Ramona, come closer,

Shut softly your watery eyes.

The pangs of your sadness

Will pass as your senses will rise.

The flowers of the city

Though breathlike, get deathlike sometimes.

And there's no use in tryin'

T' deal with the dyin',

Though I cannot explain that in lines.

Your cracked country lips,

I still wish to kiss,

As to by the strength of your skin.

Your magnetic movements

Still capture the minutes I'm in.

But it grieves my heart, love,

To see you tryin' to be a part of

A world that just don't exist.

It's all just a dream, babe,

A vacuum, a scheme, babe,

That sucks you into feelin' like this.

I can see that your head

Has been twisted and fed

With worthless foam from the mouth.

I can tell you are torn

Between stayin' and returnin'

On back to the South.

You've been fooled into thinking

That the finishin' end is at hand.

Yet there's no one to beat you,

No one t' defeat you,

'Cept the thoughts of yourself feeling bad.

I've heard you say many times

That you're better than no one

And no one is better than you.

If you really believe that,

You know you have

Nothing to win and nothing to lose.

From fixtures and forces and friends,

Your sorrow does stem,

That hype you and type you,

Making you feel

That you gotta be just like them.

I'd forever talk to you,

But soon my words

Would turn into a meaningless ring.

For deep in my heart

I know there is no help I can bring.

Everything passes,

Everything changes,

Just do what you think you should do.

And someday maybe,

Who knows, baby,

I'll come and be cryin' to you.

Tengo un animal atrapado en el pecho

No importa lo que haga

Seguirá rugiendo

Mi propósito es real

pero se transforma con el tiempo

A veces también pierdo el rumbo,

pero no estoy perdido,

por dónde sea que vaya

ese será mi camino

Irremediable, inconsolable

Aprendí la lección demasiado tarde

No soy mío pero soy todo lo que tengo

Sigo creyendo que

ir a ningún lado

es mejor acompañado

Pero hoy

El amor se marcha y yo debo irme con él

El amor se marcha y yo me iré con él

Nunca una noche noche venció a un amanecer

El amor se marcha y yo me voy con él

You see, gentlemen, reason is a good thing, that can't be disputed, but reason is only reason and satisfies only man's intellectual faculties, while volition is a manifestation of the whole of life, I mean of the whole of human life including both reason and speculation. And although in this manifestation life frequently turns out to be rubbishy, all the same it is life and not merely the extraction of a square root.

It’s like my whole life never happened

When I see you, it’s as if I never had a thought

I know this dream, it might be crazy

But it’s the only one I’ve got

Businessmen drink my blood Like the kids in art school said they would And I guess I’ll just begin again  You say can we still be friends  If I was scared I would And if I was bored You know I would And if I was yours  But I’m not   All the kids have always known That the emperor wears new clothes But to bow to down to them anyway Is better than to be alone  If I was scared I would And if I was bored You know I would And if I was yours  But I’m not   Now you’re knocking at my door Saying please come out against the night But I would rather be alone Than pretend I feel alright  If the businessmen drink my blood Like the kids in art school said they would Then I guess I’ll just begin again  You say can we still be friends  If I was scared I would And if I was pure You know I would And if I was yours  But I’m not  Now I’m ready to start  If I was scared I would And if I was pure You know I would And if I was yours  But I’m not  Now I’m ready to start  I would rather be wrong Than live in the shadows of your song My mind is open wide  And now I’m ready to start  Your mind surely opened the door To step out into the dark   Now I’m ready

I’ve been walking forty miles of bad road

If the Bible is right, the world will explode

I’ve been trying to get as far away from myself as I can

Some things are too hot to touch

The human mind can only stand so much

You can’t win with a losing hand

Feel like falling in love with the first woman I meet

Putting her in a wheelbarrow and wheeling her down the street

People are crazy and times are strange

I’m locked in tight, I’m out of range

I used to care, but things have changed

Cuando la autodestrucción entra en el corazón, al principio parece un grano de arena. Es como una jaqueca, una indigestión leve, un dedo infectado; pero pierdes el tren de las 8:20 y llegas tarde para solicitar un aumento. El viejo amigo con quien vas a comer de repente agota tu paciencia y para mostrarte amable te tomas tres copas, pero el día ya ha perdido forma, sentido y significado. Para recuperar cierto propósito y belleza bebes demasiado en las fiestas y te propasas con la mujer de otro y acabas por hacer algo tonto y obsceno y a la mañana siguiente desearías estar muerto. Pero cuando tratas de repasar el camino que te ha conducido a este abismo, sólo encuentras un grano de arena.

