Thursday, June 21, 2012


You can’t live on love. Lynne told me one night as we stood next to the Special Occasions Gown department register at Nordstrom.
What do you mean? I asked. Frank was arrested yesterday she said, his travel visa has been expired for five years, he never renewed it or did anything about it, he just kept living here. No one noticed until the night before, when he was arrested for some simple landlord issue- he didn’t give his tenant his $300 rent deposit back when he was moving out.
Frank was Lynne’s new boyfriend, a person whom she said she could share everything with, a man that she felt something for in which she had never felt before. Lynne was 64 and outrageous. She lived with her husband whom she hated and had no clue about Frank. They had divided their house and bills so her obscure night-life didn’t really matter in the first place. She, like all the other women I met while working at Nordstrom had always advised me the same thing- don’t live on love. I thought it was so strange back then.
What am I gunna do even if he does get out? What am I supposed to do? Get a divorce and move somewhere else with him? He won’t have a job anymore; and look at me, I just work here, sell dresses here. Sure I love him but we don’t have money and I need my things, really I do. Like my face creams, my Alberto Makali clothes that I buy here and there, life has to be kinda practical. Love just isn’t. At least not for her. Anymore; and it strikes me now because Lynne always said she’d finally found someone whom she could be her real self with, and that meant a lot since she was already a loud and vociferous lady.
She told me about the bittersweet moments when she would visit him in jail before his deportation. Saying that the glass window and phone connection was just like the movies and then went to on complain on how she couldn’t dress sexy, there was a strict dress code with visitors. It was sad to hear her love was being shipped back to Germany without a last tangible goodbye. Just a cold and censored look, with a teary smile.

Sunday, November 27, 2011

No smoking, eating or drinking.

I ride the train everyday to work. Morning and night. I'll usually try and find a seat that isn't so 'out in the open' of the trains' hallways. Something more isolated where I can finish my makeup, read my book, listen to my music or do all at once without anyone noticing what a ridiculous mayhem I always am. But the one thing I do more than any of those other important train duties or rituals, is stare at others. Stare and waste time to wonder about others' lives and the reason of what exactly brought them to this moment right now. Why this train and time? Are you going to work too? If so, why don't you have a uniform? I know I know I don't have one but it's because I have a cool job. You look like you should have a uniform. I telepathically talk or ask stupid rhetorical questions to as many people as I can during my ride. It's stupid, I know. But how can I not be curious about this person that just walked up and sat across from me like nothing! Boom down. Like nothing. Boom just down. He's a Haitian man, I'd say forty-five, and looks like he just came out from work. I mean, of course he did, the only people that ride these damn trains in Miami are people getting off or going to work, without means of decent transportation, people without cars. Of course there are those remarkable ones that ride just because they have nothing left to do, or perhaps just too young and foolish. This man however isn't one of those weirdos. I understand him. It's late, I know because he keeps looking at his old worn leather watch and sighing. Almost in despair, drowning and about to moan for a bed. He's tired, I understand. My feet hurt too I would easily tell him; if I knew him. He opens his stone colored backpack and he pulls out his earphones, long ride I see. I have a long ride too, I'd softly tell him; if I knew him. And so with his earphone gesture I pull my headphones out too. In a quick nod and eyebrow lift sort of face thing I tell him almost everything though, Thanks for reminding me, because I too have a long ride left in this  florescent lonely snake. Maybe I should just pull out my harmonica huh? Just kidding. 

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Dear Tall Dark Stranger,

You don't know me completely even barely and vice versa, but I do love you. And I was hoping that you would love me too. And when you do begin to love me don't stop because whatever is the point of beginning something so intricate as this when all the while there is a lingering deadline in your mind? Don't do that to me stranger, please. When you see it work, ambiguities aside, would you tell me then that things will no longer fall apart? no more brilliant disenchantment whose choreography I know too well. Will you please promise me that decades will begin to be much more blissful because of your presence tangled into mine? With no vacant surprises anymore. Well that is all I hope for, dearest tall stranger of mine. 


Saturday, June 25, 2011

New York Legalizes Same-Sex Marriage 6.24.11

Senator Mark J. Grisanti, a Republican from Buffalo
was the 33rd vote for the bill.
I apologize for those who feel offended,”Mr. Grisanti said,
I cannot deny a person, a human being,
a taxpayer, a worker, the people of my district and across this state,
the State of New York, and those people who make this the great state
that it is the same rights that I have with my wife.”

Sunday, April 17, 2011

2348 mistakes

I haven't been to this state in six, seven years, where am I? I tell myself. I've traveled so far to get here. A familiar silence begins to suffocate me as he grabs my hand, leading me into his new home. The house is an old white missionary one in the west, just like the one next door and the one next to it. This neighborhood was choreographed in the most quintessential manner that I stop to stare at him for just a quick moment. I met you when we were insects. We were simple starving artists 'no ones’ I telepathically tell him. He pulls my hand and doesn’t look back to hear the frequency of silence that is my voice until we reach his room. It is very dark, one window and two small scone light fixtures placed right next to the door entrance at eye level; the most bizarre location for any lighting. As the halogen lighting hits his face he kind of looks like Ursula in a funny way. We both crawl into his mattress that he has yet to buy a frame for. What seems to be his new dream life makes me wonder if this is what he gave everything up for, back there, those six hours away- air time. This whole thing that makes my eyebrows meet and my heart so heavy, has to be just a tiny sliver of the dream, right? Is the ideal symmetry in this city and the stillness in this house what you traded for when you left me?
We begin to laugh at the tiny details we notice, the differences in each other. I haven’t seen him in five six months. I think again as I roll under these gray sheets. And I don’t know if things are the same, if we can be the same, or if everything is gone, maybe destroyed between my blizzards and the obese morning fog in his town. Right now, right now I can’t tell. ‘Your hair is so long now!’ He tells me. ‘Well shit you’re so skinny! I told you to stay fat for me!’ I said. Conversations turn into threads of wild laughter, and I hug him exactly like I used to as he falls asleep. I remember looking at his lips, the sheets and lights. I tell myself stay here, hold this memory. Because as much as I like today these minutes, seconds and right now, I knew it was a bad idea when I was 2348 miles away. Yet miles mean nothing when its too late to regret and the ballet dance between our bodies is still the same.

