jueves, 3 de diciembre de 2009


O that awful deep-down torrent O and the sea the sea crimson sometimes like fire and the glorious sunsets and the figtrees in the Alameda gardens yes and all the queer little streets and pink and blue and yellow houses and the rosegardens and the jessamine and geraniums and cactuses and Gibraltar as a girl where i was a Flower of the mountain yes when I put the rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls used or shall i wear a red yes and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and i thought well as well him as another and then i asked him with y eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would i yes to say yes my mountain flower and first i out my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes i said yes i will Yes.

James Joyce.

sábado, 24 de octubre de 2009

synecdoche, new york

i wish i could write as beautifully as charlie kaufman.

Everything is more complicated than you think. You only see a tenth of what is true. There are a million little strings attached to every choice you make; you can destroy your life every time you choose. But maybe you won't know for twenty years. And you may never ever trace it to its source. And you only get one chance to play it out. Just try and figure out your own divorce. And they say there is no fate, but there is: it's what you create. And even though the world goes on for eons and eons, you are only here for a fraction of a fraction of a second. Most of your time is spent being dead or not yet born. But while alive, you wait in vain, wasting years, for a phone call or a letter or a look from someone or something to make it all right. And it never comes or it seems to but it doesn't really. And so you spend your time in vague regret or vaguer hope that something good will come along. Something to make you feel connected, something to make you feel whole, something to make you feel loved. And the truth is I feel so angry, and the truth is I feel so fucking sad, and the truth is I've felt so fucking hurt for so fucking long and for just as long I've been pretending I'm OK, just to get along, just for, I don't know why, maybe because no one wants to hear about my misery, because they have their own. Well, fuck everybody. Amen.

domingo, 18 de octubre de 2009

(skeleton boy)

too much foucault for a Sunday. this shift of passions is fucking up my psyche and everything turns into a possible paper (songs, books, testimonies, phrases and an everlasting etc.) lectures instead of pillows, stained covers with green highlighter ink. fun pop and bedroom dancing is always a good way to balance shit out.

domingo, 20 de septiembre de 2009

Crooked Lust

(drawing by Jason Sho Green)

listening to: Crooked Lust, Bowerbirds.

My views on desire and what it constitutes have been so shaken this past weeks, shattered completely, thrown to the floor. It has been awkward forceful contact. We have dismantled its composition, placed it in a whiteboard, made arrows between terms and terms and now a feeling so distinct and precise has been written, preserved into pages of spiraled notebooks. Jacques Lacan considers desire to be the central trait of a human being. This is the most important. Human beings desire. This is a sign of something that has been lost, it is desire the movement, the motor of everything. But there is always something that escapes this, that resists to language, the colonization of our bodies. there is always something that words don’t seem to grasp. This is what cannot be captured by language, since there is something in experience that is impossible to be translated. It has to do with the material experience of the body that exceeds the microcosm of the symbolic and its significances. It goes beyond ourselves and I wonder if the highest manifestation of this is an orgasm, if our first brush with it, is the first tiny flickering light resting in the first kiss, and that particular rush of hormones running around the corners inside your body, rushing and stepping and tripping over each other. I remember how I felt after being kissed for a first time, being overwhelmed with a pulsing, steady panic of losing that which I had had just a glimpse of. I remember trying to reconcile the fact that It made no sense the fear of that void, the persistent ache of memory, as if it had been activated automatically right after. Looking back at that, I guess that was the case. That this had always been alive, and it was that action that made that memory self-aware of its existence, born a ghost, triggering the paranoia of losing it because I knew I knew you before I did. I knew how I wanted you to kiss me before I was kissed. Midstence, hands bording the outlines of my jawline. With Lacan desire is always a story, it is always a ghost. He says there is no sexual relation. There is no sexual relation that is not mediated by the fantasy that each person has inside of them. Physical contact is mediated by the fantasy that interposes between these two bodies. What comes between them is captured by a ghostly dimension. There is always a constant, bittersweet struggle between the body and the ghost. Even now, after all these time, i can still say that i never really liked my body as much as i did as when it was naked, next to yours. The terrain had never been so traveled, and now i understand that what i loved was on the outside of my own conscience. It was the moment my hipbones rested concave on your bed that i was constituted, materialized. I was desire too. This gives you being. It is as if the cells that constitute your materiality are awaken once they are being seen from where you want them to be seen. How is it that there can be a point of convergence between these ghosts, so carefully crafted, built in your own particular experience, brewing in your own body, and it is because of the impossibility of these ghosts that never fully coincide, and in that sense, argues Lacan, two bodies never really touch each other.

