primavera parte
mejor que empezar con mi mismo, mejor k empezar con mi mismo en español, el rostro de mi en el otro lado del espejo...porque, esto es la cosa, la chingada cosa es esto: no te entiendo, y no me entiendes, y no se si la importa es aki en el piel, o debajo de la tierra donde estamos nadando cada noche sin limites, sin fin...y tu, tu eres en mi boca no en mi cabeza, tu eres sobre mi lengua como el Real de lacan, y no puedo encontrarte en el cuarto de los perros abandonados...ella tiene una pelicula en la mano, es amores perros, por k tambien somos lo k hemos perdido...y la otra tiene cartas en la mano, preguntandome, 'leerme por favor por k no lo se donde estoy ni donde voy,' y la otra esta bailando y aunque no lo recuerdo nada de tango ni mango ni algo de supongo, estoy olvidando poco y poco menos cada dia.
seguro parte
so you come flying, again and again, you come flying over my shoulders like a banshee in the middle of the funeral, and you come to announce a death that is immanent, and if i tell you that you are much too late for your announcement to have any weight (after all, we are already at the funeral and everybody knows that someone died), you might be offended, and so i tie my tongue in a knot (like they do in those talkie pictures that you sell in the back room)...so you come close to me in the middle of the storm, and your hands are covered with secrets scripts and signs that you want me to interpret, and this is the day that my vision decreased by half again. i see less and less because i know where i'm going by now (whether i know that or not it's still true). so i can't read your hands today, and i don't want to, because to bring them close will only make me miss them. and still you come flying, and my heart is still left on the rock where i was praying last night, and if you get to it before i do, you might do a spell over it, or you might try to eat it, or you might, and this is the most likely path to take, you might hold it with a plan in mind and then forget the plan and start speaking to me about something that i don't quite understand, about the sound of bells on a waist and how they remind you of something and i'll remember that this sound is important, a very important thing, and we'll both talk for half an hour about this very important thing, and it will be a moment to forget in the history of moments everywhere, and i might get to leave with my heart if i can grab it when you're not looking.
you keep falling asleep in the sun, i wish you wouldn't sleep out here, not on this day, this is that part of the year when it's much easier to die than we might think, and i lose people this time of year all the time. we both grew up here and know the rules of this place. once you cross the mountains, all the usual rules are off, and the only thing that applies here is that we have to stay hungry, and we have to drink everything we see and every chance we get. you keep falling asleep on the edges of a bare mattress, one that you'd planned on moving into a new house by the end of the year a long time ago, and i keep falling asleep on the same mattress in a different room. the bee that stings my hand stings you, because there is no difference between you & i, and it might not matter so much that your name keeps changing all the time. i still know you, i knew you before you were born, and when you show yourself to me, i fall in love, and when you hide from me, i miss you, and we both might know that i'm more or less as complicated as that. and you still know me, even when i fold in half and half again, and become something else by the time you've turned my insides outside. today i have the name of the boy you knew when you were starting 8th grade, and tomorrow i might have the same lips of that girl that left you by yourself for too long and you were always wondering if she'd ever come back, and when you fall asleep you'll see me come swimming under the foundations of your house, a knife in my teeth, because i would fight all the crocodiles in your moat to prove that i am still your soul mate.
triceratoparte
women and men grab my 7 head bones looking for injuries, 7 women and men shoot white light into my eyes, looking for the disc at the back that tells them there is no disease here. the only injury is the wearing out through time, the way the years have of making things that are close to the eyes so hard to comprehend. on a day like this, where it's 46.7 degrees celsius, it's harder to see outside or inside, because at this extreme, we are all dying and no one wants to admit it. so i can't see even more than i can't see, and i remember something, something in march or april, something about seeing, and how that was important, and i think about how much i miss that maybe, or perhaps it didn't happen on the skin but somewhere under the sea. and maybe that was the moment my eyes started to fail, and the world started to grow dimmer after that, and when you left, there was no reason to look because there was nothing left to see, and that there is an old and senile version of me who took my place, and he believes all of this, and he also believes that his eyes are not getting better even though you came back, because you never really came back. chances are good that the senile version of me and the one writing this right now both believe that to be true, because nothing can prove it otherwise, because the fotos are doctored. but there is also enough evidence to see that the eyes started to fade a year ago, when you were making fun of my eyes when i tried to see something on the other side of the beach, and tried to remember the last kind thing you said, and i decided that i wanted to stop looking for a little while and go to sleep for a little while.
either which way, none of this makes any difference in a hospital, none of this matters when there is a hospital, and there are old men and women being pushed in carts, with medals on their chests, only no one remembers how to read any of the words on the medals. the whole world responds to them by paying attention to the shine, and when the shine is gone, there's nothing left to see. this is where i hear about what happens to organs when they get old, the things that purify the blood, how they get tired, and how they stop doing what they are supposed to do, and how some have electricians and some have plumbers and there are jobs for everyone when you get that deep into the body.
the body has things that we can't possibly understand. the body has parts that keep doing work without judgment and despite and grudge or memory of what took place there yesterday. the body forgives in a way that most people can't even approach, and when it's done, it starts to break down. today the future then is not so very important. this functions and that functions and i'm sad that this part is gone but i didn't expect it to come back and among the living there are these people and this dog and that kind of bee, and this is that part of the year when it's hot enough to burn the surface off and turn the layers back to that the only thing that is revealed is love, and all is love, and for these few passing moments, the only rule that we can possibly obey with any grace is love, and the day begins and ends with love and that's all there is in the in between, and all that anyone can see.
