Pico de Orizaba

Pico de Orizaba
Taken from Huatusco, Veracruz, the closest town to Margarita's family's ranch.

Thursday, March 30, 2017

Rise from the rubble, like a Phoenix from ashes... 1st draft

The idea entered my head last night, in Español, after responding to Michael's having sent me the article "Childhood trauma leads to lifelong chronic illness — so why isn’t the medical community helping patients?" https://acestoohigh.com/2016/08/10/childhood-trauma-leads-to-lifelong-chronic-illness-so-why-isnt-the-medical-community-helping-patients/

I was relaxing, after watching the Matthew McConoughey movie "Lincoln Lawyer" with Margarita... I had just peeled the charred skins off red bell peppers and poblano chile peppers...  I had charred and bagged for steaming in their vapors after returning from the park, from Costco, from the market... before not painting as I hadn't planned... In fact, a minute before deciding upon watching a movie with Margarita instead of painting, I had prepared the "studio" for renewed painting of "The Mother of the Earth"...  But, for some reason I was feeling fatigued...  No energy for inspiration... Better leave that responsibility to the entertainers... Tonight we're taking a break from the routine...


The movie was wonderful... The unplanned hour of peeling charred chiles wasn't bad either... relaxing... I thought about my charring technique and the possibility of buying eggplants and charring them for Babaganouj... this time hopefully it would turn out as I remembered in Israeli or middle-eastern restaurants...


And then I heard a chime from my cellphone when a message through Messenger arrives...  and was surprised...  somewhere between 12am and 1am, Michael finds himself communicating with me in the moments when I should be falling asleep...  he lives in Australia, 18 hours ahead of our sun and moon...  9pm Sydney time...  the following day...  


I opened his message, which was the article, the same theme of medical research I sent my mother exactly 2 years ago a few days after my so-called heart attack...  and I mentioned the article to Michael, last night, imagining that I hadn't shared it with him 2 years earlier... Childhood Trauma and Acute Miocardial Infarction


I spent at least half an hour touch-typing my response to Michael through my cellphone, since I didn't want to turn on the computer... Plus, Margarita was asleep.  The light of the computer and the sound of my typing is greatly annoying...


I wrote Michael:  


My blog was for explaining who I truly am and why or how I ended up here in México... 


In the end we live the life we live... And that's that. Yes, you have your sons and they're part of your legacy... Actually, it's the other way around; you are part of their legacy so for you it isn't that's that; just as my father is part of mine. However with my end, it really was just the life I lived and no one else's. So it doesn't really matter if someone understands or if someone bought a painting or reads my blog or remembers what I cooked. It was just something I did for myself. And if I loved you, that was for me too. And if I worried about others, about justice, about truth, about spirits and magical connections, that also was for me. No one loses.

And with that comment, I wasn't able to sleep...  I began analyzing exactly what I meant with the comment "In the end we live the life we live... And that's that..."  That it really isn't about acceptance by others... as a writer, as a thinker, as an artist, as a cook... 

No, it wasn't THAT comment that created the tension... It was the understanding of what I REALLY was doing when I wrote poetry, painted, cooked, etc...  

I had found myself within the resurrection of myself... In my mind I heard the words repeated, "pulling myself up from the mess of my life... like a phoenix rising from the ashes..."  I could see my life as rubble... or worse... rubbish, garbage...  What did this mean for me?

The paintings: creating beauty in an ugly, sloppy, choatic world... And the only world I knew was the world within which I was born... And if anyone had the slightest capacity towards being compassionate and considerate, they would realize that the world I describe begins with what they would consider a horrible tragedy... And that tragedy isn't only that of a 29-year-old mother of 3 young children who just had her "American Dream" shatttered with the death of her husband...  That tragedy was of a 4-year-old male child and what occurred when his father was dying and what would occur from 1973 onward...

And this is why the article Michael sent me is so important... why the article I sent my mother 2 years ago after the acute miocardial infarction is so important... and what does all of this truly mean...

You can't blame a 4-year-old child for the physical abuse of his uncle... Nor can you blame him for the death of his father... nor for how his mother becomes within the event... You can't blame him for inhereting the disease that killed his father and sent him to the hospital for 2 major surgeries at the age of 13... Nor, can you blame him for the children surrounding him and bullying him so many years in elementary, middle and high school... 

So what occurred?

And all of the unhealthy forms the 4.5 to 19-year-old responded to the incredibly complex and diverse situation of trauma become the fault of that child... And he must live with the repercussions of his actions the rest of his life... although no one else is held accountable for their actions...

And that's not what I planned upon writing... a repetition of a repetition of a repetition... 

No, that's not the problem.  The problem is that regardless of my reaction expressed within communication, my investigations etc.. if I had been silent and never lifted my hand to anyone or to myself, had never lifted my voice and kept it all to myself as my family would have preferred "until death do we part", the acute miocardial infarction would have occurred... the thousands of studies on childhood trauma and chronic illness would have been published... and if Michael was as close a friend to me as he believes, and if Michael knew me profoundly, then even with my silence, he would have stumbled across the article, made the connections and shared it with me...  It's to say that there are certain things that regardless of my unhealthy reactions, responses, would have occurred, regardless of what you wish to believe... And as Donna Jackson Nakazawa explains, with more conscientious adult responsiveness to the traumatic experience of the child we could have prevented much of the chronic illness that would develop decades later...  

It's over... Everything that occurred, occurred... As my mother and siblings and cousins would say, "we gotta move onward... stop harbouring in the past... Finger-pointing does not help the present or the future..." Yes, that would be nice, if it was realistic.  Convenient... Yes.  Realistic... No...  

What must occur within the life of the child, didn't occur...  And those years passed... Along with those years passing, passed a certain opportunity for healthy growth... learning...  The child becomes what he or she becomes depending greatly upon the uniqueness of their environment, combined with the uniqueness of their experience (which is NEVER duplicated and truly shared with any other child on this planet), combined with the uniqueness of their genetic structure...  

Donna Jackson Nakazawa's article explains epigenetics and prolonged childhood trauma; how the genetic response to stress becomes altered for a lifetime...  like plugging the tail of a cat into a light socket...  

And what if the children (peers, siblings, cousins) and the adults hadn't decided upon turning up the volume of the electricity feeding the light socket where the cat's tail was plugged...?  What if they had noticed the incredible stress level inflicted upon the young boy within the event and decided to cut the power to the socket in order to prevent further damage?

But that didn't occur... Wasn't my experience... I only have one experience... and that's the one I lived... like it or not...  

