"Sometimes you have to build a wall to protect yourself because the impact [of an event] may actually destroy you." - DMX's wife.

Loving the Alien [Revision]

This is the rawest piece my brittle fingers have carved on paper.
For at 51 years of age, and only at 51, did I dare return to this place.
And it comes from a hole in my jigsaw coeur*
that was taught to fall apart, put itself back together again,
and patch itself up,
time after time after time
at the thought of a memory
that hole-punched me like like a child's art project.
This is about a love that's alien; a type not yet defined.
About a thing I loved to the point of dying
just to wait on the other side of life for it,
which would be less painful
than waiting for it here.
Because what its all come down to now
is the lack of everything
and consequently having obtained nothing.
At times, when I sat and thought about it,
my fingers, now old, felt the tingling desire to run
down its back as if in a marathon in slow motion.
And at other times I wanted to wrap them around it,
in a prison-hug that is as inescapable as Alcatraz.

Long ago, I ventured to the deepest darkest skies above us.
It was a voyage recalled to this day, still,
which expanded the knowledge of human kind
about the mysteries foreign to Earth.
And among heroic routine,
I broke myself away from our vessel, unnoticed.
I swam through the space oddity, fearless,
to the point of being one second away from being permanently lost in space.
As I broke myself free from matter,
I saw it.

It caused such a commotion in my body
and felt like an immovable seizure.
Though surely, being in space I knew I wouldn't be able to tell the difference.
It was a mixture of what I call "the double f's:"
fright and fascination,
which fell over me like a warm waterfall,
for it looked at me just as I looked at it.
It was as accepting of me as I was of it.
And it almost broke me to tears,
realizing that no human ever looked at me
with such sincerity in the eyes (as big and beautiful as they were) as it did.
We were two beings. We were two.
One for each other, then each other as one.
I could see it accept with a slow yet voracious veracity,
waiting for me to reinforce that feeling.
This reaction was not the norm for either one.
Whether I was in a trance, or experiencing the purest emotion
I have ever felt,
I felt that it didn't know
what discrimination or being judgemental was.
So naturally, I fell in love with it
as it cleared the slate for me.

We embraced with an odd sensation of homely peace;
The kind of peace people wish for the world, our world;
The kind that innocent children feel,
only there was no ignorance here,
no naïvety.

I allowed myself to be sucked in
to the black holes that were its eyes.
And for the first time on my voyage,
or in my life,
I was completely lost
and wanted to stay lost,
for being lost never felt so good.
And I thought to myself:
If this is what people feel when they cry out of happiness,
then may I carry the Earth's oceans in my eyes.
And I squeezed my eyes with the force of Hercules
to trap the oceans within me,
attempting to hold the moment still, very still.

I felt the rubbery hands embrace my flesh.
But after that pleasant darkness,
which had cascaded over my body like a satin veil,
I opened my eyes
and found myself on the opposite side of the glass again,
trapped, and away from it
as if it was all just the cruelest of daydreams.

I was being restrained.
Among the chaotic voices and movements around me,
my face was expressionless
but adorned with the salty drops of the oceans I had held within,
which were now leaking out of my dream and my eyes.
Ultimately, among my grief I realized it was gone;
We were gone.

My vessel descended, unimaginably, away from it,
and I snapped back to the cruel light of the ordinary
where the years go by like water in a river:
insignificant, unimportant, and unmissed.

Since then, I've felt a depressing ecstasy
that has lasted an infinity of years,
even longer than the years I've been alive.
I know this encounter
was coincidental as it was great.
But I'm as thankful as I feel cursed
that I know pureness existed,
though in another world and another time.
The combination of events
will never repeat and bring me back to it.
And the most painful thing,
is accepting that it was the only thing that ever existed
that truly acted as a human being should.

*Coeur: "Heart" in French.

...because of a Letter to Hermione

[inspired by "Letter to Hermione" by David Bowie"

I pushed up against your skin
until we almost fused together like sand to glass.
But my skin just rubbed off
exactly where you touched me,
and you were more polished than ever.
Shine on.

My letters met your voice somewhere along the way,
and crashed like planets confused in orbit,
but nevertheless suffering a silent war in that empty universe that was "our life."
As a result I learned that ink never means as much to the ear as it does to the hand
and reached nirvana.

Now I feel as awkward as I probably did at birth;
ripped from the ultimate utopia.
I sought southern comfort to make the newness (the rawness) OK;
I dug in deeper; I'd rather feel lost and confused.
I'm not quite sure what I'm supposed to do
because I've never seen you like this before.
And consequently, I've never seen me
see you like this before.

Best paying jobs are summed up by the major human fixations: Life (doctors), Liberty (lawyers), and the Pursuit of Happiness (drug dealers).

El desprecio es el anzuelo de la rutina obsesiva del masoquismo.

La voz de la sabiduria es muda al que no ha podido aprender. Y a mi no me frustra ni me asusta esta idea. - Rx

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Algo Natural

He conocido a un humano con fuego en los ojos
y una mirada perdidad que observa cosas profundas
en la nada.
Sus manos tiene un movmiento robotico
pero con un toque tibio y sutil.
Los detalles de su personalidad son negros
y tiene los tonos mas obscuros que existan
en la paleta del misterio;
tiene metal en el rostro
como eferas de Navidad en un arbol.
Su voz es explosiva y con un volumen cultural
mas alto que el mio.
Sus palabras son mas rapidas que las mias,
y salen como balas de su boca.
Tiene una generosidad gris que no te puedo explicar.
Y creo que es como la sabiduria:
No se sabe y no se entiende, hasta no pasar por ello y experimentarlo.

Me quede con ganas de hacer y decir mas,
pero cuanto ambos se entienden y se aceptan,
no hace falta y las palabras salen sobrando.
Y en esos momentos cuando el silencio es oro
y no una pausa incomoda,
nace algo natural y sin estres.

I made a grand discovery tearing up a man's love letters, which no girl does because they want to hold on to even a little piece of a vacant man.

When you fall into the graces of absurdity, its a little hard to vindicate yourself from there.