ME-1st Slideshow and MY ARTWORKS-2cd/bottom Slideshow

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Wednesday, August 09, 2006

seeker? I KNOW


it takes talent
to captivate
and occupy the attention
of an audience

i know from being a performer
that i am not
a performer.
i sing and dance and play and do
for myself.
and i do not have the skill to always please.
it takes talent
to know
what an audience wants.
and not just what YOU want to do.

to perform
is not
a dismissal of energy
in effort.

regardless of quality,
it is talent
to stay up
through jeers
and praise.

it is talent
to feel something
other than yourself
on a stage.

so even if
i may hold a nepotism
for the opera,
Broadway, or rock,
in comparison to a pop star,

this is no way
excludes the shine of talent

IT can lurk
beneath the
creep over
the TOUGHEST board
IT can visit
on a smiling face
shine through
summer’s day
be you cantankerous or
adjectives are not IT’s concern
IT has no
respect for formalities
IT will masticate water
with a knife
IT knows not of
or what time we think is right
IT has purpose
our sun cannot compete against
for there are never cloudy days
And IT never relaxes
IT will glance
At a small child
And a white-haired head with the same eye
IT never sleeps
and IT never cries
IT never dreams
and IT never LIES
IT is not a student
yet IT does not claim to teach
IT has no need for education
and a genius IT is
IT has mastered
skills beyond our reach
I hope
Mother Earth can prove me wrong!
alas for now
t h e r e w I l l n e v e r b e
a m a n w e ’ l l s e e
w h o s u c c e e d s
f u r t h e r t h a n d e a t h ’ s d e g r e e

i am such
a hypocrite
lecturing everyone
on fairy tales
and dreams
in the books
i read as a child
which i still read now
oh joyful glorious saturday
wtih a crunchy Gala apple
and Hesse’s pages in my hands
give me sci-fi
or any such book
with imaginative
that i may choose to believe
and then
i am off on tangeant
i read before
i read now
and where has all
my scheming gotten me?
all my hopes
told to a drunk
about to kill himself
and i am just
another stupid
make-believe cinderella
still sitting in a modern chair in a rented apartment
staring at a
very realistic
very scary


i’m horny
ask a chemist
or neurologist
oh whatever
they’ll give you an explanation
so i’m horny.
and i need a fuck
fucking fuck fuck
where to look
body body body body body body body body body body
body body body
now I’m fucked

An Artist’s Work

my tears
erase the
expensive makeup
i bought today at the drugstore
with the lady
who suggested
copper tones,
would compliment my hair


what will i paint on
my face
fashion the face!
clothe it!
garments sparkle
at every chance.

wipe away
what i have,
to match
the perfect picture in my mind.
the colors,
are mine to mold
there is no
or black
am a mix of everything.

if MY nose,
then i will make it NOT.

the lips
that reflect off the mirror
do not please my desire
for a pout.

i have to get ready
for something
i know it is coming
i know they care

but they don’t see:

if i don’t like,
i will change;

to please,..


and i will keep doing
until the world
that i
am just
a piece

I am the lucky one
for should I walk
an ant
i may kill
hating myself for it
but with shoes
the same
i will kick
dirt in disdain
some seeds from this action
will gallop and scatter around
starting new life
Oh I am the lucky one
for should some insignificant imbecile
shout obscenities at me
my head will heat
and boil
stirring the stew
of thoughts i possess
and a composition
of words shall emerge
to which of course
i shall my piano to work
for labor is tedious without emotion
Oh I am the lucky one
tall enough
to stop a nit-pickety brawl
between two friends
that have forgot it all
Oh I am the lucky one
for should the rain
urinate on me
salsa in my blood
will make my feet sing
spinning and twirling
amidst a storm
splashing away
in a frenzy of fun
Oh I am the lucky one
for should
they lock me up
in chains
glaring out
through bars
I will still be sane
for I have my soul
and I have my heart
and never forget
I am the lucky one

i don’t want to spoil a friendship
with a kiss.

