stop all the clocks and cut off the telephone

I don't care if I never smile ever again, you know? fuck that. who wants to be fucking happy? not me. besides, my brother is right; it's NOT about being happy. it's about going in and going by and leaving only the bad behind --and not too much of your blood or the blood of others, hopefully.
happiness is only something you'll think you remember when the hard days come. you will say, 'oh lo, I wish I was back when blah blah, then I was happy.'

well guess what, buddy; that happiness you thought you felt was a complete accident. a combination of pheromones, probably good food and more likely than not, sex. it wasn't real. you think you've ever felt close to someone? that wasn't there either; it's just what you wanted to feel. if you're really, really lucky, the other person wanted to feel the same way too.

people lie all the time, your friends are lying and so is your lover. you're a liar, too (and so am I). you know it isn't personal, I know it too, and so does everyone else, so let's just live with it, okay dokie? yes.

the worst part is that, even if life has always been like this and people were always complicated, we currently live in a fucking deadpan world that only produces lukewarm, wishy washy cunts who claim that now they're swingers, who think funerals are a chance to get under the spotlight, who hide behind smarmy comments and long skirts to avoid getting their hands bloody, cunts who are pathetic, in short;

gone are the times that saw men like my father and Colin White grow up, men who not only sailed through life, both literally and figuratively, without ever apologizing or explaining themselves to anyone, but they actually trekked this earth doing what they wanted, hiding behind no one, acting to the beat of their own hearts and stirring souls, egos, minds, revolutions, questions, and the occasional stew or omelette in their paths and trails, like real men should.



rest in peace, professor white, sir, thank you again for always, always believing in me, the dumb girl with the hat who always tried to hide from you. say hello to my Father and to Blake.



one last note: colin's pictures belong to my friend miranda, who also goes by the name of Irene Adler, unbelievable as that might seem, under this wonderful new concept writers and artists had NEVER used before: it's called a PSEUDONYM. dimwits.

diez veloces (y aún perplejos) meses más tarde, ésta va para mis padres. papá, sueño contigo en algún punto casi todas las noches, luego despierto y siento siempre la misma estúpida sorpresa...

si tú no vuelves
se secarán todos los mares
y esperaré sin ti
tapiado al fondo de algún recuerdo

si tú no vuelves
mi voluntad se hará pequeña
me quedaré aquí
junto a mi perro gato espiando horizontes

si tú no vuelves
no quedarán más que desiertos
y escucharé por si
algún latido le queda a esta tierra

que era tan serena
cuando me querías
habia un perfume fresco que yo respiraba
era tan bonita, era así de grande
no tenía fin

y cada noche vendrá una estrella
a hacerme compañía
que te cuente cómo estoy
y sepas lo que hay
dime amor, amor, amor
estoy aqui ¿no ves?
si no vuelves no habrá vida
no sé lo que haré

si tú no vuelves
no habrá esperanza ni habrá nada
caminaré sin tí
con mi tristeza bebiendo lluvia

to those cunts who tried putting a knife to my brother's heart, I curse you once, twice, thrice, and a thousandfold, you and your own; may your hair and teeth go loose and fall off, your eyes get sore and dry, may your feet blister and swell inside your shoes, and may someone step on them repeatedly, may your team always lose at the last minute, may your dog bite your ankles when you pass by, may your wives always be bitches to you, and never ever shut up; may your food forever and ever taste like fatman in the subway ass, and may your water always have someone else's boogies in it.

and when you die we'll meet in Hell, where I shall kick your balls for eternity.

si tú no cuentas tu historia, otros lo harán. imaginad todos ustedes la historia de su vida según la contarían sus personas más cercanas... léase tu papá, tu hermana, tu hijo, tu amigo, tu mujer. vean si la idea misma no les hace correr a tomar pluma y papel.

léase que ésta ha sido la semana de las historias: toda una vida de labor detectivesca en la investigación de mi padre, una tarea titánica y frustrante, años de especulación y comparación de notas desde dos lados de un mundo, arrojan un solo resultado. No hay monstruo, no hay gran misterio ni secreto, ninguna loca encerrada en el ático, sólo un hombre que guardó un fiero silencio durante 35 años por razones que sólo a él le quedaron claras......

ellos (nosotros) contarán la historia, y todos los recuentos terminarán con 'claro... debió haberlo sabido'. y todos
asentirán, diciendo claro, claro.

