1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1

fuck 1...
i miss you
i don't care if it’s right or wrong
if i should write you or not
if i should call you or not
if i should see you or not

fuck 1

it's a rainy night in new york city
and i just miss you

that's all

that's the Truth for today

for now

for the mentally insane
for the people in gyms
for the priest
and the top midels
for you
and raymond chandler
and giocometti
and the cavemen
and me
and he

and
i wish i could be with you now
or
i wish you could be with me now
or whatever...

and there are white flowers on the table
and picnics in the parks
and spicy chicken legs in korean restaurants

and who cares?

who gives a damn if i am ok,
if you tell me about your pills,
and your childhood,
and your boyfriend?
Who cares if that transparent loneliness you breath
around gets thicker
and takes you far away from me
to wherever you want to retreat,
to hell
or to home?

who?
fuck honey
what else can a i say,
when it's almost one in the morning
and I have happiness so close I can almost smell it,
and there is nobody around
and i miss you?

what?

i just

hope you are feeling better

hope you can grab a plane and come with me

hope you get this message

because it's burning
and it will burn you too

… one dry day

the road
what the hell?
the road
and that sinking feeling
that last day on earth feeling
that feeling of speed loneliness
that "i don't love her anymore" feeling
that last night on wheels feeling

it was august i recall
it was a bare naked feeling
made of little black shinny cigarettes
that smell like clove
sweet hong kong girls
and tall blonde women that taste like strawberry juice

fake sunglasses
memorabilia
vodka & orange by the river

… but anyway
don't pay any attention to me
it's just a storm of words
that's all
blurry lights in the paper night
UFOs
love
and lost
and all those things
that always happen to be there when you don't think about them
or when you are half slept

or when your stomach aches like a motherfucker
on a friday night and you are by yourself
in a hotel room
in the middle of nowhere
cold feet
broken heart
and piss off because your dam neighbor
is playing that awful music all the time

that kind of feeling
that speed
that loneliness
that warsaw

poem for l

fuck it

fuck “the powers of now”
the “how to change your lives”
the dam habits of the dam “highly effective people”
the side show shrinks
the late afternoon bastards with that easy smile

I don’t wanna be like you
I don’t wanna feel like you

I just wanna lick her legs
and not having to work

I don’t wanna have a fake god
a fake friend
a fake family
a fake happiness

fuck you

don’t try to sell me Salvation,
Salvation never lasts,
is an illusion

don’t try to sell me anything,
don’t try to sell me peace of mind,
peace of mind is a motherfucker,
you have to work on her every day,
and even if you do, she remains quite

fuck the ones who take you by the arm and tell you something like
“it’s all in your hands”
“there’s nothing you can’t get if you really want it”
“I Can Make You Confident”

If it was in my hands
you will be in a hole in the ground;
if I could get anything I really wanted
I would not be working in this shit job,
for this dam money;
and if you want to make a confident guy out of me,
stop telling me I am not

fuck you all
I can’t stand you, liars
there’s no cheap way to put it
there’s no nice way to say it

I do need nobody to inspire me to "unlock my creative potential"
I don’t need your fucking pyramids,
the fucking graphics,
the colurful schemes,
the cheesy powerpoints

fuck the self-discovery,
the god-discovery,
the give-me-all the-money-you-have-discovery,
the spiritual growth and the personal development,
the truth is never in your tongues,
don’t give me that shit

we are lost,
there are no answers

enough with that bullshit,
enough with that the crap

we don’t need that shit,
we don’t need no more superficiality,
compulsive buying,
egocentric,
stupid rules

Don’t trust the ones that want to sell you “the secret”,
there is none,

everything is plain to see

everybody knows what is all this shit about,
and if you think you don’t
read the newspapers,
listen to the people around you,
open your fucking ears and your fucking eyes

and if you still cannot see it
well… fuck you too

haikus for

bajo las orquídeas blancas
cierro los ojos
me muerdo los dedos
escucho a las ambulancias pasar
y pienso en ti, claro

***

Kenya is blowing up in pieces
the snow covers New York
like a white dragon halo
and all I can do is stare
at your picture on the little frame


***

lo ultimo que recuerdo de ella
son sus ojos verdes
bajo la luz amarillenta
de mi cuarto
como luces de papel a lo lejos perdiéndose en el mar

***

la lluvia golpea las ventanas
como si alquien lanzara puñados de agujas
solo
sobre el viejo suelo de madera
una flor pálida
en mis manos

***

my feet are damn cold
I listen to sour songs in the radio
the beautiful snow surrounds me like a hound of angry dogs
I have your delicate scarf with black stars around my neck
I miss you
I miss feeling like I am back home again

i could use somebody

m is like a little cloud of creek delicate eyes,
messy hair
thin white LM cigarettes
and bad words

m is like a walking nervous breakdown
with those plimsolls stepping up and down the bar
the top of the car
my feet
my face

m is really lovely when she is not completely drunk
and i talk to her about all these things
my ghost
the dead people
and such

she drives almost lying in the drivers place
and starts and stops so fast that
i feel like somebody is shaking my guts with a pitchfork
i like it for a while
i like how she fights with herself
how she forgets the dam ticket for the fucking parking
how she misses the traffic lights
how the machine eats her money and never delivers the stupid ticket...