So, I spent the night... replaying the most important truth about how I live today and why... and why I do what I do, since graduating college...  why I do the most wonderful things I do... regardless of if I could become published or if I could sell my food or sell my artwork...  as I said to Michael:

"However with my end, it really was just the life I lived and no one else's. So it doesn't really matter if someone understands or if someone bought a painting or reads my blog or remembers what I cooked. It was just something I did for myself. And if I loved you, that was for me too. And if I worried about others, about justice, about truth, about spirits and magical connections, that also was for me. No one loses."

And it doesn't really matter if I finish the painting or the drawing, or if I publish or if someone believes I should have an editor, or if I sell my recipes or have a restaurant...  

What matters is the true reason, the motivation behind what it is I do... what I do best... although, for you, maybe not good enough... But, this isn't about you... anymore... It's about me... It's about pulling myself out of the reckage, out of the mess I know as my life... And, although my mother raged at the mess I created or left in my bedroom (and wasn't able to see the symbolism or the metaphor), calling me one of her 3 piggies, a slob... my room a perpetual pigsty, she would never realize that the mess was actually figurative... it was a representation of the life she created for me... that she maintained... It was the only true life imagined for me with the death of my father...  So, it was the mess, the reckage, the destruction, the firestorm, the ashes from which I would attempt towards rising from... And truthfully, being realistic, the only function that my creativity has for myself is for creating momentary illusions of beauty from chaos, from horror, from failure, from abandonment... I can't change the truth.  I can't change the reality.  I can't change the history.  I can't rewrite the events and give me the opportunities when they must occur... But, for moments, I can enjoy what I do, and remove myself from that other aspect of my life, the aspect of my life that was too big to avoid, to change, to deny. 

To tell you the truth, I would have prefered sleeping well last night... I would have prefered not feeling the pressure in my chest and the heaviness in my head that I feel now... I would have preferred painting in the kitchen than writing in the blog...  

I read the article...  And no matter what Donna says, since she's a survivor too, no matter how many thousands of scientific articles have been published on the subject since the 90s, it doesn't change ANYTHING... 

Maybe it gives me a momentary "peace of mind"... and a momentary feeling of gratitude towards Michael...  And, yes, my personal work (investigations) have helped me be one step ahead of the doctors within my "cardiovascular" and digestive situation... and maybe it enables me momentary relief from the concerns and the physical experience of risk... and for moments, I experience hopefulness... when the echocardiologist said that he doesn't see ANY signs of my having had a heart attack (no footprints) in the EKG...  meaning that maybe I've done some good work over the past 2 years... and who knows?  That maybe there will be a positive twist in my future... and maybe I WILL sell paintings and maybe I will publish...  

But, truthfully, that's NEVER been the reason for my painting or my writing...  so maybe we should just leave it be...

Friday, March 24, 2017

"I'd rather die running than die sleeping..."

Lastnight... I dreamed... but the dream wasn't really worth remembering... At least that's what I thought...  Yes, for some reason my cousin Craig appeared... and we must have been in his house... But, it wasn't really an important dream... At least that's what I thought...

I have a fitbit heart monitor watch...  a 47th birthday present... I use it for monitoring my heart rate during runs...But, it is even more interesting for monitoring my sleep patterns...

Would you believe that taking 2 mgs of Melatonin before going to sleep enables me to sleep the whole night through?  And if the following morning, after supposedly having a night of undesturbed sleep I feel lethargic and even coffee doesn't do the trick, well I'm not surprised when me sleep read-out states that I was very restless that night...

Well, last night I only partially remembered one dream... Craig was in it, so was Margarita... In fact, she was driving momentarilly... We were looking for someone who was scheduled for giving me an alternative check-up at Craig's house...  and that was basically it... Yes, I became angry with Margarita... but, nothing more... not a nightmare... no loss of control and the car veering off the road and over a cliff, asas has occurred in many a dream...  Nothing occurred that was noteworthy...

But, around 4am, my heart rate jumped over 180 beats per minute for 19 minutes...  Just so you understand, during my run today (and every day I run), my heart rate didn't reach 170... nor using the rowing machine intensely...  For hours, my heart rate was in the 50s... Then suddenly it jumped up to over 180 and stayed there for 19 minutes...  and then returned to the 50s for the following hours of sleep...

Very strange.

And the sleep monitor states that I slept nearly perfectly.  I didn't awaken once for 8 hours... Not even with a heart rate of over 180 for 19 minutes...

Today I felt bad.  Tired...  A digestive issue... We went to the park and I lay in the sun for an hour... Read in the shade for a while more...  Drank Electrolyte and Gatorade... still felt bad...  Margarita suggested I run tomorrow morning.  But I responded that I wanted to see how my heart rate is during the run...  I was still concerned about why it jumped so high in my sleep... Since June, I've never seen such a thing occur during my sleep...  

I was concerned about running with something that could kill me in my sleep... that could kill me during my run... And I didn't feel well...  but the mantra returned to my mind... I decided I should respect it, repeating it in my head... "I'd rather die running than die sleeping."  Considering Margarita's feelings, I kept the mantra to myself... 

Thanks to the Electrolyte and Gatorade, my run was the best of the period...  

At the moment I feel horrible...  What can you do?  

185...  Peak heart rate for an almost 47-year-old man?  I believe it is 175... 


Monday, March 20, 2017

The history of racism; a new twist...

I came directly aquí (oops) instead of entering facebook, where I usually begin (and end) my writing... Since I haven't been writing HERE what is truly in my mind (with the exception of a few dreams (and I haven't explained the prior two... todavía) you don't know what I've been reading and what James Baldwin's book "Just Above my Head", published in 1979 and translated (for me) in Spanish has to do with contemporary events and my comments...

What can I tell you about James Baldwin?  You certainly know of him... How much?  Depends upon your understanding of literature, "American" literature, "Afro-American" literature, American history and "black" history... which also depends greatly upon your interest in those subjects... Maybe you love literature... Maybe you love "American" literature... Maybe you absolutely no interest in "Black" authors... And the personal question would be "why"... And, no, I won't accuse you of being a racist... Avoiding or ignoring black literature could very well be a causality, a cultural trait... Meaning that you are not racist?  I guess you would be an innocent racist... 

What does James Baldwin's writing represent to the "white" literarary community; our college professors whom explained something about him to us?  If I'm correct, it was explained that he was an "angry" anti-white "black" writer... and that his writings were sexually explicit... and possibly that he was a homosexual... So, maybe a "heterosexual" male would avoid sexually explicit descriptions of male homosexual love... The truth is that there are some incredibly explicit scenes of heterosexual love... So, I guess maybe James was showing a more complete picture of the "community" and the events he describes...  As for being anti-white...  Think about it...

