Leaving Behind A Dead Weight Heart - Final Draft

Leaving
Behind A
Dead Weight
Heart (The
Pine Ave.
Stories)
Carlo Quintanilla
Published by FastPencil, Inc.

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First Edition
Contents
Chapter 1 Under the Dim Light of a Street Lamp -
Bajo la Opaca Luz de una Lampara de
Calle .................................................. 1
Chapter 2 12:00 A.M. Y me di cuenta que .................. 5
Chapter 3 12:30 A.M. Cleaning Begins ...................... 7
Chapter 4 1:00 A.M. The Lost Letter ........................ 9
Chapter 5 2:00 A.M. Gray Cold Sky ....................... 13
Chapter 6 3:00 A.M. Reflejo ................................. 17
Chapter 7 4:00 A.M. Sunday Evening ..................... 19
Chapter 8 5:00 A.M. Simulacra ............................. 21
Chapter 9 6:00 A.M. A Esperar por Mi .................... 23
Chapter 10 7:00 A.M. La Ultima Carta ..................... 25
Chapter 11 8:00 A.M. Black Market Living ................ 27
Chapter 12 9:00 A.M. UNTITLED I ........................ 29
Chapter 13 10:00 A.M. Compression ....................... 31
Chapter 14 11:00 A.M. Cigarettes, whisky and an
Empty Room ...................................... 35
Chapter 15 12:00 P.M. The Day Off ........................ 39
Chapter 16 1:00 P.M. UNTITLED II ....................... 41
Chapter 17 El Ritual ............................................ 43
1
Under the Dim Light
of a Street Lamp -
Bajo la Opaca Luz de
una Lampara de Calle
POEMA 20 - Puedo escribir los versos.

…..Puedo escribir los versos mas tristes esta noche. Yo
la quise, y aveces ella tambien me quiso.
oir la noche inmensa, mas inmensa sin ella. Y el verso
cae al alma como al pasto el rocio.
La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos
arboles. Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los
mismos.
De otro. Sera de otro. Como antes de mis besos. Su
voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos.
Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero. Es tan
corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido.
1
2 Leaving Behind A Dead Weight Heart (The...
Aunque este sea el ultimo dolor que ella me causa, y

estos sean los ultimos versos que yo le escribo.
-PABLO NERUDA, 20 poemas de amor y una can-
cion desperada.
THE OBSERVANT (INTRO)

There’s a probability for rain,
The weather man said.
There’s a chance that I often forget,
How far I’ve come,
The voice inside my head said.
Condescendingly.
I remember grandma one evening,

Talking about,
Recipes, ingredients and magic spices.
I wondered for, I wished for, I looked for,
Similar ways, that could’ve had explain
To me then, the Formula of Letting Go.
Along the pages of books I didn’t even finish,

On the back of documents,
I don’t even know why I still kept,
I found amanzinly fond, misspelled, unfinished
thoughts,
On small little pieces,
At first glance seemly erratic,
But in truth overwhelmingly emotional,
Not quite senseless but: Eloquently Pointless.
Under the Dim Light of a Street Lamp… 3
I found words like “unafraid”,

Not convincingly enough rationalizations,
About unattachment and choices,
About how is never said enough,
I used to find impatience as a valid excuse to,
Get angry at the current circumtances then.
Somehow, somewhere, I understood that,

Finding my soul wasn’t a puzzle,
I needed to build piece by piece,
To unravel it;
But a step by step journey within,
To discover it.
Time will always be a splinter,

I always will be the observant, and
Now is always the right time to keep going.
Enough said, Farewell.
Long Beach, CA. 110609.

2
12:00 A.M. Y me di
cuenta que
Me has devuelto las noches llenas de pasion,

Me has dirigido por ese camino de los sentimeintos
que no logro completamente enteder,
una corazonada me murmulla al oido,
Y todo lo que se, es que poco a poco voy callendo.
Por primera vez le tengo miedo a perder,

tal es el motivo por el cual yo batallo contra
todas estas caricias que se desesperan por tu
cuerpo bajo la opaca luz de tus candelas.
Mirame!
por favor olvidate del sudor de mi cuerpo
Por lo menos en este momento…
mirame,
5
y por favor hazme saber si esto es lo que vos queres de mi

decimelo tan siqueira esta vez sin que yo tenga que leer
entre las lineas…si eres feliz.
Te recuerdo que yo no necesito tu cuerpo,

pero si tu calor.
Ahora se, que a medida que pase el tiempo nos
llenaremos esos espacios vacios que nos deja el tiempo,
la soledad, los demas.
Yo estare aqui para que vos me dejes limpiar tus lagrimas,
haci como vos, sin darte cuenta me ayudas
caricia a caricia a olvidar mis ensiguridades.
Dejate ser libre y permitete hacerme caer en amor

por vos. No se como decirte todo para yo respirar
tranquilo, pero pienso en tu belleza y me vuelvo a
perder.
June 10, 2005

