Green Gal

“¿Cuál dirección tomamos?” le pregunta el hijo a su padre. “A la derecha, hijo,” él responde. El hijo y el padre montan en bicicletas por las montañas del bosque, montando entre los árboles. Pueden sentir el sol en sus caras, aunque tienen los cascos que dan sombra a parte de sus pieles. El aire hace frio, pero sus corazones circulan el sangre calor por sus cuerpos fuerzas. La senda tiene curvas pronunciadas. El hijo está en cabeza de su padre en la senda. Su bicicleta roja cruza encima de las rocas, y él maniobra las curvas con la aptitud. Pero no espera por los seres en su dirección. “¡Puma!” grita el hijo. El animal está en la senda, tan grande y maravilloso. Tan salvaje.La bicicleta del hijo patina con la presión de los frenos, pero la bicicleta no deja. La puma se abalanza sobre el hijo, pero el neumático de atrás torce y golpe la puma en su pecho. La puma está lanzada a la tierra. El padre deja su bicicleta. Los ojos de todos están abiertos. Mirando. Todos los corazones...

And I must tell you, listen, there is a heart that beats strong and true and guides the soul who speaks as we are, what we feel, expresses life unmediated by custom but pierces the skin like bullets made by God. We are those who share and say and are what we exist as, what is and what will be is, what cannot be changed by the hues of the skies but instead are that which things are by night and darkness and absence. What is positive is felt, what is negative is pacification of the world; we grow from positive pain and piercing poignant sorrow and that gives us the world of positive power, a sense of peace and joy that is so strong it is felt and heard and seen and all other things pale in comparison with it. Schopenhauer is wrong when he says that happiness is negative and sorrow positive. Sorrow and happiness are both positive; it is satisfaction, contentment, life without will or striving or love or passion that is negative. Happiness, richly and constantly new-hued-yet-true-to-it...

To many people and beings, but mostly to one today on this day of a new year, and also importantly to myself: "If I know what love is, it is because of you." – Herman Hesse

6 November 2012 My friends live in words and some are ones I’ve met and some I’ve met when I’ve exposed their inner spines to light. Men and women friends, lovers and girlfriends. There are strangers here, whose words were striking and which I stole for my collection. Pain endorphins angst; vegetate, 12 hours scoundrel of scuffed-up wood, questioning in me the way to be or not permanence of language on printed plasticky paper on rolls in cell phone bodies, buzzing I read you under a bleached sky and wanted to write you, as you wrote to me drunk and tasting sweetness of being a breath in the night without name making errors living within our own gardens but sharing harvests to be enjoyed You become a freckle on my right pinkie and it’s okay, it’s part of our condition as writers to embrace, take what is as is as can be potential loveliness in uncertainty recalling what was as a layer under our skin and we have many layers time gives us material fuel breathe in...

We were supposed to bring a "talent" into Spanish 5 class today para el final día de clase. A poem, un canción, a drawing, a skill. My Spanish professor and I hemos hablado sobre poetry y traducción on a few occasions, y por eso decidí que I would bring in some of my own poemas, translated into español. We didn't end up sharing the talents, but we did sing La Bamba and eat cake that the professor brought para nosotros. Era delicioso. But now I have some translated poetry of my own, and I would like to share it with someone. I suppose since you're reading this, that someone is you. I just have to say that the process of translating my own words into Spanish was illuminating. It taught me that I don't know what many words really mean in English. My assumptions about connotation and my understanding of certain nuances have been shattered and rebuilt for some words. I am learning how to say what I really mean in English while simultaneously learning new wo...

"Coyote! Coyote!” Guitar-string strumming with a borrowed pick, punctuated with foot stomping and an old man with a beard and the biggest grin bongo drumming his palms on the podium, which had been pushed to the side before the evening began. The student sways gently to the beat, watching from behind eyes as others lose themselves in the evening, their bodies pulsing with everything that is present in the room. Something holds the student back, a deeply trained disconnection between body and the pervasive consciousness of situation. The beat goes on, smiles form that will ache the cheek muscles as folks leave that night, infused with something remarkable like that most vividly diverse mushroom display contributed by other students, they are foragers of fungal fruits. Awe and respect for the mushrooms in the back of the room, physically and psychologically behind this strangers-neighbors-friends human connection, behind the music. Everyone calls out, reflecting not only the singer’...