Yo no nací para amar.
I should have just given up when my parents forbade me to date la criada next door. I was only ten, and she was twelve, and we were really just friends—I guess—but isn’t that the way it always starts? I mean, I’d go out to ride my bike but instead, I’d sit for two hours chatting with her about nothing in particular. She wasn’t well educated, nor very smart, but she was sweet and she was sincere, and she was funny. And it certainly didn’t hurt that she was severely over-developed for such young age. But the instinct for the continuation of the species is far stronger than any parental threat—though sometimes misguided. Gender, you see, never made any difference in my attraction to people. I can say with a certain degree of confidence that it wasn’t merely “liking” like in friendship, though at the time I didn’t know any better, because at this age, I’ve learned the subtle differences between merely liking and liking. And boy, I liked them. Still, I reached high school age and hadn’t managed to get the liking past just that to turn it into the decadent debauchery my classmates proudly claimed at the confessional on Saturdays—and my penance was always shamefully much shorter than theirs.
En el mismo lugar, y con la misma gente.
And then one day friendship led to love and love led to marriage and I had two kids! Callooh! Callay! All we needed then was the white picket fence—and I swear that despite all my other perversions, I still dream one day to have such a silly symbol of stability of normalcy. It was a dream so close to gotten, that I was twice hurt when the marriage fell apart. I cannot say I ever stopped loving her, but I don’t like her quite so much these days. Trust is the only thing you have, sometimes, and unlike the tails on lizards, it doesn’t grow back. One day, in the heat of a fight, she asked me to leave. “If I go, I won’t come back,” I said; “I think you should leave,” she said; and I left. I remember my daughter watching me take the last of my clothes from the dryer, asking me where I was going and when I was coming back. But though I visit often, I haven’t gone back. They’re still there, in the same house, with the same neighbors—and they still say hello when I stop by. She’s asked me three times to try again… but there is not try, like Yoda says… “Do, or do not!”
If you want to be happy for the rest of your life.
She’s now twelve years older than she was the day she waved at me as I drove away, December the twentieth, a clear, sunny, bright, and dismal day. I’d rather have a blustery day, cloudy, rainy and drizzly, and an old movie, black and white perhaps, and a cup of hot chocolate with the little marshmallows floating on top, and a dash of cinnamon. There should be someone there, with me, to share the coolness of the air and the warmth of the chocolate, and if a fireplace be handy, the little crackly noises of the wood as it burns. But there need be no one. If you make solitude your friend, you need not trouble yourself with loneliness. It isn’t an easy thing to do, but then neither is keeping just ten pounds off, or keeping the top of your desk’s hutch dust-free. It takes work, patience, perseverance, dogged determination to complete oneself. In any case, the greatest stories of love were about love that never happened, or was brief and sour.
I can do well all on my own.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Friday, September 14, 2007
Melancholy
A strange interaction of the humors coursing through my veins today has brought me to a most melancholy mood, despite being so incredibly busy at work. I find myself saddened by uncontrollable flashbacks brought about by sweet smells, old songs, or short phrases said in passing. It is odd, I think, that I should be saddened by these, as many of the memories are of better, happier, freer times; but one has little power over the emotions emanating from memory, and I have none.
There is, for example, the sweet smell of coffee made with just a little too much cinnamon. That one is my Grandma’s—who wasn’t my grandmother but deserves the title more than any other woman. The one thing I remember most is the time in ’75 when it rained for a whole week and I couldn’t go out and play. She brought out a large pile of newspapers, and between eating cookies she had baked, and chatting, and playing, and doing nothing, we made paper boats of all sizes. When it stopped raining, we took them out and let them go in the river the street had become, watching the armada float away, across the channel to invade England. Ahhh! Happy times.
Then, there was Supertramp, singing some silly song from the early ‘80’s. I didn’t discover them until the ‘90’s, when my wife and I would play them in the sentra, non-stop, on the way to Laguna Beach, where we would spend the entire weekend and many weekdays through the summer after we got together, before the baby came. To this day, Supertramp smells salty, sunny, and warm—bright and lazy—peaceful.
