i miss my friends and even some of the people who act like they´re my friends. i miss the united states, god bless her stained soul and brand new cheap shoes. god bless her good side.

today is the day that the lord has made. i will rejoice and be glad in it.

i went to an easter procession where men carry crosses, bands play, hay la bola de gente, and there are people dressed in robes like the KKK. only they´re purple. but with pointy hats and everything. i think they are supposed to be some sort of spirits that accompanied jesus in his death.

there was a man wrapped in barbwire and actually bleeding. i didn´t think it was for real, but i suppose the contextualization of jesus´death is all out and they suffer with him.

hell, christ seemed like some sort of masochist. i can relate, to some extent, i suppose, if only in putting out cigarettes on my arm.

and at one time, i felt pretty damn good up there on the cross.

the other day i really felt like a raw berghoef and egg sandwich on toast, but of course they were all out.

i´ve been watching movies and walking and eating. but not much else. i´m afraid i will never attain nothingness. which is allness, in it´s mask-like form.

today i got kicked out of class for not reading the story of the day. of the week.

fuck.
i guess i was supposed to go out in the hall and read it, from what i understood; still about 70 percent of the words flew over my head. i have to look them up. i guess it´s a story that all happens backwards.

fucking complicated alejo carpentier.

i love being a part of a BLOGline community.

i'm going to bogota, the humble capitol of colombia, the week after next. it's fucking holy week. i'm a bit nervous about it because my girlfriend can't come with me, and i'm not sure if anyone's going to actually, so it might just be me against the city.

but hopefully not me against the FARQ.

*

this past weekend someone walked up to me with a rock in their hand and just said "un dolar". with a bad-assed face. i told him i didn't have a dollar, i had more than i dollar, i wondered what the hell he was planning on doing with the rock, there was no one around, i gave him 35 cents.

we met going different ways, but when we parted, he started following me. i noticed this. i went into the bus stop and he didn't follow me, i had to pay 25 cents to go into the bus stop, but i could see out of the corner of my eye he was looking at me, then an undistinguishable hand gesture.

i was kind of nervous and afraid. sometimes i don't mind being a coward in this way, because i know in other ways i'm not. but i think you could understand i get kinda nervous at the intersection of money demands and potential assault.

what is it with me and blacks, anyway? yeah, i should probably make some friends with blacks so i don't have to stereotype them, but 66% of blacks i have encounters with on the street really don't seem to help any public relations cause.

yeah, that's kinda racist.

it's just that how can racism feel so right when it's so wrong?

*

the other day i had a thought about being tired of the ivory tower, because before i thought i was doing myself a justice becoming aware of alot of things that have taken place in space and time, somehow drawing closer to the well of experience of humanity in a way, making half-assed theses up about stuff 90% of people don't know about or probably wouldn't care about, drawing closer to something...not eternal, but..i'm not sure of the adjective i'm looking for.

in any case, i thought, well, no, my experience is one that has been far more rare in the history of humanity (although it's becoming less and less), to be fairly educated and to have much more than enough, etc., to know things luxouriously.

and i thought that perhaps that hum of humanity, that constant drone, it may be, is heard loudest through the experience/s of the "common" man, as he's called, although i think that's a bit pejorative.

the working man? spanish expresses it better, i'm talking about a "sentido popular", a popular feeling, a popular meaning, popular referring to people, that mass, rather than the more modern definition we've given to popular as a current trend. or something. far more people have experienced life through eyes we call "ignorant". so why not try and connect with that, in a way?

but unfortunately i've been stained with education.

so that's why i kind of think all those people who give their money to televangelists, etc., i don't know. i wouldn't be so hard on them. because we all try to find some way to numb our pain, maybe they're just not as conscious of the fact that that's what they're doing.

we all need an opiate. mine's smoking cigarettes and drinking beer and drinking caffeine and having orgasms and watching movies and listening to music and being in love. those are my doors. and herbs when they're around.

and just because i'm conscious of them doesn't make me any better, though, does it?

but hell, if the rapture does happen soon i'll be on the first plane back to GR to burn timothy lahaye novels.

and have sex with you.

year of the dog.

i love how this website (http://www.algonet.se/~anki-p/year-of-the-monkey-2004.htm) phrases things:

"Anticipate good times, much activity, and hardy emotional involvement. But Monkey´s influence may inspire Dog to be overly enthusiastic. Projects might not develop as planned and Dog may have to begin anew midyear. Honest Dog does best to avoid questionable enterprises or impractical Monkey get-rich-quick schemes."

1. the wasting of my twenties filling up the incoherent babbles of a new century.

2. but i can´t find a pen to write with or a language to write in.

3. i wanted to be the man with lights cumming out the mouth, i wanted all the cake.

4. or buying candy off of a working class clown, in a bus to nowhere,

5. to "back to the city."

6. or i never wanted to finish my beer: the glass is more than half-empty.

7.

cumming in the men`s room when god is on your side.

so this weekend, i went to the beach with a cuencan sociologist and a spanish economist that works for medicins sans frontiers (they`re shipped off to zimbabwe soon), and my girlfriend,

the latter of which i love, a sentiment that has already entered into personal history through speech, that is already gone and coming back again, like a circle.

and reality´s a fiction we like to draw near to when we open our mouths.

*

i often then, this last week´s end, wore my public, quiet anxious mask, the uncomfortable one, pried off at times between gulps of alcohol.

i turned red, but not as red as last time. i ate seafood and drank juice and got bit by mosquitoes and ants, and wandered around searching for half-an-hour squinting out of eyes filling with sweat and suntan lotion--water and beer proved hard to find.

i stood in the ocean and felt nature´s rhythm, a tide rhythm that flowed through my mind later as i tried to fall asleep. i peed in there and stole seashells from god.

i came and took cold showers.

*

tonight i stumble now apathetically now eagerly through a julio cortázar short story called las babas del diablo. i was supposed to have read it two weeks ago.

i paused to write a poem

(imagine that a row of chairs were never understuck with gum,
and then you´re on your way.

vagina that has never bled of blood, nor one that never will.

a restroom that has never seen a seed that´s spilt out on the floor,
and then you´re almost there.

but then again, why yearn this version of a fucking world.)

that i began to hate shortly after it was born, after it´s existence was distinct and singular of my own. i feel i wanted to be a writer again, felt humbly unqualified and painfully unerudite, unaware of nearly anything, but realized i was a writer, any way. i do write.

*

several children counted change back to me, slowly, steady, right the first time,
but let´s hear it for second chances and 2nd tries.

1. you are the awkward mascot on my motley team´s side.

2. you are the soiled bride, bled red with life, like ocean cums on white.