With such an incredible history of abduction, exploitation, and unimaginable abuse/violence by European/American "whites" against Africans/blacks, what do you believe should be the "response" of a highly intelligent and talented "black" to the atrocity of European/American white behavior against blacks?

So, here I am, reading James Baldwin for the first time since learning about him in Raritan Valley Community College or Somerville High School... how many years later?  And, this post actually refers to an interesting comment of Baldwin or his narrator towards the end of the book... (I have marked many other pages much earlier on in the story, refering to black experience during the Civil Rights movement that partially feed comments/responses on Facebook.  But this post has little to do with those statements or examples or histories)...  

We're in Paris.  Arthur, the soon to become famous former Gospel singer from New York City finds himself sitting infront of his French lover who has just stated that he could NOT be an "American" or a Brit, nor a German and has just criticized the problems of being a Frenchman... And Arthur surprisingly becomes molested by Guy's confession... the reason being that the confession draws him to think about how he feels about being an "American", about being an "American Black"...  But, what's the problem?  I was confused initially, because I imagined that these disclosures would bring the two together... However, Arthur confronts Guy as to saying something to the tone of "If you don't want to be an "American" or a Brit or a German, nor the Frenchman that you are, then, WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?"  But, his following comment is even more revealing: that although each of these white European countries (and the U.S.) lunge at each other's necks at any given time, they are ALWAYS in agreement with one thing and that is "Who is Arthur"... Who is Arthur?  A black man who's heritage is from Africa.  And the only reason why he has become an "American" is because of the most atrocious modern human history...  And, when he becomes "unbearable" in the eyes of the European and "American" whites, they know how to respond, by screwing him up the ass...  

And this is why my "white" friends don't respond to my comments... and why I don't have "black" friends... Because a white guy should not be talking about this stuff...  But, recently, it's become incredibly clear that the "white" middle-class and center, center-right "Americans" have become incredibly intolerant of "blacks" talking about this stuff... Which means that I've been inspired to bring the conversations to a much more "sophisticated" level... to look at the concerns or the ideas from a different perspective... which brings me back to the inspiration of this post:

Guy's response to Arthur's concerns... and you'll be surprised... if you read the book, since at this moment I will not be translating 5 pages of Spanish to English...

Guy responds beautifully... Shedding a different light upon James Baldwin's true belief about blacks and whites and racism... Guy says that although it was true that France needed Africa for its gold and diamonds, that wasn't France's true need and that France's colonialization of Africa didn't truly make Arthur or Africans victims...  Time would show that the true victims were the French...  But Guy--through Baldwin's narrator--doesn't go into detail and leaves us thinking:  why didn't French imperialism/colonialization of Africa make victims of the Africans enslaved... How is it possible that the victims would actually be the French?  So I considered the history of the TRUE European RACE... Between the Portuguese, Spaniards, Brits, Dutch and French?  and why?  What was truly occurring in the Carribean, Indian Ocean, south Atlantic and South Pacific that inspires Disney's "Pirates of the Caribbean"?  Ya know, that series of movies is historically accurate.  What was the true "scramble" for discovering "el Dorado"?  What was occuring in England when the "South" developed an incredible urgency for encountering unlimited cheap labor (the American indigenous didn't work)... And, no, Guy isn't totally correct that the "blacks" weren't the true victims... I guess he really wants to say to Arthur It wasn't truly personal.  What was the race?  What was France doing in Africa?  

Competing in a race to accumulate resources... Have you ever been in a childhood party with a piñata?  What occurs when the candies start reigning upon the ground?  

What would have become of France and its naval fleet if they didn't grab the gold and the diamonds and the massive African Territory?  England had a part of the Americas, southern Africa, India, China, part of the middle east...  Spain had most of the Americas... and the pacific Islands...?  So, France took Africa...  Think about it... 

Africans, blacks, were a casualty... but they also became a commodity... but, being a commodity, machinery, the ONLY way "the South" could compete with "the North"'s industrialization and with England's cotton industry... (the industrial revolution began in England, but a century before it began in the U.S.)... In order for "capitalism" to work for "the south" they had to reduce the africans to cattle (hence the term "chattle labor"... does the "H" stand for "human"), to machines, to machinery, to "subhuman"... and the south became filled with disposable/indisposable human tools for competing with "the North" and with England...  

What you may not understand about the "slave codes", the "black codes" and "Jim Crow", is that at the outbreak of the Civil War, there were 4 million blacks to 1 million whites in the South...  Now, if you know that the Africans weren't truly cattle or soul-less, mindless machinery, then you know that you've got an incredible risk upon your hands... especially if you are a "conscientious" Christian...  Conscientious doesn't make you considerate, nor does it make you loving...  It just means that you are conscious of aspects of the truth: That you or your people are subjecting humans to "inhuman" treatment... That there exists an injustice you would never accept for "whites", for your family...  Something that would be so atrocious, so horrendous, so infamous, so injust... if someone informs you and your community that the same thing was being done to millions of "whites"...

And this is where the "American" issues argued so popularly on the internet, especially on Facebook about the validity of "white privilege" and "black lives matter" truly are absurd, when you truly have an idea about what truly was and truly is the issue:

What would be the "American White" reaction to millions of whites being treated as Africans were in the U.S. (AND New Spain, French Africa and Great Britain) for 250 years of slavery, 90 years of "Jim Crow" and then what was left hanging?  Is that the only way "whites" can understand what is truly in the balance, what is truly behind the question of white to black racism and the question of "white privilege"?  How resilient are humans regarding trauma (especially repeated or purpetual trauma)?  How resilient are those families?  How resilient are those communities?... even if the heritage truly was erased and NO ONE was racist and no one experienced "white privilege"?  Remember, if "white privilege" exists, that means that "non-white disadvantage" (or worse) also exists...  

Who wants to worry about difficult stuff when a comfortable "middle-class" life with all of its responsibilities is sufficiently difficult?  Who wants to become burdened by an "unknown's" experience?  Not even the people who have been historically abused or worse... Everyone wants to just live their lives in peace.  HOWEVER, that doesn't mean that the other's reality doesn't exist...

Remember the popular game with infants?:  You cover your eyes and now they don't see you?  The babies, infants love that game... "where's daddy?"  But, you as an adult know that covering your eyes doesn't make you disappear... And your baby knows that covering her eyes doesn't make you disappear...  So, why would supposedly intelligent adults believe that if they cover their eyes and the eyes of others to difficult situations, that means that those situations suddenly cease existing?  

