Joe Hisaishi - Hana-Bi

2011-04-06T15:54:00.000-07:00

the present life of memories

2009-08-12T19:26:00.000-07:00

...today as i was driving, working
listening to Mozart's muzik i remembered
the time when my parents used to take me
and themselves on vacations by the black
sea... one summer
my father befriended a hungarian couple
they had a beautiful daughter.
she sunbathed nude. i was 13
stealing glances of her naked body whenever i could staring
at her perky breasts and wherever else on her body
my eyes would land
imprinting her into me... she was 16
...and much freer than me...
whenever she caught my stare and wonder she gave a smile away...
on the last evening of that vacation we went together to the sea... she kissed
me, then laughed and taught me words, hungarian words... i
still remember some... then we ran back to the tents
where we sat by the bonfire... our parents were drinking beer and
munching on fried potatoes... i must've looked confusedly happy...
..........
i think of her today
and realize that she is now a woman middle aged by time...
very different from when i knew her
and wonder what she... doing right now
if anything at all...

the sun sends warmth and light but its gravitation force pulls us in...

2009-06-21T17:44:00.000-07:00

to Vince

Van Gogh combed his hair.
The warm winter breeze reminded him why he liked Los Angeles.
He walked toward the “ Trader Joe’s” on 3rd & La Brea.
It was still closed. He laid on the grass among the meters by the street and closed his eyes.
At first all seemed red but shortly other colors and darknesses merged in.
His pines was getting somewhat hard but entangled in his pubic hairs & under garments.
made it uncomfortable.
He moved it to the center pointing at 12 o’clock.
Then went back to looking at the sun from behind his eyelids.
The red was getting darker until it turned to pitch black.
He didn't open his eyes thinking that a cloud had been placed between him and the sun.
He knows that opposites roll one after another after reaching a peak.
There was a poke to his 2nd right rib.
He looked to the upper right corner of the universe and saw a security guard.

Seriously uniformed the security guard got his parasol into an upright position like a battle flag.
Van Gogh decided to kill time by playing a silly game.
“ quit pocking me!”
“ sir you can’t be sleeping here!”
“ I wasn’t sleeping. I was pondering the life’s big questions.”
“ yeah? Like what?”
“ why are we here and why so many people can’t appreciate great paintings?”
“ well, I’m here because this is my job.”
“ do you paint?”
“ only when my wife makes me re-paint the walls.”
“ why doesn’t your wife paint?”
“ she is pregnant.”
“ from who?”
the guard lowered the parasol and again pocked Van Gogh, harder this time.
“ You fucking bum! Get the fuck outa here! or I’ll call the police. Your ass is trespassing!”
Van Gogh looked at the relation between the sun and the earth and realized that the guard was right, it was time to go… he floated toward the wine in the store.
All was open now and he could get what he needed.
He made his way across an already crowded parking lot and gracefully whirled to the wine section.
He liked Spanish wines. The challenge now was to find a bottle with a twist off cap.
And there it was a magnum bottle of “rioja”.
He carefully took it and holding it like a newborn he went to the register and paid in full, in cash.
On the outside he drank couple of big gulps.
Looked around and upon seeing two Jewish kids running he prepared and when they ran by him, he snatched the hat from the head of one of them.
They immediately stopped.
“ hey, give me back my yamaka asshole!”
van Gogh put it on his red thick hair. It didn’t stay well.
The kid hit van Gogh with his big folder.
Its ties broke and a few sketches and a painting fell out.
“ are these yours?” van Gogh knelled down to help.
“ yes” the kid had a tear in his eye.
“you’re pretty good. I like the sketches.” Van Gogh put the yamaka back on the kid’s head.
“you think so?”
“yes”
“ how can I improve”
“ you have to get drunk often, and definitely fall in love with the wrong woman at least once.”
“ thank you sir, I’ll try my best”
as the kid was about to walk away van gogh saw the other kid, whose disappearance he hadn’t even noticed, come from behind the corner with a rather big and concerned woman in her 40’s.
Van Gogh winked at the art kid, swiftly grabbed the bottle of wine that he had put down and dashed east on third street.
Few blocks later he stopped to piss by a tree.
Then he drank some more wine.
His teeth, lips, and over all mouth were turning purple now.
He continued further in the same eastern direction.
The street was the same but the buildings and the people changed slowly.
They got a little darker a little more ruined, there were more of them, some drank on the street just like him, there were walls where the paint was long peeled by winds, rain, piss and time.
Van Gogh on his fatiguing legs went to one such house and offered to paint it.
The manager didn’t speak any of the languages Van Gogh did.
Frustrated he took some of the oil paints his brother had bought for him and climbed on the awning.
The manager began yelling something but when he saw the sunflowers appear where the wall paint was peeled he smiled broadly.
Van Gogh's burning... sun... intensely... he engraved them flowers looking at it…
When he finished he turned around and saw that there was a small crowd. Of men and women and children
They all applauded. He came down. The man offered him a beer. A woman gave him cheese and mushrooms warmed up and folded in a round plate of dough.
This well minded people liked the painting he did.
They all drank and ate.
There was music and every one was dancing.
Love was useless but no one seemed to mind it.
Van Gough drank and ate, trying to store all of it for later times when he might not have either. He didn’t know if it would work but he had to try.
He looked at the colors surrounding him… in the mists he saw a woman dancing in the late night fog.
He didn’t understand the words (although it sounded like spanish) but he liked the movements that the music made on the people.
His own limbs and center of gravity changed their place in space.
Van Gough revolted around the sun again.
He didn’t know why everything was upside down, except for his pines.
He sat on the curb as all else kept on spinning counter clock wise.
The tenement reminded him of Pinero and Fante and Raskolnikov, there is a painted intensity in his mind… he gets up looks around, reality is different the play has been “on” for too long…
Van Gough likes the sun and sun likes him, for it tenderly touches his red hair.
Many more have been here and that is why he liked it.
There was no fog this morning.
He could see his destination of a museum but there were more steps to make.
Things were obvious but not easy.
There is the car, there is the man, there Is the child there is the woman.
Van Gough wished he was a woman whose husband took care of her, so she could drink and paint…
we don’t know who we are... we... accept our conditioning unknowingly ...as we grow old
Zigzagging toward an eternity we can embrace
And if we make it there it will is a miracle
… born we breathe the air… locking a way to a heaven
lost but always searching and that is where we find our promised land to take from others...
the LACMA stood in front of him
he walked into it and found a hall at the empty entrance someone wrote "marcel duchamp & others..."... van gough peeked in and saw a beautifully polished urinal standing in the middle, he ran to it and knelled, and vomited so hard that some of it splattered on the canvases on the walls... but one of them was empty anyway and the others must've been unfinished, for it had only one brush stroke, and the third had a...
...men in uniforms ran in, surrounded him yelling:
“WHAT arE yoU doiN man!!!...this is modern ART man… this is modern art…”
van gough laid to the left, closed his eyes and thought:
“after all this time they now think that I am a modern artist…”

for Chuck Connelly

2009-06-21T17:02:00.000-07:00

every day
he needs
a gallon of beer
to wash away the peoples
from times past
who are
waiting for his death (they know that he is immortal)
with their long nails &
surgically alternated smiles (even the men)
they've learned to happily
pant behind royal assess
but it never
never occurred to them
humbly to embrace beauty
alone...

notes of a man who talks to 'imself...

Joe Hisaishi - Hana-Bi

the present life of memories

the sun sends warmth and light but its gravitation force pulls us in...

for Chuck Connelly