There is no symmetry, no perfect fit, no two bodies, no two fantasies could ever really be the same. Even logistically, you will never see me from where I see you. How can the vision, the small glimpse of your back in the dark could spell desire for you too? We didn’t fit together perfectly, and no, Two bodies are never really one. Don’t whisper that during sex. Say instead you like this place you are in because it makes me feel like a good (g)host.

The ocean during winter. He zipped up his jacket and then remembered how miserable he was a couple of years ago, he recalled, moving his head from side to side. And this recall for this sadness of the past unglued me, made it almost impossible, the most challenging thing in the world, to control just how much I wanted to kiss him. How much i wanted him despite the age difference, the impossibility of the situation. He is brilliant, impossibly brilliant and here I know
my heart by now, I know its careless and that it has been down this road before. And I wonder if he can tell the overwhelming presence of desire, its infinite quality because it has a trace of that which cannot be described by language, and a satisfaction only derived from hurt and pleasure, something so strong and majestic that it takes you whole, that it voids you because in front of this there is a deadly conscience that there is no possible control over it.
Fantasy being built by memory, memory being fed by the grasps of something outside the regular symbolic orders. There before your awareness of it, like sleeper terrorists patiently, quietly resting inside of you until they come out all pipe-bombs and dynamite, blowing up the very center of your foundations. And to place it even closer to the precipice, add attraction and this lust, this crooked lust.
D.H. Lawrence once said even animals get sad after ejaculation. Is it because they know too, that what they had for that brief second is never permanent, is always derived from a loss?

Close your eyes now, sleep well. Our bodies never really touched.

miércoles, 2 de septiembre de 2009

The Establishment of a Sexual Relation interpreted in 3 TV on the Radio Songs.

In order to constitute a specific sexual relationship with the desired other one must, inevitably, follow certain steps in an established order so as to achieve the desired intimacy. Heterosexual seduction is encoded into certain behavioral codes that, if given that there is a minimal sense of attraction, and if performed correctly (no pun intended) could directly achieve successfully the convergence of bodies. A success of a conquered territory of sorts.
As elemental and natural as it may seem, we cannot forget that which is involved into the investment of a prospective sexual relationship and how seduction serves as a kind of violent transgression, which would be embraced or scorned depending on the other. In his book The Fragile Absolute, Slavok Zizek elaborates on this

There is a somewhat analogous situation with regard to the heterosexual seduction procedure in our Politically Correct times: the two sets, the set of PC behavior and the set of seduction, do not actually intersect anywhere; that is, there is no seduction which is not in a way an "incorrect" intrusion or harassment — at some point, one has to expose oneself and "make a pass." So does this mean that every seduction is incorrect harassment through and through? No, and that is the catch: when you make a pass, you expose yourself to the Other (the potential partner), and she decides retroactively, by her reaction, whether what you have just done was harassment or a successful act of seduction — and there is no way to tell in advance what her reaction will be. This is why assertive women often despise "weak" men — because they fear to expose themselves, to take the necessary risk. And perhaps this is even more true in our PC times: are not PC prohibitions rules which, in one way or another, are to be violated in the seduction process? Is not the seducer’s art to accomplish this violation properly — so that afterwards, by its acceptance, its harassing aspect will be retroactively cancelled? (Zizek 2000).

Precisely as Zizek points out, the exposure of oneself in the act seduction is a crucial, risky procedure. I divide this journey into three key moments present in this negotiation which are; the establishment of attraction, the promise of pleasure/concrete seduction, and finally, the moment of the sexual act, the fulfillment of the promise (the climax). I use three songs by the Brooklyn-based band Tv on the Radio to illustrate this complex process and interpret each of these songs as a significant part of a coherent set of steps each present in the establishment of a sexual relationship.