Or is the obsession with denile a totally different issue, that has nothing actually to do with "the other", like Guy said to Arthur in the Paris bar?  It's a psycho-economic reaction...  need for being abusive and neglectful towards the "other"... Joseph Conrad's exploration into the heart of Africa described in his famous novel, "Heart of Darkness"... But, what do you learn is the true issue described by Conrad?  What is the metaphor described?  

Do we truly feel more comfortable with electric lightbulbs illuminating our nightime world until we awaken at sunrise?  Do we truly live better, feel better than before electricity was discovered, harnessed?  Possibly when the cities became over-populated and poverty reigned amongst many... and many also had the opportunity of hoarding... making them targets...  

And, this goes back to Guy's allusion to France conquest of Africa's gold and diamonds... the Piñata at the childrens' parties...  Europe (and then the United States) felt an incredible impulse, obsession, need, panic towards hoarding...

And that is also a great issue with what it is believed the Trump Administration is planning... what the wealthy Trump supporters see in Trump, what Russia hopes with Trump, what the Austerity movement means... What has been a trend since the early 90s in the U.S. with the shrinking middle-class and growing economic inequality... That with the recession of the late 80s, early 90s and then with just after 2007, the upper echelon's economy of the U.S. and the rest of the world continued growing...  How could that be?  

Did Morgan Freeman duplicate himself by 100,000 during that period?  

Do you get my jist?  Have you been following the conversations?  

And, yes, I entered where I had said I wouldn't enter in this piece... the conversations, discussions, issues that I haven't yet brought here... A different perspective...

What is racism?  What is "white privilege"?  What is democracy?  What is love?  

Could it be possible that what was done to millions of Africans truly was NOT personal?  

Does that mean that "we" can forgive "ourselves" and be forgiven?  Must we first forgive THEM for the history we inflicted upon them, before we can accept THEM and their stories?  Do you understand that paradox?

Sounds crazy: We must forgive THEM...  for being who and how they are... They must forgive "us" for what "we" subjected to...  We embrace them for who they are, as long as they accept our description of who they are...  and then maybe we can start accepting their situation... and give them equality, and ALL required for their having truly healthy communities... and we stop hoarding...

You must be confused... I would be...  

In order for understanding the world, we must turn it on its head... which is why Guy's (Baldwin's) comment is so important...  Something existed well before racism against people of "black" African descent... that had nothing to do with skin-tone...  It had to do with economic competition... It had to do with resources... ALWAYS.

It has ALL to do with human over-population and the need for hourding... The most basic human instinct towards protecting the family... FROM FAMINE... Not from people with different appearances and customs... The most basic human instinct is being able to provide for the babies, to protect them well into the future... since Humans are the animals with the longest weaning period (between 12 and 20 years--and growing, not 6 weeks to 6 months)...

So, first you must remove the need for hoarding, which means you must remove the fear that "the other" will rob you of your ability to protect your family's basic needs...  Which means you must first forgive the blacks for their horrible history (that "you" would accuse them of throwing in your face).  And when you've forgiven them and they accept your forgiveness and tell you that they no longer see you as the "white devil" and trust you, and won't stab you in the back and rob what you hoarded for yourself, then you can start sharing with them, and offering their community what it truly requires for being truly healthy...

Sunday, March 19, 2017

I had a dream... or two...

Two night in a row...  Margarita said, "What an interesting dream for you last night!"   But, I've gotta go run in the park and put this on hold...  

You think that I haven't been writing much, since so few entries appear on my blog since last July... Actually, that's not true... The writings have been incredibly intense on Facebook, so intense that organizing them into coherent pieces for the blog requires a lot of time... And each day I find myself writing more... basically on racism and immigration... so many responses by facebookers to Trump... inspiring me...How about the "All Lives Matter" response to "Black Lives Matter" and Morgan Freeman's comments?  How about "Some Black Guy"'s incredibly popular video against the idea of "white privilege"...? A big money maker...  And how easy it is for people to forget about the rash of southern Black church bombings since around 2005 and the incredible increase in police brutality and excessive force against Blacks... How about the Trump campaign's and supporters and current Trump Administration climate of xenophobia and anti-immigrants etc?  People so easy forget about this stuff... That "Black Lives Matter" does not negate the fact that "all lives matter"...  That "white privilege" does not make you racist, it just means that if there is "white privilege" there also is non-white underprivilege...  And what does it mean to be "white" or non-"white"...?  Is it truly a question of skin-tone?  Or is it about class..., although we do know that that has its levels... and who is allowed to enter into the true upper echelons... And when I mention sexism and the pay ceiling for women, the women who are anti-"white privilege" discussions claim that all of the women they know and all of the jobs they have had, women are paid the same as men... I guess there is no way for anyone to "win", although these people believe that the whole society wins when everyone stops complaining and pointing the finger at others...  So, they believe that they are the peace workers, the pacifists and those describing the difficult or injust situations are actually the aggressors... Image that! 

Do you know what implications that twist has for social justice and "democracy" and equality etc? You lose your right to ask for a more progressive focus because you are now accused of being a boat rocker, a hate monger...  focussing on everyone's differences, dividing the world into tribes...  

And, no, this has nothing to do with the dreams of the past two nights...

Sunday, March 12, 2017

and Michelle continues...

No it wasn't said in sarcasm...  it was based a true need for connection... her suggestion that one day we marry and have children together... which took me aback as much as Anya's comment that she was happy that my father died... In both occasions, I should feel flattered... But with Michelle, I was a slight bit confused... She knew that I had had an enfatuation with her... Afterall, she was beautiful... Although strangely or not so strangely, I never felt actual sexual attraction... It was an emotional thing... And, yes, a person can be absolutely physically beautiful without stimulating sexual attraction...  Or maybe I'm forgetting something... Or maybe I had protected myself against Michelle's vicissitudes... her disappearances... what?  dissociation... that's what... She disappeared... She needed the connection, but the connection scared her... at least one with a male... why?  Because of her father and her brother... what does that have to do with her and me?  You would have to ask her...

So she said that one day she and I would marry and have children together and when I asked her how (thinking that maybe she wasn't so certain about the truth about her lesbianism... I have my ideas that are counter to the safe and secure ideas, the convenient ideas that a sexuality is NOT learned but is genetic... not a decision, not based upon personal experience, socio-political events, traumas)...  Truthfully, I don't know what occurred in Michelle's household when she was a child, when her father was raping her brother... the opening conversation that morning sitting on my floor in my apartment on Seeley Street, when she didn't know that I had "foolishly" or not so foolishly aquiesced to Scott's pressure of not waiting for the following morning's interview with Michelle... which, of course I didn't wait for her and hated that...  But, later on I knew that Scott was correct, that that would have been a horrible mess with such wonderful potential... had I given the room to her... That morning sitting on my floor, Michelle spoke with me about the suicide of her brother and why... And I thought we had a wonderful bond and was sad to see her go... and wanted to pursue that bond... And, yes, the friendship lasted how many years until after I married Margarita... And Michelle ceased to "speak" with me...