st. anger

I am proud to announce that in the wee hours of yestermorning, my lily gave birth to yet another three calicos like herself. potential names have been:

strawberry, vanilla, & chocolate
lucy, sky, and diamonds
bubblegum, buttercup, & blossom
strawberry, fields, forever

these are magic kitties people; apt for thinking people, witches, wizards, and people who are willing to give them a challenging life. adopt yours today.

yesterday was also my father's birthday, and while I terribly ached to stay with my litter, it was made very clear to me in many different ways that it definitely was NOT cool to miss papa's birthday, newborns, protests, thunderstorms, traffic, and muggers nonewithstanding.

oh yes, my brother and I were mugged at gunpoint on the bus on the third hour of travel between the teahouse & my parents'. it all happened very fast and no one got hurt, and that's excellent of course --like I need that kind of drama--, but I lost my wallet and my cellphone, plus about 80 dollars, which is a PAIN IN THE ARSE since it's still the only money I owned on this side of the atlantic. and my money in europe well, I can't very well swim there now, can I?


so pardon me if I still think that both my parents' birthdays hold a curse for the whole family. to fill on my father's side, last year he almost gave up the ghost on his birthday, and the year before that I was leaping into a plane to ohio, which in retrospect was not a very good move at all. the year before that... oh well, I don't need to find more evidence... you know I'm telling the truth.

I've been very cranky and that worries me; I really DON'T want to get depressed.
it's just... a lot of silly little unfortunate things have happened. and I'm starting to feel powerless about everything again; I can't afford to not have my computer fixed, but I can't fix it until I get my money, and in the meantime the days march by and it's almost end of the month again and I've been falling more and more behind at work.

crap.


three songs about cities without the names on the title
la ciudad de la furia -- soda stereo
under the bridge -- red hot chilli peppers
moon over bourbon street -- sting

I sell magic kitties --to be

after my poor glass bowl jude was killed last friday in a tragic and senseless accident, I've decided I'm definitely going back to the old piping bits bowl. perhaps it's not quite as classy, but I've always thought this kind smokes better, despite of what purists may say.

I lost my old bowl --a nameless one-- at one of the bacchanals next door sometime last month. so today, while visiting my honourable progenitors, I went on a run to the trinkety market and got a new metal bowl with a frowning skull on it, but it's also blue and pink. quite me, in fact. I even borrowed my mother's car to run my errand; talk about cyncism.

eh... bug it.

my dad's being really nice to me lately. nicest ever, even. my mother too, to be honest. it's sad to say but it pays to visit little, I suppose. the less they see of me, the better they like me.

or maybe they heard that I sent a text message to my half-sister telling her to bugger off, this is not daddy's cellphone anymore, stop sending pussy messages to this number. love, sis. and I don't feel in the least bit bad about it; it's sad enough that these people don't get it through their thick skulls that this isn't the right number a year after it changed, but excuse me if I'm quite tired of getting kissy kissy messages for 'daddy'. especially when most of the times my dad has said 'I love you' to me the sentence concluded with 'but for the life of me, I can't seem to get to like you'.

or realistically, it's just too much trouble to sort these tiresome missives and delete them from my very limited memory. it's one of those nuisances I choose not to live with. too bad.

my computer is fried and I'm completely broke. a small payment came in and that saved the day rentwise, but my payment from europe looks more stuck than ever. the whole story of chicken and egg; the problem could be easily solved if I had but a bit of money; alas, my liquidity went with the winter pallor in isla mujeres. oh malade.

so my money is there laughing merrily and dancing just out of reach. I almost don't worry much because as usual, the money is showing up so late that it almost makes no difference when it comes in anymore; I already owe it all so as far as I'm concerned, the credit card company can fuck off for another day.

in the meantime, the spring of love does go on...

top 3 janis
1. mercedes benz
2. summertime
3. ball and chain

complicated

pues SÉPANLO: lo soy. lo cual no quiere decir, obviamente, que no sea un ser humano con sentimientos como todos los demás. y me voy a permitir mencionar esto: a veces me parece que la mayor parte de las personas a mi alrededor son, por lo menos, tan complicadas como yo.