*The Pine Ave. Stories.
3
12:30 A.M. Cleaning
Begins
I realize there’s a lot that has been lost;

From within me, from the hours, from the rational and
calm side of my character,
My heart and mind is the city and the field upon a
blown bridge,
Bits of air disappear in every thought that contains your
image,
Like the shape of a cloud disappears during a blink.
The daily labyrinth towards your body would always by

far,
Be more rewarding than spending the night deci-
phering riddles on how to deal without it.
I look for any clues you might have left in this room,
That could point to the reason,
7
But instead I found how your perfume still hangs onto

some of my shirts,
An empty bottle of your body lotion, little notes tat-
tooed with red lipstick,
All of this happening while I’m thinking to myself of
how much of a cliché all of this is.
I laugh.
Everything just takes me back, like a circle, like a dog
chasing his own tail, like that one
labyrinth I would deligthfully let myself get lost into.
4
1:00 A.M. The Lost
Letter
So, are we back to none? Back to this is enough?

Back to that well known feeling of ours which
regardless of all this time it seems like nothing is
been there or nothing could probably be. This
time I will not make unnecessary excuses for the
stupid devices of your own creation.
I’m done with this gut feeling that often makes me

doubt what I really feel and although the randomness of
your being has always been a delight to my curiosity, for
now I’m done trying to constantly transcribe your emo-
tions into barely possible notions of meaning.
9
I’m well aware that we’re constantly trying to catch up

with our futures but know that whatever past and haughti-
ness we leave here behind sooner or later is gonna try to
bring up the receipts upon our decisions.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m just as willingly not to give a
damn as well, I’m just not willing to let my heart pay for
whatever mess our words couldn’t resolve. Unlike you it
seems I understand that I first will need to move on before
I can begin to forget.
Could we be honest with ourselves and look a little

deeper than this frustration and resentment, understand
that we’re both the victims of our instincts, the routine
and this society.
It’s there any chance we could find a place between

gaining and loosing; a place where neither of us is scared
to give up more? I know we both can agree that often
times been direct and clear doesn’t always specify certain
things nor doesn’t mean that we won’t have to give up
something along the way, but isn’t a bit of peace of mind
and the fast-forward to the end of pointless arguments
worth a try?
Your colors have been, to me, very appealing. Your

have been my dearest sunset: beautiful and calm suddenly
cold and dark, then gone.
Either way, I’ll be here lost and tangled between my

words just a little longer, trying to rearrange them perhaps
1:00 A.M. The Lost Letter 11
on a way you can comprehend, ignoring the possibility

that you might neither want or need to hear them.
Well, since I don’t believe in good byes, I’ll hang to a so

long.
5
2:00 A.M. Gray Cold
Sky
I raise my glass to the strange sides of life, to the layer of

disguises beneath the skin, and to all these long empty
days of mine. A gray cold sky makes its way through the
shore, calmly and discretely, like a predator upon the pray;
hiding the storm like a secret already known. It is said that
crying doesn’t belong to real man, but to be pathetically
honest right now, my heart needs a little help; I clean my
cheek, it’s beginning to rain. For a second there I thought I
was…this rain is more clever than I thought.
Oddly enough I remind myself that fall it’s only a day

gone.
So, how come it feels like I got here way too late?
13
Then again, déjàvus tend to lie to me casually without a

regard of time.
This place welcomes the three corners of the world

warmly; here these angry waves are my temple, a reflec-
tion of my soul. Here my imagination flees along the
hunting bird, freedom seems a finger tip distance away,
but the truth is I know I’m not even close.
A giggle of some girls wrestling in the sand remains me

about the memories I came here to forget but that in fact I
happen to fail every time. I have already been a fool long
enough by trying to keep lying to my soul about the things
I happen to feel inside and keep doing so besides denial,
it’s simply absurd.
Maybe tomorrow this gray won’t seem too dark; I hope