“Wolf Like Me” present in the 2006 album Return to Cookie Mountain illustrates from the beginning a blatant exposure from the self to the other, with an intense irreverence and almost violent approach in the visualization of the other, this is where the first encounter with desire occurs. The song skips the politically-correct friend/acquaintance relationship and, from the beginning, fixes the boundaries of seduction, opens this terrain to build its stage with its initial proposition “Say, say my playmate/ won’t you lay hands on me/mirror my malady/transfer my tragedy” (1-4). We can see in these first lines how there is an immediate transformation in the closeness of the relation, and how, the need for contact serves not only as a satisfaction of desire but as a treatment for the absent, the transference of tragedy by the filling of the void.
There is a transformation taking place not only in regards to the relation of these two subjects but also of the desirer himself, who ‘s desire and void of it produces changes so intense in him that they show on the body itself, assuming a physical representation through-out the song. This can be seen in the repeated chorus with the following lines “My mind has changed my body’s frame but god I like it/ My heart’s aflame my body’s strained but god I like it.” (15-16).
In order to contextualize this first appearance of desire and the consideration of its fulfillment, we are given, charmingly, the construction of the wolf/little red riding hood metaphor, which not only plays with the relations of power that are being alluded to (Strong vs. Weak/ Girl vs. Men/Wolf (a animalization we will also see in Wear you Out) . The song, fast paced and rushing, is able to show a sense of violent tension with the self and the dealing of the abrupt emergence of desire, where the only possible eventual reconciliation with these irresistible sudden needs would be achieved with the transgression of the other into the field that is being constructed by the singer.

When Tunde Adebimpe sings “When the moon is round and full/ Gonna teach you tricks that will blow your mongrel mind” (21-22) he constructs the stage where this seduction is presented where its presence is justified as well as his animal needs. This is illustrated by the presence of the full moon, which in popular culture, transforms the man into the werewolf. It is during this time where the self can transform and show with no qualms the overwhelming presence of attraction and desire towards the other.
The pace of the melody which has been forceful and fast, slows down its tempo towards the middle-end of the song in which Adebimpe sings
Dream me oh dreamer Down to the floor Open my hands and let them Weave onto yours Feel me, completer Down to my core Open my heart and let it Bleed onto yours (32-39)
After the precise construction of the scenery, this break of rhythm represent to me a playful persuasion, the luring of the other into the animal territory of desire, where the possibility of the union of the bodies is presented in all its sultry, poetic glory. This is represented with the following lines “Open my hands and let them/ weave onto yours” (34-35) and “Open my heart and let it/ bleed onto yours”(38-39) both of them physical representations of the potentiality of the union, inviting the other to merge so that his desire becomes one.
The end of the song shows how when this transgression is achieved there is a transformation of these two subjects into the roles of seduction that are being alluded to metaphorically from the beginning of the song. Wolf Like Me ends with the following lines:
Writhing under your riding hood Tell your grandma and your mama too It's true We're howling forever. (53-56)
“We’re howling forever” implies an acceptance of the other into the game of seduction that is being proposed, it is an establishment of the desiring entity, the first clear initial achievement.
After this has been achieved, we step into the second phase of seduction, the actual physical seduction which is the theme of Wear You Out, a song present in the 2004 album Desperate Youth, Blood Thirsty Babes. The tempo of this song is not as desperate as that of Wolf Like Me, since there is already an establishment of the other as part of the desiring entity. From the beginning of the song we are exposed to a subject which is completely captured by the physical need of the other, Adebimpe starts clear and with no hidden intensions
I can barely move For want of room And I'm forgettin' to breathe But the sight of you Has me instantly Remember my needs (1-6)
It is the physical awareness of the other that is causing the sense of suffocation that is being alluded to, desire has been transferred from an open space into a closed one. And there is a sense of spatial awareness throughout the song, now that the two subjects are located in a close, intimate room, which makes the need for physical contact even more urgent, as if these walls would close in if this tension is kept.

There are two central themes gravitating in this song. One is the overwhelming presence of the bodies in this detailed closed space and the other is how this space serves as the platform for the blatant, direct promise of pleasure. The space is constructed from the beginning, lines like “Oh the lights spin/ And the beat breaks in/ And I’m smelling your sweet(…)” (7-9) are able to show the heightened awareness of the space and how the body of the other is able to dominate both the presence and the space where these two subjects are. Every physical aspect of the desired other is heightened by its location. The presence, the smell, the movements are all heightened to a point of exhaltation. Once this has been established we arrive to the climax of the song, the place of enunciation that blatantly expose all his desire and sense of self, what it is that is being offered, the actual promise of pleasure. Adebimpe sings:

Well here I am Just a man Is this light flattering? Did you notice my crown of feathers And check out my vital vibrant comb? Oh puff chest out and play strong Grab you by the hair and pull you along Or do I just talk to you And tell you what I really Really really want to do (30-39)
The subject is presented unapologetically, naked (literally and metaphorically) of inhibitions, again aware of the space with the question “Is this light flattering?” (32). And at the same time carrying out a palpable sense of domination of both the territory and the other which is being desired “Oh puff chest out and play strong/ Grab you by the hair and pull you along” (35-36). The domination that is being alluded to exerts a sense of power over the original object of seduction. The line “And check out my vital vibrant comb” (34) could inevitably refer to the phallus of the subject and how, as Zizek explains, this is an external element that inserts power. Zizek explains that in order to insert power one must accept this alienation. The fact that this power occurs for something that is outside yourself. Lacan’s conclusion is that in the symbolic sexual economy phallus functions the same way. The best way to imagine phallus is not, as the innermost center of your body there where in the moment of orgasm the identity is established. On the contrary, the phallus is something which metaphorically and literally sticks out of your body, something which represents an excess which doesn’t fit into your body. The original stages of phallus reside in the external moment which de-centers you, you are alienated in it, but at the same time, you can insert sexual power through accepting this de-centering. It is once the subject presents himself “Well here I am” (30) and assuming his dominating role that he can finally have the power to be able to be completely explicit about the fantasy he has formulated and achieve the wanted contact.

We return to the spatial awareness in the song with the lines “Lets pursue this argument in darkness/ Curtains drawn, limbs entwined” (51-52) it is here where the promise of pleasure is presented, that which has been referenced since the title, the original intention and purpose of the song, elaborated in the conclusion “Let me wear you out, let me make you mine.” (58).
Finally, we have come to the climax of the sexual relationship. It is impossible to deny the victorious tone in the melody of the song “Lover’s Day” included in TV on the Radio’s 2008 album Dear Science. The entire song is set in a crescendo in which every line tries to out-do the other. From the beginning we can see that we have arrived to the point where the tension has to be released: “Oh but the longing is terrible/ A wanton heart under attack/ I wanna love you all the way off/ I wanna break your back.” (1-4) We can see in this song the overwhelming presence of the body and, more importantly the treatment of them, through the touch the tension or restrictions have been liberated.
Colour of all that's hysterical. Travels along your bones. Just to be near you suckin your skin. Not gonna leave you alone. (5-9)

The intention is clear. Once the desire has been carefully introduced and established in the last two songs, this one only anticipates what is going to happen upon contact. There is an obvious idealization of this moment “We could build an engine/ Out of all your rising stars/ Tear apart the apart” There is not a single sense of doubt in the potentiality of this moment and the boundaries it will break. It describes the potentiality present in the fulfillment of desire, the orgasm itself:
I hunger for you like a cannibal. Not gonna let you run. I'm gonna take you. I'm gonna shake you. I'm gonna make you cum. Swear to God it'll get so hot it'll melt our faces off. Then we can see the you the me beyond mirrors outside clock. Held naked in the light. Held gently, held tight (26-42).

There is such a blatant sense of hope irradiating through every line of this song which not only serve to illustrate the actual moment of ecstatic enjoyment, but also illustrate how, once achieved, the boundaries are physically and metaphorically shattered. The walls are smashed, the bed is broken, the floors are crashed and the neighbors have called the cops. The consequences are minimal compared to what is being experienced and it is safe to say that there is an obvious anthem quality to the nature of this song (accentuated by the yuxtaposition of the angelic chorus trailing off towards the end). From the melody to the lyrics, it illustrates the tension released, contained in the two previous songs where the desire was still unresolved. It concludes with:
Yes here of course there are miracles. Under your sighs and moans. I'm Gonna take you. I'm Gonna take you. I'm Gonna take you home (56-60).
This ending perfectly illustrated the full circle achieved after going through the various steps apropos the establishment of the sexual relationship. “Wolf Like Me”, “Wear you out” and “Lover’s day” are all essential to this construction and are fed and influenced by each other to create a coherent chain of events. Even if the songs are chronologically out of order and are separated each by a space of two years, it is incredible how well adapted they turn into a coherent narrative of the self who desires, of the self who has finally conquered the territory, who has, as “Lover’s Day” concludes, taken the other home.

domingo, 30 de agosto de 2009


(More or less)

jueves, 6 de agosto de 2009

jueves, 9 de julio de 2009

Forever is a long long time when you've lost your way.