I see you standing on the other side.
I don't know how the river got so wide.
I loved you, baby, way back when -
And all the bridges are burning that we might have crossed,
but I feel so close to everything we've lost-
We'll never, we’ll never have to lose it again.

invent yourself and then reinvent yourself,
don’t swim in the same slough.
invent yourself and then reinvent yourself
and
stay out of the clutches of mediocrity.

invent yourself and then reinvent yourself,
change your tone and shape so often that they can
never
categorize you.

reinvigorate yourself and
accept what is
but only on the terms that you have invented
and reinvented.

be self-taught.

and reinvent your life because you must;
it is your life and
its history
and the present
belong only to
you.

and you invented me
and I invented you
and that's why we don't
get along
on this bed
any longer.
you were the world's
greatest invention
until you
flushed me
away.

now it's your turn
to wait for the touch
of the handle.
somebody will do it
to you,
bitch,
and if they don't
you will -
mixed with your own
green or yellow or white
or blue
or lavender
goodbye.

Cuando crezca voy a querer lavarme el pelo más seguido. Voy a cantar en la ducha. Me voy a volver a enamorar de la persona que más linda se veía al romperme el corazón. Mi tatuaje no va a tener sentido o, en su defecto, cobrará uno nuevo. Uno que nunca vislumbré para él. Voy a inventar menos canciones pero van a ser más buenas. Me va a gustar la cerveza y no el pisco al seco. La luz no tendrá efecto acusador sobre mi, no será todo un juicio constante. Voy a tomar un desayuno contundente y almorzar a la hora. Me va a dar sueño más temprano pero me voy a acostar más tarde porque las ideas buenas hay que trabajarlas de noche, al menos eso voy a pensar. La responsabilidad no me va a dar tanto miedo. No le voy a tener fobia a extrañar, voy a aprender a re-ubicar los sentimientos. Voy a haber escrito el mejor de los libros de cuentos pero lo voy a haber perdido en un viaje relámpago al lugar donde más me duele estar. Me van a doler menos las cosas, mis cicatrices no se van a notar tanto. Cuando sea (más) grande me daré cuenta de que las cosas hay que apreciarlas como te llegan y no tratar de cambiarlas con tus idealizaciones quinceañeras. Cuando me llamen a almorzar voy a ir enseguida.
No voy a renegar de mis condiciones psicológicas. Si me disparan voy a llevar la bala colgando del cuello. Si me dan un combo en el ojo voy a andar sin lentes por la calle. Si me escriben te amo con lápiz bic en el brazo voy a correr a tatuarmelo.
No sé si algún día dejaré la coca-cola, no sé si nunca más me fume un pito, no sé si alguna vez deje de sentirme de esta manera. El mundo va a seguir dando vueltas y las cosas van a seguir pasando. Voy a escuchar un CD de esta época con las canciones que me mandaban por MSN y voy a llorar de alegría al recordar el sentimiento que siento ahora mismo. Ahora mismo.

Escrito el 11 de mayo de 2006 a la tierna edad de 20 años. Hoy a los 24 podría escribirlo todo otra vez. Aún no me gusta la cerveza, tengo nuevas cicatrices reemplazando a las de entonces y aún aborrezco la responsabilidad. Aprenderé. Aprenderé. Aprenderé. Tengo tiempo. Todo lo que tengo es tiempo.

I need a good woman, I need a good woman

more than I need this typewriter, more than

I need my automobile, more than I need

Mozart; I need a good woman so badly that I

can taste her in the air, I can feel her

at my fingertips, I can see sidewalks built

for her feet to walk upon,

I can see pillows for her head,

I can feel my waiting laughter,

I can see her petting a cat,

I can see her sleeping,

I can see her slippers on the floor.

I know that she exists

but where is she upon this earth

as the whores keep finding me?