the rain still remains though, at least until tomorrow to
welcome you, simply because once upon a time rainy days
were our favorite days.
Maybe tomorrow you’ll be here, at least that’s what the
letter in my hand insinuates, perhaps you’re already on
your way. I know your story way too well, like not to figure
out that you didn’t leave anything that important like your
childhood memories or your dirty towels hanging in my
bathroom…or me.
I try to stop myself from going around it so much, but

what else can one do before an abyss when having wings.
It is here where I always face such a lack of self control.
2:00 A.M. Gray Cold Sky 15
The one you left a while back doesn’t longer await, but
ironically enough still remembers.
My worries are not that many, but what you mean to

me is enough like to wonder about what are you going to
be able to find, I apologize for the following question, but
I happen to feel is the most relevant… do we find any-
thing at all? What are you pretending to do with your
come back? I wish that I somehow could have been able to
find a way to tell you that I still needed some more time to
get things right.
Does anything really matter, really? Does it all really

fade away? Does it all this really become that blurry that
we pretend to ignore that we have no direction at all. I
know that finding tomorrow will be not a problem; I know
that digging all the wasted time, memories and regrets
won’t be so hard, but how about bring it all back? Would I
want to? Or more importantly, why would I? But I’m sure
all the reasons and answers fit in that purse of yours along
your red lipstick and pride.
We all know that questions are meant to give an

answer, but where will do all this rhetorical questioning
take me? Tonight all I hope for is to be able to fade away,
slowly and softly, like a whisper; from everyone memories
and mind…then suddenly from mine.
6
3:00 A.M. Reflejo
Talvez no sea tanto el decir adios, pero es q’

dejaste en este lugar tu memoria como una de
esas lluvias q’ cae por las tardes dejando tanto
charco y frio, y es tu naturaleza erotica la q’ me
sigue teniendo al borde de tus precipitaciones.
Atardeceres en cajas de cristal…
Lo ideosingratico de la vanindad q’ te lleva a la igno-

rancia, poniendo al lado lo q’ es bello, lo q’ vale. Perdien-
dote en el engano de un reflejo cuando es tan simple ver
hacia dentro y precenciar lo verdadero.
Estoy atado a la reaccion en cadena de lo inesperado, lo

agudo de este deseo si lo sigo reteniendo me va a suc-
cionar y es que en la desesperacion un segundo perdido se
17
siente como si es el ultimo q’ existe. Y sin saberlo ya voy

dando vueltas entre las olas.
Quisiera poder desnudarme ante tus ojos, tirando

como en lujuria las ropas que cubren mis palabras y para
cuando los primeros rayos de la manana alcanzen nuestros
cuerpos nos daremos cuenta q’ nunca tuvo q’ ser neces-
ario quitarse una prenda.
7
4:00 A.M. Sunday
Evening
Sunday,
always so nostalgic and Bohemian and there is nothing
I can do about it, that’s the nature of this day over my
being. I’m conveniently powerless against the basic
instincts of my soul. It’s interesting how easily your
memory can override my process of thought. At this
moment I got more important things to worry about
besides the gray of the sky, the leafless becoming of trees
or leafs traveling at supersonic speeds.
Couple of Sundays ago I could have careless about
what month and time of the day it was, you were here,
under this blankets. A sudden image which now as I’m sit-
ting here trying to rearrange my priorities hunts me, hit-
ting me in the chest like if a bomb just exploded under
calm waters and if I want to avoid any damage I better
19
snap out of it giving myself light speed excuses explaining

why everything is better off this way.
So much has built up inside this place, roots of silence
have grown accustom to this walls, getting thicker as
another day is gone and new found pains are shut. New
picture frames of black holes form in the autumn and the
finals summits of a cold winter now hanging by the
window while my soul is screaming on mute on a Sunday
afternoon.
8
5:00 A.M. Simulacra
Inspire me.
Delight me.
Indulge me.
Remind me and then forget me, but do it softly.
Mystical sounds of memories play in the background.
And as strong as they come, I stay quiet, I try to stay calm.
My being inhibits within these letters, but I have forgotten
how to reach him.
Here I am, naked and vulnerable against my conscious-
ness,
Indecision and rage, with the keys to a lock I been ignoring
it exist.
With the keys to a lock, I lie when I say I can’t find or see.
This exit door only takes me back to where I just was.
Stuck in simulacra.
The fear is now only a visitor, a passenger or hitchhiker.
21
The melody gets more soothing, therefore against my will,

it digs deeper certain feelings.
Feelings which take me right out from under. I picture the
clapping of red shiny shoes,
But not going back is happening.
Thanks for remind me how much I adore this place.
For once in a long time I can claim, I haven’t feel this
humble and my heart is grateful and
nude
December 11, 2008 6:10