before my brain floods again, after writing all i know in my last test, this afternoon is the only time right after the end of finals and right before i start my new job tomorrow early in the morning. i have today and right now to swim into this. only today to lose my perspective of history, stream-conscious the fuck out of this. the cancellation of void spaces. simple lists, the murmur of language says barthes, is all the same. what matter is that there is a birth of the author that comes along with the text, it is this precisely that gives it sense. just do a list now that you cant think of anything else. a list and a picture of you, biting your lips, kitchen ponderings. i like over sized sweaters in the winter, and the way a face looks right when they wake up, and sleep parked outside eyelids. i think of you like this. i try to explain Phoenix to a girl who has never heard of them before. how, how do you describe them? besides, you know, the feeling that it suscites in you, the tapping of feet, the dancing. it is drunkenness before it gets messy, the wind when the car is going fast fast fast and it is not cold enough for you to wear coats yet. The Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix album is turning out to be one of my favorite albums of the year (Rome, Fences, Girlfriend.) we listened to it the other day, three of us making dinner on a Thursday night, pasta with pieces of beef jerky, (i tried beef jerky for the very first time! it is not that awesome! but this one had bacon!) i don't cook much. I don't cook at all, to be honest. but let me tell you something. i love doing the dishes. it is the strangest thing. (this is my confession. I like, no, love doing the dishes. I like the warm water and the humming of songs. The hands covered in soap and a vague tangy scent of cleanliness.) this semester has gone by so fast. i will take with me the late night group study sessions and everyone with hundreds of papers spread all over the living room floor and the moment when no one cant, for the life of them, analyze anything meta-linguistic anymore and we go into strange subjects and think about the future, when none of this will matter as much. i like all of the random memories we accumulate from classes. the coffee vending machine for a dollar, the best coffee you'll ever drink, your fingers around the hot plastic cup when still daydreaming and listening to your professor recite excerpts of golden age spanish theater, Calderon de la Barca's:
¿Qué es la vida? Un frenesí.¿Qué es la vida? Una ilusión,una sombra, una ficción,y el mayor bien es pequeño;que toda la vida es sueño,y los sueños, sueños son.
ah! life!

lunes, 15 de junio de 2009

TV on the Radio.

Lets talk about TV on the Radio.

I cannot get over this band. I know it has been around for a while (2001-ish) and started listening to them a couple of years ago, mainly Desperate Youth, Blood Thirsty Babes in which tracks like Ambulance, Wear You Out, Staring at the Sun, Poppy, stood out mainly because of how different they were from one another, and also because, i don't know, their sound is so new and carefully crafted. It is refreshing, that is the only way to put it. Later came Return to Cookie Mountain, and Dear Science, which has been recognized as one of the best albums of 2008. (I think i prefer Return to Cookie Mountain, though.) anyway, their discography has been consistently good, and you can definitely see an evolution in their experimentation, still without ever compromising their sound.

Still, i didn't really realize how awesome they really were until recently.

Curiosity, and the high you get when being at a rock concert, all screams and sways (an Hermanos Brother's show i had gone to, to support my drummer friend) made me look up their videos of live performances on YouTube. i was not ready for what i saw. they seriously blew my mind and aside from kicking myself from all the missed opportunities of watching them live while i lived in DC, all i could think about was, oh my god.

i have a hard time condensing all that i want to say about them into one coherent paragraph, so i am dividing this entry in three parts with three of my favorite performances. here it goes.

1. "Wolf Like Me" on Letterman

First of all, talk about amazing live performance. This has to be, the very definition of killing it. Not only that, but i think the energy from the entire band is pretty fucking rad. From Tunde Adebimpe's singing and just overall presence, i mean, little things, like the way his hands move and how it correlates with the song, its brilliant, and Sitek's guitar which never fucking misses a beat and how powerful it is from the get go, a cathartic explosion from the start. My favorite part though, is right around 1:43, and how it deliciously slows down for a second and Tunde's hands when he sings Open my hands and let them weave onto yours. I cannot get over that, i've never seen someone bring so much texture into a song, if that makes any sense. Anyway, also, the whole werewolf/little red riding hood metaphor is not only clever but also sexy as hell. I know i've talked about music and sex before, and i think i am really interested in how these two elements can compliment each other without resorting to cliches like Lets Get it On, or some Barry White-esque go-to. I mean, don't get me wrong, i am all for the classics, John Coltrane, and whatnot, but i think that the kind of sex that these artists evoke is very...vanilla. I think that it is tremendously hard for music to achieve the kind of erotic feel that revolves around the other kind of sex. I mean, hard, decadent, tearing of clothes, kitchen-counter kind of sex.

