Happy B-Day Guy Rockin! Gr ;)

Solo los dias mas felices para mi

I forgot how much fun it was

the glue of jealousy, and knowing, kept up together

in our arms, apart for months at length

but for moments are heart 

Put your charm on

I can’t believe I ever was like that

all over you and shit

this moment, so many years from now

I am like Holy fak!

I remember

I was that wild gypsy girl

who wagger her tail on those carribean islands

solidifying her proof

and arousing her fantasy. 

Maybe...is all it is.

Edith Piaf

Good evening. I am sorry. I just wanted to say something.

I haven't been in Paris in Years

But this Evening. When you sang. I was right back there again…

..on the streets, beneath her skies

You voice, is the soul of Paris 

You took me with you on your travels,

You brought tears to my eyes

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. 

Thank you. 

The best thing you can do for a city

Is write a song about it

That when others are walking through her

They can hum in her pride

and their whole body, rises to the vibration

of her soul. in tune

From: La vie on Rose
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=36TfIcvR028

Should have - not

I should have stayed home, and watched the bread turn red

bought a cactus plant, and called it green

I should have stayed home, and adopted a cat

I should have stayed home, but I ended up thinking 

about all this on the road. then falling asleep at the destination

until it was time to drive back home. I stayed awake thinking, that car
rocking me into a deep thought

that maybe in one of the days ahead

I will get to do all of those things. 

Point**Full

Don’t under estimate me

I like to play detective

with....

dwell’v in the deep corners of my youth

with a syringe

bake cookies to beehoven

and let my dog, lick the cream off your knees

Don’t under estimate me

because you like to

I know you have worries

But keep them up your own ass

Don’t tell me sorry

or you wanted to

I can do everything by - my - self

Don’t underestimate me on my staying power

or my leaving power

you’re right

about love I know none

yet, the monogomy you preach in your heart

we both know doesn’t always work

so get used to it, even love in the world

is an illusion. it’s false

Don’t underestimate me

Because I tent to be the type 

That when truly falls in love 

Loves forever

Beyond the grave

Beyond the words that form our love affair

Beyond our time

All these currency’s of books, and banks and beehovens

Can all be summed up in one dance,  in one song

.....during the flimsy passion, we remember who we are

Don’t underestimate me

but most importantly don’t under estimate yourself

for in a universe full of numbers

the possibility’s are endless, for who we are. 

Tug

It’s all too good,

when you can’t believe it

It’s the worst when you’re dancing

and you already know it’s going to end

I wish I can fall upon something timeless

Somewhere i didn’t feel a tug

or the ribcage, pressed upon the kiss of death

Sometimes I feel a woman saying something

to the other end of the room

where another woman is sitting

yet she is trying to convince herself

I have come to believe everything is for ourselves

no pun intended but develop healthy obsessions

Kneel

Let’s do a shorter version of you

A shorter version of me

Sit down, and talk about it

The way we talk to one another

using only laughter

Whenever we are talking

I notice, sub lim i nevaly

We are trying to elongate our presences

Stretch out our “self” until we feel sick from the stomach

Maybe something demands of us

Which we are never obliged to give

But give in to, once in a while

I like the back seat of your car

It reminds me of all the things I hate

Black leather, ...I belong in a green field

I am sorry, But’ i’d trade in everything

for a flower dress

Some morning are so good

The body who couldn’t tell apart day from night

Decided to screw both,

lost it’s appetite,

and feel to sleep

I woke up hearing some strange slow spanish song

the words...had left it
and all it was, was a soft melody
accompanying a lonely night

Oct. 21 We arrive, somewhere.

I like the sound of puerto rico

so that means your coming? 

Well, i mean i like the sound, i like the sound that people make there, some reggaeton

They also do this back ward and forward steps in their ceremonial dancing. The way they sway their hips from side to side faster and faster when the rhythm picks up. It’s like they’re really, on to something. 

We call it a secret to well being- movement. They call it, what ever’s in plain sight, of their urge. And they never have to whisper a word. 

The sensation carries them home. 

Like the tree that rises and falls with the same roots. It’s quite beautiful.

