May I have a word?

Sometimes not being able to sleep is good.
Your mind gets the chance to go out there and hush for a while. It's all silent and peaceful. It's nice.
Maybe you feel inspired, maybe you don't. You send an email, write a letter, sing a little. I don't know. But life seems easy when you realize that. Even though you have to wake up early tomorrow, those moments awake at night are part of your life and you can do whatever you want of them. You can make them yours.
Don't complain for time 'wasted' being awake. Make that time something.
This is something I learn from the secret oracle in me. I hope I don't forget it.
Good night.

Here I am.

we all wanted that high school sweetheart
we wanted to be young in the 50s with meatloaves
and sock hops
and lawns, lawns so perfect they looked like Clark Gable was kissing them

we wanted to be thirteen and alive and meet a girl that was thirteen and alive
and walk with her past the grandstands, to sit and hold hands, to sit and kiss, to sit and sit, like it was something you would miss, but that never was

we once went to bed like between the bed sheets was a valley with dinosaurs still breathing
and how we capture these triceratops?
and brontosauruses?
but even they were opened up with the smoke that rose out of the homes and the corners that we once climbed through,
the streets and the footballs which we once threw,
the school desks upon which we once drew,
the windows that sat open through we once flew,
before the outside world of parking spaces and dead friends came flooding on in
and we forgot what we wanted
and we became what we become: waitresses and bartenders, city employees and temp positions, we are junkies and one kiss poems and we cry the stars
as we write our scars onto dumpsters
and electric boxes
because the only thing that we can hear is our hearts
and the only ones listening are the streets

that the blood that breaths through the letters we leave
and we dream to rise ourselves up out of these burning buildings
but instead we get buried somewhere beneath

because I know my life is like some high school kids notebook
a high school kid that shuffles back and forth between school and home
stacking the letters and the pictures too close for anyone outside of his own imagination to read
because it's through the ink that his heart beats,
that his heart breaths
and we all just wanted to write these notes

check if you like me
check if you don’t
check if you'll date me
check if you won't

because we all wanted the love songs to be true
and we did love dinosaurs once
and we wanted the stars to hold our hands,
to lick the teeth to fuck us,
but they ended up fucking us,
so let your smile twist
like my heart dancing precariously on the edge of my fingertips,
staining them like that same high school kid licking his thoughts,
using his sharpie tip writing:

"I was here / I was here mothafucka / And ain't none of y'all can write that in the spot that I just wrote it in / I’m here mothafucka and we all here mothafucka and we all mothafuckas, mothafucka / Because every breath I give brings me a second closer to the day that my mother may die / Because every breath I take takes me a second further from the moment she caught my father's eye / Because every word I carry is another stone to put into place in the foundation that I'm building / Because the days can erase something that I never saw / What all of us wanted and what none of us got /What we all had and have and what we all forgot / That we all wanted to be something / That we all became something / And it might not be the shit we once though we'd be when we were kids but something is still something and like some cats say, something is better than nothing / Feet are smarter than an engine / And dreams are stronger than thighs / And questions are the only answers we need to know that we are alive as I am when I have the mind of a child, asking why is 2 + 3 always equal to 5 ? / Where do people go to when they die? / What made the beauty of the moon? / And the beauty of the sea? / Did that beauty made you? / Did that beauty make me? / Will that make me something? / Will I be something? / Am I something?”

And the answer comes: already am, always was, and I still have time to be.



Anis Mojgani.

2:23 AM.

Bien, elijo pararme sobre un terreno peligroso.
Había decidido evitarlo para evitar mi propia frustración.
Para no caer de nuevo en la impotencia de no saber.
Pero olvidé algo muy importante: nunca supe absolutamente nada y aún así, antes me dejaba volar.
Entonces, ¿por qué me cuesta tanto liberarme y peremitirme explorar cada rincón de esta intrincada mente?
Porque me torné completamente conciente, (¿por qué me torné completamente conciente?).
Todo era mucho más relajado, más simple.
No había tapujos ni restricciones.
Era simplemente una hoja de papel y yo.
Éramos dos beligerantes en una batalla contra la realidad, contra el tiempo, contra la humanidad, contra la normalidad.
Encontrábamos amor, odio, un hogar en cada uno.
Empero, eso no nos impedía seguir escrutando la geografía de nuestros cuerpos.
Como si doliese demasiado no hacerlo.
No existían límites.
Mis manos temablaban al ritmo de ese éxtasis que se concentraba en sólo un trazo.
Era el Paraíso en un minuto mundano.
Era perfecto.
Entonces bien, elijo pararme sobre un terreno peligroso.
Mis terminaciones nerviosas, cada una de ellas, siente el tacto.
Comienza la función, abro mis ojos, respiro profundo.
Dejo mi reparo en la puerta.
Se abre el telón.
Todavía nadie vio mi rostro.
¿Y qué es más importante, mi cara, mi voz o mi palabras?
Dicen que un hombre es lo que hace, no lo que dice.
¿Puede ser lo que escribe?

