One Hundred Years of Solitude

Cien Años de Soledad

Es demasiado facil a sentar me aqui con vous.

Es demasiado dificil tambien.

Si no quieres que me hago dramatico,
entonces que?
Seis meses, amour.

Veremos en seis
donde nos ponemos.

Dejame en pas,
y aqui te hago lo mismo.

Haci sabes que estoy bien, y vivo.
Y tu sabes que para siempre te escribire;

pero para ahorita- por favor mi hijita sauavidad, pulcherissimus stella of them all; please for the love of it all;- hey suavecita, mejor amor de mi corpore’al dolor. ya te encontraste tu translador. ya seria culpa de alguien mas; hey por favor por favor por favor, por favor de ja me in pas, porque te extraño mucho, ye duele, a quedar me aqui sin tigo, por un rato mas.

Pero me dices a no ser dramatico.
estare bien, baby.

Recuerdalo.

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Y haci se puso, el hombre de soledad.
aprendiendo su idioma desde nuevo.

hmm.

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Diary of Repair

The Long Goodbye

It is 5:30 in the a.m. and I am curing a screen, about to drive it to the local car wash to try and power wash it through, because this is the 4th set screen and 4th goddamn attempt and if the methods I have tried so far are still futile then yes I will need to adapt and improvise.

It is 5:30 a.m. and the same fear is slowly growing in me. The terror, I should clarify.

When she came down on the weekend of my sister’s wedding, (had I mentioned that?) I got night sweats. Twice in the middle of the night I found myself completely drenched in what my immediate fear was nocturia- before realizing the total body extent of my expressed anxiety.

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I feel it in me already

Like little AJ wailing incessantly

Succumbed to separation anxiety.

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I can’t divine whether the level of honesty I excrete on here could be considered as valorous as it can be qualified infantile. There again by my conundrum, “But it reads a little desperate. Like you’re gasping for air and swallowing pride.

…Absolutely. You don’t write like a scorned lover. There is a tenderness.

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And maybe that’s enough.
So long as this is never read with mal intent,
that all these lacerations are inwards facing,
barbed jabs to keep you out
like giant two story black and yellow Caution signs
trying to maintain the strictest, starkest
black and white communication
that this hurts.

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I don’t think I like this pain. I think it’s fair to say (and agree) that whatever relationship she and I have was a heavily twisted one, that began from an abused power mechanic in it’s infancy that has warped to longstanding emotional S&M game a decade long.

It can very much be argued I bring it on to myself (for the sake of the human condition!), yes I do believe all power exists and resides in me to make positive change; & i think (know) that’s where the terror stems, facing that irrefutable, how absolutely broke we are.

& I wish we weren’t
& I know we won’t be forever.
I’m counting on it.

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can we not just end the book here?
how many times this kid gonna break his own heart
this year?

no, the rest is just epilogue really.
it actually ended quite a while back.

hmmm/ guess all those tapes are non-canon.

i don’t know
and who’s got the energy
to want to know?
just let them rest in peace.

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e-.

-end transmission-

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Uncategorized

Hello Stranger.

I don’t know you, I know of you, but I can not say that I could tell you your own favorite songs from the radio, or your favorite place to be. I don’t know you.

And yet, here I am, day in day out, asking you to know me.
Asking you, bringing myself out here, pleading (essentially)
for you to obsessively consume whatever I put out here,
to hang on to every word and dissect while digesting
pulling out my strands of thought to dance in the limelight of your eyes.

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Isn’t that selfish?
and yet, how do I repay the kindness shown?

Not very well, that much is true.

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She doesn’t want riddles
she want’s the mexican work ethos.

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That ain’t me tho, huh?

nah.

I was the kid that made room in his heart for you.
The dad had the work ethic,
he worked and slaved harder than any of em,
built this house with his own two hands
for me,
grand column pillars and resonant tiles
and white as heaven’s clouds.

And what have I done?
Where are my grand deeds upon this earth?

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When I was a child
my aunt’s spoke to me,
all of them, some of them, one in particular,
the brother’s lover on my father’s side
said this to me:

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“Don’t be a Martinez.”

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