University of California, Berkeley Fall 2005

It has been 3.5 years since i've stepped foot on this soil. The aSuck is all wrong and tiered, they took down the map by those Stupid Gates, who even knows what northside looks like these days. But i was there and will be there for 3.5 more months. I'm a twenty-six year old bitterness with a soft voice and impeccable manners. Amongst strangers, my friends, amongst strangers!! I was approached by a pamphlet speaking of Jews for Jesus. I smiled, contacted eyes, and replied, "i've already read that one." The truth was that I already had. I was painfully calm and poised, without a headset, without a hoodie. I'm twenty-six years old, i'd say, and these days are different. I had taken the informative packet as one takes the frequent flyer issue from TJ's. Japanese seems difficult. Not the class, that is, not the language either. Languages are like mathematical equations, memorization, association. No, the difficulty lies in the dilligence of keeping to a grade that is split into 25 quizzes, 25 homeworks, 25 hand-raisings, 25 percents, 25 japanese students who already write hiragana, 5 white boys who already have their japanese princess in sight, and 1 nineteen year old girl who seems like someone slightly interesting. Who's going to make me laugh, and in what ways?

Las Vacaciones de Todas las Dias

I've already weened myself away from these vices. Beer, cigarettes, internet. Maybe if i drink porn and smoke heroin, life would seem different. You know where I was pleasant? On the beach, snorting sand, shoveling sun. I didn't have one moment to think about dandruff or false angles. I couldn't despise what i had written, because it was only my name, in cursive. I didn't despise your technique, because it was absent, in print. My happy rage can't understand Spanish, can't speak no shit. I was so happy, you shoulda seen it.

A True Friend

M: Uh.
Y: What?
M: Bring some beer. Bass or Pacificos.
Y: Okay.
M: Uh.
Y: Uh.

Foreign Policies

My country sleeps underneath a pillowsheet. My island is my home. My patriots have spit-up in their throats, and underneath their feet. My fatherland sustains the breach of eerie, iirie oh....my motherland has caught a tiger hanging by its toe. My homey fronts like Peter Pan, my homeland crosses lines. The picture prada appetite is nesting in the Pines. My country's lost her borders, my land has been asleep, my following has a big reward for never seen nor speak. I can't keep promises because I like being paid. I can't keep still, i can't keep true, i can't keep her ever laid.

Try Some, Try Some, You will see

Tick tock, the clock drops down down down down
pardon yr handshake, mindful of sound
take a crap on yr countertop
oh shit, ah fuck...

Pish posh, yr beeline is livid livid, vivid livid
he she me be, spoken unison
how dare we poke such honest fun
how dare you poke it at me


"i do not like green eggs and ham, i do not like them, sam i am."

Title Coming Soon

This is where I work. Today I write and play. I do little work.
3 more days. 72 hours.

I Probably Hate You...

...or once did. As i think about my friends, wanting to write about my friends, my loving, delightfully delicious friends, i notice such similarities. I think of the ones i talk to almost everyday, or at least think of, am reminded of, or sometimes want to torture and kill with love almost everyday. These precious handful of people, i did not like. I either found them crass, conceited, rude, lame, pathetic, worthless, or worst of all, boring. How terrible, i say to myself. What does this mean? Have I have bad taste in first impressions? Am I terribly hard to please? Does my swift and stringent judgement make me a jerk? Yes. It takes weeks to sometimes years before i eventually get used to somebody's disagreements. Yes.

I suppose that i should be suspicious of people that i like immediately. There are those few. Delightful people. They excite me. It's frightning.

I'm okay with somebody not liking me immediately. In fact, i demand it. Friendship is like a folly of fools crashing a Godsmack concert. If you have everyone rushing to get in, climbing over trashcans, shimmying over shoulders, well, then you'll be left with a pungent amphitheatre that serves only domestic beer. It cost 9 dollars for 8 ounces, and yr pissed. I'd rather grab a 40, and listen to records in my room with someone i used to loathe. That's not to say that someday I might actually enjoy the music of Godsmack. Because after browsing through myself and my friends, i might say that anything is possible.

No Carpe

In the moment, i'm confused. Paralyzed, on automatic. In the moment, i usually think i'm in control. Maybe i am. But it's not until the moment has booked it straight outta here, until the moment is dead. It is at that moment when i know how to treat the others. But i'm in such a state from my new moment that there really isn't anything i can do about anything.