My eyes are always open there during the night in such warm places

I can stay awake and not bat an eyelash at an inconvenience

The true purpose of life tends to flow naturally

With the fresh water that surrounds the island

And that gives birth to the music of the peoples

That life’s on in people hearts,

and gives them a purpose for living.

The intelligent create to much damage to the heart

While the wise, let the heart sing, and the mind only bow down to it’s song

Follow it through the grass and fields. Whatever colour it may be,

it is always the right color of the moment. I like such places away from the city

away from the possibility of candle light, and champagne, and only dreaming of tranquility

I like the piercing sound of nothingness, the perfume of cigars and the sound of simple people. Who speak of the day with pride. Work with doings of love. And kids, as the true sunshine of the days. These people can tell apart very easily to good from the bad.

They have no confusion that comes with a trade-off, of work, for not seeing family. or a coin for a minute, making decisions that ties up with the ropes of compromise, and takes years of restless untying ....when one step upon the truth has taken place..... as upon the softest surface that can be stepped upon, and carry us through the filter of time, untouched.

Feeling violated, misrepresented, dictated, are all false speech methods of control. Riches come in the form of toilet seats made of gold. Billionaires meeting their beautiful brides, buying her a nice house where she sits, and keeps occupied with her toys, while he has another 25 favorites, in his background. 

People in nature, don’t need psychology. They need to see a sunset.

They don’t need hard drugs, a glass of wine, and a bible is enough

Watching television is not necessary, learning poetry, and carrying those 

potent invisible words, through a potent visible forest is enough.

To be the breathe, and in which you breathe, 

the sullen voice of taking in and letting go in the seconds that follow

the pink foam on the blue shores, seagulls, wrapped bodies, and cherry pie

is deliciously enough to be satisfied.

Then what is always pulling me.

What is the manic? When everything is taken away, and can never be returned

When love is destroyed without permission, drowned in a moment past before we

are able to rescue it from the water with our arms.. we lose our arms. 

and one by one, each body part, becomes part of a story, we could not change. 

The hands legless, heartless, sleep. 

The only reason you’re like this, now

is because this country was born

there was a person, then a few, then a law, then a few

money this that, fur pellets, and old ritual spells forgotten

wanted marriage, wanted children, the first mixture of tribes

the lost note, the unsigned letter, the night your drank

woke up, to find your country, your’s 

no more

the stars of eyes, now streaming in tears of what happened within you

the angelic for who you are, to never return

the conquerors are now marrying your daughters

what you have left to do, is sit in a chair that is not your own

Look into the eyes of people, who don’t have your best interest

Invest your time, into a thing that drains

time is the most precious, yet where is it.

it’s the the face of never stepping down, from where of what and who- is your own. 

Dame tu verdad

y yo te doy mio

quiero nada mas de este noche

Obvious and paintful

i’de rather it be deep and hidden, something i was unable to see before

i am always stupified by how much is already in front of me. within hands, feet, arms reach.

Inti

and it’s not even short for anything!

Presidents need to be scholars. Those who dwell’v on the questions of humanity

And are keen, on a daily basis, to solve them. 

Those we read, observe, and want to conjure, and transfer a sense of their dream 

of the potential equilibrium of inherent love among us. And unite that, into a working system of love. 

It’s always the lack of, that makes you more so.

unsolve me, i want to know no further

point, to which i always dwelv,

to which i always bend

my body all out of its shape

and my heart, on the plate before hungry hearts

the feast begins, and I cannot run

I only enjoy

someone using the heart

i was always afraid to use

Sketch animation -No Olvidas el Baile-

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z6ih1aKeETk

we're the most hated versions of one another

walking the sun

creating static

black earth and razor blades

chase the lips of power across the bold moon

orange caprice, spectacles of glass

like peach, like river beds of sand

under your lips

glass walls of mercury

collapse, you on the inner centre

of all your hard glass dolls

banging at the temples of your heart

where are thou too.

Buenos Aires, por favor. 

Por what? Por the Air. The Aire

Es that All?

All es enough. 

But you say you want more?

Only if the clock work is fixed.

