Entries / entradas
I AM ON A TRAIN TOWARDS SANTA BARBARA.
Five hours are ahead of me.
The noises creak into iron cycles.
Metal touching edges of oceans.
It trails.
Sitting I am watching the clusters of nameless powders
looking for ground.
There is a lacking testimony wild with dust.
waters
clouds
fire
I am wondering why all of this happening,
while the cosmos whisper things I can not understand.
Flickering, the city is ending.
Five hours are ahead of me.
A foreign presence is working mechanically.
Existence has been repeating itself between silver threads of a past. A past that likes to recall itself as art.
That past always waits long enough to become poetic love, and it has always been my greatest... I always know how to come back to back to it. Know how to keep it alive. But something has been happening, and I do not know exactly when it started.
I think it was the time when I was on the train towards Denver. I was watching the city lights from a cold distance move like magnets.
Everything was trying to connect.
And I think it was the time I was driving in the outskirts of San Antonio. When the fading moon was folding into to the stars, and one single line of light touched the surface of land.
Maybe it was on the last day of 2017 when I sat in church wearing all black, praying to my God, the universe, angels, saints and loved ones. Everything I once knew before was becoming unknown.
Something about me has died, and it is not a physical death that I can see. It is something I feel deeply, somewhere inside.
It is that part of me I have forgotten how to keep alive.
and the sea comes
it cracks memories onto the swollen lining.
November 24, 2017
Denver, Colorado.
Time is something I never count, but here, right now my body can’t stop noticing the sound of a moving clock.
My breath has been repeating itself with the same air for two days. Twenty oily strands of hair rest behind my right ear. I have pushed them back more than sixty times.
My stomach is still moving with the patterns of the train, even though the train has stopped. I move towards the exit, and step down in four steps. I touch ground. I am back in Denver, Colorado after six months, and the lights at Union Station place themselves in the same spots they have touch me before. I feel it. My heart becoming twice as heavy, remembering the way love spills blue joyful sadness. Remembering how many times it had spilled on these grounds.
I’m walking fast trying to avoid the air from hitting my face, looking for Evon to appear in the crowd. I see him. My eyes begin to water from the wind, but I know it is that living thought I had brought from California coming out.
He runs towards me and I don’t know what else to do, but to start running too. We hold each other, and the warmth of his body feels different. He is different. This is different.
“It’s so good to see you” he says.
I stay quiet and try to hide the fact of my exhaustion.
We let go of each other and I wipe the water from eyes.
“How was your trip?” he asks.
The veins of reality hide between the city crowds and lights. Nothing feels real. The air moves in every corner, violent and dry it pushes through every fiber of me. My mind is trying to go back to the place it knew six months ago. That place is gone. He is gone. They are gone. I am gone.
“Why are they so many people?” I ask.
“They are lighting up the Christmas Tree. People get excited over things like that”
I begin to watch the people around. Excitement is visible in their eyes, and in the way their bodies stand, even in the cold. It is a committed energy overflowing for one single moment.
“I need a cigarette” I reply.
We step into the 7/11 and I buy a pack of American Spirits. I had stopped smoking cigarettes, but thirty-two hours collected enough memories and my mind is trying to live in the past.
“Oh god, I have missed this” I put a cigarette in my mouth. The smell and sensation of watching the cigarette light is a long forgotten truth.
We begin to walk towards the great walls of the city, and run into a scene I am so greatly fond of. Highlighted deeply underneath a city lamp, a book. A red solid thick Holy Bible standing there, watching us.
“I knew something like this was going to happen tonight”
“That’s why I love this city” Evon walks towards the bible and places his body right next to it.
He stands there and held by his right hand, between his fingers the white stick. Without any effort the life of the cigarette comes out his lungs. I take out my camera. The movement becomes and throws the yellow markings of permanence turns towards the ground. I press the button and it all exhausts back into impermanence. I let go. I look up at the tall buildings. The city. The city is trying, no, I am trying to forget the feeling that this is new. Forget that this like everything else that happened here will end.
But Evon and I are together again in the city. Running and speaking to the dark metro ridges. That invisible language becoming real again.
“This is a sign” he says and reaches to open the book. “Do you have question?”
“I’m too tired for questions”
He puts the book down.
“Someone else will find it”
We walk away from the scene, and hold those questions inside of me. They are the same questions I have held for three years now.
APRIL 6, 2019
FLOWERS OF WINE, OR HALF-MOON WATERFALLS
February 22, 2020
A Remembrance to the Cedar Waxwing
Today we buried you
the hiding solidity
among the
yellow wombs
of your
remembrance
to the red winter
berries
an exchangement
disappearing
the summer extending
itself to october
a hemisphere of
patience
and our hands
among the dirt
humming
stillness
the places
you fill now
further than
this dividing light
of absence