Isn't it hard? Bad for your eyes? To invent me a look? To grill me and thrill me with kindness. The daggers of love and affection, flying. The bridges. Nightfall.
And your eyes are desperate. Because reality. Because whatever important, state of dislodgment, you're in. Something painful elsewhere. Somewhere, where you forget.
Beware of tomorrow tonight, as you follow a ghost down the street. When she talks back, all the way around the block and into your silent world. With screams and dreams. Consumed.
And it goes on and on, stepping on your steps, for the rest of the effect, of the life you take.
When home is like a desert. When your imagination, overwhelms the imagination...and you lean softly, in the clouds that crowd every room you search. Find peace and ask her her name. Give her a call. And try to make sense, of surreal static. Or the speed of everything. When the planets are in your eyes.
And I practice the look and take pictures to prove it.
Being alive, alone, it's a huge victory. A winning that must celebrated daily. In a coney island of the mind, with a howl. Powerful.
convencido que estoy vivo
Sunday, December 27, 2009
a little man and a woman
at the ferris wheel on the santa monica pier. a love so special, that the sun came out to say hello and stayed. she asked him for a kiss, and this is what the camera saw.
why not my own? i will carefully expose bits and pieces of whats left. to encourage myself and new found travelers. atrevidos. hoping to conect randomely, tracing the past, braille for the future. con la esperanza, igual que antes, de que aparezcan. here and there, with a fast, concealed hello.
nyc dec 09. The pain is picked by the garbage truck. Two men in uniform jump off and grab the trash bags. You stand by the side and pretend it's not yours, but they know. This is their territory. And they look at you. But nothing can happen now. The future is more of the past. Redesigned. Dressed. Every little sound, amped up and startling. Jumpy, like an ambush.
el circo del amor
santa monica pier -diciembre 12-09
ocho puertas - santo domingo 2010
misty dawn
barbarito
no se lo digas a nadie.
ben
happy...what?
paraiso
mariano ros
buscado por el mundo entero. un verdadero peligro. acusado de ser, 'unico'. dead or alive.
studio city
jrs - black angel saint
invent your own hair. sink in a dream. let it drag you, fly your umbrella. follow your clear trip. it's not all bad. there are thunders of jazmin, lighting turning into birds.
muchacha rota ( darrie )
cmq baby, de montreal.
lisa
balseros
lisa, ana luisa, shaka, monty and lulu. adrift in alhambra. rescued in the shores of mullholand drive.
west 27 street
elmasabi y leo
mari claudia
55 streets of memories
the red brothers
the wrestling sport would never be the same again. but for the interruptions, from the porter and elevator man, at the san rafael hotel, on W 45st. he saved us, but accidentally, threw us into the crimes of film. ( Camilo, last seen as a fake escort, sugar daddy, probably somewhere in phoenix ...) me?
thelonious sphere monk
What do you think of the new Downbeat Polls? " The Polls? I love the Polish people, specially they way they drink their vodka..."
lori
22 year old called girl i never called. met her in central park, weeping over my first divorce. the weeping stopped. she told me she was a freelance artist. the two bikes on the grass. I swore to GOD silently, that I would say something, it was hard, but she hadn't move. she was still listening to the wheel spiining slowly and the fifth ave traffic echo, then I thew myself. i invited her to see The Rolling Stones. picked her up in my father's old, green, Imapala. I waited on Park Ave., when I saw her racing out of the expensive building. she was out of breath. she said: I just raced down 7 flights of stairs...and then, with that look, added: I've never done that before". outside the madison, the scalpers were going higher that what I had, she pulled out a wad of cash and handed to it to me to make the deal. 15th row, $30 a seat. she stood up on her chair to sing You Can Always Get What You Want...as a hundred steel drummers and congas spilled out of the wings onto the sides of the stage and into the audience. she gave me the look again. she was good tonight.
coranzoncito rebelde
una bella dama
...ya dormira manana con el parpado abierto.
manolo - nyc 1967
octavio had passed out, i climbed on the roof of the chevy. manolo howled.
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