her stomach aches
and she smokes
and she takes the smoke out
and surrounds herself with nicotine like a life vest
and changes the gear
and tells me about her problems with this guy
she used to be with
and smokes
and takes the smoke out
and changes the gear

i embrace her

and

after a few seconds

she embraces me stronger

m is a mess of beautiful turquoise eyes
and smoke from her thin white LM cigarettes
m is really lovely when she is not completely drunk

alive

“You can’t beat death but you can beat death in life” Ch. B.

I see dead people all the time, kid
All the time
I am surrounded by dead people
No matter where I lay my stupid eyes
They are everywhere
Like zombies
Dirty green saliva coming out of their mouths

I see them
they carry plastic bags filled with food from the supermarket
They drive SUV’s like carriages for the dead
They have kids like they had golden bracelets or blue watermelons
They don’t listen to you when you talk
They just don’t even look at you when you pass by

They hide their faces in the subway under empty newspapers
They drink beer from the can at 12 in the morning
They have proper jobs
They earn money
They pay their taxes
And jerk off
Like the rest of us
But they are dead

Some of them sell their bodies
And they are hot as hell, I must admit
Some others give their hands and heads away to friends
Enemies
Fathers
bosses
Mothers

Some others give their bodies to the Church, or the clergymen
Or to stupid and impotent second hand musicians
While they tell you about their mean mother and how empty their life is

They are dead
Absolutely dead

There are a lot of them sniffing cocaine
Swimming in ketamine
Licking the crystals in the little white paper bag like they were licking asses
Eating bugs
Or blowing a louse


They wanna live
But they are all dead

I am even afraid of touching them
Their skin’s cold like a bullet
There’s no heart inside the chest
No blood
No brain
No guts
Just air
Rotten air
Money air
Envy air
Fake air

You might touch them
You might have sex with them
You might have missed them
You might have even loved them
But they are dead
You gotta live with that, man

They watch garbage on the tv all the time
They smile and joke
Some of them even go to concerts
Or read Kerouac
Or plan to go and see a Fellini movie…

They even have good music in their ipods
They send each other text messages
With happy faces and shit
But they are dead
And they know it
They are just trying to forget about it
Deny it
Forget they are dead
As it could be possible…
That’s the worst thing
Knowing that you are living a lie

They travel to far away places
In low cost planes
Or get drunk in crowded VIP rooms
They go to Sidney or Tokyo or Los Angeles
And they wish they were in another place all the time
Away from the tombstones
The bad smell
the self indulgence
but we cannot
is inside us
is just a question of time and balls

Lingerie

I skip out some whores in my way home
I skip out some self-slaughter thoughts too
And three or four cold raindrops
Black as oil from a death Oldsmobile Rocket engine

The yellow light from the street lamps falls
Over the concrete like dozens of rotten eggs
The blackness is shinny like the teeth of your smile
When there’s booze around

I don’t think I’m gonna get over this rain
Oh, honey, I don’t even think I’m gonna make it to the train

So I keep crawling
Moving underneath the rusty aluminum marquees
Like an eel looking for my prey
Biting a match and a treacherous northerly wind
Last time I saw you, you kissed me so sweetly,
you sour orange marmalade queen.
“Don’t leave me”- you begged
“Tout peut s’oublier”
But you know that’s not truth

I don’t think I’m gonna get over this night
Oh, honey, I don’t even think I’m gonna make it to the next light

I try to hide behind the tide
My best enemy is having a smoke behind your closed door
I’m pretty sure she likes you
But then again who does not?
You lying queen

I can smell the cheap drag
I can smell your dashing perfume
And your candles burning

I remember the way you used to light them all for me
I just to think you were paradise

Now I have a pretty silver blade playing in my hands
Oh, I hope I can get out
Because tonight I just scent like a dead man

I don’t think I’m gonna get over this pain
Oh, honey, I don’t even think I’m gonna be able to avoid a nervous strain

So I walk, the devil by my side
Whispering things about my nails in your legs
‘bout your warm breath over my chest
Ah
Ah
Ah
… about my tongue licking your back…
and my teeth biting your butt…
Oh, I hope I can get out
Because tonight I am just dirt in the ground

I don’t think I’m gonna get over this rain
Oh, honey, I don’t even think I’m gonna make it to the train

King Louie gnarls and grumbles
I am doing what I can
I am trying to do my best, sweetheart
But you brought me way down here
And you treat me like a dog
I have lost your good thing
I am about to lose my head
I know some bird has walked in and took my place

I don’t think I’m gonna get the American angelica tree
Oh, honey, how can you do something like this to me?