And with that note, i present to you this video

2. "Wear You Out" at La Route du Rock, 2004

Even without seeing this performance, this song is, in my book, one of the sexiest songs of all time. The lyrics are so blatantly seductive and so unapologetic about it, especially in contrast with Wolf Like Me, which plays with meanings and metaphors, Wear You Out goes straight to the point. Seduction at its best. So it is only fitting that this performance starts the way it does, slowly, with steady drums, only to be built up into the most amazing climax by the end of it. What i love about this performance is how well Tunde and Kip Malone compliment each other. It seems like both of their voices have been blended into one to form an entire new entity, so blunt about desire in a way that is not contrived or trite but honest from the get-go with lines like I can barely move from want of room/ and i'm forgetting to breathe/ But the sight of you/ Has me instantly Remember my needs and then it starts ascending and ascending until it explodes at 3:10 and they sing

Well, here i am, just a man/Is this light flattering?/Did you notice my crown of feathers/And check out my vital vibrant comb?/Oh puff chest out and play strong/Grab you by the hair and pull you along

Or do I just talk to you And tell you what I really really really want to do.

I don't know if it is those lyrics, or his snake-like moves, dripped in sweat, open shirt persona, but, honestly, i think it is impossible not to be completely turned on by this performance.

Last but not least:

3. Providence, live at De La Sema, 2008

Although not as hard or sexually charged as the previous two, this song absolutely kills me. They
have created the perfect sounds to blend not only the melody but also the general tone of the song which is, unmistakably hopeful. Kip Malone stated on an interview that he saw LOVE IS THE PROVIDENCE OF THE BRAVE written on a wall, a quote by Gandhi, and that is how the idea of the song came about. For me, personally, it is about moving on, but that is just my interpretation of it. I bet that it speaks to so many others in so many other levels. I think this song does a great job at salvaging the stubbornness of the human heart, from all aspects, from the melody to the words, i find it so inspiring and beautiful.

Anyway, so yes, TV on the Radio. I cannot say enough about them, except that i hope they keep making music and their vision of music as art never changes. I'll close with this; on an interview with the site Hate Something Beautiful, when they ask Tunde Adebimpe how did you he got into music, he replied

Probably like I'm guessing maybe 45 seconds after I came out of my mother's womb. I can't really imagine my life with out music. I mean as far as getting into recording and playing it, it was mostly as a teenager, messing around with friends in bands. I always hanging out in a group of people or doing a lot creative work and the bands were a huge part of that. I don't know. I can't pinpoint the exact second I got into music, it's always. When I think about my life without music, it becomes a very cold and sinister thing and I don't like to think about it.


sábado, 16 de mayo de 2009

24 electric feel.

so i turned twenty-four. it was unplanned and disorganized and blurred between whatever drink was in my hand and whatever was playing in the background. i have bits and pieces of the night with me and i will keep them constant to remember that i am still young. I am not going to lie. I really thought i would have shit a little more figured out by this time. Things a little more resolved, more settled. but everything is so far beyond that. I have a job writing for a magazine, i have my classes about colonial/medieval/theory literature, highlighted critical studies and books checked out for research. i have an apartment with not enough water-pressure in the shower, i have a total of eight completed paper journals, wooden bookshelfs built into my studio, a theme for my thesis, plans of NYU for gradschool, all of elliott smith, wilco, the decemberists albums. i have great friends. the greatest friends who burst through the doors of my apartment with whirlwinds of stories and fears like fiorella's irrational fear of spontaneos combustion which makes me laugh a little but worries me at the same time. all of the memories of all things said, things left unsaid, borrowed clothes, shared drinks. the jokes that will always make us laugh and the feeling when dancing at places with high cealings and distinct, clear moments like being in a car with no air conditioner and no real working windows and three boys who study what you love and stay up all night with you before midterms, driving through the coast, looking back right at the moment the sun hit the horizon line look at the fucking sun, man it was so huge and burning and melting and beautiful, all four of us with our heads turned in sheer awe and rushing as its going down before it hides for good and his wreckless driving with half of his body being pulled towards the sky like a charging magnet. memories like that. i turned twenty-four, i am still nineteen at heart.

this was my text message the morning after, which, pretty much sums up the kind of debauchery that defines these troubled times.