Clockwork Orange?

no. WorkClock Red. 

same same 

Louis Vuitton Presents "When Los Angeles is a Man"

C*C----------- ... .. . .

People just want to take their face, and wipe it off on you. Take their face, with all their fear, and problems written all over, perspiring sweat, and leave it off on your face to be taken care of. my dog on my sock, subway cars into scarves. how do we get rid of what we are? Why do we want to? Why do we scratch at something. Use what we have to express. why do we bite into flesh, lick it. through the mouth. unable to open the whole body beneath us and devour it. roam with our hands through the blood and muscle, bridge our fingers deep, and grip and rattling skeleton of the endless bone, the closest thing in reality's proximity, the structure that holds us straight, never asks to be felt, to be held, to be thrown away. It is the core of those things. why is beauty and it's egoism not enough? why is intellect, and philosophy not enough. Why is listening through our breathe to our lungs sometimes enough. we want stillness, but the music of the city.

but the music of the city roams through streets and their bones. the memory of my muscle, the piercing sound of sex and beaming electro lights, mingling with the aroma of dangerous breathe in liquid perfume, mixing with the colour spilling on dishes of our eyes, bowls of magneta ink, and our bodies, both our bodies, standing in the dance hall, blinking back at us. with nothing more to say

Do we need to speak to one another to understand….what is really going on. What is going on in the city, in our bodies, where our wrists reach from the mind down to the silence - distance covering us in coolness. in possibility.  I trail with my eyes the flailing skirts above the fly's of patterns in convexing motion, spiral upward your strong legs. The experience of her heart. conveyed in the rhythm of your mind of music. our bodies in a language of crime,  silence. of no communication. 

I want to stand still. and i still want you to love me. But you're not here. I have to travel. Legs, Heart. I always have to travel. When i come back, I am hounded by torpedoing memories, the further i go into life. in these brief interlude, between sand, sea and time. Where nothing is mine, yet everything is still and ...O i am happy. Full Circle. You are everywhere. And yet I have forgotten you by now. For to need you I never did. Just the experience of travel has left a bitter taste in the mouth of memory that devour my minute into non sense. Where i sense eternity. In the place we all lived once, and - still- live only once. And do multiple things within a day, our mind is astounded. 

…..To write I always forget. Yet it's all i would do. For I am -still- in that action. The room is filled with bodies of urgent voices on their sides, hands supporting their heads, in a break, listening to the tapping of my fingers, into a solemn speech. listening to the only voice they do not care to seize power over, though the water, the falling into transcendence, prevents such ambition.

white sheets of paper, into lightly fallen thoughts. hopping past speech. past travel. not needing to communicate. my communication skills suck. Yes…I need to take that off my city to life, city to dreams "Resume". I am retiring. and moving through my picture gallery with scorn. please, No more colour! No more norm!  Disappearing in the distance into ~ white cloud the exclusivity - within which all of me and what I invite gets to disappear. and to exist. Without the glare, without the ignorant glare, of the external age, in the external eye. 

the conscience ….  break yourself ….pause..still. 

white colour 

free

Voulez...X!

Stables, farm houses and old poetry

red brimmed guitars, black wine, and soft cigarette smoke

engulfing stolen kisses 

as i reach for you

under the violet light

of musical beams

where out bodies meet and destroy

all that we found in each other 

true. 

Big properties

Up north, ranches and horses

sly smiles at the table

you know what we mean

Values value-vous? 

or Vous-voulez….voulez-X!

It was wanted

Where couldn't be found

this spinning thing

on rollerskates

torn buildings with many mirrors,

I keep on swimming

waitresses with short skirts

I keep on spinning

depressed guitarist

with violent sex eyes

I leave. I keep on spinning

then you drive by. you honked

but i never heard you

I woke from my daze,

and saw it in the text

I couldn't have been dreaming

lived through all and nothing

what would you give?

watches, hands of clocks

fingers of spinsters,

babe you're on a rage

don't stop be, you'd depress me

rip it off

it's useless

give it to me whole?

not my creation

what to do? 

fuck it…unfinished thought..

you are of mine.