Then, this guy from Vermont called and asked for help. Now, under normal circumstances, this would not have elicited a second thought. Customers often depend on our higher level of expertise to solve problems in their production process, even when they’re not directly related to our product, and we comply with every request very happily, as this ensures they’ll come back. Some people say good will doesn’t build a faithful clientele; I disagree. This particular problem was easy, in and of itself, but the urgency with which it needed to be resolved reminded me of the times when my classmates would rush to me, asking for assistance. It wasn’t that I was any smarter than any of them—half the time, it was just that I can type faster than most people—but that I would not let any problem overwhelm me: we would sit and calmly dissect the issue, work on a solution and present the best answer we could. For a moment, I was back in school, blank piece of paper in front of me, pencil in my hand, and a question floating in the air around my head, looking like a puzzle piece for the matching answer that might be on the verge of flying away (pardon the mixed metaphors). I think this is because I am a Sagittarius: the hunter always on the search of prey. Presented with a problem, I am happy again, finding a solution.
And now, I’ve won the raffle for the Dodgers tickets here at work, and four of us are going tomorrow—not really to see the Dodgers (they suck), but to hang out and drink a couple of beers in the cool relaxation of a wasted day. And I remembered the days when we went to watch the horse races, when I was little. It was so much fun because nothing else would happen that day. We’d get up in the morning and get ready, and we’d go and hang out, watching the races. And for a moment, I was a child again, laughing at my uncle’s Fiat Bambino.
And then the day is over and I shut down my computer and go home—another day’s over and another one’s coming, and I, I alone can see them coming and going and look at all the ones that came and went and know—again, forever—that sighs count more than breaths, though fewer.
How many times did you sigh today?
There is, for example, the sweet smell of coffee made with just a little too much cinnamon. That one is my Grandma’s—who wasn’t my grandmother but deserves the title more than any other woman. The one thing I remember most is the time in ’75 when it rained for a whole week and I couldn’t go out and play. She brought out a large pile of newspapers, and between eating cookies she had baked, and chatting, and playing, and doing nothing, we made paper boats of all sizes. When it stopped raining, we took them out and let them go in the river the street had become, watching the armada float away, across the channel to invade England. Ahhh! Happy times.
Then, there was Supertramp, singing some silly song from the early ‘80’s. I didn’t discover them until the ‘90’s, when my wife and I would play them in the sentra, non-stop, on the way to Laguna Beach, where we would spend the entire weekend and many weekdays through the summer after we got together, before the baby came. To this day, Supertramp smells salty, sunny, and warm—bright and lazy—peaceful.
Then, this guy from Vermont called and asked for help. Now, under normal circumstances, this would not have elicited a second thought. Customers often depend on our higher level of expertise to solve problems in their production process, even when they’re not directly related to our product, and we comply with every request very happily, as this ensures they’ll come back. Some people say good will doesn’t build a faithful clientele; I disagree. This particular problem was easy, in and of itself, but the urgency with which it needed to be resolved reminded me of the times when my classmates would rush to me, asking for assistance. It wasn’t that I was any smarter than any of them—half the time, it was just that I can type faster than most people—but that I would not let any problem overwhelm me: we would sit and calmly dissect the issue, work on a solution and present the best answer we could. For a moment, I was back in school, blank piece of paper in front of me, pencil in my hand, and a question floating in the air around my head, looking like a puzzle piece for the matching answer that might be on the verge of flying away (pardon the mixed metaphors). I think this is because I am a Sagittarius: the hunter always on the search of prey. Presented with a problem, I am happy again, finding a solution.
And now, I’ve won the raffle for the Dodgers tickets here at work, and four of us are going tomorrow—not really to see the Dodgers (they suck), but to hang out and drink a couple of beers in the cool relaxation of a wasted day. And I remembered the days when we went to watch the horse races, when I was little. It was so much fun because nothing else would happen that day. We’d get up in the morning and get ready, and we’d go and hang out, watching the races. And for a moment, I was a child again, laughing at my uncle’s Fiat Bambino.
And then the day is over and I shut down my computer and go home—another day’s over and another one’s coming, and I, I alone can see them coming and going and look at all the ones that came and went and know—again, forever—that sighs count more than breaths, though fewer.
How many times did you sigh today?