According to Aristophanes in Plato's The Banquet, in the ancient world of legend there were three types of people.
In ancient times people weren't simply male or female, but one of three types : male/male, male/female or female/female. In other words, each person was made out of the components of two people. Everyone was happy with this arrangment and never really gave it much thought. But then God took a knife and cut everyone in half, right down the middle. So after that the world was divided just into male and female, the upshot being that people spend their time running around trying to locate their missing half.

Sometimes when I look at you, I feel I'm gazing at a distant star. It's dazzling, but the light is from tens of thousands of years ago. Maybe the star doesn't even exist any more. Yet sometimes that light seems more real to me than anything.

Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn't something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step. There's no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That's the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.

An you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You'll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.

And once the storm is over you won't remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won't even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what this storm's all about.

And it came to me then. That we were wonderful traveling companions but in the end no more than lonely lumps of metal in their own separate orbits. From far off they look like beautiful shooting stars, but in reality they're nothing more than prisons, where each of us is locked up alone, going nowhere. When the orbits of these two satellites of ours happened to cross paths, we could be together. Maybe even open our hearts to each other. But that was only for the briefest moment. In the next instant we'd be in absolute solitude. Until we burned up and became nothing.

We're all going to die, all of us, what a circus! That alone should make us love each other but it doesn't. We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities, we are eaten up by nothing.

For those who believe in God, most of the big questions are answered. But for those of us who can't readily accept the God formula, the big answers don't remain stone-written. We adjust to new conditions and discoveries. We are pliable. Love need not be a command nor faith a dictum. I am my own god. We are here to unlearn the teachings of the church, state, and our educational system. We are here to drink beer. We are here to kill war. We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that Death will tremble to take us.

No hay otra cosa para hablar sino del amor que nos elude y que buscamos apasionadamente como el hundido continente de la Atlántida sumergido bajo el océano del odio del mundo.

You will search, babe, at any cost,
But how long, babe, can you search for what's not lost ?
Everybody will help you,
Some people are very kind.
But if I can save you any time,
Come on, give it to me,
I'll keep it with mine.

I can't help it if you might think I am odd
If I say I'm not loving you for what you are
But for what you're not.
Everybody will help you,
Discover what you set out to find
But if I can save you any time,
Come on, give it to me,
I'll keep it with mine.

Yo soy la voz que encerraste

Porque era demasiado demencial

Pero lo que tengo o tenía que decir

Es todo lo que tú tienes o tuviste jamás

And sometimes I believe your relentless analysis of June leaves something out, which is your feeling for her beyond knowledge, or in spite of knowledge. I often see how you sob over what you destroy, how you want to stop and just worship; and you do stop, and then a moment later you are at it again with a knife, like a surgeon.
What will you do after you have revealed all there is to know about June? Truth. What ferocity in your quest of it. You destroy and you suffer. In some strange way I am not with you, I am against you. We are destined to hold two truths. I love you and I fight you. And you, the same. We will be stronger for it, each of us, stronger with our love and our hate. When you caricature and nail down and tear apart, I hate you. I want to answer you, not with weak or stupid poetry but with a wonder as strong as your reality. I want to fight your surgical knife with all the occult and magical forces of the world.

You are beautiful like demolition. Just the thought of you draws my knuckles white. I don’t need a god. I have you and your beautiful mouth, your hands holding onto me, the nails leaving unfelt wounds, your hot breath on my neck. The taste of your saliva. The darkness is ours. The nights belong to us. Everything we do is secret. Nothing we do will ever be understood; we will be feared and kept well away from. It will be the stuff of legend, endless discussion and limitless inspiration for the brave of heart. It’s you and me in this room, on this floor. Beyond life, beyond morality. We are gleaming animals painted in moonlit sweat glow. Our eyes turn to jewels and everything we do is an example of spontaneous perfection. I have been waiting all my life to be with you. My heart slams against my ribs when I think of the slaughtered nights I spent all over the world waiting to feel your touch. The time I annihilated while I waited like a man doing a life sentence. Now you’re here and everything we touch explodes, bursts into bloom or burns to ash. History atomizes and negates itself with our every shared breath. I need you like life needs life. I want you bad like a natural disaster. You are all I see. You are the only one I want to know.