Wake up, it calls

The noise is coming from the inside out

A quick flash of cells and brain wires and a hot energy humming

First like neon burning

Then a long hissssssssssss

The sound even the simplest of organisms must magnify

Shouting to whomever will listen, screaming


The current shocks my eyes open.

It is midnight and even the drunks out are silent.


And the radio plays nothing

And the mood is somber sulking

Thinking of the want of nothing

That I haven’t got today.

But untruer words not spoken

Forgive me for the heart I’ve broken

I’d rewind the years I’ve woven

to know I’d have you one more day.


More old documents wanting to be let out

Whenever I dream of you I wake reminded of why you left and why I pushed you out. And yes, it was completely intentional.


And when I am mad at you I think of him. Not the “him” you might assume, but a him that I never had, that was never mine, but who had me while I was yours.


In the kitchen when it is drab out, the light above the sink is almost a spot light. I picture myself breaking into a sort of Joss Whedonesque song and dance as I am doing dishes contemplating life and woes. Silly considering the short list of woes. This is how people become desperate. This is where life becomes boring. This is why housewives develop a taste for wine and martinis.


The devil is in the mind. How it wanders and makes up scenarios. Coercing into false realities. And birthed from those faux thoughts comes deviant behavior, mistrust of those who have never wronged but backed by rationale and justifications built out of nothing.



Getting it on paper is the easy part, leaving out small words here and phrases there. Letting go as quickly as the thoughts come. But typing. It takes thought. That’s why it’s better to do it with your eyes shut and after a third whiskey.
My new rule of thumb maybe. Also important, have a french film that brings back every emotional memory you’ve ever had playing in the background, just to make sure that you can still make sense of things. Still decipher what sounds like jibberish to most.
It is the rest of the world that I can’t funnel into something sensible.
The hardest part is keeping my mouth shut. I can feel myself lying but I feel myself more when I tell the truth. And the truth is more interesting.

I speak English but only when he is not around

El Altobus

I had it a few times today
The first was with him at six
And after, while thinking of it.
again, then again.

A smoke then twice more.
I surfed the net
took a nap
then for the first time, I took the bus to work.