el dia de hoy

al fin

i arrive.

in mCallen, texas.

such bush country, it's berzerk. peter, that book should be titled, "Whatever happened to South Texas?"

i left houston. slowly and painfully so. i read "paco mentiras" at the open mic on friday night thanks to the invite by my good Salvadoran friend Karlita. i miss her and houston.

i'm now in rural america, if you can call it that. it's amazing how much rural south texas has in common with rural kansas.

aqui se acaban mis palabras por hoy. despite the bush frenzy down here there are some exquisitely beautiful souls. 

najaf

najaf is found to be explosive.

the war continues and hummers hum along.

i missed mass.

ill soon be a godfather.

im trying to learn to write from baldwin. someone writer once wrote that baldwin taught him to write calmly when he's angry.

perhaps ill slowly begin to write again. for the same reason that i gave peter for learning to play the guitar. for my own damn good.

winter ends.easter approaches

winter ends.

the forty days of lent slowly come to an end.

the fifty days of easter slowly approach.

words have been scarce. thats not always bad.

to teach

....or not to teach.

no longer an undocumented, transient teacher...as lovely as the lifestyle seemed to be...

now, i have papers. the official stuff. after a few observations, a lot of paper work, some classes, deductions from my paycheck, and, of course...a sit down, bubble the dot, timed test with weakly worded questions and...i'm official...not sure what i should make of that quite yet. nonetheless...

my memories of miss acosta and miss rivera (my fourth and fifth grade teachers who seemed quite the quirky couple to most of my friends) seem quite cloudy. like some story i never really lived just got told about by my mom's tio who knew a friend who happened to live right next to their caretaker's primo...

...regardless, i wish they were around. somewhere close by, where i could help miss rivera with that crumpled paper bag full of old books she was carrying one time to the local public library. perhaps she'd let me keep them. perhaps she'd enjoy knowing that i, like her, have fallen in love with old books...

...im too scared, however, to look them up when i go home. for fear that theyll be gone, or something of the sort.

as if my not looking for them will somehow keep them here forever.

and im scared to look for mr. guilliard, my high school english teacher who introduced me to poe, told me once that i wrote well and, most importantly, entertained us with a comical rendition of the crazy couples kissing quickly in the hallways, trying to beat the bell...

now, it's me. attempting to teach and beginning to think it may be for good.

not sure i care too much about the standardized tests my kids have to endure these days. i do, however, care and hope that one day they'll fall in love with old books and have the courage to look me up and tell me about it...

not much more.

december days

as is evident, my posts are scarce these days. the daily dose of writing i committed to a while back has for more reasons than one, gone the way of dirty piles of laundry and dishes left undone...

just returned from being in the woods for a few days. no internet access. just trees and a lake.

come january, im not sure what this space will look like. not sure i care right now. perhaps more personal, perhaps more political. perhaps neither.

miserable failure

although miserable failure were dick's words, i think i'm going the route of dean...

the lesser evil..for some...

the middle of nowhere, where

is it anyway?

it was a piece

on this american

life last

sunday

the place youve

never heard of..

until you hear about it..

and then, you cant stop

hearing about it...

gore goes dean...

or en

Dorses Dean...

and joes just not

right for the job.

what job?

in other wor(L)ds...

the us is sorry in afghanistan...

and in baghdad, drive by's

are in...

el(los) dia(s) de ayer

three days.

some random thoughts about

jesus saving the lost and how,

somewhere, somehow, i want,

but dont, quite feel

lost.

or at least dont feel the need

to feel found.

three days.

baker and bush do the twist.

more boys die in baghdad.

putin sounds the trumpet.

and all of a sudden,

bush and blair arent

the only ones

claiming victory on

miserably lost causes.

soy mejicano, me thinks

soy mejicano muy materialista. se me van, o se fueron, los dias de protesta. ese ni~o idealista que so~aba en algun dia cambiar el mundo. ahora me siento solo. escuchando a manu chao en mtv en espa~ol en mi nuevo television de flat screen con canales hasta la...

y como escoger...

como llenar mi plato...

saber como parar...

y no tener que

siempre ser, el

ultimo en el bar

manu canta de las calles de barcelona. las calles que muy facil pueden ser las calles del parque del periodista en medellin. o la de la plaza de los sapos en puebla. las calles oscuras de coyoacan. donde el deseo del cigaro siempre sale. salen tantos deseos. las calles y deseos donde,don sabina nos cuenta,habita el olvido. y no solo el olvido.

y esos bares y tabernas donde, como iglesias raras, no predican redencion ni salvacion, solo comunion. y eso siempre lo encontraras. como la taberna italiana con paderes amarillas en la avenida sexta de cali. donde el due~o y el dj eran el mismo. un sudafricacano con abuelos holandeses y uno esposa boliviana. era siempre nuestro lugar preferido.

y ahora me cuenta mi amiga que nuestra taberna y el sudafricano ya no siguen alli. ahora el due~o es de cali. y tocan salsa o vallenato. como si no hubiera suficientes lugares con los sonidos de salsa o vallenato en cali. habia veces cuando a alguien le daba las ganas de escuchar a patsy cline o frank sinatra o quizas una cancion clasica de los beatles. y para eso uno tenia que ir a visitar al sudafricano en la taberna italiana en la avenida sexta de cali. donde por supuesto siempre se escuchaba la voz de manu. pero ahora mi amiga, junto con la taberna, dejo a cali y me cuenta que habita en carolina del norte. donde se conformaria en encontrar solo un lugar donde escuchar y bailar salsa.

the turkey lands

the turkey lands.

something didnt sit so well. delores downstairs was drenched. our bathtub apparently leaked.

kierkegaard spoke of a teleological suspension of the ethical. those were the days. now i merely write of ketchup stains and how much mustard costs. yet i pay. i pay for that damn good spicy mustard. the little, round glass can is always so much more expensive than that big, plastic squirt bottle. but thats the one you want. you always want the smaller one. its just so damn good.

so while the thanksgiving theater is going on, europe is busy building a joint defense. to defend against whom may i ask? the US is not pleased. im not sure who the US is exactly because i was never asked. it means cheney chums and blinded bushites.

cuantos dias

contando los dias y

hablando un poco mas

despacio y quizas con

un poco mas de

inteligencia...pero lo

dudo...

she asked me so succintly about the shirt. i've only wore it twice. and still im not so set on never wearing it again. not only not so set. i plan to wear it tomorrow. on the plane. i plan to drink coffee. the diedrichs dark of the day. whatever that may be. con chingos of sugar. i plan to buy the times and look as if i care about baghdad. truth is baghdad's become boring. even bland. perhaps just mundane. i plan to visit the body shop. and buy nothing. just use up all the damn testers and smell like brazilian coconut and bali mangoes with a twist of satsuma spice. taking lessons on tactfulness is not something she's good at. the shirt's going to smell and feel so good...

aparte de dudarle la

verdad

es que de ninguna

manera

lo creo ni lo veo

como algo que

posiblemente pudiera

ser

verdad o realidad

puras pocas pinches

mentiras

and no matter how succintly she attempts to speak. the semi--o casi semi-- colons she employs are no more discreet than the satsuma spice and bali mangoes on my cheap ol self and cheap ol shirt. and the commas she fails to mind seem to give her ways away...

im not so set on not wearing it again. in fact, im wearing it tomorrow to watch cnn at bush airport...read the times and drink the diedrich's dark of the day. whatever that may be...