running, excersising, smoking,drinking tea, reading, skating, breathing, observing art, photography, cleaning,bathing my turtles, watering my plants, typing, listening to good music, making words, walking my turtles, eating chocolate, jews, latins, gay guys, going to church, taking the bus, talking to people on the train, tagging on L.A. buses, pretending i know how to brekdance, raves, glowsticks, tetherball, playing nintendo, rolling up dutchess', riding airplanes, traveling, washing my face, having my friends rap in my ear while we're drunk, listening to brasilian guys rap in english with a really heavy accent,cooking at 1 in the morning while listenng to Juan Luis Guerra, waking up to find a new pack of fags on my desk, smoking in the mountains, driving no where, clubing, playing basketball, trying to put my old chucks back together in vain because they're basically rags now, driving at 100 down the freeway at 3 in the morning, going to Frisco, going to NY, going back-back to cali-cali, lovin L.A., hanging out with my brother, getting peircings, getting tattoos in Castro street in Frisco, singing in the rain, listening to Elton John with a bunch of guys in the car, pretending fredo and i are cousins when in reality we are partners in crime, avoiding people, sleeping on sabrina's bed, not eating breakfast, running my finger's through my babushka's hair, acknowledging my cat even though he walks away from me when im talking to him, smoking hookah, laying on the grass and watching the stars, my professor, applying lip balm, drinking and beer pong, isolation, being on the train for 4 days straight, building conversations from awkward first dates, eating home made sushi, losing weight, playing basketball with cholos, my husband lil wayne, being a hopeless romantic, reading about warhol, sun bathing, eating ice cream
your aura. my country. GOD.
janis joplin, billie holiday and rocio durcal.
french new wave. thunder over mexico.
Absolutely fabolous, L.A. ink, south park, the history channel, the office, rob & big
I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair. Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets. Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.I hunger for your sleek laugh, your hands the color of a savage harvest, hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails, I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body, the sovereign nose of your arrogant face, I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight, hunting for you, for your hot heart, like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.
-- Pablo Neruda
Neruda's love poems and a song of despair
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