So what was it?  Was it that I offended her in some way... Or that her fantasy with me had ended with my marrying Margarita?  Granted, it could be more than that...

The problem with sexual abuse, especially of children is that we are forced to not learn or are forced to misunderstand personal bounderies... to not understand limits... And I'm certain that I surpassed my limits with Michelle just as she surpassed her limits with me... The marriage comment a case in point... For her, it would allow her to experience motherhood, the fantasy of a stable household and the bond with a man... everything without the sexual responsibilities... as if that wasn't of importance for me... that that type of need wasn't a need of mine... that I didn't need "romantic" love... affection without sexual limits...

And that evening after Bleeker Street I became angry...  offended... Just as I had said to the Ukrainia woman who offered to pay me for marrying her, to have patience with the following 3 years of her so-called education visa... that some one would fall in-love with her, since she was attractive... That wasn't me... I didn't need to be chained to her or have those legal responsibilities... just for her damn needs... her urgency...  No... So, Michelle offered me marriage without anything romantic attached and I felt horribly defrauded...  disrespected... offended... That she would think that I didn't have the fantasy of meeting "that one"... Yes, men think of "that one" or "the right woman"...  or "their other half"... or their soulmate... Who knows?  Maybe Michelle was a soulmate... one that was incredibly confused by the pressures of her childhood traumas that culminated in the suicide of her brother...  But, I wasn't going to go there...

I imagine that I didn't ask her how we would raise our children... how we would explain to them about their mother's lesbian lovers and why their dad was romantically seeing women other than their mom... And would we bring those women home for sleep-over parties?  Think about it...

No, maybe I represent deep personal shame on behalf of Michelle... Maybe I let her down... Maybe I was an obstacle towards her complete image workover... Her interpersonal delusion... I called her on too many things...

And you may say after reading about all of the people who were in my life that I mixed with some really messed-up people... But, it wasn't Michelle's fault... Was it my fault for my father dying and what occurred in my household?  I was only 4.5-years-old...

And for your information, Michelle has struck slight success... You may have seen her somewhere off Broadway with her one woman show about Dora Maar... or this month in L.A... And I am very happy for her... However...

There are some important questions left hanging... And if it were up to her, she would leave them hanging... because of her incredible egoism...  And why care about an egoist?

I guess we don't truly choose who we care about... We don't actually create the bonds... So, the pain created isn't something that we wish for... It's something that comes with the relationship...

Don't misunderstand me... This isn't actual pain... Infact, it's kind of like a distant sadness...

And, no, I'm not innocent... Remember, the victims of child abuse aren't innocent... they lose their innocence too early... at least that's what the 20th Century and beyond idealists believe...

Look, if Michelle saw her father fucking her brother with that homeless teen he picked up on the street and they all were there in the same damn bedroom that Michelle's parents shared... since that is what she explained... and I asked, "where was the mother all of this time?  Truthfully, why wasn't she convicted alongside her husband...?"  No, I didn't ask Michelle that question... Too heavy... If Michelle knew about the incident... that the "adopted" teen shared her mother and father's bed for raping her brother all those months, then where the hell was her Mother?  Where was Michelle?

So, within such a household context, one must ask (or assume) how that informed Michelle about the possibilities of her future marriage with me... and the children we would have and raise together... but not concieved through an act of love... Granted, that is just a cliché... in certain forms...  Love is not limited to sexual intercourse or romance...  Then again, love is just an abstract concept that I doubt anyone truly understands, especially with the falling out of love...  the confusion about being "in-love" and what really is occurring there and when it ceases being "in-love" and love... But, for years you say "I love you"... and then you cease being able to or wanting to say that... And why want to say it in the first place?  

What was my connection with Michelle?  Could she have been the most important woman in my life that I would sacrifice my romantic needs... to throw away that possible future?  Was creating a family that important for me?  Maybe, if it was a romantic relationship, culminating in the ultimate product of love, which is the baby... if that is truly the ulimate product... Well, you know, my last surgery prevented me from being able to impregnate someone... But, I'm married to Margarita coming on 14 years now...  Did we need children for sanctifying or marriage, our bond?  Actually, I think it would have made things horribly difficult... something that I'm not prepared for...  and with my so-called heart attack exactly 2 years ago today...  the economic risk... and all of the other related risks... Maybe I would have had that heart attack, but fatal years earlier, had I had the added pressure, stress and responsibilities related with fatherhood...

No, being a parent isn't so important for me... I wonder how Michele dealt with that need... Maybe she doesn't declare herself Lesbian today... Who knows?  Maybe she's married and has her children... which would mean that she got what she wanted...  Or maybe she stumbled across this career change and realized that that was enough... that that filled her enough...  

Why so many questions about her lesbianism?

Because she wasn't always lesbian... And she even asked me why so many men were attracted to her if she's a lesbian... as if her sexuality would turn off their visual sexual receptors... As if they would cease seeing her physical attractiveness, her allure...  Or was she doubting her sexuality... throwing the ball in my hands... And what if I said something convincingly like, "well, I don't believe you're lesbian which is why I'm attracted to you..."???  Something I wouldn't have suggested...

The problem is her Leonine attraction towards the attracted, the limelight... The Leonine drive, need... need for approaval... Public approaval...?  Could the attracted become so powerful, important and alluring for her to ignore her sexual-political or psycho-sexual stance?  Would she lay with a director in Hollywood in order to get a role, as Mario Puzo describes of Hollywood...?  

Now, for a moment there, long before she found herself in the spotlight, she considered more basic needs, a more subtle life... of marrying me?  And then what would have happened if her route was to become a famous one-woman act?  Would she have pushed me aside...?

But she did push me aside... years ago... without explaining... 

And no, it's not such a big issue... since I don't think about it every day, or every month...  But I've never gotten it "off my chest"... written about it... I've always felt like the fool... And that is not a nice feeling... 

I think even the fools deserve an explanation... especially if the person had basically proposed marriage to them... a marriage that would have been incredibly difficult... a ton of sacrifices and explaining... to othera and to oneself... 

How does a heterosexual male marry a lesbian female and breed children with her without him being an incredible fool?  Or incredibly undesirable for others...?