Monday, February 21, 2011

when did this happen

'Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man
Ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand
And now she's in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand.' -Elton John

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

playing with The New Yorker


in my life
nervously for him.
Several strands swayed like reeds.
He sadly shook.
Anxiety lived in a house,
married for thirty-seven years but not spoken
during the last ten.
To communicate,
in his spare time,
in the midst a year proceeding
a year because they could not agree.
Because they could not agree.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010


I'm a professional person ok!
I go to meetings, wear gel and copy paste.
The path he followed to get to where he now was a blurred and pixelated one.
I don't have time for these things he said in a rhetorical language.
A language that I denied to understand until the day he left.
No time to turn and see the glow, vivid vibrance in my eyes.
I used to like your smile once.
I said I used to like your saturated smile once.

Sunday, August 29, 2010

my life, it makes no sense.

“...There is this idea of American culture, of being a nomad, this freewheeling attitude. And real nomadic culture, I feel, it's more about survival, visible survival.” --Mel Chin

Sunday, August 22, 2010

somewhere in betwee
n all the slabs
i keep watching it sting me nervously
it's ok because every inch of me is bruised;
as far as i can see
hours pass,
i swear i did not mean for it to feel like this.
falling in where there is no one in between
strings and things they pull and poke at me like jokes
now the tile in front of me is fading, concrete tiles.
disarrayed and dirty, like them rats in those tracks.
concrete tiles line up next to green thin patterns
flooding the space reminiscent of that grass where i laid with him.
that rat.
that famous day.
the tile before me has been fading, green and clear,
opaque like the lakes where i swam with transparent people
lakes that lead to no nowhere
where is everybody anyways?
where are you!
where is everyone
white and black tile fades into gray
cascading over old treads, grooves of rails and routes
shiny bacteria next to all these rats and grimy concrete stairs
stairs that also lead no fucking where.
tell me, where where do they lead?
the walls are caving in,
underground, we can't live like this!

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

We were like vagabonds at the beach that night. The couple in our tribe slept next to the swings, far from we now stood. The sand floor was a tense and very cold one. But we were brave and so decided to walk closer to the clamorous waves. I cuffed my jeans up high and we decided to let this moonlight guide us. I felt safe. We didn't walk too deep, just until we were covered with a complete feeling of harmony and fresh ocean over our feet. As I smiled, I looked at her and shouted "are you going to remember this?". Shouting back she said "Yeah! yeah. I am." "Remember for me please" I said "Just in case ok?" "Ok I will" We smiled and lingered around until each of us looked smaller and smaller. We must've walked miles by the shore, because when we came back to our tepees and blankets everyone was so asleep. I still felt the beautiful bliss moment of dark silky water that can turn white when it kisses the sand, mermaids watching me and all the while a simple moon leading us with it's glow. And I write it now, in a 'just in case' type of manner;

Thursday, April 8, 2010

wild flowers

There were a lot of things that were so oblivious to me one summer ago that I can now clearly catch at any quick glimpse. One of those things is time. I didn't realize then that the way the flowers were going crazy, the particular movies we watched under the Brooklyn bridge next to the silly hipsters and the steps we took to get there would never be the same again.
I shaved half of my long mermaid off that May and Mariam cut most of her hair. We looked insane and we were happy. We danced all over the city, sat in battery park reading stories and riding the free ferry. When it was extra warm we would eat ice cream outside of Mariam's sublet apartment and watch the sunset, then try and make music with all the outrageous instruments the apartment owner had. We recorded some of our music in Mariam's digital camera too. But sometimes, when it was just right and we were coming home from the city and it started to rain, you could away from the rain! or like us, wait for the rain. Seduced by it's heavy glitter. I didn't understand then that the time we shared doing all those funny things was so precise and perfect for such a summer. A summer that a woman shaves her hair off, works 9-5 and then paints in the park all night with her friend until the end of summer when her best friend moves home, Cairo, Egypt. What I knew then was that I was happy, a little clueless of my next step, but still we were fine and wild, everything was just right. You didn't have to fix the frame on the wall. I'm thinking of this today because Mariam is coming this August...

Mariam: ...ahh, i miss it all, so much,, i'm gonna talk to my boss soon about me leaving for NY for a while a month or three weeks or something... i neeeed it! i need to see you.. this time.. dye our hair?? jk

me: lol i did!
jet black

Mariam: ooh, seeexy

me: but u cant tell

Mariam: you always dye it black though.. was thinking, more like green..

me: lmao yea

and me, red and we'll wait till our hair turns the sky into christmas
ooh, jingle jingle.....