y tómese como ejemplo la conversación que tuve ayer por el celular, regresando del consultorio después de que mi imberbe galeno me dijo que moviera la cabeza con cuidado, no me fuera a explotar. después de asomarse en mi oído se le pusieron los ojos muy redondos, pero yo no me dejo intimidar por un médico que no me lleve más de quince o veinte años. después de todo, he conocido a médicos que no saben lo que es el vitiligo. en todo caso, le hice caso con lo de no sacudir mucho el cráneo; mis ideas se sentían algo agolpadas sobre mi lóbulo cerebral izquierdo, así que me llevé el celular al oído de ese lado --el sano-- con una mueca de dolor:

"hola, yo puedo hablar con el señor blahBLAH (mi padre)?
ya sé quién es: su esposa. el nombre en la pantalla del celular es house of pain
"hola, éste ya no es su celular." y esto es algo que ella YA debería saber.
"quien habla?" (así habla, sin acentos ni signos de interrogación al principio. es gringa. o americana cual por ahí dicen).
"soy su hija." ya hemos pasado por esto antes, ella y yo, y la última vez también me agarró con la guardia baja.
"su hija? ah, I see. cual es su numero?" debo decir que, a partir de nuestras conversaciones, no me queda claro si esta señora realmente sabe quién soy. he intentado hablarle en inglés, pero se muestra igualmente dudosa.
"¿el número de mi papá? un momento". probablemente esto no es una buena idea, pero ya me he arrojado sobre la piedra del sacrificio y no es cuestión de echarse atrás. bajo la ceja muy levantada de M, miro mi celular y trato de encontrar el número de padre en el directorio. por supuesto que mi teléfono, con su inteligente diseño de la nueva era, no está preparado para dejarme buscar un número mientras estoy en llamada. ya lanzados, en realidad no quiero tener que explicarle a esta señora que no tengo el número; quiero dárselo para que lo anote y desafanarme de este proceso. así que lógicamente, le digo a milady que le llamaré en un minuto con el número. because that makes perfect sense.
la confundo --es mi especialidad, confundir a la gente-- y no parece estar muy segura de estarse haciendo entender. la intento convencer de que cuelgue, pero con el gusano que ahora vive en mi oído medio y todo eso, la verdad es que los argumentos se me escapan; hago ruiditos conciliadores y cuelgo. verifico el número, marco de vuelta y, después de constatar muy sorprendida que efectivamente SOY YO, y aunque obviamente se muere por preguntar cómo supe el número, es una dama eficiente y sabe que conseguir papel y lápiz es la prioridad en este caso. en fin, que anota el número, que me da las gracias, que nos decimos adiós. eso fue todo.

y luego se extrañan porque a veces pregunto después de considerar algo nuevo con cuidado: ¿estoy soñando? ¿tú estás soñando?

otra cosa, mencioné high fidelity, pero apenas ayer recordé por qué todo eso de los top 5 me gustó tanto de entrada. en la primaria y secundaria, escribirnos cartitas entre amigos era más o menos normal. durante algunos años me escribí con un tío llamado e, y siempre terminábamos nuestras cartas con un top five del día, o de la semana (o DE TODOS LOS TIEMPOS, yeah baby). un top five por lo menos; en realidad la regla implícita era que hicieras un TOP tantos renglones como sobraran de la carta. de hecho, muchas veces no había carta; sólo una lista. a veces le variábamos con libros o películas, pero mayormente era música. buenos tiempos. me pregunto qué ha pasado con ese chico. y si todavía piensa en términos de top 10 o top 5.

nah, en realidad no quiero saber; prefiero imaginármelo.

en todo caso, todo esto fue mi rebuscada manera de explicar por qué, de ahora en adelante, pienso retomar esa buena costumbre y hacer por lo menos uno cada día. hoy, de mi lista de febrero 2006.

1. bye, bye baby -- janis joplin -- good night, good luck, so long, bye-bye, blackbird fly.
2. world at large -- modest mouse -- this one's been there for awhile. it just fits.
3. ramblin' man -- allman brothers band -- another of the fixed soundtrack of the month, I s'ppose. see, songs about drifters and songs about the same.
4. superman's dead -- our lady peace -- canadian band, I don't even know if they're still kicking.
5. let's get it on -- marvin gaye -- oh I do have a sweet spot. I wouldn't mind getting it on, you know.

less defined as the days go by

oh boy. well here, I'll try again.

stressful holidays indeed.

