Obsessions

I'm reading Fever Pitch by Nick Hornby and I can't help but relate to his obsession, which is football. Not that my obsession is also football or sports, even though I love the two and enjoy playing on the weekends or following Barca's latest scores, not to mention my beloved Jets (who have a great season to look forward to), no, my obsession changes with each season and with each article of my wardrobe that becomes de rigueur, I recall torturing gf's with my love of underground Hip Hop, at least it was, quite a few years back.

The thought popped into my head when I was mulling over the latest parts of the book and how he mentioned that his obsession scarred those around him, now ex-gfs would be forced to think about him, for better or worse, every time that Arsenal was announced in the news. I wonder if I have that same effect any time Sage Francis or Aesop Rock are come on a speaker, any time Anticon or Dose One play a show, any time El-P appears on the cover of some indie mag. Don't get me wrong, I still like a lot of that music, in some cases love, but my obsession has waned in recent years, in many ways it's nostalgic when I hear certain songs, though they don't hit me with the same impact. One such case, Watching Water by Alias, probably one of the most depressing tracks out of the Anticon stable, this little ditty got many a play on my discman-cum-iPod. I used to love how it would make me ruminate and it didn't hurt that most times I heard it, I was already lifted, now when I hear it it just reminds me of Celina, of skiing benders ending in Bushwick, of raucous coitus and drug-induced debauches, of misplaced adoration and naive notions of romance. Watching Water .... more like watching a tempest. It's funny the associations the mind makes without any conscious prompt.

I don't obsess over the latest Anticon album or their latest show (the last time I saw Dose perform, it was at Union Pool, easily about 3 years ago), but an obsessive always has something to fawn over. Lately I've been all about spending inordinate amounts of time on my comp and Conan. Yes, Conan. Forget about the sub-par Arnold flicks (even if I can still enjoy them), forget about the sub-par movie that just came out (I feel bad for the star in that, I really liked him in Game of Thrones, too bad he picked such a shite movie role), the Conan of the comics was one that was equal parts brute strength and cunning. That's what I love about him as a character, he's complex, he has a code despite being a reaver, a thief, a pirate, a merc, a general and, ultimately, a self-made king. The first time I was made aware of the comics was when Vic, my role model growing up, gave me a beat-up copy of the Savage Sword of Conan. The artwork was a bit backwards for the times, the cover art was always on point, but what I liked most was the stories. Even then I always had a knack for rooting out a good yarn.

I've been fortunate that it's gotten me back into reading, strange as it may sound. A writer that isn't reading?! and isn't writing, either?! Well, just like sometimes a football player (and, by that, I mean Soccer, I can't tell you now many silly convos I've had with people about this little detail) needs to take a season off to heal and look back on the previous seasons, I needed time to clear my head. Agatha Christie novels were my last obsession, that woman can write a dope mystery novel, lemme tell ya, Ten Little Indians or And Then There Was One, that story is just so complete, it's amazing. Not that I'd ever want to write like that ... but reading Nick Hornby, identifying with his twenties slacker and knowing that I need to exercise my writing as much as possible instead of finding any other thing to do but that in order to avoid ... I dunno, failure, disappointment, rejection, disapproval ... it can be hard. Really fucking hard.

So Here I Am .... title to Bloc Party's track that currently has 30 plays on my iTunes as of the time of this writing .... trying to get back on the horse. Like Conan of the paperback, always looking to the frontier, to new adventures ... geez, I've gotta get out of here, my upstairs neighbor's playing bad techno and all I hear is the 100 bpm thumping of my reverberating ceiling and walls. FML. PS1, perhaps?

The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else

I think that I just may be over her. It only took almost two years, dozens of hours spent listening to sappy breakup songs and hundreds of hours replaying memories for clues.

For some reason, every time I went to Logan, I thought I might run into her. Me, there with a shoddy sign crafted at the airport to greet the new campers, watching all foreign arrivals fresh out of customs, she would appearing from behind the automatic doors. My pulse would turn to lead, deadening with each passing second. Shocked, she would stride over.

"What are you doing here?"

I relived this fantasy everyone I found myself at Logan with that same sad sign ... and she never appeared. Perhaps through that same fear I changed my mind about the arboretum, Jamaica Plains, but that was also intertwined with my own laziness. I was pitifully wistful in my time Boston, I've never been tigeraso, and so, taking in my penchant for romantic songs and ballads, I spent a lot time talking about her to whoever would listen. Telmo's heard my stories, so did the teachers, who were all women, her memory would not leave me alone. It wasn't until I was aboard the upper deck of the double-decker Megabus en route to NY that I realized that I had left her behind. It only took almost two years. Flash forward to NY, rediscovering its delights and catching up with friends, it's now that I'm entering a sort of renaissance. I've been on five dates since I've been back and even using the word "date" is strange, I've never been one for dates. My usual m.o. is that I meet potential partners through friends, family, school or work. As a given, that means that you can usually skip the awkward asking out in favor of something more vague and non-committal, like getting a cup of coffee our a bite to eat. The dating thing isn't so bad, though, and like with anything it takes some practice. I get nervous as hell whenever I know I'm gonna meet a complete stranger but after a couple of good dates, you get used to it. I have plenty of guy friends that tell me that I just need to "stroke anything that moves", yes, this is what dudes really sound like, and I get it, it'll help (or at least scratch that itch). What I needed was a bit of catharsis, a change in environment and a little courage ... and some patience for good measure.