Michele is a beautiful, strong, intelligent, hard working woman and a survivor...  Now in L.A. with her one-woman act...  She's an incredible survivor... And so am I...  All of the above...

I had to get this off my chest Michelle...  Thanks for finally inspiring me.

Michelle... a continuation

Milo born August 18th with ascendente en Virgo, like me, like Joey, like Margarita... like Michelle... studied theater... in what acting school in Manhattan, I don't know... I believe that's what brought him from Brookline to Brooklyn...  and for some reason or another, I believe or have always believed that his theater studies figured so little in actually who he was... is... for me, what really drew me to Milo was his incredible musical talents, his figures, colors, tones in his pastels or drawings or paintings, for his children's stories, poems... a cross between Edgar Allen Poe and Dr. Seuss...  I don't know if I remembered to mention to you in 2002 Philip Roth's book "Savage's Theater"... Did I mention it...?  You must have read it...  If not, aging=Alzheimers and makes all old new again... Phillip Roth, author of Portnoy's complaint... a wonderful revival of adolescent boy puberty experience that, with adulthood, causes the novel to become old... and redundant... and boring... But the description was more than entertaining...  During our brief friendship in Brooklyn before leaving for Mexico, I didn't think about your acting school history... I didn't think much of your work for the Central Park marionette company or puppet company... I appreciated your passion for that art form.., and greatly appreciated the puppets you designed and constructed... But as you know, we knew each other too little time... spent too little time together... for that part of your life to become embedded within my psyche...  and then it came out in this early morning's dream 14+ years later... During my 14 years here in Mexico, I've thought none of your theater experience, and briefly about your marrionette passion my first 4 years here in Mexico when someone opened up a Marionette school in the capital of Veracruz, Xalapa... and hoped you would come down and check that school out... for teaching... but you didn't come down... As for Michelle, who was born August 19th, I knew her as a writer, although unfortunately and due to my own egoism, I never knew her writing... so how was it that we were friends?  How did we fill our time together?  Where was my head?  A few years back, noticing her appearance in NYC theater, I was surprised, since I didn't know that about her... 

What does this mean for today?  

The dream...  The dream... She doesn't appear, although she is omnipresent, since the play or the performance art doesn't occur without her... We are associates... along with Milo... important figures...  But, why me?  Why am I there? acting, writing for the performance, actively orchestrating the project... not actually working below anyone... I'm not an actor... I don't need work for someone... I don't depend upon anyone... Although we are inter-related...  Even if she doesn't respond verbally or physically, we are inter-related... something has us re-connecting, even if we aren't conscious of it... as in the dream...  The dream is about something else...  Something within which we continue performing...  and maybe it has nothing to do with today... just as meeting you in the Park Slope Food Co-op a moment before meeting Scott's older sister Ally, had nothing to do with giving you a room in "my" apartment...  it had to do with a crazy friendship... some "strange" need... need of whom?  

What happened when you said to me off Bleeker Street (would you believe that I don't remember the names of the streets or the avenues or the cafes where we were?) that you and I should marry and have children, although they must be through artificial insemination... and how beautiful and offensive, obsurd was that comment... and maybe you blame me for reminding you of who you were... How about who I was... But, who we were is who we are, although we grow up, mature, improve upon our mistakes, evolve... we move on... but we don't truly move on... everything that we lived is part of us... and we carry it with us throughout life, if not throughout eternity... throughout lifetimes...  Crunch and Arthur have difficulty seeing the non-predicador post-mother's-death Julia, post repeated rapes by her father as the same Julia, although less than a year later...  As if the monumental changes in the 14-year-old's life make her a different person one month to the next...  No, she's the same Julia with certain experiences that cause her to evolve and relate to herself differently...  Not all of our potentials will be lived or enacted in this body, in this lifetime...  "What you see is what you get"?  Maybe a nice fantasy or illusion or delusion...  Sometimes you get what you don't see and you are kept asking, questioning, spinning, reacting, rejecting...  But, yes, that's what you get... And you get all of the history that caused the person to inter-relate with you as they did, do and will...  Although, maybe they won't tell you how and why...

Michelle claimed that I was too honest for her...  And now I wonder if she was being sarcastic... Or maybe that's what leads people to be actors, to not have to be themselves... not have to be always honest...

I can use the word "nigger" as long as I'm using it in historical or socio-anthropological context...  James Baldwin can have a black father repeatedly rape his 14-year-old daughter because he is writing fiction... although if one wishes for it, they can question or criticize intent...  or need... No tengo cojones... tendría miedo escribirlo... to describe in detail...  Tengo una pintura de La Madre de la Tierra... The mother of the earth, pregnant with the Earth... and my "artistic" need was having her squatting about to give birth to her baby, the Earth... meaning that you would see her vagina... and I worried too much about the viewer...  and the giant painting continues unfinished in my studio-bedroom... for years...  Yes, it was intended as a gift for José Montaña and it turns out that the woman's face is very much like that of his youngest daughter's... and this would be hung in his staircase upward...  But, it is what came out... Why?  Because of his disrespect for his wife and his daughter... his machismo...  his selfishness...  His misunderstanding of the astrology of his wife and him... and due to that misunderstanding comes a decades-long struggle with his family and a denial of the importance of his relationship with his wife... It just so happens that his youngest daughter was born under the same sun sign as wife... And the mother of the earth has Mars in her hand is about to sling it at us...  "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus"?  Is that true?  Justifying the male position of conquerer of women and women having to stand beautiful and smiling no matter what the men do?  Anya use to say that men can be ugly, but women can't... in fact, she use to say that around the world, women tend towards being attracted to ugly men and not beautiful men... And José Montaña justified his ugliness and obesity with what he believed to be true of the upper-class Indian men...  Why can't everyone be beautiful? Or at least make that a goal... in some way?  But, you've gotta turn that concept on its head...  

What does this mean about Michelle?  We say foolish things... we do things that maybe we regret later...  But, they are part of us... and may actually have substantial significance... The relationship revolves around the events... maybe it evolves around those events... or maybe it just had to be as it was and we invent meanings related to those events... 

Years ago I had a dream about you... I was still living in Xalapa at the time... and I realized why I shouldn't expect anything from you, why I should stop reaching out to you... an it wasn't about my being too honest or that you couldn't attend to things about yourself... When we care about others, when we truly care about them, we want to help them understand... And maybe we act foolishly... insist foolishly...

