sometimes your okay
sometimes i am

i regard your laughter as music
your smile. . . well that is something i cannot describe.
your presence, like the sound of crackling dust on a vinyl record

you. i. we were both held in the arms of our parents
you like i, needed to feel special and loved.
you. i. we will hold our parents someday.
they. like you and i, need to feel special and loved. some in their own way. like you. like i.

i was standing against the subway doors looking out as the bells rung and the doors closed on the 59th street train station.
lights in the subway tunnel passed like flashes of lightning in a summer storm.
we meet people on a daily basis that enlighten our lives without us realizing it.
or them.
they pass so fast. dashing across our eyes retina and disappearing into someones elses.
the train continued barreling down in the most nonsensical of manners as if shot from a 1776 cannon. it felt like the tunnel walls were the only thing keeping the train on-course.
we reached harlem 125th street. harlem 125th street station. stand clear of the closing doors. and before i knew it, we were again cutting through the darkness like a silver knife.
i did not get off the train that smelled of burning metal as the doors opened and closed on my station stop.
why? you may or may not ask. well you see, what is a home when the only sounds heard are the pitter-patter of the leaky bathroom sink, the arctic wind howling through tiny crevasses and the rhythmic breathing and beating of a lonely heart echoing throughout

is it so difficult to smile?
is it so difficult to be polite?
is it so difficult to care about a stranger?
the well-being of your neighbor is your well-being
although it may seem that our lives are so independent from one another
you are mistaken if you think that what doesn't happen to you individually will have no bearing on your life
every incident of human contact and action taken by you gets added to the collective spirit of humanity
this spirit of humanity forms the basis of the culture of the masses in which you interact in every single day
though this spirit of humanity is manipulated and influenced by economic and corporate powers
it is the decisions and the actions that we put in motion as individuals that forms the contextual matter of society
there is tremendous healing that must be done if we are to survive as a civilization
we must identify the elements of society and socialization that promote dis concern for each other
hyper-individualism is unhealthy
the key to life is BALANCE
anything and everything in excess is bad
think of the structures of life on Earth
think of the biological functions that keep you alive
power, money and the human ego will be the demise of civilization

i took my child by the hand to the highest cliff overlooking humanity.
we found a large withered old log and sat at its rusty end, dislodging it a bit from its muddy roots
i explained to her what i could and she responded in the most tender of voices that she was scared of the future
i wrapped my arms around her tiny shoulders and felt her tremble
because she understood what was at stake
we sat for hours talking quietly and picking blades of grass and dried leaves, crumpling them in our palms
the analogies that we devised within those hours sitting atop that cliff were of the most painfully ironic nature
to our astonishment at how the time had passed, the bright sun was blocked and a great shadow enveloped us like a giant cloak
it was time for me to go home
i quickly kissed her on the cheek and told her that i loved her and that i would return someday
at this time a giant bird of the most monstrous size and wingspan gently grasped on to my shoulders with his gigantic shiny onyx claws
i waved goodbye to my daughter as she cried a tear and placed it on the wings of a butterfly which she sent up to me
we soared into the blue sky and climbed into the sun finding refuge in light and warmth
sitting here quietly in my humble abode i can still hear my daughter exclaim in her tiny whisper as she gazed upwards of the sky " . . . que altovalsol ! "

on occasion i am set free
to fly down
the death of a thought as an abstract object
my final resting place
relegated to living on papyrus
a simple existence on this 1 dimensional white plain
afraid of scissors and erasers
if only i had been written in pen
then only your tears could have erased me
and changed me forever
until i would have been written down again
his sentiments
please do not cry, i beg you ! he might forget to write me down again
or change my wording, reversing my order or using bastard synonyms
i may never exist as i once did, as i just did before you cried,
please i don't want to fade away forever
i need, if for nothing else,
to make you cry just once more, so that you can erase me forever

i tasted cold orange juice with lots of pulp first on my lips, wetting them with acidic goodness and then on my tongue.
i held very strong to that hand of hers, that she gave to me as we made our way down the wet street that reflected the city back at us like a black mirror.
at the end of every block we jumped from one spot of dry concrete to another, making our way over rain puddles that had collected along the curb. we laughed as we both knew that we resembled frogs jumping from lily pad to lily pad. stopping in the middle of the crosswalk, we asked danger to come out and play. the glaring lights of an oncoming yellow taxi laying on its horn made us dash like foxes out of dangers way onto the sidewalk.
you laughed . . .
i remember you laughed . . .
that is what i remember.
i held on tight that night. to your hand, to your laughter.
i tasted orange juice with lots of pulp tickle the back of my throat and make its tangy way down to my stomach. the aftertaste a most peculiar of sensations.
i remember gazing into a store window display, and as i began to comment on "how beautiful the . . . . "
i saw my reflection against the window pane standing alone. i did not need to turn to know that you were gone and that i was alone. the silence spoke with deafening reality.
well in truth i had just wanted to tell you "how beautiful the toy train locomotive was that pushed and pulled its cargo of stuffed animals and candy canes" . . . . and that . . . well, "how cold orange juice with lots of pulp felt like . . . "

their guns were still smoking, smoldering from their hatred, when they let off their next round into the next set of fathers, sons, mothers and daughters until they were reduced to lifeless bodies slumped over each other in mounds from which rivers of blood seeped out from under.

they had committed no crime. they were free of guilt. free of any wrongdoing.

their lifeless bodies awoke the next morning to a perfectly blue sky as the sun rose as bright as ever to dry the blood soaked soil. they had awoken to the clearest of days and began to dance to the howling winds shooting through the towering peaks of the Andes mountains, to the sound of the gigantic waves of the pacific ocean pounding the Chilean shores, to the sounds of children laughing and playing, running and jumping between luscious trees and decaying tombstones. crabs sought refuge behind rocks while mussels continued their sarcastic smiles plastered on their shells, as waves crashed and pummeled the coast and the voices of children echoed in the valley.

as the day descended and the night approached the sounds of the earth were replaced by those of torture and death, the screaming of fathers and sons, mothers and daughters replaced the howling winds, the pounding waves of the pacific ocean colored a deep dark red, the sound of machine guns and warm blood ran and jumped and splattered the trees and decaying tombstones replacing innocence.



a new set of lifeless fathers and sons, mother and daughters sat in mounds on the Chilean soil the next morning. they also awoke to the bluest of skies, the brightest of suns that dried the blood soaked land and the tears of the pueblo Chileno. . .

more then 3,100 people were killed by the US backed right-wing military dictatorship of pinochet that overthrew the democratically elected government of Salvador Allende in 1973.
more then 35,000 were tortured and maimed.

members of my own family constitute some of these.

very few have paid for these atrocities.

the traitor pinochet escaped trail by dying surrounded by morally deprived members of his family and with the back of the pueblo Chileno facing him. a true coward and traitor to the end. he knew that he died alone.

". . . . . the people ought to defend themselves, but not sacrifice themselves. The people ought not let themselves be subdued or persecuted, but neither should they humble themselves.

Workers of my Nation, I have faith in Chile and its destiny. Other men will go beyond this gray and bitter moment when treason tries to impose itself upon us. Continue to know that, much sooner than later, we will reopen the great promenades down which free men pass, to construct a better society.

Long Live Chile ! Long live the people ! Long live the workers !

These are my last words and I have certainty that my sacrifice will not be in vain, I have certainty that, at least, I will be a moral lesson to castigate felony, cowardice, and treason." - Salvador Allende, September 11, 1973.