La pedrá que vá pal perro,

Wed, 05 Nov 2008 23:45:09 GMT

cuando solo recibo noticias de la muerte/when the only news i recieve, are the news of death

Tue, 10 Oct 2006 05:53:30 GMT

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.

at my table at my favorite coffee shop you want to ask for forgiveness

Sat, 10 Jun 2006 01:25:47 GMT

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?

Sat, 03 Jun 2006 21:49:34 GMT

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?

The word love still sounds hollow to me.

Mon, 16 Jan 2006 20:30:10 GMT

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.

Capicua 25, clear the table and get me some more rum baby

Mon, 10 Oct 2005 02:46:54 GMT

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).

Love letter to my city.

Wed, 31 Aug 2005 19:36:31 GMT

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.

anything can burn if you know where to put the right spark.

Mon, 15 Aug 2005 06:23:36 GMT

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.

i really like boys.

just in case you were wondering, that is a giant sand-penis.

No, the insane ass Embassi sea waves do not make our eyes burn like crazy.

whatever. no words. the faces say it all. D and Paparazzi.

And of course, you can see my underwear. what a ho.

D. My hood rat. My domino front. The machine.

who has the best game face?

don't tell me my buisness, devil woman.

ok... gus and i are dancing salsa. what the hell are franklin and jaime doing in the corner?

Something orgasmic, i guess.

is this the face of a girl who's in love? i think so.

Who's the cutest devil strawberry? who???

Salsa salsa salsa.

Sultry temptress. no?

OK, this is my favorite picture. This woman is a COMPLETE STRANGER. why is she in our picture? I don't know. WHy does she look like lucipher? no idea. and why the fuck didn't i feel her back there when the picture was taken?
Unsolved mysteries.

Too many pictures, not enough words.

Mon, 08 Aug 2005 23:52:11 GMT

Maria's room. Finally home.

Naranja-Pina still lives.

My two loves.

"Golda", "Goldo/Nemo", "Nema".

Super Santi

Keep em even.

Doctora Gonsalez-McDougall. -- I love them.

Oficial Naco Futbol team.

hmmmm....

And they called it ... pick-up truck love. (Carlitos y yo.)

Damn Dominican Boys.

Serious Blackmail for Carlitos.

Goodnight.

Can you dance anything else, when your heart only drums to the beat of salsa and merengue?

Thu, 04 Aug 2005 02:24:34 GMT

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.

We let him fall between the strongest waves of the Malecon.

Sun, 31 Jul 2005 04:20:31 GMT

And today Carlito's puppy died in my arms. He had been struggling to breathe for hours, and when I saw him cock his head back and start to hack, I figured this was it. His eyes just stared off, swallowing up the silence. Six pounds maybe. Carlitos put a hand on my shoulder, and at the same time we realized we'd never seen anything die before.

I grew up in this shit-hole paradise.

Fri, 29 Jul 2005 19:29:21 GMT

This city is heavy with every fucking problem I left unfinished, and everyone wants their little bit of closure. Like I can cut myself up into little pieces so that no-one feels cheated.
And everything about this hurts. And everything about this feels so incredibly and undeniably right.
And I guess I belong here more than anywhere else.
And I guess it would be wrong fall in love with here with him with now, when the rest of the world is still waiting.

more dominican than a plantain.

Sun, 24 Jul 2005 18:13:24 GMT

The heat is the kind of heavy that takes you back to three showers a day. I was afraid I would be americanized. A week, and the girl frying salami and plantains in the kitchen for 10 people at three a.m. could be the same one that left for Arlington almost two years ago.
Same girl riding down the freeway at 100 mph with four or five good friends, a 3 liter bottle of Barceló rum, and the windows down to Guayacanes beach on a Saturday afternoon.
Same girl who'll wake up next to anyone these days... because even with this weather, dominicans don't know how to sleep alone.
Some people will be proud to know that I haven't seen Hector yet, even though he lives two floors down. Maybe this girl has changed a little for the better.

María and I (we have not left each other's side for more than 2 mintes in 7 days) are the temporary owners of two pittbull puppies, Jason/Salomón and Bolita/Jeremy (we can't settle on the same names.) They're the cutest, most annoying, most loving things in the world. Also, my dad's chiuhuaha gave birth to three puppies. My house is a zoo. I cut my hair some, it looks ok, i think. Also, there is this boy, but I don't know. He dances like it's just breathing and ... Really, I dont know.
I'm having the best time.

miss you guys,
Gaba.

Volver ... con la frente marchita.

Wed, 29 Jun 2005 05:31:55 GMT

The Analysis of Return.