What I've learned over time is that you can't change ANYONE... If you are lucky, maybe you can inspire change... or imbed certain things within their psyche that will appear unknowling later on, helping them... Maybe that's the best you can expect... But, expecting that people will change because of you in the moment that you wish... expecting them to move within your timeline... Well, maybe we shouldn't wish for that... Maybe we should wish for them to be themselves... evolving naturally... discovering the world how they must discover it... regardless of our needs...  that's what I did for myself... that's what I want for myself... I don't want someone who is me and not they... There was that Seinfeld episode in the 90s where he fell in-love with someone just like him, and then became bored... Yes, very cliché...  simplistic... Nor must we be with opposites... Life doesn't work that we... As the saying goes "whatever it takes"... I recently wondered about V.C. Andrew's novels that began with "Thorns in the Attic" and about her need for writing about incest... and where she got that from... And briefly looked her up on Wikipedia... but no one mentioned the theme...  "Whatever it takes"?  How does that saying go, "It takes a ..."  Only Spanish comes to mind... But, I hear my mother saying it...  ¿"It takes a community?"  And does that mean that within the community we must have fathers whom rape their children?...  

And then I remember so many comments about "god" and "good" and "bad" and my belief that all was created by god and all is part of our necessary experience... all is good... even the most horrendous... And I started believing this worrying about the risk of being abducted here in Mexico and what "kidnappers" do to the abducted, even when they obtain what they sought... all of this occuring during the incredible rise in "drug" violence here since 2008... and my "visitors" or "interviewers" and my concerns... and wondering what I would do or how I would respond or resist during such an experience... And I realized that all forms of life and death are part of the necessary individual experience... they are spiritual experiences... I couldn't prevent my father from dying and what would occur afterwards...  And I could spend my life chillando whining, complaining, saying woe is me...  But, I must understand truly the sequence of events beginning with his sudden illness and death and what that says about my journey... how that informs me of my journey... what I must learn... and survive... and how...  Julia was raped by her father... But she didn't live life as a victim, although it did inform her... it did shape her relationships with others and herself... and gave a certain base... and maybe helped her related to herself and others differently than had she not been repeatedly raped by her father...  

Anya was the only person who ever said that she is glad that my father died... and she acknowledged being selfish... and having momentarily gained by my loss, believing that had I grown up with my father alive and as a successful and wealthy doctor, I w0uldn't have batted an eye at her... But, maybe there would have been something about me that would have drawn the spark for her... Maybe I could have been more the "man" for her...  

But the truth is that whatever happened between Anya and I, regardless of my father's death, was besides the point...  She was a lesson, a subway station, a catalyst for my meeting Margarita... I was given one of the talismen... one of the clues before she left for the Ukraine...  

Michelle?  Maybe I continue learning about myself through her... through the dreams...  

And, yes, I have regrets my friend... Years ago, back in Brooklyn, I claimed that I didn't regret anything I did... I guess I was naive... although regretting only informs you... there isn't much you can do about the situation... Regret is about the past... There is n0thing you can do about... However, considering the past may help with understanding the present or moving towards the future... Yes, I regret my behaviors with you... although maybe that wouldn't have changed the situation... Afterall, you were in your very intense personal situation that had nothing to do with me and what I did...  But, I still think I would have liked a different me within those situations... to have known more about you... about what were your true passions... not your pains...  And, yes the trip to Connecticut, that I "blew"... But, maybe it wouldn't have been so easy for me to leave the U.S. for Mexico had I not frustrated you so...  Of course, we know that that's besides the point...  And, yes, this is a sort of a confession or an apology, although I know that we can't change the past... and my life is here, not there...  

The writing is good...  But, I didn't plan the dream...  So, something else occurs... while we're sleeping and not worrying or planning...  

The road not travelled...

Two weeks ago Saturday evening, passing by the tables of used books in Chapultapec here in Guadalajara, I stumbled across a biography in Spanish of Dora Maar... and read the back... about how she was the lover of how many painters in Paris... And considered buying it... since I was there to buy books... but felt that my buying the book would have been "unauthentic"... a concept better understood in Spanish... So I left it there... And what came to mind at that moment, aside from "my buying the book will not better connect me with you" was that "this is not about Picasso"... it's about Dora... it's about the world within which she immersed herself... if we actually immerse ourselves within worlds or if we are immersed by life... a road we travel... regardless... regardless of your decisions... we travel a road... and it's not about the so-called "road not taken" by Robert Frost... In that case, there will always be a road not taken... but maybe there really wasn't another road... you think you have made the decision... so much work invested... but maybe there wasn't an alternative... although you believe there was... When the plane fell from the sky... when the heart "exploded" and left him laying upon the sidewalk... although he was in the middle of preparing for the show of his career... Amrita Sher-Gil, the Indian Frida Kahlo, the first modern painter of India... died entering her first Saturn return... at the age of 28... and never "became"... No, she didn't fall dead upon the sidewalk of a heart attack... although it would have been the same, a sudden removal of who would not became truly recognized... Have you heard of her? I discovered her "by accident" looking up Rabindranath Tagore's paintings after reading his novel "Gora"... And he inspires me to paint again... yes... he inspires me... Did you know that he was the first non-European writer to win the Nobel for Literature in 1913? Who knows about his plays and his acting and his paintings? In India, he was best known for the thousands of songs he wrote... Historically, he was alongside Gandhi for liberating India from the British Colonialist heritage... And, thinking that one of the paintings on the google image search was his, I clicked upon Amrita Sher-Gil, daughter of a wealthy Sikh and a Hungarian Jew... and discovered her paintings... And, yes, she is very impressive... and died at the same age as Amy Winehouse, and Janis Joplin... and how many other artists that didn't have to start over again with the Saturn return... didn't have to share más... show more... contribute more... And, maybe we don't know her because Amrita is a "she", just as Frida didn't truly show her work and didn't sell it and was in the shadow of truthfully a mediocre artist... an imitator, a professional copier, as the art students were trained professionally here in Mexico during and after the Porfiriato... Mexicans have extreme difficulty sharing their inner voice, being truly authentic... expressing themselves... Frida is Mexico's truest artist... self-taught, autodidacta... Diego was incredibly well-trained... and had so much potential... in Paris... in Paris his paintings were interesting... But, tourists to Mexico need his murals... for filling their vacations with illusions of culture... but they are just historical-political comic strips... in the semi-style of the famous European muralists... but if you look at his neo-impressionism, his cubism... but he rejected that... for the so-called other road... and became Mexico's most famous artist... although he is NOT an Iñarratu... truly authentic... sharing his interior potentials... How Iñarratu escaped being a political slave, gilipollas lamaculos... How to break the chains of the slave heritage... while living in Mexico... No, I didn't buy the biography "Dora Maar"... and I'm certain you could give a damn... I wrote about you on my blog... had a dream last night...

