Sunday, March 28, 2010
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Friday, March 26, 2010
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
(Mactans wrote my name on the confession list. I won't clip the "cute" mantelito.)
This is my confession:
1. I'm a Muslim in the mornings, but I don't pray to Allah. Walk with me at sunrise and you'll see what I mean.
2. I'm the "family Christmas asshole." My intolerance for hypocrisy gets me in trouble every year.
3. I wish philosophy were my porn and poetry my bread and butter.
4. In my next life I want to be the sound of a jarana and the zapateado on a tarima.
5. I suffer from panic attacks when I drive on those California highways. Strangely, I can drive around the city without problems. I refuse to take drugs for my panic attacks.
6. I stopped writing years ago because I had nothing to say, and when I did have something to say, I said it with my middle finger.
7. I was a homeless person in Los Angeles/Long Beach area many years ago. The strange voice of this singer (from Smithsonian Folkways) reminded of those nights without a bed.
I am Muslim in the morning, but I don't pray to Allah.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
It was a rough week. Lots of stress at work. My husband is getting over a cold. Cat was sick. Our house is a mess. Lots of laundry to do. Lots of dishes to wash. Car needs an oil change. Income taxes need to be filed.
But for now, we just sit. Read. Think. Feel. Eat avocado sandwiches. Kiss. Go back to an unmade bed. Dream. Play with my new camera. Admit to self that I'm just a kindergarten student and leave the real photographs to experts. This camera is my first box of crayons.
(gracias, todavia por la camara......es un regalo hermoso)
Sunday, March 7, 2010
In the United States he washed dishes at the International House of Pancakes for $3. 35 hour. He played his guitar on his free time on the grassy area of the college where I worked as an assistant gardener.
The first time I saw Jorge he was playing Neil Young’s Out On The Weekend like a left over angel from the 1970’s. I fell in love with him immediately. When he finished playing the song, I went up to him and kissed him. This was my first rock and roll kiss. I still remember the Harvest album taste in his mouth.
I was 16. Jorge was 25.
We saw each other after work to talk, to hold hands, and to kiss. I searched long and hard under his tongue for Led Zeppelin’s Battle of Evermore . I never found it.
I was not much of a girlfriend. I was too ignorant to talk about the social and political situation of El Salvador or about Reaganomics. We mostly talked about music. He liked to hear my rock and roll dreams while he snorted cocaine. Jorge liked to hear how I, after graduating from high school, was going travel with the Grateful Dead or how I was going to buy a red pick-up truck and move to San Francisco. He smiled when I told him I was going to have a son and name him Mick Jagger. I told him my dream about playing guitar. I was going to play a slow version of Sultans of Swing. It was going to be so slow it was going to ache. Jorge didn’t share his dreams. He told me El Salvador had taken all his dreams away. However, he was going to accept a ride to Los Angeles one day on my very own red pick-up truck.
Jorge never invited me to his house. He rented a small room from a mormon family who did not allow renters to bring women to the house. I assured him over and over that I wasn’t looking for a room. I wanted to wait until I was 18. I wanted a big brass bed like in Bob Dylan’s Lay Lady Lay.
As time passed, my parents eventually found out Jorge’s age and prohibited me from seeing him. I didn’t fight their decision. At that time, Jorge’s cocaine use was becoming a problem and at 17 the levee was beginning to dry and the rock and roll bells were starting to break.
When I told Jorge I no longer wanted to see him, he asked me:
What about the red pick-up truck?
What about the big brass bed?
Three years later I saw Jorge at a park. He was playing his guitar. His body had taken a good beating from drugs. He sang The Battle Of Evermore.
I cried all the way home.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Thank you, Implicada.
It was a lovely surprise.
1. I love dangling earrings. I sometimes make them too. I think I'm a hippie in a universe where I wake up every morning and it is 1968.
2. In the 90's my cousin Dora and I visited Guanajuato. The callejones smelled like oranges and marihuana. We drank vino tinto and sang Maldita Vecindad and Café Tacuba songs in the street at 2 am. We danced with the dead.
3. I discovered Frida Kahlo in the university library where I was studying in the 1980's. The room was dark and cold. Students rarely visited that floor. When I saw her paintings, I felt Frida was mine. We shared dirty secrets.
Thank you for the lovely gifts.
Café Tacuba porque esta noche recordé que un dia bailé con los muertos de la Independencia de 1810.