Saturday, July 17, 2004
I desire you head to toes. I like you for everything, and with all excesses. I swear I get goosebumps just picturing you and me together. In merely saying hello to you, I feel as if I’ve been hit by cupid’s arrow of love. Suddenly I have desires that I cannot control; desires that cause me to tremble; desires that cannot be made explicit, due to their naughty nature and the presence of those who surround us.
It’s too bad I’ve come too late; another man beat me to the key that opened your heart. You are the prohibited fruit I’m not to taste, and for that reason I’ll never have the chance to bring you into heaven itself. Were you mine, I’d be the sort of man who’d try the impossible holding the firm belief that it can be done. I’d give up anything and everything for someone like you, but alas, it’s not to be…
(5), (6), (7), (8), (5), (6), (7), (8)
Posted by at 9:15 am [Permalink]
Thursday, June 10, 2004
As my friends and I spoke of the evildoings of women, we drank bottle after bottle of alcohol. I was asked to sing, so I sang about women’s betrayal of men.
An older man approached me. He said to me, “I beg you to cease to speak that way of women while in my presence.” I responded, “We’re just talking about how we’ve been done wrong by them. Anybody who does not share our views must have never been betrayed by one.”
In response to that he said…
“I’m one of those men who have paid a high-price for loving a woman. I’ve always been abandoned by them with tears in my eyes and wounds in my heart. However, I would never scold them for it. You see, suffering is a result of loving, and love them we must. Women are God’s gift to men. In fact, the most cherished moments in my life have been spent next to a woman. It’s in our nature to love those divine beings, even if we are to spend the rest of our lives drinking and wishing we hadn’t…”
Mujeres Divinas (Vicente Fernández)
Hablando de mujeres y traiciones
De pronto que se acerca un caballero
Le dije que nosotros simplemente
Me dijó: Yo soy uno de los seres
Mas nunca les reprocho mis heridas
Pudiéramos morir en las cantinas
Posted by at 12:00 am [Permalink]
Monday, December 15, 2003
I recall last hearing her girlish voice on the evening of the 15th day of December. When the phones were hanged that Sunday, I knew I’d need all the strength I could reunite. I laid down in my bed for a moment, wondering if that would in fact be the last time we’d ever talk. It needed to be the last time. That I knew, but I wasn’t sure we could do it. At the same time I felt that hearing that voice I loved would not do me any good. It’d only revive old wounds. Wounds that hadn’t yet healed. I had become the man who loved a girl who would not be his ever again. Something needed to be done, and was. That Sunday of a year ago remains to this day the last time she and I ever spoke.
In what is my way of saying goodbye to you, I serve myself another glass and I drink it wishing you well. This is the last glass, and then we must take our different paths. This last glass, perhaps sourer than any other I’ve ever drank, is for the sake of our now defunct endearment. One that will never be again. Our thing was so significant, and it had to come to its end. It’s as natural as life and death. This last glass is our goodbye, and may we fare well going our separate ways.
Posted by at 12:00 am [Permalink]
Friday, September 19, 2003
A cube of ice the size of a pillow is what remained on the edge of the road, near the corner of the street. Three hours before it had been riding on a wooden cart, and its owner would scrape it with a metal object that collected bits of ice. These bits of ice would be placed on a cup, covered with a sweet liquid, and sold for a dollar. The ice belonged to an man who sold raspados.
Then the police showed up. Behind the police was a trash-collecting truck. It’s where the man’s tools-of-the-trade were thrown. He passed by Jefferson when the police was gone. His hat covered his head, but the hat did nothing to hide his shame. People stared.
You want to know where Jefferson is? Hop on a helicopter and have it hover over the San Fernando Valley. If you do it at about 7:20am, look for a woman and her 10 year old daughter standing at a corner, next to a supermarket cart. People surround them. They are selling tamales. If you do it in the afternoon, look for the same woman and her child, again, standing next to a cart. This time they are selling paletas (ice cream), but now they face competition; there are other five or six paleteros (ice cream vendors). One of them is the man who had his cart confiscated, and his ice thrown to the curb.
The man will not be seen on Monday. His competitors will be wise not to show up either. But step outside of Jefferson on Wednesday or Thursday, and have yourself a cold, tasty, refreshing paleta… sold to you by the same man who lost his cart today. 😀 Heh.
This reminds me of a song…
I swam across the Rio Grande, without making much of a fuss. The immigration threw me back out, and I landed in Nogales. I entered USA again, this time through another point. Again I was thrown out, this time to Juarez.
From there I headed to Tamaulipas, and I sneaked through Laredo. I disguised myself as a whiteboy, even dyed my hair. But since I didn’t speak English, back to Mexico I was sent. I went back in through Mexicali and San Luis Rio Colorado.
I’ve made it through all checking points, hidden of course. I’ve never backed down. I’ve come and gone as I’ve pleased. I know all the paths that lead to USA, roads and rivers alike. From Tijuana to Reynosa. From Matamoros to Juarez. From Piedras Negras to El Paso. And from Agua Prieta to Nogales.
The immigration caught me 300 times, I’d say. But I was never tamed. The immigration kissed my ass. The beatings I took from its agents were later avenged… when I dealt with their countrymen.
Los Mandados (Vicente Fernandez)
Cruce el Rio Grande nadando
De alli me fui a Tamaulipas
La migra a mi me agarro
Por Mexicali yo entre
La migra a mi me agarro
Posted by at 8:54 pm [Permalink]