PM *The Pine ave. stories
9
6:00 A.M. A Esperar por
Mi
Buscando ese espacio medio, el de la balanza.

Es tan fustrante andar en tanta carrera sin tener a
donde ir.
Pero porq’ se me hace tan dificil caminar un poco mas
despacio? Pero que tan complicado puede ser calmar una
conmocion de pensamientos? Que tan dificil puede ser
razonar un poco mas anter de hablar? Porq’ putas es tan
dificil entender el entendimiento?
Y es que siendo honesto conmigo mismo, la verdad es
que tu nunca fuieste ni seras, la pregunta o la respuesta, el
problema o la solucion, simplementas eras un amanecer
rentado, con fecha de expiracion.
Un cambio de vida al mismo tiempo que un cambio de
temporada pueden complementarse tanto, las calles se
ponen mas calientes, los dias mas vacios. Pido por un poco
23
de sentido como quien pide por la sal en una mesa de

treinta o como un loco q’ le reclama por sus penas al aire
en plena calle. Una dia sin sentido, es una noche sin signi-
ficado en la cual la cual la naturaleza envuelta libera mi
mente por ratos.
Yo q’ sin resentimiento entiendo que por el momento
me hace falta como una extra cucharada para mi cafe; que
tan facil es imaginarse las mil y una maneras en que la otra
persona ni nos extraña, pero lo dificil no es aceptar que
talvez le pasa lo mismo, lo dificil es ponernos en sus
zapatos.
Todo lo que ahora brota, brota seco, todo lo en que mis
manos nacia era todo lo que se desprendia de tu belleza y
desnudez, de las conversaciones despues del desvelo,
despues de jugar a las escondidas con nuestros secretos.
Y ahora que me levante con un poco de fuerza, cami-
nare hacia esa banca donde comteplabamos la luna tantas
noches obscuras y esperare…pero esta vez por el poco de
mi que perdi.
10
7:00 A.M. La Ultima
Carta
Te doy estas paginas para q’ en la soledad encon-

tres mi compania. Porque en estas paginas yo te
encuentro secretamente entre mantos estelares,
estrellas fugases y eclipse lunares.
Porque yo se que estas paginas hasta ahora nunca han
mentido y por eso simpre te describen bellamente. Mi
nina porque estas son las paginas de nuesta vidas, en estas
paginas van las cenizas de mis lagrimas, el grito embotel-
lado de cuanto te he necesitado, el chocolate con canela
de mis noches de frio, aqui la presencia de mi alma es
siempre desnuda.
Entre estas paginas por mas que yo trate de mentir todo
se disfraza con la verdad, con la que te llege amar en aquel
bosque aculto de nuestros corazones, y por mientras esto
25
duro te agradesco por hager viajado conmigo un trazo del

infinito.
Porque yo no creo en los adioses, solo en hasta luegos
demasiado prolongados.
11
8:00 A.M. Black Market
Living
Life seems to be only life, business is only busi-

ness.
-And I can only hope that in life not everything has a
price-
But in life everything seems to be negotiable, so among
us the living is the business of life.
So I often question, how can I spend what I got left
from this fantasy, so at the end I get the exact change
back?
Or what would I need to give in order to get another
chance?
27
12
9:00 A.M. UNTITLED I
Between, half empty shot glasses and hollow

back and forth steps between the kitchen and my
room.
There is something missing and I’m not going to find it
tonight, at least not here; not feeling this tired, not
without a better subjectivity towards reality, not feeling
this absent.
The best I can hope for is that I somehow can turn the
rage that this living has created in me into innocent butter-
flies.
Any scars left are not longer a reminder of pain, but a
vague reminder that once upon these moonlights the con-
cept of love made way more sense.
apologies then have become overrated.
I really wonder, what comes over me?
29
-transcribed on
11102009
Notes: not dated, but I’m sure it has been at least a