mejor que empezar con mi mismo, mejor k empezar con mi mismo en español, el rostro de mi en el otro lado del espejo...porque, esto es la cosa, la chingada cosa es esto: no te entiendo, y no me entiendes, y no se si la importa es aki en el piel, o debajo de la tierra donde estamos nadando cada noche sin limites, sin fin...y tu, tu eres en mi boca no en mi cabeza, tu eres sobre mi lengua como el Real de lacan, y no puedo encontrarte en el cuarto de los perros abandonados...ella tiene una pelicula en la mano, es amores perros, por k tambien somos lo k hemos perdido...y la otra tiene cartas en la mano, preguntandome, 'leerme por favor por k no lo se donde estoy ni donde voy,' y la otra esta bailando y aunque no lo recuerdo nada de tango ni mango ni algo de supongo, estoy olvidando poco y poco menos cada dia.
seguro parte
so you come flying, again and again, you come flying over my shoulders like a banshee in the middle of the funeral, and you come to announce a death that is immanent, and if i tell you that you are much too late for your announcement to have any weight (after all, we are already at the funeral and everybody knows that someone died), you might be offended, and so i tie my tongue in a knot (like they do in those talkie pictures that you sell in the back room)...so you come close to me in the middle of the storm, and your hands are covered with secrets scripts and signs that you want me to interpret, and this is the day that my vision decreased by half again. i see less and less because i know where i'm going by now (whether i know that or not it's still true). so i can't read your hands today, and i don't want to, because to bring them close will only make me miss them. and still you come flying, and my heart is still left on the rock where i was praying last night, and if you get to it before i do, you might do a spell over it, or you might try to eat it, or you might, and this is the most likely path to take, you might hold it with a plan in mind and then forget the plan and start speaking to me about something that i don't quite understand, about the sound of bells on a waist and how they remind you of something and i'll remember that this sound is important, a very important thing, and we'll both talk for half an hour about this very important thing, and it will be a moment to forget in the history of moments everywhere, and i might get to leave with my heart if i can grab it when you're not looking.
you keep falling asleep in the sun, i wish you wouldn't sleep out here, not on this day, this is that part of the year when it's much easier to die than we might think, and i lose people this time of year all the time. we both grew up here and know the rules of this place. once you cross the mountains, all the usual rules are off, and the only thing that applies here is that we have to stay hungry, and we have to drink everything we see and every chance we get. you keep falling asleep on the edges of a bare mattress, one that you'd planned on moving into a new house by the end of the year a long time ago, and i keep falling asleep on the same mattress in a different room. the bee that stings my hand stings you, because there is no difference between you & i, and it might not matter so much that your name keeps changing all the time. i still know you, i knew you before you were born, and when you show yourself to me, i fall in love, and when you hide from me, i miss you, and we both might know that i'm more or less as complicated as that. and you still know me, even when i fold in half and half again, and become something else by the time you've turned my insides outside. today i have the name of the boy you knew when you were starting 8th grade, and tomorrow i might have the same lips of that girl that left you by yourself for too long and you were always wondering if she'd ever come back, and when you fall asleep you'll see me come swimming under the foundations of your house, a knife in my teeth, because i would fight all the crocodiles in your moat to prove that i am still your soul mate.
triceratoparte
women and men grab my 7 head bones looking for injuries, 7 women and men shoot white light into my eyes, looking for the disc at the back that tells them there is no disease here. the only injury is the wearing out through time, the way the years have of making things that are close to the eyes so hard to comprehend. on a day like this, where it's 46.7 degrees celsius, it's harder to see outside or inside, because at this extreme, we are all dying and no one wants to admit it. so i can't see even more than i can't see, and i remember something, something in march or april, something about seeing, and how that was important, and i think about how much i miss that maybe, or perhaps it didn't happen on the skin but somewhere under the sea. and maybe that was the moment my eyes started to fail, and the world started to grow dimmer after that, and when you left, there was no reason to look because there was nothing left to see, and that there is an old and senile version of me who took my place, and he believes all of this, and he also believes that his eyes are not getting better even though you came back, because you never really came back. chances are good that the senile version of me and the one writing this right now both believe that to be true, because nothing can prove it otherwise, because the fotos are doctored. but there is also enough evidence to see that the eyes started to fade a year ago, when you were making fun of my eyes when i tried to see something on the other side of the beach, and tried to remember the last kind thing you said, and i decided that i wanted to stop looking for a little while and go to sleep for a little while.
either which way, none of this makes any difference in a hospital, none of this matters when there is a hospital, and there are old men and women being pushed in carts, with medals on their chests, only no one remembers how to read any of the words on the medals. the whole world responds to them by paying attention to the shine, and when the shine is gone, there's nothing left to see. this is where i hear about what happens to organs when they get old, the things that purify the blood, how they get tired, and how they stop doing what they are supposed to do, and how some have electricians and some have plumbers and there are jobs for everyone when you get that deep into the body.
the body has things that we can't possibly understand. the body has parts that keep doing work without judgment and despite and grudge or memory of what took place there yesterday. the body forgives in a way that most people can't even approach, and when it's done, it starts to break down. today the future then is not so very important. this functions and that functions and i'm sad that this part is gone but i didn't expect it to come back and among the living there are these people and this dog and that kind of bee, and this is that part of the year when it's hot enough to burn the surface off and turn the layers back to that the only thing that is revealed is love, and all is love, and for these few passing moments, the only rule that we can possibly obey with any grace is love, and the day begins and ends with love and that's all there is in the in between, and all that anyone can see.
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