I've been having so much work, which is a good thing. I'm positive I'll actually even believe that when I actually get paid. see, I don't want to whine, but really... all the money I'm getting any time soon, I already owe. with a vengeance.

and on top of that, all the holiday craze in the city, that just makes everything twice as dreadful, really. headbutting my way into the metrobus every day, dealing with a thousand people at work who'd like their sun-shaped tea infusors wrapped in blue paper, not yellow. my dad never fails to repproach that I never visit enough.
now I haven't seen them since Christmas, but man, really, I've got so much work and eh, I'm stressed.

I get stressed because he really is very sick and could go at any moment, and my 'I have work' excuses sound thin and fake even to my own ears. why yes, I try to drop by once every one or two weeks, but lately it has been mostly a hit-and-run operation. after all, it does take me a couple of hours to get there and back.

bah. you hear me? BAH!

it didn't help either that we had a rather, um, intense time at home too. the so termed house of Dames & Dragons has had a dire time lately, and that includes both the official and the honorary members, and both of the human and animal species. indeed, december saw the decease of an old-time canine friend, and my poor Lily hung suspended from one of her rear paws for a prolonged period of time, getting stuck on the spiral staircase that goes to the roof when trying to get away from the huge bully tomcat from across the street. my god, I used to be polite to that cat but I just flip him off every time I see him now.

I don't even want to get started with the human population pathos. let us just say, it's been intense.
(and on top of it all, of course, work-work-work. and lots of Bright Eyes and new Fiona.)

I don't know about the angelical roommate (that'd be fionn, our resident and ephemeral scotsman), but I think all of us, and marianne (roommie 1), and even I --who had no concrete reason to be freaking out, except maybe for a certain unnamed annoyance related to some other beings of strength-- hit rock-bottom at the christmas night party, taking place on the neighboring house, home of the other two thirds of the Scottish population around here. that is to say, mr. and mr. black horse, scottish, their english housemate, Elliot, and their spanish roommate paco.

all in all, I was in a pretty broody mood all the evening, because almost everything about the visit earlier to my parents irked me; it bothered me that my parents thought that Tim was my boyfriend again, my dad falling asleep on his coffee as usual; and then the whole gift exchange, and toast, and stuff, I say, I love my grandma and I will always love to see her, but I always feel like such a phony with my parents at these occassions. it never feels true. I love them, and I'd like to connect with them, but it just never feels so.
and then my father put us on the street to get a cab from the suburbs on Christmas Eve, because seemingly he'd rather put us on the street than letting us use the car for one night. The End.
at the end my mamma saved the ball by almost secretly picking us up and giving us a ride, so I didn't have to spend my grandma's christmas money on the 90 minute cabride.

we all verily agreed there was way too much alcohol involved at this social event, and there was a fair share of tickling and misdemenaurs, where are yous and even one potentially fatal case of bronchitis; I sat and watched on the big sofa-bed with Paco and my brother, we drank and drank, we smoked and smoked, we hijacked the music, until the Luxury Accesory (i.e., mr blackhorse #3 and another attaché) came, stood there looking gorgeous, and cried, "look, it's not like I don't love Joy Division, but you're making everyone want to kill themselves!"

then we surrendered to Beck, which was of course still very pleasant. I suppose by then we were too decadently intoxicated to care. at least I was. paco will testify that I was like the naughty sister in the story, tossing snakes and toads out of my mouth about a series of things in life that ultimately suck, but god knows I was a funny mofo all the same.

I came home early, only to freak out silently and by myself almost until sunrise. I hear that was a night for the sleepless, and there were many late nighters like myself. and even more later. some of them wearing skirts.

new year's was considerably better, except that I realize this is the first new year's I spend without my brother in our entire lives. I missed him. marianne, displaying a domesticity unheard of in her before, cooked a very large turkey, cortesy of her cellphone company, and we had it in company of good friends and with a lot of good wine. excellent company, yes. almost everyone went off partying afterwards, but I decided to skip it and I just stayed up talking with our last guest, our english neighbor, who got there pretty late from visiting his family and we actually stayed up until dawn.

all in all, I felt better. in between christmas and new year's everything seemed to fit together better and everything felt more at ease.

oh sheesh, I really didn't want to rant.

to summarize. lots of work. injured cats (both now, sandokan tried to cut his veins yesterday night). one friend who must become a friend. freaked out housepeople, who say they're feeling all kinds of better. which is good because even if they weren't strictly *my* problems, they affect me all the same.