year and half or more.
13
10:00 A.M.
Compression
If I could only remember the words shouting out of

my head into the morning while driving.
After spending another weekend, wrapped up in beta
waves and although it’s over, my mind remains tangled upon
subjects like my lack of concentration, lack of direction, lack of
sense towards things I could care but I don’t, how the means
define a purpose.
And every maze is nothing but a trap of my own making, a
self born riddle with no answer. Just to disturb me with the
stupid ways of the complex human mind, Just to disturb me
with the thought that this is probably the reason why our
nature likes to complicate things.
Focus.
Focus.
Focus…
31
I’ll begin to search for a way, any way in which words, if

the right ones were to be found could find redemption, from
me self.
Find a sympathetic feeling, within me, towards me.
Unblock reason, acquire purpose, and understand time.
In there somewhere lies the reason of the intent, I’m here
trying to make.
Why solitude, it’s not longer that friend that used to help
me find calm?
The Caesar’s finger of solitude is pointing downwards
tonight and the shadows of the night claim euphoric, to see my
attempts to survive another round in this coliseum of echoes.
Forgiveness might actually begin by realizing that: one is
his own pointed finger, one it’s his own judge, one is his own
court, and one is his own prison and prisoner, but more
importantly oneself is its own savior.
Freedom might actually begin by daring to weight the
depth of our intentions and unmasked feelings. And tonight I
will meditate upon my states of mind, knowing in every
thought I have meant no harm, if any; it has been towards me
and even then not intentionally.
Tonight the vision of myself will be the one the matters
most.
Because peoples respect, can be obtain by deceiving them,
Self value can only be achieved by learning to live with one
self.
An unknown purpose is trying to win a race over a poten-
tial meaningless life and my head feels like at 85 on 3dr.
10:00 A.M. Compression 33
October 08, 2008 9:56 AM

*The Pine Ave. Stories
14
11:00 A.M. Cigarettes,
whisky and an Empty
Room
Somehow I begin to think about it…

Truth being said
I was expecting you, dear inquietude of mine…
I light up a cigarette; where the fuck is my ashtray…?
Puff,
I couldn’t find it!
so I used this one big sea shell she once gave me
with marker writings and heart drawings
that said how much she…..
Puff
Everything else will now spiral down from here,
Puff,
Then my always-dusted trail and parade
35
of questions begin
Why? Why? How? The pendulum between sense and non-
sense sets in motion. Fuck! Fuck!
Puff,
I realize how beat up my soul is,
is there anything…..
That could possible help you?
Help me…?
Help us heal…?
You and I…?
Puff,
How can two puzzles with missing pieces complete each
other?
I don’t want to be pessimist
but I honestly can’t see this pieces fit…
I know that is a feeling and question we both can agree
with…
Puff,
I think about that one little recent chitchat we had
that one past night
in that one bed…
I sarcastically smile…inside
Puff,
Our clothes coming off can’t be taken guilty of a decision
we
chose to take;
of those true things I said, which I’m not sure if
You end up believing they were…
Oh well.
Puff,
11:00 A.M. Cigarettes, whisky and an Empty… 37
All those fears we can’t perceive while hiding behind,

fake smiles and happy moments
while we’re surrounded by others…
Isn’t that such a convenient place to hide??
Isn’t??
Puff,
It seems the more sense I’m trying to make out this,
the less reason I am find in it…
Puff,
I know I’m not okay, probably tomorrow I’ll be better,
probably not,
probabilities! nothing more but a
walk through a dark tunnel wondering what’s beyond
the little bright dot in its depths
Puff,
…And for all that I could really care, besides all this non-
sense
you plus I
equal to the unknown odds that all we
are for now its nothing but the mere possibility of a proba-
bility
Puff,
Chances hanging like a broken frame in a forgotten wall,
Chances are I will hardly dare to say the words I need to
say,
Chances are I might be protecting myself from the words
holding the
meaning of the feelings I’m scared to feel, again.
Puff,
Well, tonight it seems this is all I was able to find,
certainly I wasn’t able to find you,

certainly I wasn’t able to find any concrete answer,
-Neither was I looking for one-
and most defenily I wasn’t able to find any resting sleep,
Any comforting dream at least with you in it.
Puff,
Fuck it! Tomorrow I might just pretend, no so much dif-
ferent than
yesterday, but, there’s some other times I am just too
fucking tired like to put on that one familiar disguise…
everyone thinks I am…
Puff,
Fallen snow over a sea shell,
For now it’s more
the alcohol running through my veins than life itself,
Well,
I suppose that the echo of my thoughts,
before becoming completely crazy,
can only last so long.
Which one will prevail?
puff,
My eyes, now, a loose alcoholic waterfall,
Another empty pack,
Another empty bottle,
Another empty night,
Same Empty Room
15
12:00 P.M. The Day Off
The alarm clock was blinking double digits again!