it will infest us
as a virus
and in a second,
ruin the trust
which we have had for years.

we will lose communication
in misunderstandings.
and our arguments will not be solved with logic,
but with tongues and sweat.

i fantasize of the body
that i have not seen yet.
but i have grabbed you for comfort
when a shirt
covered your heart.

we have saved each other’s grief
from resulting in misery,
without the touch of a man and a woman,
but the touch of two comrades.

you have held me in my loneliest nights,
as an animal would
offer affection to a person.

i will not
simply being beauty
of an opposite sex.

we have looked in each other’s eyes
for hours.
and searched for truth.
not physical gratifications.

you may be all that you are
and i may be all that i am,

but it will amount to nothing,

because we are stronger than romance.
we are

holly wood.

what IS funny
is how quickly
becomes imprinted
in a viewer’s mind.

in a church
i have heard
unearthly power in voices
and know
of guitars that have sung symphonies.

but if one is not
properly dosed
with holly wood. gLiTz,
one will not even be given a chance
to show the world

value lies
in a human soul

beneath makeup
fake breasts

outside the thick unpenetrable glass
lay the ocean
as a human’s skin, perfected in a painting or photograph
but creased and weathered in reality
it stretched endlessly and seemed as still as a rock
the slight rises and dents in its dark blue surface solid and unchanging
like a cake’s top layer before the icing is added
cracked and enourmously appealing to both tongue and mind
so i watched from the airplane
the captain on the loudspeaker blaring into my ears
informing all us passengers of the current climate and altitude conditions
there should be a button on the airplane chairs for “shut up”, right next to the one which calls for a stewardess, across from the lightbulb
when the pretty lady came around to pass drinks
her freshness was both a relief and a burden
should one acknowledge her kind smile and wide eyes?
or ignore her like the rest of the gray and boring flight
it really doesn’t matter
because she’ll still walk up and down the damn isle saying
“some juice?” with a gaiety in her walk
regardless of what anyone says or thinks
i guess thats life

a poet
at a loss for words
at a time
when words are daggers
against the destructions
at a shieldless ego
attempting to regain
some sense of pride
but in a moment
all can be lost
as in the eyes
of affection
should one
to a flaming love
with no more thought
than a cliché?

Then what is thought

If not the product
Of the effect words make

30 minutes for lunch
philosophies and such
theatrical dramas
nouns, adjectives, and EXTRA EXTRA!
you become my predictive verb
poetry in my mind
and Not the kind
I prefer to write
steadfast stare in your eyes
and sickeningly
all I can think of is how they shine
you seem occupied
in contemplative matters
even though we both know
this is just a game of “let’s pretend”
breath starts trotting
a bit too fast
and in all my womanhood
I truly see you as a man
tension of muscle
sweatbead on a firm lip
collapsing and contracting as you
attempt to feign interest in our discussion
at which point
I nod with enthusiasm
hoping for one more glimpse
of your skin through the tight shirt you are in
knowing what I
am replying to
and you
so innocent a smile
you have
taken over my mind
well in a way
your victory is an honest one
but the game meatloaf has just begun
for as you escalate to draw me in
I led my soda straw slide over my tongue
unbutton the first set of my blouse
as if saturated by warmth
pull my chair a little closer to yours
and in my mind
a phrase this whole time
as writing is life and not an occupation
A woman
A man
30 minutes for lunch.

growing up
in many different environments, states, countries, and cities
i learned that agony
is the most respected of human emotions.

even if a child
is born
without choice of household or name,
one who is rich
and has had to work for success,
will never be as respected,
as one who is poor
and has had to work for the same success.

i was born in another country,
my parents
came to America with $700
we lived in a small apartment and were 4 people including my great-grand-mother
my mother did not know a word of English.
my father was a double pHD who was forced to work as a post-doc
now they have houses
and apartments
and an ample spending amount
on platinum visas.
my mother is a successful physician
my father is a full professor
and will any day be a household name in science
had to work hard. they have been in agony
and i
have had to work hard. and i have been in agony.