Tell the tamarind tree to stop waiting for me. Tell Carlito to bust out the domino table. Tell Portillo beach to stop creeping into my day dreams. Tell “Hot Dog” José: One chimi with everything on it. Tell grandma to start praying. Tell Eddy to fix the car. Tell Sam to COME HOME. Tell Flaco two bottles of Bugal Rum. Tell the lizards, the palm trees, the cousins, the Saint Thomas crowd, the Cayenas, the beisból players, and ORANGE-PINNAPLE ice-cream not to worry.
And save my spot on the parking lot wall.
I’m coming home.

Papi, you can write me 10 000 letters with jumbled answers to the crossword puzzle of your torture victim heart. It still won’t change the fact that I hate your silence just as much as you hate my distance. But I’m not the one that’s dying, so I’ll compromise.

All of a sudden, you look up from your papers and your face shatters into the biggest smile I’ve ever seen. You smile – and when you do, it doesn’t matter how old or tired or heart-broken you really are. When you smile, it cancels out every time you raised your belt or hand or voice at me. It cancels out all those years of bad blood, and how you raised me right in the worst way.
When you smile, the tears slip right into those deep and quiet wrinkles near your eyes, and I forgive you for every demon you ever tried to shake out of me, grandma.

Homeboy, you took way too long to come around this time. Maybe you just got tired of the same old magic tricks. The cards under your sleeve. Your disappearing acts. How you abracadabra your way out of the knots in my heart.
Maybe I just got tired of breaking my own damn rules. Of spitting out “last chances” … clean slates. Emotional amnesia.
You and me know how to talk like it hasn’t been months and miles. A while ago I woud've missed our stairway blues. Your hit-and-run heart.
But the nights are too hot for promises … and even though we’re both experts on vicious circles. It took us way too long to come around.

I like to see the way secrets pool in your eyes like very soft and sad songs. Maybe the kind you would hear on any Dominican radio station, late at night, when everything just hurts. I like to see the way you stare out the window, and the cigarette hangs from your lips, the cherry-red tip burning a hole into the silence.
I like it only because you laugh louder and longer than anyone I’ve ever met. María, no one ever sees you cry but I know what you look like when those long hot nights hit you with their sweet and thick nostalgia … and it feels good to know someone this well.

Who know what the hell this summer's gonna bring?

jesus christ! where did you get that cadillac???

Thu, 09 Jun 2005 03:24:28 GMT

SO this is going to be a massive picture entry, with bits and pieces of the following:

*Germany/Poland/Czech Rep. (I won't post the concentration camp pics, but anyone who wants them can ask me.)
*Senior Prom.
*Brendan's love affair with my chihuahua.
*Other random things.

I have been doing very very very well. My stepmother is coming up for graduation, and very few things could make life better than it already is.

EUROPE:

Sweeney thinks he's tough...

But Rad is MUCH more intimidating.

Oh, whiteboys ...

You MUST play.

yeah ... poland was a bit better after all that booze.

... DOES WHATEVER A SPIDER CAN.

Creepster McCreeps and his Amazone/Leggy lover.

PROM

Who else gets a date in a zoot suit? WHO?

Handsome group of young bucks.

TYPICAL tacky-latina-skeaze-way-too-dominican Gaby look.

go ahead. say it.

Ahhhh... The GabyBeast will EAT you.

A-TOWN

Plaintains are good food.

One last time, Lenone!!! (Farid in his "birthday suit")

l.o.v.e

Dane Cook, whaaaa?

Jason can make all the friends he needs.

JASON, do you recognize this fucking glass of water?

No more pencils, no more books. let the schoolwork rise up in smoke.

Put it out with your penis, stodik!!!

where no man on bike has gone before.

Delinquents or what?

ps.: i am in love with the "container store", where they have every type of container imaginable. ever.

...

Thu, 26 May 2005 03:39:23 GMT

and even if i could find any words to translate how i feel right now, i don't think it would be fair to dissect the speed of my heartbeats when i think about tonight.

straight and to the point, that is why i want a ...

Fri, 13 May 2005 02:19:00 GMT

I'm leaving for Germany, Poland and the Czech Rep. tomorrow afternoon.
I'm going with my Holocaust course, to visit concentrations camps. Also, we'll get to know some cool cities. I haven't ever been to any of those countries before, so it promises to be incredible.

I could love A-town just as much as Santo Domingo when the weather is decently warm, like it is now.
Also, it helps if you have someone to tell you that your cheeks are soft and that your jokes are funny and that your eyes are nice, even if they are just dirt boring brown.
not that i like him or anything.

And also ... there is nothing to complain about on days when there is little to no school left, and the sun is out, and if it rains, it's run outside and get wet rain.

I should be back in about 10 days. Wish me luck with being the only stupid stupid immigrant in the group and such. I hope they let me cross borders without sucking out my soul first.

peace.