My 200th Flower

All the plants, trees, bugs, and animals spanning across the lifeboard of this world compose a sense of desperate variety. As a child, i'd go somewhere, anywhere. Camping perhaps. I'm a collector. I gather stones, branches, flowers, pretty peices of glass, pine cones, nuts. I was a good kid. If my parents said "shut up and go play". Well, i'd shut up and go play or away or whatever. It was always better when i was in charge of my own entertainment anyway. I always wanted everything, didn't really matter if it had no real function. Funny shaped stick? Function: a little funny. That doesn't really count. Well, at least not when you've already laughed all you can about the stick, and it then fails to even make you smile anymore. Only now, you think of throwing the stick against the tree. Breaking it seems fun. But no, not yet. I like the stick. It performs no function, except one of fondness. "Remember 20 minutes ago, when i really liked that stick"?, i'd ask myself. I don't want to destroy that physical embodiment of a few minutes of pure and simple joy. I do it anyway. Break it, scrape it, hopefully it will break the other object i've heaved it against. Yes! Yes! Yes!

I'm not sad afterward. I just go on and look for more.

All the people, friends, family, fuck-ups, lovers, killers spanning across my tinted eyeglass windshield make a world that creates a sense of desperate variety. Everyone serves their fraction of function and disappears. Some make it on their own while some others do it for them. I wonder if i'm too young to understand or perhaps just young enough to pretend to. All anyone really does is pretend. Good pretend is a good friend.

I'm not a child, but i tend to fasten myself to the ease of fantasy. I'm the maker-believer of constantly. Everything sprouted itself on this earth for a reason. To consume, to compose, to bottle in and then explode, to lose itself to a bigger fight, or to win, to kill, to die, to be and be and be. There's no reason to come here, but yr too scared to leave. There's no reason for you here, but yr too scared to believe.

Que significa "countdown"?

I can tell you. It's the moment when everything feels a little fuzzy, like the screen of a television set on the back of your neck. I'm not really all that excited. It's not like i'm going to the moon. I wish i were going to the moon. At least that way i'd fuck up some atmosphere and shit. I saw a kittle like Carbon. They tried to give him to me. I wanted him so bad, but I said no. I do that alot. It's been called a "tendency". Que significa "tendency"?
I can tell you. It's that no-good memory of yours which files away the memories of moments where once you felt uneasy, and after your reaction to your feelings, you felt easy. The reaction to your action is the stickiest bullshit in there. In that dirty little head of yours. Dirty, Dirty, sticky, Dirty. I'm not going to pretend to be like you even when i am. You don't know, though, do you? I don't have to make complete sentences if i don't want to. I don't have to be linear for you if i don't want to. Yr too "linear". Que significa "linear"?
I can tell you. Remember games like Clue and Battleship? Well if y're good at games like that, then i'd call you linear. What is the name of that game where you put the five coloured pegs in an arranged order---NEVERMIND. MASTERMIND. Fuck ya.
You don't like when i talk like this. If i stop you, and turn you, and make you wait, flip you and bring you right back to the start...well, you don't like that. And that's why i say, babe, y're too linear. First person prose makes you feel uncomfortably childish. Childishness makes you shudder under the incommodious rush of last minute details. I can't stack neatly. I can't color code. I can't prove anything. It's easy to call me stupid. It's easy to call me madwoman. And though perhaps, i'm too easy---well, yr too easy, too. Two toos in one line. Call me classy.

Why LA is Good

1. You can't have a real summer unless it's real hot. Lots of place are hot, and they have such good summers. Swimming is a must for summer. If you have not swam this summer, then you have't done shit.

2. Air pollution + heat = clear skin. I don't know how it works, it just does.

3. If you meet a person lacking any of these 5 qualities: wannabe actor, wannabe rock star, wannabe model, Paris Hilton Wardrobe, unsettlingly tanned,
then you feel lucky. Meeting someone not stupid is the best. LA makes you love these moments.

4. So many airports.

5. Crime sprees.

The Heir Conditioner

I haven't had a comfortable silence in months. Your friend told me it was because people talk faster these days. I could see why he would say that. He's a bit of a stoner, and you are a pinch of shy. I thought it was all due to the feather thing. I'm a blue bird and i liked you. The thing is, though, that we can't all call at the same time. For if we did, our sidewalks would look like the 101 in crisis.
Pardon me, we can't all agree on the traffic incident.