but until
i come to America
with $700
i will never be respected.
because agony
is respected
and empathized with
than happiness.

i have always known this.
perhaps that is why
i have seeked dysfunctionality
so i could be acknowledged as an overcomer
of obstacles.
i gave it all up.

i was close to my parents
even in divorce!
but i refused happiness,
because i was miserable with the assumptions
people make of happy people.
so i became miserable

i have been to the depths
i have screwed my GPA.
but have developed an overly qualified resume
of trauma.
i have stories that gore is too kind a word for
i have almost been sexually abused
but defended myself
with fight
that i had to learn
after being beat up in fights
with kids my age who had already gone through agony
but i earned my agony!
then i attempted suicide
in the psychiatric ward i thought ,
“now i have had my agony”.
and today i realize
am such a contradiction.

because even though i do not care what they all think.
i need
what they all think
i need to be acknowledged for my agony
and i have had agony
but until i
come to America
with $700
and am raped
have a history of abusive parents
have an abortion
live on the streets for years
lose all weight until i am all bones,
and then magically become overnight “new money”
until then.
i will not gain the same respect
agony has.

but it has to stop.
so i will take second place for once in my life
and be

which is you
cannot be seen
a parent
or a close companion
who we are
is seen
in the eyes
of a stranger
who knows
of past
or potential
and SEES what is now
we are now
not what we were before
don’t be afraid
of strangers
let yourself be seen
and seek the strange
you may be surprised
at the advice
given to you
by someone you’ve never met
and how
a stranger
will change your life
you will only
be seen
through the eyes
of a stranger
to him you are strange
and our tongues only describe best that which is strangest
you will only
a stranger

are you
who makes me close myself
and smell flowers
walking down metropolis
searching as a hawk
for you,
who turns my body
to elastic at night,
just a thought of
who i have not met yet.
without a face or a shape
are you
reading these words
and are you
perhaps asking the same question?

do not “resurrect” me: (MY “DNR”)

.say many a thing
wise man!
say one.
boast meaning. Hmm.
ramble on?


Cannot be judged
so shall i
sleep forever?


wearing red
sceaming FIRE!!!
pierced by your

to greet life


is not life.

am i to be a vegetable in a room?
who does not produce
the growth
of seeds in my mind?

THIS IS not LIFE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! this “life” is never mine.
I WILL NOT be a stagnant plant.
nature grows her own gardens,
let me die.

love or hate
IF i have not one
indulge in the other

there in your
black boots
spiky hair
no laughter
lipped shut

BAD!! BAD. bad?

Running? away? from? dad, dAD DAD DAD

180 degrees
from the baby
who once smiled
at fast dancing
of some stuffed creature
brought to life
by someone HE LOVED!
and WHO loved HIM BACK?

“Hello, my name is Liliana,

i’m addicted
to contact
addicted to warmth of skin
under my arm
clutch a pillow at night
clutch a person tomorrow….
an addict
to the silence
of an eye
that looks back
with a different reflection every day
i’m an addict
for the diagonal line
on a face
addicted to seeing
my hand. MY HAND!!!
outlining a different territory
than that in the mirror
an addict
for having a footprint beside mine
on the sands
for new memories to be made
observing reactions
of another
in response to the laughter of a child
to the idea
of being helped
even though I don’t need it
and never have before
an addict
to crying
without knowing why?
to worrying
how early? how many more minutes?
how late
to interaction
of a bodies’ rise and fall
closed within a circle
of human flesh
to this mess
to the point
where each minute
brings a new tolerance
to me
every new minute
cannot congragulate the old
but instead strive to compete against it
so much
that I’m addicted
to this addiction
that I suffer
that I lack
gives me inspiration
to become
to something else
hating hating hating
this need
from an atheist
an addict to addiction
my mind
an asylum
for an addict
who has lost faith in addiction”.