Yo me voy de tu vida y tu sigues bailando.

Mon, 04 Apr 2005 01:42:51 GMT

It's funny when you don't really trust yourself to follow your own agenda.
And you know it's bad when you try to confort your worst enemy ... Trying to justify crimes and heartbreaks just so that maybe he'll stop making you feel like you owe him anything ... you hurt cause he hurts, but more out of reflex than love.
I try not to make promises, so that I don't break them halfway home ... but sometimes a second chance isn't enough for an Alma Rosa hood rat.

Today, I saw the New York crew in Boston, and it was .

also, I got a new BIKE. it looks like .

cute, huh?

it's been nice and bright and warm lately. Leave your coat at home kinda weather.
This is getting good.

tu le daba verde, y yo MADURO!

Mon, 28 Feb 2005 05:50:33 GMT

truth is, i'm always gonna be the same Alma Rosa hood-rat, eating plantains and dancing in the rain in my underwear. the same Naco viralata. dominicana for good, with my taquiness and loud voice and invinsibility complex.

yo yo yo. Baby Java and La Gata G. my old school... catholic school, specifically... then again, everything is catholic in this damn country.

best beisbol team EV-AH! Blue Licey Tigers. There are four major ball teams on the island: the Tigers, the Yellow Cibao Eagles, the Red Escogido Lions, and the Green Orient Little Stars (jajaja.) good thing, baseball.

Homeboy and me, we got this problem, and it's always the same story. i get off the plane and it's him with open arms and eyes and heart. there's that wonderful clean slate everytime... emotional amnesia. that moment of drowning in his voice and lips... that's as happy as the story gets. then, it's me with my yelling and him with his silence and the way he says "i love you" like an acussation or a threat. this is why you sould never fall in love with a dominican ball player who loves numbers and grape soda. it never works.

yeah, that's Maria Carlota, la cosa mas BELLA. i love her like crazy, she's my girl. we've done some bad shit together... created quite alot of disorder. i think she's the thing i missed the most in the whole wide country.

my one true love. a "vestida de novia" Presidente.

my other one true love. ORANGE-PINAPLE ice-cream!!! there are just no words to explain how good this is.

mega-divas.

i like cesar's face in this one.

sky.

jaja. face.
Santi and Maria.

we call this the act of mating...

besties...

...'fo ever.
that's me and frankie, my best friend. I missed him, as you can probably tell.

Forty-Five and Papi-Shampoo. yeah, we've been calling them this for years. not really sure why...

ajajajaja. oh omar.

jeje. chalk.

Goldo and Puchy doing the Nemo dance.

mission impossible - stealing uncle Homero's ice-cream.

Jaime, looking more like a drug dealer every day.
he's my neighbor in Naco. our windows were connected to each other, and many embarrasing and hillarious moments came up.

HOME.

My FAMILY. here are most of the members of the "angry-belt club". we were the cousins raised by grandma, and who got our asses beat on a regular basis. Eddy, Lily, yo, Adrian, Javier, and Sammy. Juan Luisito and Juan Ernesto are missing.
I cant'really explain how much i love these kids. hermanos.

remembering good times. Javi trying to steal my salami.
i actually did stab him with a fork once, many many years ago. i still apologize about it to this day.

bye bye.

He looked at me like it's been miles and months.

Mon, 21 Feb 2005 04:42:02 GMT

Hello home.

To the roof. and yes, that's a gas tank. don't worry... this is totally safe.

smooth.

but it's worth it.

it's worth the 4 hours on an American Airlines flight to see the green tail of your island creep in through the window. and the clapping dominicans, crying for this half-lemon of a country.

it's all worth it:

to see the cousins, and inventory new stitches and stories and misadventures.

for grandma's cheese "sanguiches".

to feed Rocky IV his bread crust diet.

to hug that girl.

and to live in this room again. even if it's for ten days and not ten months.

And to laugh at her brother. homerito. who has not mangaed set himself on fire again (yet).

to visit Jose. the best Chimi cook in all the of Naco 'hood.

You can locate him by following the directions conveniantly written on wet cement.

to walk into the house of the boy you love. The way nothing changes, it's so routine and nerve-wreking at the same time. These bittersweet butterflies come back at the most un-expected times. He's sick and tired but still smiling wider than la avenida Tiradente. this is all new in a very old sort of way.

to find a stray kitten...

who turned out to be satan. oops.

I miss you all.
I am so happy.

PEACE.

the road is beautiful and infinite.

Sun, 13 Feb 2005 05:24:18 GMT

Marco and Jacob are leaving tomorrow. I'm really bad at goodbyes, and it's so sad that they're leaving. I wish them the sickest travels and adventures, and hope that they'll always be as funny and crazy and alive as they are today. Vayan en paz.