"I dont remember how the night ended. All i know is that i woke up wearing two pajama shirts and no underwear."

sábado, 4 de abril de 2009

we are chained

I am listening to Hey by Pixies and let me start with this. This song is fucking hot. what else can i say except to point out the obvious; the direct, remarkable way that this song exudes and breathes sex and desire and the twisted turns of events that makes us human, that makes us go back to mistakes and nonsense, all which seem to be rearranged, or justified by the 3 odd minutes of this song being played. I really like this concert because of the dim orange lights that seem to be powerless and the way they slow the tempo and everybody singing in the background. it reminds me about my contemporary literary theory class this week, about Mikhail Bajtin studies of Rabelais use of the carnival in Rennaisance literature. The carnival, (or concert, in this context) is a celebration of abundance and decadence, a new way to look at the world based on feeling like a definite part of a collective union. Chaos and self awareness fully formed as a revolt of a culture controlled by the paradigms imposed by social hierarchy and organized institution. It was a response, a way to hold onto inmortality. todo menos morir. people feel, first than anything their unity in time, their inmortality in history. they put all their faith in the collective feeling that swirled in a shared space and a faith was acquired because this was bigger than life itself, or bigger than you for that matter and your own impending death.

i love this song because of the texture of Frank Black's voice and Kim Deal and the
chorus with the we're chaained that comes and goes and completely complements the chord progression, and the base and that intro, which has to be, by far, one of the most powerful intros ever. This anguish, i have felt before. maybe that is why i like it so much? i don't know. we are chained. we have conversations on weekends at seven in the morning about our past and confess that which blinded us, to feel again, with that intensity, fuck. nothing will test you like that. now we build gods out of skepticism, we are made of stone, beautiful granite. we smoke and drink way way too much for our own good and then we can never fall asleep right and my heart starts beating out of my chest, too much cheap red wine, we are exhausted and 24 is just around the corner.

the night multiplies into hundreds, last night i laughed at the ridiculousness of your excuse to come upstairs which spelled desire right from the bat because how little sense it made. we don't make any sense. this is the location of chemistry and reason reducing chaos to movement patterns of fusion and expansion, possible infinites of move and response bounded by the imagination, the unspoken agreements, blah blah blah. i am about to turn 24, i go to sleep, i study, i read, i walk, i work, i sing must be a devil between us and find so much truth in the things we carry. the constant struggle that is being in between the sloppy intersection of desires and fears and having no idea what is going to happen next. what a gift. what a fucked up gift this life has given us.

"It is tragic and sad and chaotic and lovely. All life is the same, as citizens of the human state: the animating limits are within, to be killed and mourned, over and over again." - David Foster Wallace.

sábado, 14 de marzo de 2009


This, then, could be our last evening together. My last night with a woman I have known for 10 years, a woman I know almost everything about, and want no more of. Soon, we will be like strangers. No, we can never be that. Hurting someone is an act of reluctant intimacy. We will be dangerous acquaintances with a history. That first time she put her hand on my arm- I wish i had turned away. Why didnt I? The waste; the waste of time and feeling. She has said something similar about me. But do we mean it?

- Hanif Kureishi.

lunes, 23 de febrero de 2009

The Rob Gordon Species

I didn’t think much of it at first; I didn’t really started connecting the dots until my last date last night with a very special kind of human belonging to the Rob Gordon Species.You see, there are many types of men, I think, but the Rob Gordonites are definetly one of a kind.

These are the ones that consider High Fidelity the greatest movie or book of all time, who have found a character that has personified all of their insecurities and sensibilities, justified their screw ups, paralleled their past loves and break ups with the ones seen and lived by this character.These are the guys that hold a high regard for Stevie Wonder (of course, vintage Stevie Wonder) and would possibly like I Believe (When i Fall in Love it will be Forever) played at their wedding, the guys who have had a inevitably their heart broken at some point or another and who constantly struggle between their inability to commit and their faith on true human love.

The guys that will quote Is that Peter-fucking-Frampton? As they stumble into a bar, and absolutely, unapologetically, pride themselves in their music tastes and knowledge, which they have worked hard to construct and deconstruct.

Let me just clear something out, I have nothing against this species. In fact, I have noticed a pattern in my dating life where I am immediately drawn to their subdued bitterness, to their cigarette smoke, to that hidden sweetness. The last three men I have seen have at one point or another stated High Fidelity is kiiind of the movie of my life. And of course, you start thinking, in which category do you fall...Are you the sweet Penny, the sad one that he ends up sharing a bed with for 2 years, the iconic Charlie, the exotic and new Caroline Fortis, or and only if you are lucky, the one and only Laura.