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Septiembre, El Once
Los que recuerdan lo hacen muchas veces con lágrimas y con dolor, pensando que la inocencia que habíamos recuperado en los cincuenta años desde el ataque aquel que nos trajo a la segunda guerra mundial había por fin muerto—que esta sería la dolorosa introducción a la adolescencia global que se acompaña con inseguridad frente a nuestra incapacidad de defendernos contra locos, estúpidos, y crueles. Es inevitable recordar ahora como nos sentíamos el día anterior: casi todos los periódicos hablaban solamente de la economía y como su falta de fuerza nos afectaría individualmente; amanecimos quejándonos de la renta atrasada, del carro nuevo que no podríamos comprar hasta diciembre, del juego de video que la niña quería, pero en medio día murieron tres mil inocentes y aunque por un solo momento, todo desapareció y fuimos una nación, un solo grupo bajo ataque. Al día siguiente, todo fue diferente y nunca mas volverá a ser igual.
Gente muere a diario. No hay nada que podamos hacer para evitarlo. Enfermedades, accidentes, la fuerza misma de la naturaleza trae a su fin mas vidas de las que yo jamás podré contar, muchos mas merecedores de larga vida que yo, mucho mas buenos, mas útiles, amables, deseables. Cada paso de exploración requiere paga en sangre. La expansión de nuestra conciencia pide a veces almas y siempre carne como intercambio. Así siempre ha sido; así siempre será. No lloro por los muertos, pues mi fe me lleva a pensar que están en un mejor lugar que este. Lloro por los vivos que ahora se han privado de la riqueza de cada una de esas vidas.
Soy de aquí y por eso lloro mas por los míos que he perdido. Pero soy humano y por eso lloro también por todos los demás que se pierden diario—y ahora para colmo en paga de aquellos que ya lloré. Tantos de ellos mueren en mi defensa, que me siento un poco culpable. Tantos mueres sin haberme conocido que me siento culpable por ese sacrificio—no es necesario. ¿Cómo pedirle a Dios que lo prevenga? Mi fe me dice que El creó el mundo pero nos lo dio a nosotros a mantener. El no interviene. Y sin embargo, en su defensa y en defensa de la patria hemos matado y mataremos a tantos.
Supongo, al final, tendré que usar toda mi fuerza Cristiana y aceptar el golpe—aunque mi Cristiana debilidad me impida dar la otra mejilla. No pediré ojo a cambio de ojo. No es sobre simplificación el decir que mi perdón engendrara perdón de otros. Al contrario, creo, como creo en el Creador mismo, que la paz es lo único que cuesta más que la guerra— ¡y esa es tan cara!
Gente muere a diario. No hay nada que podamos hacer para evitarlo. Enfermedades, accidentes, la fuerza misma de la naturaleza trae a su fin mas vidas de las que yo jamás podré contar, muchos mas merecedores de larga vida que yo, mucho mas buenos, mas útiles, amables, deseables. Cada paso de exploración requiere paga en sangre. La expansión de nuestra conciencia pide a veces almas y siempre carne como intercambio. Así siempre ha sido; así siempre será. No lloro por los muertos, pues mi fe me lleva a pensar que están en un mejor lugar que este. Lloro por los vivos que ahora se han privado de la riqueza de cada una de esas vidas.
Soy de aquí y por eso lloro mas por los míos que he perdido. Pero soy humano y por eso lloro también por todos los demás que se pierden diario—y ahora para colmo en paga de aquellos que ya lloré. Tantos de ellos mueren en mi defensa, que me siento un poco culpable. Tantos mueres sin haberme conocido que me siento culpable por ese sacrificio—no es necesario. ¿Cómo pedirle a Dios que lo prevenga? Mi fe me dice que El creó el mundo pero nos lo dio a nosotros a mantener. El no interviene. Y sin embargo, en su defensa y en defensa de la patria hemos matado y mataremos a tantos.
Supongo, al final, tendré que usar toda mi fuerza Cristiana y aceptar el golpe—aunque mi Cristiana debilidad me impida dar la otra mejilla. No pediré ojo a cambio de ojo. No es sobre simplificación el decir que mi perdón engendrara perdón de otros. Al contrario, creo, como creo en el Creador mismo, que la paz es lo único que cuesta más que la guerra— ¡y esa es tan cara!