Stream of consciousness briefly revisited...

The stream of conscious drawings of 2010... can you believe so much time has passed... so quickly... I stopped drawing for painting, since a professional artist mentioned back then that the galleries were not interested in drawings... and didn't pay their value... so, I've been trying to paint as I drew... stream of consciousness painting... and I find a distinct distance between the myself and the piece... unlike my profound connection within the drawings, that enabled me to create art such as this... And I continue painting... conscious that I have the pencils... how we spend life trying to fool ourselves...

De Regreso...

... a Nueva York... a Harlem... Lower East Side...  East Village...  Spanish Harlem...  de regreso... pero con James Baldwin... on the streets of New York...  hundido en relaciones urgentes, riesgosas, penosas, peligrosas, profundas... violaciones y preocupaciones... cajas aldentro de cajas... aulas, cages... yes you could have read "cages" as in shits... y no estarías tan equivocada... ¿cuanta gente cagando eldentro las necesidades de otras... abriendo el cranio de la otra persona y cagando aldentro de su cabeza...  De regreso a Nueva York... YES I am!  Pero, con el libro de Baldwin, "Over My Head"...  And, yes, it was all over my head... too much... but at the same time, not enough... and I left too soon...  Fled...  and yes it's true... I fled... better off than dead... said... yes, I said... Nueva York... y sus calles y avenidas...  importantes... todas importantes... just as are all of the relaciones... importantes, aunque impresionantemente destructivas... en una forma u otra...  u... o... ¿la diferencia?  quien sabe... La intensidad... la importantes... lo tabu... taboo my friend... taboo... sí tabú 

De regreso a Nueva York... en los 40s, 50s, 60s...  aunque estuve aya en los 90s...  y hasta poco después de 9/11...  sí estuve ahi... alli... aya... YA... pero, esta vez con "sobre me cabeza" escrito por James Baldwin... y que tan complejo, complicado, stratificado...  bifurcado...  

...entre en sueño... anoche... preparando una obra de teatro, de performance arte para niños... lo organize con Michelle Farbman y contigo...  Milo...  Pero, por una razón u otra, no aparecieron uds en las reuniones...  aunque continuó marchando adelante...  ¿donde estaban uds?  y ¿por qué estuve yo en el teatro...? Sí, escribiendo el reparto... pero, también actuando... Tenías que hacer el diseño del vestuario... Milo... ibamos ser como títeres gigantes... humanos... diseñado por tu...  pero, nunca apareciste... y ¿donde estaba Michelle?  Y ¿yo? un cambio de carera que solo puede ocurrir en los sueños... pero cambio "carera" Michelle... y no fue en un sueño...  sí cambié de carera yo...  hace muchos años...  y ahora mi mejor forma de escribir es en españglish... aunque, en esto momento, estoy recargandome en Español...  

Fuimos... ¿con quien estuve?  ¿cuantas personas con nosotros en la preparación de la obra?... fuimos... fui ¿con quien? hacia Argentina... caminando... a la facultad de teatro... para seguir trabajando en el reparto... en el "guion"...  en la estructura... y yo considerando como iba yo actuar...  y ¿donde estaban uds?

Sí Milo, estoy pintando otra vez... y como me gustaría escribir como escribo en mi mente... tantas palabras tiraras... como tiramos urina en el inodoro...  como tiramos esperma en el suelo masterbando... y no lo hago por años... años... parece...  

Todavía pienso en mezclar palabras con pintura... pero, no sale...  vasectomía no intencional...  existe la intención, aunque no fue mía... y ahora no sale nada... NADA... 

And I walked through another exhibition of art last night... here in Guadalajara... and I could exclaim "¡sin verguenzas!"  Yes, I could... not a dream... too bad... aunque iba ser una pesadilla...  ¿have I ever seen an exhibition of art here that wasn't like staring at vomit on the sidewalk outside the clubs early Sunday morning... before they clean the streets...?  But, for some reason, no one believe that we should clean the salon walls of what the "artists" vomitted...  

And, yes, you could ask me who am I to criticize... No, I'm no one... I just go into these exhibitions feeling, sensing... and if they are fortunate, I sense vomit...  could vomit be better than garbage...?  Yes, this is me... 

To every critic qualified for assessing art and obras...  there are thousands of everyone else...  who keep quiet or make "unqualified" remarks...  who react inwardly or express their reaction outwardly... but they still react... 

Remember Birdman?  Remember the critic?  Remember the problem, the conflict, the issue, the preocupation...?  

In the box office, what truly matters is that the thousands of unqualifieds leave the cinema smiling or crying... and recommend the movie to other thousands of unqualifieds...

And over the years, how many people have raved about the difference of my paintings... although I KNOW I sufficiently qualified to know that their reaction does not mean that I can sell a piece...  Does not signify putting aside my new "career" and my relationship with Margarita for risking it all, living for showing my paintings and dedicating my life to paying with paintings... if I could sell one... 

But what if this unqualified sold his paintings...?  A constant question...

And back to the dream... What was I doing writing a play, although for children... performance art, within which I was acting... when I've never been an actor or a playwrite...?  And why were Michelle and Milo there, although without camios? Yet...  

No, I don't spend my days thinking about you... 

Michelle...

Milo, yes, I have responded to your current dilemma, current situation... many times... in my head... considering writing you personally... but always immersed in another inspiration...  Forced writings never come out correctly...  so, I've waited... for the correct moment... although imagining your disappointment, at how little I've responded...  although, you can't know just how much I've responded within...  

what I think about she in Boston... in-love with you...  easy to be... for different reasons, especially considering the convenience of being in-love at a distance... never truly wishing for leaving her cage... her situation...  what if...?  The what ifs...  so, as long as you are profoundly attached from a distance, you will always be hope... from a distance... why relinquish that hope?  It's certainly better living miserably with hope than relinquishing that misery and not having hope... I'm not talking clearly...  the what ifs... "What if life with Milo isn't what I thought? And now I lost my negative reality AND my fantasy"...  

so... better living in dreams of an unplanned theater project with my former Brooklyn friends Milo and Michelle, born a day apart... ¿coincidencia?  and they never truly appear in the dream... And why have the damn dream?  What does it mean?  And better to write in espanglish than in English, since that is the truth of only my life... only my life... just mine... not yours... not anyone else here with me... without me...  there...  

Nice dream...  nice piece of writing... at least for me... nice enough to share with you... although you won't understand the half of it... and translation will not understand espanglish...

later continuation... a continuar...