what if I stayed home all day
and never went out
and only drank tea
and never answered phone calls
because they make me anxious
so I turn off all ringers
and turn on the clouds
and watch it shower over the world
and watch the lightning in darkness
as it illuminates horizons
like a photograph
lighting up the trees
on and off as the leafs rustle
then the silence of everything
and you’re caught talking out loud
as everything else stands still and quiet
and then more quiet as your last words coligulate
and the silence makes a joke of this silent friend
y yo aqui detras de este microscopio en escaleras de vagabundo
critta to cat walk
by the sidewalk exposed in the night
driving django-ed juxstapositions
kill the cream lantern
double moon planets in dreams
to the sound of road rattle
the right key at the right time forever
I awake I awake
Photos of 2day trip in Los Angeles with brother. Not planned at all. No real purpose of trip.
Spotted a Frank Zappa look-alike in Los Angeles.
Bearded man looking up. (At Venice Beach, CA)
Man on left was sporting a speedo. He blocks himself with a mini stereo to protect his identity. I silhouette the picture to hide his identity. Kid to his right on cell phone and skateboarding an all too familiar scene at Venice Beach.
They’re watching us. I’m watching right back. But these cameras are a joke.
The people of Venice are quite entertaining characters. This gentleman was selling mixed CD’s that included such hits as “the itsy bitsy spider” in reggae. You can imagine the sound coming from the speaker in the kid’s wagon. “Reggae for the Children”
A tagged palm tree, or whatever kind of tree this is.
Got my way around the city of Angels through their public transportation. (With the help of my brother and google maps). We rode with the working class and the everyday regular…..and this old lady was falling asleep. Bus trips kept the day interesting.
At LAX picture waiting for our delayed flight back to Houston. Me on top left, bro on right. BTW, these pics are out of order.
At Venice Beach. Relaxing under this street-arted tree, getting some shade. I still managed to get my face sunburned and looking like Zoidberg.
The hotel walk to room 134, LAX Suites because everything is expensive. This place was incredible, only if it was located at the beach for the same price.
Me making fun of myself. Posed like this on purpose. Added that cube for effects. If I ever had the talent to make an album, this would be the album cover. (Album name “Washateria”).
Posted in art, arts, cell phone photography, Entertainment, image, photography, travel
Tagged Bus, California, cell phone, LAX, Los Angeles, Lost Angels, photography, photos, Venice Beach
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Silently gazing at impromptu cigar-ridden horseshoes from an empty window…
I’ve shrinked accustomed to these high peak, high heel, soup eel, high miranda, brain in river, baby blue pandas…
The other day I walked in to the store, and walked past the water bottle section, past the washing machines section, past the wonder bra section, past the fruit & vegetable section, past the automobile section, past the vitamin section and went through the exit direction…
There’s a needle aimed directly at my eyeball, she injected my eyeball with anesthesia, it stung a little, excision of chalazion success, when I have a daughter I’m going to name her Anesthesia…
Friends with drones…
this is not me
from a carbon-based-antipodal-liberate, a distorted prose erupts your quilt. if you put all eyes on a mirror reflecting all the cornea-ed colours, add all your hours at church with sneered smiles in your offering, a gamble so truth not visible to an antihero, tending their garden wasn’t the only way, endless puzzles through labyrinth muzzle. there’s a box you hide all your rhinestones, possible bones from whores, letters never written to your bedside manners after one a.m. at one point it was all wireless, the candles in the quietest room , another reflection visible through the chandelier, voices by a pit stop after driving all night, your face comes back to me, remembering conversations and imagining a few with better scenarios. the attempt of falling asleep with fake bug silhouettes, then turning the light on to check, and nothing. my feet walking on white sand, on the smallest island, with an abandoned truck and a missing front- right tire, passing by a cemetery a little buzzed surrounded by wooden-rectangled lobster traps everywhere, my friend the iguana comes crawling, from above we all look like ants scrambling after having their anthill smashed, we are running to nowhere, we are running everywhere. we need to be shaken a little to be awoken facing a green flower.
this is not me
Ground your insecurities
Pop-praise your purity duties
All eyes on screens
But wait, I need you
And you need me
Even with multiple tab screens open
We kiss the virtual sky
Using chop-sticks to play drums
A grained effect
Listo para el sonido
Que nos rodea
En un espacio
Que es un oceano de sonrisas
Looking up at an airplane
Wishing I was on my way to another place
Where the grass is purple
this is not me
Posted in Poetry
Tagged chicano, guitar, haikukimori, human, humanity, latin america, peace, poem, Poetry, rhythm of some sort, thought, werd, words, world
put me in a glitch
whenever you want
the streets that you walk
sit by the window
see your reflection
inhale the perception
a sanctuary to keep all thoughts consuming free fall waterfalls by the lampshade
put me in another glitch
to pitch holy radiation
we’ll jump-rope side-by-side eternally
to a petty tradition
taken at night through an out-of-body experience
the years passed and one rolled over the other
in my car where you naturally shed skin
leaving behind the terrors in your dreams
this is not me