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Sexo, Pudor Y Lágrimas
A veces no pienso
Me vuelvo tan frió y no estoy
A veces me ausento
De mis sentimientos
Y luego sonrío,
Recuerdo y me aferro a vivir
Y a veces quisiera
Matar por tu amor
Tan solo por un momento
Y es que todavía no encuentro
Lo que en mi sería normal
Para darte mucho más
Y entregarme por completo
Sexo, pudor o lágrimas, me da igual
Me quieres ver grande
A pesar de lo débil que soy
Y si toco hasta el fondo
Me sacas de nuevo
Por eso me quedo,
Me aferro y te quiero a morir
Por eso aquí adentro
Tú estas todo el tiempo
Viviendo del sufrimiento
Y es que todavía no encuentro
Lo que en mi sería normal
Para darte mucho más
Y entregarme por completo
Sexo, pudor o lágrimas, me da igual
Sexo, pudor y lágrimas, me da igual
by Aleks Syntek
Me vuelvo tan frió y no estoy
A veces me ausento
De mis sentimientos
Y luego sonrío,
Recuerdo y me aferro a vivir
Y a veces quisiera
Matar por tu amor
Tan solo por un momento
Y es que todavía no encuentro
Lo que en mi sería normal
Para darte mucho más
Y entregarme por completo
Sexo, pudor o lágrimas, me da igual
Me quieres ver grande
A pesar de lo débil que soy
Y si toco hasta el fondo
Me sacas de nuevo
Por eso me quedo,
Me aferro y te quiero a morir
Por eso aquí adentro
Tú estas todo el tiempo
Viviendo del sufrimiento
Y es que todavía no encuentro
Lo que en mi sería normal
Para darte mucho más
Y entregarme por completo
Sexo, pudor o lágrimas, me da igual
Sexo, pudor y lágrimas, me da igual
by Aleks Syntek
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Let Me Be Frank...
Para cambiar, seré honesto. Me inspiró la honestidad de los lectores de Mirko (see link to the right), y por eso he aquí la dura y sucia verdad:
1. primera vez…..?
. 19 con mi mujer… después, 26 con un chamaco.
. Preguntenme la historia: me gusta contarla.
2. alguna mujer?
. La primera, y hasta ahora, la única.
3. días de la ultima vez…?
. Este fin de semana.
4. que preferís? activo o pasivo?
. Activo
5. mucha previa…. o poca?
. Todo en moderacion.
6. posición favorita?
. De lado, o el sentado sobre mi, frente a frente.
7. oral o anal?
. anal
8. cuantos te bancas en una noche?
. Duración depende, cantidad límite hasta ahora es 5.
9. clásico o innovador?
. Clásico.
10. beso negro?
. Claro—dependiendo de detalles que dejare a la imaginación.
11. q entre sola…. o ayudas?…
. De las dos.
12. dulce y romántico, o hard y ordinario?
. Romántico, aunque duro, dulce, u ordinario.
13. juguetitos sexuales?…
. Nunca lo he hecho… pero mas de una vez vaciamos el refrigerador.
. I’m a big fan of condensed milk.
14. luz prendida o apagada?
. Apagada, pero no en la oscuridad—tal vez velas?
15. lugar mas “raro” “osado” “intranquilo”
. Afuera, en las montañas, viendo la ciudad, sobre una roca
16. trío?
. LOL… lo mas, fuimos 8. :-)
. Los detalles no son publicados, pero no me da pena contar en plática.
17. de día o de noche?
. Cuando caiga.
18. con medias o sin medias?
. Como Dios me trajo al mundo.
19. hasta ahora…. “el amor de tu vida”?
. No le digan, pero se llama Ricardo.
20. preferís chupar? o que te la chupen?
. Que me la chupen.
21. fácil… o accesible?
. lol... accesible. (?)
22. rubios o morochos?
. Todos los gatos en la oscuridad…
. Suelo decir que no discrimino por color: hay mejores motivos.
23. lubricante o babita?
. “Babita”? LOL!!! Ok… babita.
24. dps de….. dormir juntitos abrazados… o….”bed and no breakfast”)
. Me encanta dormir bien enpiernado: antes, entremedio, y después.
