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

Debate on Porn

i read this forwarded email today and responded on it ... so i figured i'd post it.

Further To The “America Broke Sex” Argument

06 Nov

Susannah Breslin:

In this post-feminist era, some sex pundits have promoted the idea that “porn is good,” but what some pro-porn post-feminists have failed to do is discern between porn the product and porn the industry. As long time readers of this blog know, I have spent some time around the adult movie industry. A decade ago, I entered that world with the same assumptions as the pro-porn post-feminists. Over the years, my attitude changed. Eventually, I began referring to the porn industry as a meat grinder for the human condition. In my opinion, it is a lot to ask someone to get fucked in the ass for a living. Shalom Auslander has put it thusly: “I have never had a day as bad as a woman named ‘Cloey’ had the day they shot the video that appeared on that webpage — that is to say, I have never had a day where someone wrote the word ‘Cockwhore’ on my forehead with lipstick, tried to shove their entire fist down my throat and then ‘choke-fucked’ me with their penis until I barfed on their testicles.”

i tell ya, i'm ambivalent about porn. just like any male growing up in this country, i grew up wanting to watch porn, that taboo brand of film, and became accustomed to it. a few years back, in preparation for workshop i was about to do with a Young Men's Group, i researched male sexual patterns, sexual abuse and rape. what i found was not only alarming but also tied to porn. a lot of these are exploited, let's not get it twisted, exploited from either when they were small and were either molested or violated and found no other recourse than a life selling their body. most pornstars, if asked, were raped at some point or another, a good book on this subject is the autobiography of Jenna Jameson, a heavyweight in the porn industry.

i remember having a convo with a supervisor of mine who divulged to me that she liked rough sex ... being slapped in the face, choked, that sort of thing and i couldn't understand why until she told me that her first boyfriend had raped her. then it all made sense, in some ways and in some cases it's a perpetuating cycle.

i'm not saying that there aren't women who don't actually enjoy some of these things naturally ... but these are rare and far in between. take this statistic and mull it over, Japan, which is a BDSM mecca (Bondage, Domination, Sadism, Masochism) is also the country where, according to an international poll, women are least satisfied sexually. something like 50% of women there have claimed to never have experienced an orgasm (tragic, i know). is there a connection ... you be the judge