I didn’t really become aware of this pattern until recently. But then you start remembering lines quoted from the movie; an exasperated Are we having the state of the union talk? As you laid in bed, the chuckling when you play Belle & Sebastian and have that categorized as Sad Bastard Music, the inevitable top fives.
Pieces of Rob Gordon are reflected in all of my past conquests. In my first love with all the right jokes, In the boy with the tattoos which whom i discussed sadness and the things missed and how he said that he missed intimacy most of all, the sleeping with someone and the little idiosyncrasies from past loves like the rubbing of feet an equal number of times and then the guy who works for a radio station and has an undying love for pop music and all its ramifications.

After thinking how is it that I always end up meeting these Rob Gordonites I came into a very clear conclusion.

I am one of them too.

I too think that the best flirting technique is talking passionately about shared tastes, I believe (and follow) all the rules when making a music compilation, I too have the understated insecurities and have inner conversations with Bruce Springsteen (well, Bob Dylan, whom, was the first choice in the movie but couldn’t compromise due to scheduling conflicts) and have at one point or another played Dry the Rain just to witness all the heads slowly move and ask Hey, what is this?

I did, at one point, think I had my Laura, and at the same time, my Charlie. Saw all of the insecurities, the feeling of fraud and who am I kidding? I dont belong here. Saw someone with all the fascination and glow in the world, I have also said I will never get over this and rationed it to the first night a band opened for Nirvana, something as monumental as that. Thankfully, I came into the same realization as Rob on that one, and even if I wasn’t necessarily left for "the Dreaded Marco" but for a far less exotic, attractive or threatening kind, I still felt it could have been me at one point in the past, standing in the rain, screaming Charlie, you fucking bitch, let’s work it out!

I think I want what all of us, Rob Gordonites, want. I think I want nothing more than the image of browsing used vinyl’s while debating the greatness and mutual exclusivity of Art Garfunkel and Marvin Gaye, something along those lines. I want to never untie what I love, and who I love, to the music I hold closest to my heart. See, I too, organize my albums in an autobiographical way and think that there is no better complement to life other than that which is music and what it provides for us. Our entire history can fly from speakers, and the question of What came first, the music or the misery? May never really be answered, but hopefully we will remain strong among the few. And we’ll play some damn sweet tunes along the way.

domingo, 15 de febrero de 2009

but i, i never felt so much life than tonight, huddled in the trenches.

todo menos morir.

i haven't really slept in three nights and all three dawns i have spent sitting in a plastic table on the side of a dirt road by the ocean eating two dollar sandwiches with extra sweet potato and laughing about the most ridiculous, amazing inside jokes, which still make sense now, thank god. the brilliant synchronicity of humor and friendship always shines brighter at ungodly hours of the morning when the rest of the world is asleep and of course that when attraction is added to the equation it makes it even more electric and exciting. The succession of the longest nights all present with copious amounts of alcohol (of course) and music and moving from place to place refusing, absolutely refusing to call a night a night like any normal, rational human being. is it because it is summer? i don't know. but it feels somehow justified, completely justified to have stumbled back to the house at 7:30 in the morning each of these three nights and taking long naps during the day with the ocean crashing by our window. i am inconsistent about my feelings but always (and above all) i want to protect this freedom, this lightness that has taken me so long to achieve after so much time nesting a broken heart and how ironic it all turns out to be now that i am the one giving that speech to boys with good intentions i say i want none of your commitment, that boy said if we are dating then you have to be willing to make some sacrifices i said what if...i don't really want to.
I have decided to take the brutally honest approach. i don't blame the past for this jadedness although we are all somehow creatures of cause and effect i don't really see myself willing to change now that i am finally at ease with who i am just as i don't really see any other way of spending what is turning out to be, quite possibly, the best summer of my life.

sábado, 7 de febrero de 2009

irrational decisions feel somehow justified if you are listening to Bessie Smith blues in the summer and drinking day old wine.

martes, 6 de enero de 2009

blue moon rising

currently enamoured with Steve Martin and his banjo playing skills, reading Born Standing Up: A Comic's Life.

when describing the girls he dated on the road, he writes:

Were they beautiful? We were all beautiful. We were in our twenties.

2009 started with the beach, with books books books, a tan, determination to finish (and put a title to) my short story, early planning for gradschool admitions (first of all, narrow the list of schools, but definetly keep NYU, Columbia, and Cornell) East coast 2010, here i come. Finish my wall, learn how to cook something other than chicken chili lasagna, smoke less, etc, etc, etc.