25. mejor lugar para ser besado?
. Jardines Botánicos de Huntington Library en Pasadena.
26. alguna vez activo?
. Solo activo.
27. intentas una vez y si no entra, insistís? o desistís?
. Insisto.
28. gritas?….
. No, pero no me quejo si tu lo haces.
29. acabas y?.. me importa un pedo si terminaste o… te hago terminar ¿?
. El chiste es terminar los dos.
30. te va lo prohibido?…
. Hasta cierto punto.
31. acabas y? salís corriendo al baño, te quedas y disfrutas del momento?
. No solo el momento… buen rato… tal vez hasta se repita antes de ir al baño.
32. te jode estar todo chanchito en la cama o salís a limpiarte.?
. Habrá que limpiarse antes de dormir, pero para mientras, no hay apuro.
33. coger o hacer el amor…?
. Hacer el amor, por fuerte, energético, atrevido, o apasionado.
34. te gusta besar?
. Si me gusta, me encanta—y por horas.
. Si no, ni un poquito.
. Depende de con quien.
35. te gusta disfrazarte?
. No. (see 18 above)
36. alguna fantasía?
. Tal vez un poco aburrido, pero no; sugiéranme alguna y las considerare.
37. q miras primero en un hombre?
. La sonrisa. Maldita magia capaz de calmar tormentas y quemar montañas.
38. avanzas o dejas que te avancen?
. Tiene que ser mutuo. Muestro interés y respondo cuando interés es demostrado.
39. me darias de nuevo? A Mirko? Cuando quiera… :-)
40. te gustaria q te de?….
1. primera vez…..?
. 19 con mi mujer… después, 26 con un chamaco.
. Preguntenme la historia: me gusta contarla.
2. alguna mujer?
. La primera, y hasta ahora, la única.
3. días de la ultima vez…?
. Este fin de semana.
4. que preferís? activo o pasivo?
. Activo
5. mucha previa…. o poca?
. Todo en moderacion.
6. posición favorita?
. De lado, o el sentado sobre mi, frente a frente.
7. oral o anal?
. anal
8. cuantos te bancas en una noche?
. Duración depende, cantidad límite hasta ahora es 5.
9. clásico o innovador?
. Clásico.
10. beso negro?
. Claro—dependiendo de detalles que dejare a la imaginación.
11. q entre sola…. o ayudas?…
. De las dos.
12. dulce y romántico, o hard y ordinario?
. Romántico, aunque duro, dulce, u ordinario.
13. juguetitos sexuales?…
. Nunca lo he hecho… pero mas de una vez vaciamos el refrigerador.
. I’m a big fan of condensed milk.
14. luz prendida o apagada?
. Apagada, pero no en la oscuridad—tal vez velas?
15. lugar mas “raro” “osado” “intranquilo”
. Afuera, en las montañas, viendo la ciudad, sobre una roca
16. trío?
. LOL… lo mas, fuimos 8. :-)
. Los detalles no son publicados, pero no me da pena contar en plática.
17. de día o de noche?
. Cuando caiga.
18. con medias o sin medias?
. Como Dios me trajo al mundo.
19. hasta ahora…. “el amor de tu vida”?
. No le digan, pero se llama Ricardo.
20. preferís chupar? o que te la chupen?
. Que me la chupen.
21. fácil… o accesible?
. lol... accesible. (?)
22. rubios o morochos?
. Todos los gatos en la oscuridad…
. Suelo decir que no discrimino por color: hay mejores motivos.
23. lubricante o babita?
. “Babita”? LOL!!! Ok… babita.
24. dps de….. dormir juntitos abrazados… o….”bed and no breakfast”)
. Me encanta dormir bien enpiernado: antes, entremedio, y después.
25. mejor lugar para ser besado?
. Jardines Botánicos de Huntington Library en Pasadena.
26. alguna vez activo?
. Solo activo.
27. intentas una vez y si no entra, insistís? o desistís?
. Insisto.
28. gritas?….
. No, pero no me quejo si tu lo haces.
29. acabas y?.. me importa un pedo si terminaste o… te hago terminar ¿?
. El chiste es terminar los dos.