Traveling to Boston

I'm literally taking the scenic route. Sandwiched here between the window and some dude (I had an opportunity to have both seats if I'd pulled an asshole move but I couldn't bring myself to do it), I wonder what the coming weeks will be like. I'm def the adventurous and so this is something I've really wanted, getting out of the city. I can't help but feel anxious ... I wanna be there already!

Given that when I get back I'll need to register for classes and the coming semester will be incredibly stressful, I think I'll need to go somewhere, preferably cheap. I think El Salvador beckons me home. :)

I wonder...

Everyday on my way to work I pass a warehouse on the way to the subway. Everyday I see an east Asian man standing outside it, sometimes he's smoking a stoge, other times he's speaking aloud to an imaginary person or pacing. He always looks sad, he may be a burn victim because he doesn't have a nose.

He wears a Yankee cap, bent and low over his eyes, and a persistent frown. I wonder what his life is like, where he grew up, what he does when he goes home, his loves and losses. I will wonder all these things all over again tomorrow as I pass him by on my last day of work.

Avocadolicious

I used to hate avocados.

Growing up in a Central American family here in the States, this was pure blasphemy. Consequently, I endured plenty of ass whoopins', shocked expressions and ... more ass whoopins'. In fact, there were very few reasons for not getting an ass whoopin', but I guess that's a story for another time.

It would help to mention that I was a momma's boy (emphasis on "was") and I was also bratty as fuck. There were a lot of conflicts going on in my head, being more Salvadoran or Central American than American was certainly not one of them. That meant that I ate my eggs with ketchup (still do, on occasion), picked the veggies out of my omelettes (my dad must've hated that shit) and ate toast instead of tortillas.

I remember a convo I had with my cousin Lucho, we were in his parent's kitchen and I saw him break out the Wonder Bread (anything else would be un-American) and an avocado. That's it. I'm waiting for the cold cuts to make their appearance but no, he starts carving up that avocado, slicing it up and and placing it between the slices. The entire time I'm looking at him with disgust and curiosity, I couldn't believe that my own flesh and blood loved avocados that much (he was seriously raving about them). It hit me, maybe there was something to it I was missing ...

Skip ahead to now. I figure that avocados are healthy, so why not eat them regardless of my not liking them (I've taken this same approach with radishes, spinach and just about anything that I wouldn't eat as a bratty momma's boy). Little by little, I started liking them, I'm still not head over heels about them .... then again, I just ate an entire one sans anything.

I guess I don't hate them anymore.

Pantoum #27

overcast sky blinding, bright gray

landscape of contradictions, high contrast

smog rests on the horizon, lazy feline

collapsing its corpulent corpse upon steel needles

panorama of parallels, high contrast

boiling with increasing effervescence

resting its corpulent corpse upon steel needles

Wednesday weds weekend to weekend

boiling with increasing intensity

will we find elation everlasting or fleeting?

Wednesday weds Tuesday and Thursday

peaks, valleys, plateaus, traveling

will we find elation everlasting or fleeting?

overcast sky blinding, metallic gray

mountains, ravines, plains, daily journeys

smog lies on the horizon, lackadaisical kitty

Walk On

I interviewed to be a para (para-professional, sorta like a teacher's aide) this past Thursday. The interview went really well, I think I not only one them over with charm but also with my desire to become a social worker. It's funny, but I was basically offered the position, though, because the administrators at the school wanted to incorporate the parents more into the mix, I had to be interviewed by the mom of the kid I'd be working with. Right away. An hour into interviewing, we're shuttling down Fulton heading towards to the DOE's offices on Livingston. The mother scrutinized my resume more than the administrators did, but I appreciate that she was so involved in her child's schooling, how many parents can we make that same claim about?

Afterward, since I knew a pal of mine, X, works for the DOE, I decided to see if he happened to work in the same building and as it turns out, he was just down the street. As we took a stroll down Cadman, enjoying the beautiful Spring weather, we chatted about the new gig, going to school late (we're both in the process of attaining our degrees, though I'm pretty sure he's farther along) and talking about our aspirations. We also talked about futbol and getting gear for it. I've been obsessed with it recently, it's my new love and I'm completely absorbed in becoming a better player, anyone that knows me knows that team sports aren't really my thing. Watching Messi play and others like him, Drogba, Xavi, Ozil, Rooney, Bale ... the list goes on, all those players exhibit such skill, with their feet, no less, that I'm inspired to push myself to see what I can do.

I left X at the post office on Cadman, continuing to walk down to the High St. stop on the AC line. It's been a while since I walked around that area, if I'm not mistaken the last time I was there, walking along the park, was with Skye, we'd walked over the Brooklyn Bridge to pick up her cousin Maria who was staying at the Hilton on Tillary. I have fond memories of that area, I used to work at Plymouth After-school with Shola and his crazy ass friend Peter, our supervisor, who turned out to be unstable, in our collective opinion. (Oh Peter ....)