You ever met someone that made your heart feel like exploding?

Mon, 07 Feb 2005 06:24:23 GMT

once, Julio and I were at his house making dinner, and he just put down the frying pan, and grabbed me and started dancing salsa with me, even though there was no music or logic.
It's funny, because he was always the really serious one, son of a judge and all, and I always remember that and think about how people can be so nicely unpredictable.

it seems that hector gomez, the boy who is cut out of ice, can sometimes care about someone ... even when she lives too far away to know it.

i got some mail from Jova and Lehna recently, and i would just like to say that they are the sweetest muchachas and that more people should correspond, because it's so great.

let's not get tired of doing crazy stuff. it makes for good stories.

In twelve days i will walk onto my soil and the heat will squeeze my lungs in that horribly familiar way, and i will be drowning in love and sunlight and tears and nostalgia and every extreme emotion you can imagine. it hurts good to go home.

Yo me muero de ganas de decirte que te quiero

Sun, 30 Jan 2005 05:06:00 GMT

I WANT Merengue Soda and friofrios. i want a camera to take pictures of everyone i know. i want to have GOOD dreams for a change, and i want to wake up and smell food that makes me jump out of bed. i want to never stop believing in my placebo solutions. i want to not be cold anymore. i want to ice-skate and i want to wear a dress or a skirt. i want someone to kiss me HARD like they mean it... and it doesn't have to be under the rain or after a movie or because i'm crying.

i don't want a 10 hour flight to a hospital room in germany where i'll be alone and foreing and where the only concious person i know is breaking down and the only other person is the man who still thinks i believe he is superman, wired and tied down with tubes and catheders and machines working his heart.

if i could, i would read him The Old Man and The Sea 'till he forgot i ever grew up and moved away and didn't write and didn't call and became the worst daughter anyone could ever love with an open heart.

MY FIRST TIME (sledding)

Tue, 25 Jan 2005 21:50:52 GMT

so, me these days:

* SACcon was cut early because of the storm, which sucked. it was a weird feeling, leaving the con early, but deaning was fun while it lasted.
* we had TWO snow days. TWO!!! i had no idea blizzards could be so great. we only used to get days off for riots and hurracaines in the DR, and all this snow definitly beats them.
* jeff and i broke up.
* we hitchiked home yesterday, and it was so funny and awesome.
* later tonight, my father will enter an operation room in germany, where they will slice him open and mess with his heart. i have never been this scared for anyone i love in my life. so, i am going to try to completely forget that this is happening, and hope for the best tomorrow morning.
*My mother cancelled plans she had for the family, and Travis, who is a good man, along with becki and erick, took me SLEDDING!!!

*Now, i have to go over to mike sweeney's house and work on the prject we both waited three weeks to get started on. it's due tomorrow.

on a side note, i think i have the best friends ever... that applies to everyone down in the caribbean and and South Am. and Europe as well... but i am so lucky i have made friends here that are, in one word, loyal.

<3

EDIT: what i am wearing in that picture is my very own SNOW SUIT, courtesy of Becki Willmer, the coolest girl ever. as you can see, it fits me well, and it is warm, and soft, and could this be love?
too bad i dont practice no snow sports.

están las rosas queriendo ver la promesa que ha roto para volver, y así creer lo que les conté.

Fri, 21 Jan 2005 05:56:09 GMT

The inauguration brought my spirits down alot. helplessness or indifference are the two dominating emotions when it comes to things like this... next to fiery rage of course. I can't wrap my mind around how horrible this is. I have not been thinking about it much for this exact reason. i wish i would've gone down to DC. i wish i wasn't always on the brink of deportation, and a greencard would be a big help right about NOW. Thank you, hell-hole formerly known as the INS (Ay! Enés!).

In happier news, there is a boy on an island who made me the happiest person in the world this week. in a month i'll bust into his house and we'll ride down to the shore and eat chimis and play soccer in the street and it will all be old times and scabbed knees and bare feet on broken sidewalks.

Also, i read some Pablo Neruda yesterday, which i haven't done in a while, and it's still true, he is the man.

from The Book of Questions
Who went out to live for me when i was sick or sleeping?
Is there anything sadder in the world than a train stopped in the rain?
If we run out of yellow, what will we make bread out of?
why do teachers only teach the geography of death?
have you ever wondered what color is the April of the ill?
is there anything stupider in life than being called Pablo Neruda?
In what language does it rain in painful cities?
The tears that you don't cry, do they wait in little lakes?
Or are they more like invisible rivers running towards sadness?
Yesterday, yesterday i asked my eyes "when will we see each other again?"