I checked my watch; damn I’m Late, again.
I rushed back into my pants; I looked for the cleanest
shirt I could find, fuck I needed to release that morning
wiss so bad.
I tried to gain some control, you know, the one we try
to fool ourselves into when it’s completely hopeless to
walk in a straight line.
Not again! Abstracted in some irrationality, while
hooked in the reflected image of myself on the bathroom
mirror and somehow the thought of the painkillers in the
kitchen cabinet helped me move perhaps the same way a
string moppet comes alive.
As I reached for my wallet, keys and cell phone I wished
for a cup of coffee in the same exaggerated way TV has
portrayed addicts asking for a quick fix, but whatever
39
amount of whiskey was left in that center table seemed

like a good idea at least until I found out that my cigarette
pack was empty.
Turning the knob and opening that door felt just like
opening one of those mystery doors I have dreamt about
which only takes me to another door: then I’m standing
right below a sunset, and another: then I wonder about
atomic bombs and another: until sunlight it’s kind enough
to slap me back in track.
Sun glasses and an I don’t care swagger; I checked my
cell for any miss calls or messages. All I found was a call
from an unknown number and surprisingly enough… to
my liking of course, that it was a Saturday. Fuck me!
16
1:00 P.M. UNTITLED II
Today, it feels like if my will has sneaked out on

me, sometime while I was asleep and my bed
played the partner at crime very well.
I try to rationalize my lack of energy and rapidly
increase of animosity, probably the reason why, lately, it
all seems so pointless.
You and I were always the last light on, tonight my light
will be the first off, even when I know I’ll be last asleep.
Here I am in this room with enough air for both,
regardless I’m asphyxiating head deep in emptiness and
withdrawal, hiding between my blankets like if today was a
bad dream, my doors and windows are open just in case I
need to escape and my skin somehow embraces the unfor-
giving cold of this end of year….
As a human being I’m naturally fascinated by any sort
of illusion and as such I’ll always give it more credit than
41
they worth. Moving on it’s not that difficult but to throw

whatever illusion of happiness this place deceived me to
believe is a really tricky task and you my dear had the per-
fect disappearing act.
My soul remains quiet, like a fired bullet in trajectory,
like a body in complete inertia.
The streets are all way too familiar now and the routine
around here has been squeezed for as long as it could I’ll
probably be better off accepting that time is an entity with
a monopolistic agenda and that sometimes chapters just
don’t need that expected ending.
17
El Ritual
La mayor conspiracion de guerra es la nuestros

demonios propios. La junta secreta de la sombra
humuna, y aun bajo una piel y un corazon lipido y
olvidado, el respiro es profundo, para no olvidar q’
hay un mundo exterior, para ayudar al alma atra-
pada, para buscar la calma.
Saber que no es concidencia cuando algo parece ser ya tan
familiar, ya que todos somos parte de la conciencia universal,
el laberinto cotidiano, las voces ajenas, las memorias distantes.
El aire tibio de aquellos q’ un dia amamos, y que ahora
solo queda el espasmo de tus dedos alrededor de mis brazos y
espalda de tu ultimo abrazo. Mi piel eriza al toque del
recuerdo.
43
Un organismo ya adormecido, y que el error mas grave es