sugarcane does not burn here
it syrups to sugar
the clouds it forms
are never white
but a beige yellow
wind shakes
distracting noses
the scent of such gorgeous nature
but awful methane
rising from waste fields
with smell of sea salt
and fresh scratches
on human skin from surfboards
the faces
shaded brown
offer no hostility
or politics of the city
the art of living
in ever palm tree and mountain
such beauty
is too great for paint

the other side
opens the side
i am living on
journeying across
my side
is the other side
so i hue
my locks purple
and red
live for
on crowded streets
drag my
feminine figure
in baggy pants that
devour my curves
of being a woman
this other side
perhaps to live as
a boy for a day
and climb tall fences
with no complexes
talking in all honesty
with my compadres
without the mindless gossip found in my former groupies
or becoming an addict
of some sort
to explore how it is
to live one’s life
for a “mere” drug
i will walk
naked of course.
so inevitably
i will be arrested
for indecent exposure
they will tackle me
and put me behind bars in a cell
why this adventure?
which will no doubt cause stress for my “gang”?
well it is only an
adventure for me
even though it will become mine
through this side
but it remains
this other side

it is not for me
that I am crying
but for the unhappiness
of the world
the beautiful world
is crying
through the mother
waving to her son
at the bus stop
first day of school
first day of socialism, americanism, ism and ism and ism and ism
first day and mother’s last day’s out there. it’s better than to be false.mother. there. Is more. Than. Your. Child. CRY!!!
cry for
dead fish
in our rivers. Because?
I am not a true environmentalist
and neither are you
so cry with me
maybe our tears will clean our water through
heroin addict
white-haired from shock
begging for mercy
from a dealer
no, I do not cry for me
i cry for
i have not
and have seen
screw it.
the philosophical crap.
i can be intellectual
BUT I’d rather be REAL.
I cry
YOU cry
WE ALL cry
And the world falls down.

i should have told you
how much i felt at ease
from your dirty pants
and greasy hair.
i loved you irresponsible
i loved you unpredictable.

i should have shut up.
and bit my tongue off
to prevent the bitter slashes of criticism.
i should have just shut up with it all
and i should have said
when i saw how
your comfortable face
with the pain
of not being good enough for me

i should have talked
because i didn’t want anything but
your sleepy eyes
and unwashed armpits
in my bed
when you would come home.
but i didn’t

and now
i hate
you “evolved” into.
i hate the boring tie you’re wearing.
i hate your new job.
i hate your survivor stories
i hate your new money.
i hate the warm smile that you expect of me
for all your efforts.
i should have said something.
because now
i hate this
icky thing
you’ve become.

expensive cologne.

if one cannot do
then one must teach
well that’s what they told me
who’s they?
i don’t know
if you have an answer why don’t you finish this poem?
no. fuck you.
this is my powem.
so in that case
if one who understands nothing
must also have some purpose
then why not to analyze?
and choose what better medium
than poetry?
for it is not creating anything
just capturing a mundane idea,
and twisting it
whether beautiful illusion
or frank and ugly
i respect those who are you
for i was
and am in many cases still you
you must reek of boredom
laziness perhaps,
not stupidity.
for there are none who are
just lacking in some quality
that you are searching for
i am sorry.
i am not your answer.
i am not my answer.
i am just
an idiot
who understands

transgressions of history

a boy bullied by school yard mongrels today
(sound faimiliar)?
on MR. SUIT-TIE’s lipstick stained face
(sound familiar)?
bruises colored blueberry pie
mushy on “cindy’s” shoulder
(sound familiar)?
revolts praising unity
separating our youths
(sound familiar)?
biological weapons BLASTing away the nuks
WE ARE our own WAR!!

seeker of truth

of that
you know
do not
what you want
so search
in the water
from which
you were
into a light
that you escape
never understanding
that it is
that you need
trying to
find the answers
in drops
of rain
in evaporation
you will
that you gained
on a road
a thousand times
while your feet
with their soles
escape from
intimate journeys
that you know
must be taken
seeker of all that
you cannot contol
live to live
at times
when you don’t know
what your eyes see
as you are
every morning
never ending
under the night
with the
bitter reality
of truth
sometimes is not
that what you find
may not be
for the
and seeker?
I know

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