lots of irkiness, I'm really not well in my head and in my heart. most of the times I'm okay, but only yesterday someone at the teahouse spoke roughly to me and I burst into tears. bel called the house on the 31st, actually looking for miranda, but 'it's so good to say HI to you.' we managed a record breaking time of 65 seconds of conversation before we started fighting, after which I collapsed on my couch like a cinderella and cried my little heart away, once again. I heard m talking to him and making him apologize, and I just said yeah, yeah, and we got off the phone. he didn't really want to apologize. and maybe he didn't need to; I was probably being a hysterical thing again.

and here's the risible thing: he said he meant to come for new year's, and I believed him. I even afforded to feel disappointed that he didn't show up.

oh man, I suck just as much as ever. send xanax.

I think that on the whole, I'm holding steady, but man, sometimes it's hard.

three pounds.

and now let's try this again. one, two, three, own your dot, click comments, say hello.

we'll meet again/lost rhapsody

before I even knew it, last week I spent what felt like three quarters of my weekly pay in sugar skulls and candy coffins for the offering. my favorite is still the skeleton sitting on a tomb with curlers in her head, a huge bowl of guacamole in her arms and a sign that reads "I loved and am loved". then I realized that 1) I had already bought an insane amount of marigolds, that would never last for the week remaining till the day first; and 2) in my dazzle of decoration I ran out of money for food, which is supposed to be the true spirit of the thing, as opposed to the frilly skeleton candy.

us mexicans are very serious about our food. you can believe it.

in that I'm different, because for me, the less I eat the better. I don't have money for food, but I'm honestly more disturbed about my lack of food for my dead relatives.

who were good mexicans who took their meals to heart. I still can see all my grandma's brothers and sisters sitting in a row, chewing in unison and hushing up as soon as the food came because talking wastes time.

anyway, I thought I could still treat these old people with some goodies they won't find in my more sober relative's offerings: a good bottle of malt whisky; a bottle of foamy rose wine for the ladies; half a dozen cigarettes; a doobie or two; twizzlers; a book by Bukowski; some milk and a cup of tea.

pictures shall be coming shortly.

afternote: fans of LOST, this might tickle your funnybone. it's work friendly but you'll need to turn up the sound.

and so it is, just like you said it would be

fine, so I'm moving. yes.

the moment I had the house for sure I called bel, my ex who has most of my stuff in the apartment we once shared. when we broke up we decided to leave the stuff there, because it had been an amicable break-up and some day we'd meet again and I'd take my stuff and everything would be just fine.

for a year I have been fighting the grownups around me, who said that I shouldn't trust him and that he was going to try and screw me over with the things, or otherwise to try and make things difficult for me when the time came. for a year I've been defending him, saying he's not like that, that he's different, that we have good memories, that he's not like everyone else.

I've been trying to talk to him since I knew of the move, and he always cut me off for some reason or other. he's always so busy, he always says he'll call back and he never does. so in the end, after trying three or four times to talk to him, I decided to text him, saying that I'd be there on saturday to pack and to let me know if that was OK with him. he never answered, so I sent the message again. finally I call yesterday night,

and he says that he did get my message, but that a message isn't enough, that I should have called. furthermore, he's busy today and tomorrow, and he wants to be there when I move, lest I take something that is not mine.

just in case I'm going to take something that isn't mine.

me. take something of his. he knows how much trouble I've gone through because of the things, I apologized profoundly to him because I had to take the fridge from him a couple of months ago, after I've gone through all this trouble to keep things smooth and keep some civility and everything, he's worried that I, his girlfriend who supported him for three years, am going to grab stuff that isn't mine just to screw him over.

and he doesn't care that I've been laying plans for the whole week and that I need it to happen this weekend, because I need to move before next weekend and my brother can't help me in the weekdays, and it doesn't matter that I have a key and that I know exactly what is mine and what isn't, I can't just let myself into the apartment I LIVED IN AND PAYED THE RENT FOR DURING TWO YEARS because I MIGHT TAKE SOMETHING OF HIS, because in his words, 'you just never know'.

i should be so happy about the move, but this has me brokenhearted. it's stupid, but I feel stupid too. I feel I've been stupid for a looooong time.

and that it still hurts more than it makes me mad, makes me all the more stupid.