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(no subject) [Nov. 5th, 2008|07:44 pm]
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cuando solo recibo noticias de la muerte/when the only news i recieve, are the news of death [Oct. 10th, 2006|05:46 am]
would you agree it's time for new beginings? now, while the sun isn't burning hard, maybe we can rest under the autum trees and I won't have to worry about wheter or not the mangos are ripe on the island. i think we can both agree that this is a time for you and me to close our eyes and shiver in the cold breeze and kiss for a long long time. before the sun shines again... so that my eyes can rest for a while.

no es que no quiera verte aparecer entre las tinieblas en tu caballo blanco, corazon. es que te veo como en una fotografia tomada desde muy lejos... casi ni puedo verte. la nostalgia aun me busca, pero yo me escondo de ella. ya no te lloro, aunque siempre te sufro un poco. ya no te busco, aunque no habra otro como tu para mi.
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at my table at my favorite coffee shop you want to ask for forgiveness [Jun. 9th, 2006|09:15 pm]
the truth is i cannot count on you.
because there are oceans not just between the yellow desert of your eyes and the graveyard brown of mine.
because i cannot afford to fly round-trip from the capital city of my heart to the beach-side airport of your lies.
because you are bad for me, because you make me suffer, and because i cannot find ways to hate you for it.
the truth is i should not count on you.
i know that you see me and sweet words spill out like:
i have missed you and let me hold your hand and how nice that you are still wearing that perfume your father gave to you the summer we feel in love -- the summer i fell in love with you and your eyes how lovely that they shine with the same light let me buy you a beer let me light that cigarrette let me take you home -- to our home -- if you still remember it -- and i know i have been bad and i know i have hurt you but you look so beautiful even and especially in this goddamn heat and i have missed you.
the truth is i have to count on you.
because you are the only cure for this sickness that grabs ahold of the air i breathe when i wake up without you.
because you are the only one i want despite of the convictions i have to inflict upon myself.
because you are the creator of my battle scars
and the only one who will hear me tell their stories
and the only one who will reach for my hand with one finger and electro-shock me with your life-long promises of love and affection and marriage and beer and dogs and kids and friends and wild sex and growing old old old together just like you've always said:
every day dies with you by my side.

but now where do i go, with this scorpion sitting where my heart used to be?
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(no subject) [Jun. 3rd, 2006|05:45 pm]
my father can open his eyes, but he cannot look into mine. When I talk to him his eyelashes quiver and the nurse tells me, "keep going, he's listening".

hector: has (finally) gone from being the love of my life, to being a way to kill time.

i have never made a bigger mistake than carlos:. the city is too small. the irony is too big.

what am i going to do?
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The word love still sounds hollow to me. [Jan. 15th, 2006|04:25 pm]
The same waves slapping against the same two bodies under the same orange sun.
This is too close to paradise for a devil like you.
This is too close to love for a stray dog like me.
Let's not get excited, Chameleon Eyes...
You know how good we both are at breaking hearts and promises.
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Capicua 25, clear the table and get me some more rum baby [Oct. 9th, 2005|10:44 pm]
[music |MIA - Pull up the people]

Hey hey, Chameleon eyes... We go well together, (you and I) We do.
Hey, let's make a deal: You talk me to sleep into those nightmares i always tell you about ... and I'll kiss you awake from those dreams you say you never have.
You were made for story-telling from head to toe, no doubt. (We fit well).
And it'll be nice to see what color glances you throw my way between cups of black coffee and open-heart yawns.
And we'll see what kind of lies I refrain from telling you, Chameleon eyes.
'Cause I think it could work. It could (maybe).
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Love letter to my city. [Aug. 31st, 2005|03:32 pm]
Santo Domingo, Summer of bad songs. The Cayenas grow out of cracks in the sidewalk and scream with yellow tongues: "Get inside! Get out of the sun!"
And I swear, it's never burned like this before.
Not much changes on a island. Time is trapped in the slap of domino pieces, coming down loud like open palms or belly-flops. Women put away their lives the same way they fold and put away clothes. Homeboy still kisses as hard as he hits. Rain comes down like spit on the sidewalk and the rum don't even burn on it's way down no more. Every day the same fight about the best way to cook plantains. Every day the same stray dogs looking sicker and ready to die. Poking at starvation with their ribs. Licking the salt off the sidewalk near the shore. And yet, every day there's more of them. Every day they're still here. Things don't change on an island. Right down to the smiles of the same children, bellies bloated with parasites. Right down to the way tears roll out sweet and heavy, to the fast and steady beat of that salsa he tought you to dance to. Right down to the way your Abuelo's desk has been left untouched, even a year after he gasped in the dark and grasped the edge of the bed whispering "I think it's a heart attack". Things never change on and island.

Santo Domingo, City of Dogs. The girl down the street gives birth to social dillemas. To the rosary I say, I'm still waiting on those miracles. Santo Domingo, yesterday I read that you sold your tongue for a knot of electric wire and two pesos worth of chewing gum. That you trim your wildlife fingernails with machete blades. That mosquitoes breed in your tear ducts.
The ocean licks at your resort-lined shores, and maybe if we dig enough holes you'll sink right back in.
There is something wrong with my island, where even the palm trees double over in pain.
Santo Domingo, these are very bad times to be writing you love letters.
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anything can burn if you know where to put the right spark. [Aug. 15th, 2005|01:53 am]
I'd be lying if i said that summer in Santo Domingo isn't just a little bit emptier without you.
I need to remember to spare myself from believing that this is paradise everytime i come back.
Stay away from home long enough, and even the rats near the hot dog stand seem to smile.
I can dance salsa and play dominoes well enough to get by.
Me, the renegade daughter, cousin, grandchild, best friend, lover, worst-nightmare-of-an-ex, and so on.
I didn't mean to fall for his chameleon eyes, but I'm a sucker for masochism.

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Otro sol no es tu sol, aunque te alumbreCollapse )
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Too many pictures, not enough words. [Aug. 8th, 2005|07:40 pm]
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let's not complicate things.Collapse )
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Can you dance anything else, when your heart only drums to the beat of salsa and merengue? [Aug. 3rd, 2005|10:22 pm]
A pair of hands find their way to my hips in the coolest corner of a dark house. His power has been cut, but he doesn't care. I remember how I used to not care. I think it's all coming back faster than I can disect.
A pair of hips and lips and feet dance a secret salsa in the name of un-paid electric bills... to the music of the neighbor's dog barking and the bittersweet screams of kids coming home from the ballpark.

Thanks for bringing this Habaita back to these sad-song roots.
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