Sunday, December 07, 2008

Sitting, standing. Cliché reigning over talks and the news crashing down on the little people and forgetting details that make them seem ridiculous and completely unprepared. I am standing and I read the sentences of the famous man that was murdered and that lives forever in those words. Those powerful words that someone forgot to teach me how to pronounce. I am sitting. Listening to the cords of his guitar. With my eternal soul. Alone. Not lonely. Always trying to repair someone else and pretending I know how. Unicorns aren't real. If they were, they'll be blue and yellow, and they wouldn't fly. Inanimate objects call a name, not my name, they can't pronounce it. I told you cliché reigns over talks. I got two eyes and they are fine and see color so bright and soft and they can't see too far out.

This is nothing. Just words. But I could be wrong. Wrong for stealing lines and borrowing air. Kisses kissses kisssses in foreign countries where I once stepped foot. I am standing on the top of an ancient sanctuary and in the middle of a ball park. On top of the tallest hand-made mountain you can imagine, and the stars look so far still.

Once upon a time was too long ago.

But there's this song that reminds me of rainy afternoons and bus rides. What a long green ride. What a sharp image. What a dusty country and how colorful were those stamps. They don't use stamps anymore. It's a waste of ink, I heard. Also someone that now is really famous found out how to stamp in invisible numbers. My eyes can't see those, no matter how close they are. I haven't seen them this week. I also haven't seen that man. And I have seen too many strangers and I remember their names, and I've forgotten the name of friends and only remember their faces now. Memory. I have to back up the memory or I'll forget. But I won't ever forget of the rose that you killed. Who's waiting? Oh make them wait and they'll eventually go home. Push away, let go. What does it all mean? I was interesting at some point in time. And it wasn't too long ago, but no no more. Tell me a story and I'll make up the ending. The beginning is yours to keep I don't want it. And you can correct me, but keep the draft marked with red pen because I will through it out for you.

And someone said everyone will say they believe, but what if someone can't say it and that mouth doesn't even open for a smile. Oh the green grass and the warmth. What are those flying lights? The song's over, so I'll get up.

3 comments:

Coco said...

Hola...
espero y estes bien : )
paso a decirte q. estoy en Facebook : )
buscame!
socorro estrella-duran
msestrelladuran@yahoo.com

www.facebook.com

tengo fotos! : )

te espero, eh : )

abrazos y bendicionees

Chris and Lindsey Wheeler said...

So good to hear from you....did you see the new pic of Xio on my other blog?!! Hope you are doing great!!

begutierrez said...

Flake.