tartar de peliar con fantasmas, vientos perdidos y figuras que
brotan de la obscuridad.
La piscucha enrredada entre cables.
Las lagrimas mas bien pudieron ser imaginarias, la parte
mas humana de mis entranas, es ahora distante, el scenario de
montañas envueltas en neblina… Lo absurdo de no poder res-
pirar aun estando atrapado en un mundo de oxigeno.
Una herida en el ego, una flecha disparada entre humos, el
remedio amargo, la noche es fria y el vino hoy sera servido en
el cadiz que un tiempo atras dio de beber sangre.
La luces de la ciudad distantes,
Las luces de las candelas forman un pentagrama,
La receta brutal, pero talvez exacta,
Un llamado de tregua al inconciente,
Un llamdo de emergencia al cosmos,
Una anecdota para el miedo,
y ahora buscaras las escusas mas apropiadas,
Q’ alejen el temor.
la humildad ajena, abriendo los brazos y mostrando mi
piel palida, y aunq’ mis extensiones tiemblan, estoy listo a
recivir.
Porq’ redencion talvez existe, aunq’ sea solemente en el
mundo mental.
Y es que todos tenemos que habrir las puertas de la muerte,
para encontrar la ruta que nos traera de regreso a lo mortal.
Nada mas que el amor.
Y son las cuestiones de mi alma, las q’ hoy me han traido a
las ciencias ocultas del entendimiento, sin precisamente saber
si e encontrado la luz o solo otro tunnel.
El Ritual 45
Y si en mi corazon ya es dificil encontrar de aquel tipo de

amor, pues talvez y puedo encontrar el olvido.
La ley de la naturaleza en algun curso alterado, y es q’ yo
soy el herido, es mi alma la q’ te busca entre nudos.
Y es q’ la ira mas amarga, es la propia, es la mas tangible,
la q’ te quita el sueño, es la que hace q’ al final caigamos en
nuestras mismas trampas, es la mañana siguente, en la que
conquistarse uno mismo no es controlarse pero enterderse.
November 17, 2008
4:09 PM *The Pine Ave. Stories

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POEMA 20 - Puedo escribir los versos.

Aunque este sea el ultimo dolor que ella me causa, y

THE OBSERVANT (INTRO)

I remember grandma one evening,

Along the pages of books I didn’t even finish,

I found words like “unafraid”,

Somehow, somewhere, I understood that,

Time will always be a splinter,

Long Beach, CA. 110609.

Me has devuelto las noches llenas de pasion,

Por primera vez le tengo miedo a perder,

y por favor hazme saber si esto es lo que vos queres de mi

Te recuerdo que yo no necesito tu cuerpo,

Dejate ser libre y permitete hacerme caer en amor

June 10, 2005

I realize there’s a lot that has been lost;

The daily labyrinth towards your body would always by

But instead I found how your perfume still hangs onto

So, are we back to none? Back to this is enough?

I’m done with this gut feeling that often makes me

I’m well aware that we’re constantly trying to catch up

Could we be honest with ourselves and look a little

It’s there any chance we could find a place between

Your colors have been, to me, very appealing. Your

Either way, I’ll be here lost and tangled between my

on a way you can comprehend, ignoring the possibility

Well, since I don’t believe in good byes, I’ll hang to a so

I raise my glass to the strange sides of life, to the layer of

Oddly enough I remind myself that fall it’s only a day

Then again, déjàvus tend to lie to me casually without a

This place welcomes the three corners of the world

A giggle of some girls wrestling in the sand remains me

Maybe tomorrow this gray won’t seem too dark; I hope

I try to stop myself from going around it so much, but

My worries are not that many, but what you mean to

Does anything really matter, really? Does it all really

We all know that questions are meant to give an

Talvez no sea tanto el decir adios, pero es q’

Atardeceres en cajas de cristal…

Lo ideosingratico de la vanindad q’ te lleva a la igno-

Estoy atado a la reaccion en cadena de lo inesperado, lo

siente como si es el ultimo q’ existe. Y sin saberlo ya voy

Quisiera poder desnudarme ante tus ojos, tirando

snap out of it giving myself light speed excuses explaining

The melody gets more soothing, therefore against my will,

December 11, 2008 6:10

Buscando ese espacio medio, el de la balanza.

de sentido como quien pide por la sal en una mesa de

Te doy estas paginas para q’ en la soledad encon-

duro te agradesco por hager viajado conmigo un trazo del

Life seems to be only life, business is only busi-

Between, half empty shot glasses and hollow

Notes: not dated, but I’m sure it has been at least a

If I could only remember the words shouting out of

I’ll begin to search for a way, any way in which words, if

October 08, 2008 9:56 AM

Somehow I begin to think about it…

All those fears we can’t perceive while hiding behind,

certainly I wasn’t able to find you,

The alarm clock was blinking double digits again!

amount of whiskey was left in that center table seemed