Sh.

You're quiet when I want you to be.
You're quiet when I need you to be.
You're quiet when I want you to talk.
You're quiet when I need you to scream.
Sometimes, you're just quiet.
And I love your silence.

The book of life.

By the length of the story we can tell is hard to understand. Every piece of quiet movement it's impossible to describe but not to feel. It's a book you read with your eyes shut, without touching the pages as they burn fast. We can't keep it, we can't stole it, we can't save it. It has its own life and it will live 'till its time arrives. The first chapters are written in the simplest way but are the hardest to understand. They're full of magic and wonder, smiles and goofy faces. But also they're filled with questions and discoveries that sometimes give us pain. Inoncent pain, joyful pain. Pure pain. Beautifully created to baptism our existence. An existence marked by the scar that makes us ourselves unique and imperfectly perfect in our form. Yes we're all clichés. But for some of us it's hard to understand and see how magical we could be by being just the same, it's hard to find our own difference and to stand out. It's hard to catch our breathe and catch our inspiration, or at least a glimpse of it. That's why these first chapters are so important. Sometimes our mind and body and heart beg us to read them again. Memorize them and make them a reality for the second time.

A juzgar por la longitud de la historia sabemos que es difícil de entender. Cada parte de silencioso movimiento es imposible de describir pero no de sentir. Es un libro que leés con los ojos cerrados, sin tocar las páginas mientras se incineran rápidamente. No lo podemos guardar, no lo podemos robar, no lo podemos salvar. Tiene su propia vida y vivirá hasta que su tiempo llegue. Los primeros capítulos están escritos de la forma más simple y son los más difíciles de entender. Están llenos de magia y maravilla, sonrisas y caras tontas. Pero también están llenos de preguntas y descubrimientos que a veces nos causan dolor. Dolor inocente, jubiloso. Puro. Hermosamente creado para bautizar nuestra existencia. Una existencia marcada por la cicatriz que nos hace a nosotros mismos únicos e imperfectamente perfectos en nuestra propia forma. Sí, somos todos clichés. Empero, para alguno de nosotros es difícil de entender y ver cuán mágicos podemos ser siendo lo mismo, es arduo encontrar nuestra propia diferencia y destacarse. Es difícil recobrar nuestro aliento y capturar nuestra inspiración, o por lo menos un vistazo de ella. Este es el porqué de que estos primero capítulos sean tan importantes. A veces nuestra mente, nuestro cuerpo y corazón nos suplican que los leamos de nuevo, los memoricemos y los hagamos una realidad por segunda vez.

Sometimes the LSD just hits.

What do you want to hear from me?
I'm not an ideal plan.
I can barely stand on my feet.
But for me is easy to survive.
You see, I eat constellations.
The milky way is my ideal home.
I'm not sure I'm what you call 'normal'.
But I'm so charismatic that you sing along.
Do you need a master piece?
Or some divine demostration?
All I have is what's left of me.
I'm God's best creation.
I fight alone 'cause I can't relate
to any human action.
You are so boring, so predictable.
I don't see any reaction.
Well I'm just passing by
This world is too contagious.
I need my galactic sounds
I need variations.
You'll remember my name
with hatred or love.
I don't care, I'll just laugh
watching you from above.

Mucho rimar con ar.

Caminaban de la mano. Tomaban un helado. Miraban una película. Se iban a acostar. Repetían la rutina con algunos cambios. Eran sus constantes y sus ganas de bailar. Respiraban extasiados y cansados de tanto caminar. Siempre se perdían doblando esquinas que nadie se animaba a doblar. Encontraban nuevos mundos en el mismo placard. Todo pasó tan rápido, todo tan bipolar. Un día se alejaron sin saber qué contestar. Un reproche del otro, una lágrima más. No entendieron nunca cómo la fuerza del destino los pudo separar. Fue otro amor no compartido, otro amor a medio amar.