30. te va lo prohibido?…
. Hasta cierto punto.
31. acabas y? salís corriendo al baño, te quedas y disfrutas del momento?
. No solo el momento… buen rato… tal vez hasta se repita antes de ir al baño.
32. te jode estar todo chanchito en la cama o salís a limpiarte.?
. Habrá que limpiarse antes de dormir, pero para mientras, no hay apuro.
33. coger o hacer el amor…?
. Hacer el amor, por fuerte, energético, atrevido, o apasionado.
34. te gusta besar?
. Si me gusta, me encanta—y por horas.
. Si no, ni un poquito.
. Depende de con quien.
35. te gusta disfrazarte?
. No. (see 18 above)
36. alguna fantasía?
. Tal vez un poco aburrido, pero no; sugiéranme alguna y las considerare.
37. q miras primero en un hombre?
. La sonrisa. Maldita magia capaz de calmar tormentas y quemar montañas.
38. avanzas o dejas que te avancen?
. Tiene que ser mutuo. Muestro interés y respondo cuando interés es demostrado.
39. me darias de nuevo? A Mirko? Cuando quiera… :-)
40. te gustaria q te de?….
Y tú, ¿Quién eres?
So, copying other people around here, I went somewhere and had my brains scrambled.
When they that do the scrambling were done, what fell out of my head looked like the pile above.
Anyone care to translate what this means in realistic terms and plain old english?
MMMMMMMkay...
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Fort Bragg
So my friend was coming to see a play (Same Time, Next Year). Perhaps you remember the movie with Alan Alda and Ellen Burstyn. To be honest, it makes me uncomfortable. I don't know why the idea of unfaithfulness makes me so uncomfortable. It bothers me. The whole movie, i'm fidgetting and scratching; the whole play, I was doing the same.
So, my friend's going to the play. She invited me. I'm sure you understand that watching the play being performed for the first time where the movie was filmed was too good an idea to pass up. Plus, I was getting a little sick and tired of the dulldrum of everyday life. So, Friday at 9:00pm, I got in my car and started driving. It was a hot night in the valley (San Fernando Valley), but going over the hill, the air cooled significantly. There was a breeze. There were a million other people coming with me, but they all had the sense of moving faster than a turtle, so it was ok--I don't mind the traffic, I mind driving slowly.
The air got warmer just as we reached the bottom of the hill. However, that's when the smell of cow crap started, and it didn't end till I was about to turn to cut across from the I-5 to the I-101 so I could head up to San Francisco. Now, under normal circumstances, I'd have gone up on the I-5 to the I-580, cut across Oakland and right into San Francisco--but there was this sign saying the bridge would be closed. Once I finally made it around (not quite twice the distance, but a bit out of the way anyways) I found another sign that said the bridge would be closed on Labor Day weekend. Nice. Thanks!
Now, that was far enough, as far as I was concerned, but I was going further, and I wanted to see the sun rise over the lovely beaches I had seen on Mamacita's blog (see link to the right). So I drove on--all night, even--till I got to where I was going. The picture above I took only this morning. I had no energy left for blogging yesterday, after the insane drive a three-hour nap and rushing over to the play.
The air is insanely clean here. I feel like sticking my nose in my exhaust pipe so I don't get addicted. And despite the beauty, friendliness of the people here, and all that jazz, I'll be heading back to civilization soon enough. Sitting at Starbucks now, an island of familiarity in this otherwise pristine ocean of white faces, I am reminded how much I love glass, concrete, pavement and steel, the noise of traffic and two in the morning, the whirring of machinery constantly at attention, awaiting our every wish. I am a environmentalist in the sense that I'd be well-served to see nature in only the briefest of visits, leave it unmarked and undisturbed, and round up most humans into their own reservations, to be let out only short periods and only after extensive training in the matter. I realize, however, that there are rights you might think you have to live in this nature--not realizing perhaps that your presence there is detrimental to the very nature you seek to join.
Be that as it may, I am here now, and nobody seems to be leaving, so I will leave. I've been here enough. It's not that I didn't like it--it's just that I'm done with it. I wonder what heaven looks like. I wonder if I'll get this bored of it this quickly.
Turns out I still haven't found what I'm looking for...
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