While on the platform, I walked down to the end so that I'd be in the first car and after letting a C train pass, who should I run into? Cassie Cass, all grown and shit. There are so many stories with her, sneaking Bacardi into venues, of house parties around Brooklyn, crazy stuff that you're supposed to do in your early twenties, and now she was telling me that she's going to school for Construction Management. Every one grows up, everyone slows down, and chances are if you don't, it'll catch up with you, you can't be 21 for ever, not saying you shouldn't be young but some things, some memories I def don't care to repeat now that I'm .... in my late twenties.

The moving didn't stop once home, I rushed over to get a haircut, jogged home for a shower before heading to my last tutoring session with one of the more bright students I have/had. On the way back home, I walked from the 82nd St. stop on the 7 to 74th, thinking a lot about what I'm going to do once I start this job. It'll mean a healthy amount of income, I can finally save a good amount and possibly, if I'm really disciplined, head to El Salvador (ES) for a month or maybe the entire summer and get acquainted with the mother land finally. I could work on speaking fluently while being completely immersed in my native tongue, I could see the beauties of my heritage that I've only seen in pictures and heard about through memories from family members. I could stay with fam, have queso salvadoreno with casamiento every day and pupusas .... AH, PUPUSAS! I've heard stories about how much better they are over there .... if they live up to the hype, I think I'd find myself hard-pressed to make it back. I could visit the coastal beaches that line the Pacific, climb volcanos like Izalco, go zip-lining and hike through a real jungle ... the wanderlust in me bubbles at the thought.

It's funny to think that just two weeks ago I had a different mentality, a different mood, my outlook on my future was much bleaker. Through hard mental work, through the discipline of working out nearly every day and letting those endorphins lift my mood, through working through my bullshit, my procrastination, things are changing. They're coming together, they're making sense, I can see a light at the end of the subway tunnel. One of my favorite quotes, it's from Danny Inosanto, Bruce Lee's number two, is simply "Walk on". It's so simple and yet, it says a lot. To use a swimming analogy, it's not enough to tread water, you need to swim, how will you get to the destination you want if you let yourself get swept up in the current? Hmmm, maybe I should have named this post "Swim On".

an oldie, catharsis in process

The other day i was reading this old piece, new by relative standards, and was pretty surprised at my own inventiveness (yes, i'm brazenly tooting my own horn.) It should be noted that I'm highly critical and I do think this piece needs some revision, though I don't have the answers to that revision yet (there's a part I already have in mind, it's just tough.) Anyhoo, enjoy .... and i say it's part of my catharsis because it's been about a year and half and i'm still not over my break-up ... but I feel like by doing things like this, I'm letting her go and letting the work that was inspired by her be released from the emotions that have swirled about it.

So Glad I Found You

So glad I found you, you amaze and excite
amazing what'll happen in six days, six nights
might I have this dance, even steal a kiss from you miss
way more than adequate, manifest beauty from head to hips
a smooch from you is napalm ready to explode
let's go to Reykjavik, wreak havoc among glaciers
let's travel the astral plane, share a pitcher with Mother Nature
let's hop on a flying carpet to the Napa Valley
or visit the Castro District of San Fran, Cali
girl, I'd gladly climb a thousand Alps just to hold your hand
or join the Northern Alliance and oust the Taliban
let's just hop on a jet and jet to Jakarta
If you were Palestine I'd gladly become a martyr
but before I ask you to commit to be mine
I think we should sip Riesling overlooking the Rhine
or survey the Serengeti, on safari spotting rhinos
or stumble around Prague like two punchdrunk winos
but before I ask you to commit to this
let me say I'm so glad I found you, you amaze me, miss....

Maybe we could hit Warsaw and have pierogis
or meditate in Mumbai like a pair of yogis
Skye, I'd book a million flights to reach you, love
or simply jack the Silver Surfer for his apparatus
and ascend the height of the one called Atlas
so At Last like Ella Fitzgerald I can sing my song
beside you on the South China Seas, you in a pink sarong
throngs of beauties could stand around but I'd never notice
like a field of weeds surrounding a lush lotus
Michelle, you know this, this ain't nothing new
I'd follow you to Kilimanjaro or Katmandu
or Manila or Johannesburg or Lima, Peru
perhaps fondue at the Louvre, jerk chicken in Negril
at the summit of the Eiffel confessin' how I feel
Venus to my Mars, this may be redundant, of course
but my body is my mosque and my minaret is yours
my body's an amusement park, you should ride every ride
at least 4 times daily, check out the slip 'n' slide
but before I ask you to commit to be mine
I'll yoke Eros for his arrows, make the year Valentine's
blaze trails on a hydroplane, graze the Everglades
play spades in Pan's Labyrinth, my naughty Artemis
but before I ask you to commit to this
let me say I’m so glad I found you, you astonish me, miss....

Inspired by Williams Carlos Williams

embers lie still
the blaze in their eyes smoldered feverishly

embers glow mild
fading grandeur, a crumbling edifice, ruins eroding

embers lay listless
flaming remnants lie still as smoke and ash