but feel that my time with her was truly wasted.
"A double edge sword!  You learned a lot from this."
Truly speaking, if there's no trust there's no relationship!
"We both know that."
As did they.  I told her that I dislike being lied to.  She said the same goes for her...
"She lied."
Oh only constantly!
"Well, you're better off!"
My mind definitely agrees.  My heart, on the other hand, still feels for her...
"Love?"
Hell no!  What it feels is betrayal!
"Understandably so.  But let Karma deal with her."
She'll get what she deserves?
"I promise you, she will."

Considering the Possibilities...

It is said that in order to better understand oneself, man must travel - whether it is as far away as another continent, or as close as the next neighbouring city.  So I travelled.  And through my travel experiences I learned that the grass is not always greener on the other side.  The pastures of our own backyard can be just as lively and just as healthy, if and when the proper time and care is taken to cultivate what has already been taken for granted.
But prior to learning of this truth, I simply pondered: Why do people feel a need to travel?  My answer came in the form of puzzles that I gathered in time and watched as it took shape to reveal its colourful intent.
People often want to leave their home and venture into the unknown with the hopes of filling a void that is only present as a result of some form of personal neglect.  This form of neglect comes from within - so it is easy to pretend that nothing in the homeland satisfies and; therefore, it is meant to be found elsewhere in the distance. In most circumstances, it is a sense of unhappiness that triggers this desire to test the will of self on stranger lands.
This concept above lead me to break free from the sheltered world I lived in.  And I travelled far away from all comforts; learning, and learning again.  Not only did I learn to appreciate my homeland for the wonderful possibilities that it has to offer, (thus realizing the fact that I had taken many things for granted), but also, through my journey, I learned to discover the essence of self.
I'm glad that I did it and, in a way, I'm glad that I'm not alone on this.
So to answer my previous ponder, I feel as though it is, at times, necessary to take this 'escape route' (as some would call it) when nothing else will satisfy.  Just as important, it is necessary to distance oneself from all comforts and test the will to strive for success in an unknown land where unfamiliar experiences are unavoidable.
Returning to where the heart beats the happiest taught me to appreciate the life I can now lead.  I am fully aware of the various possibilities that are presenting themselves and I am even more aware of my self, (my weaknesses, my strengths, and my abilities to make the right and wrong decisions).

But Change being constant and desires always addressing the needs and wants of all individuals makes it (somewhat) difficult to maintain this sense of awakening.  Sometimes, external factors, such as society's structure or personal matters, have a way of testing this old sense of alertness, causing discomfort within.
Though in my mind and heart I once felt a sense of emptiness and I fed them with my explorations "down-under", I feel as though the sense of fulfilment is being tested yet again as time progresses.
So now I am, once more, considering the possibilities.  The possibilities of integrating myself into something that is somewhat unknown, and somewhat distant - because, technically speaking, I would not really be leaving this "home and native land."
To the East lies a new source of inspiration, and I am taking into consideration exploring what it has to offer my new curiosities.  There's always room for growth.

When I was daydreaming of Summer

Air flare glooming, heat strokes blooming,

Fire in the eyes and contemplations booming;

Sunshine, daisies, bottom mellows,

Wet sunglasses, holy yellows:

Music zooming, air sprays looting,

Canines drooling, quick dips cooling;

Summer loving, sweating, eating;

Healthy body, resting, running;

All smiling – I am king:

Loving the fresh air that embraces me deep.

Water waves take me to a land full of daydreams;

Reminiscent of the old ways with a smile on my face.

Birds chirping, glaring, gliding above;

Fish nets floating, catching, glowing;

Summer loving, feasting, drinking;

Tearing for the sun to cool my being.

Quick dips, feet run away;

The body stays still against the wall coming forth.

Children playing, kites for chasing;

Walks, rehearsing, reversing their downplay;

A quick tour of what’s coming;

Summer dreaming, summer loving.

"The eyes are the windows to the Soul," she said.

She said she saw sadness in my eyes...I wondered  how she was able to read past my smiling image.  It was as if the photograph that she examined was too easily deciphered; not omitting the sense of emptiness that I was feeling upon its capture.
And my words, she read them like an autobiography that unearthed most secrets kept within my mind.  I wondered, "how else am I betraying my essence of mystery?"
She said there would be no way of countering this explanation; she said she had gotten a glimpse of my soul. And here I wondered why this stranger did not make me uncomfortable, nor did I feel the urge to hide behind the blanket of inexplicable vagueness that idles the mind to succumb to the acceptance of confusion.
She made me question it.
Now I stare at my eyes, waiting for a glimpse of my Soul to speak to me.

A Resurfacing Struggle

My traits are scattered like ashes onto an uncontested ocean.  My sense of being, my beliefs; the values of thoughts and guidance that once hid the dark passenger from the views of future victims - it is being hindered by something obscure, something unknown yet familiar.


I find myself struggling with the discipline lost at the crossroads; trying to remain calm, to keep my sanity, to ameliorate the discontent that threatens to resurface...
I dislike the indecision to fight for the unbeatable or take flight into the nothingness of broken promises.  The hope being that my lessons learned will be remembered and applied dutifully as I had myself convinced that I was not, indeed, mad.


Where am I to go if home-sweet-home is a mirage, a reflection of my man-made hell?


I inquire within...