Little White Sandals.

My little white sandals used to walk down that line. Unsure.
Worn edges.
Creased from all the use.
They were my little white sandals.
They carried me off to places, wonderful places.
Schools filled with lovely survivors from the early century,
even those from yesterday.


I used to love those little white shoes.
I look down, and I still see those little white shoes.
Because, I am still that 9 year old little girl.
Treading the ground softly,
careful to not step on anyone.
Careful to make everyone unhurt,
oh but I have hurt.
I didn't mean to do so.

Also, what makes you think you know me.
My intentions?
Do I know my intentions?
Yes.
No.
I think.
All of us trying to find the one responsible.
None of us finding the possible.

My integrity. It only matters to me, so why should I hurt for everyone.

I should marry Malcom X of my book for an hour, then run the streets of New York with James McBride.

Breaking inside my throat.

Incoherent thoughts, words. Incoherent.

Deer Creek's tragic wail woke me up.
Please,  now don't shut me up.

Silence.

"People come, people go
Sometimes without goodbye, sometimes without hello
She's got one magic trick
Just one and that's it
She disappears

It's like: now you see her, now you don't
You think you're going to get to know her, now, well you won't
She's got one magic trick,
Just one and that's it
She disappears

It's like: easy come, easy go
Sometimes without goodbye, sometimes without hello
She's got one magic trick
Just one, and that's it
She disappears"


--------

Coffee.

I had coffee today, after a week of committing myself to less internet, less coffee, and less of everything. Today I bought those overly sweetened coffees that make your stomach churn.  Maybe I'll ask for less sugar next time.

I need it black next time.

--

Greyhounds are actually quite neat. I am allowed to simmer in my thoughts while someone else grapples with the monotonous heavy road. I finished reading Lathe of Heaven, which I highly recommend. It's one of those books that turned me into science fiction. Its plot is about dreams, about the possibility of dreams altering reality. Movies I supposed have been made after the same effect, but one cannot create the same effects in a movie that the mind can - can it?  Some stories are meant to be dreamt up in each individuals' minds, differently from each other person that happens to come across the same storybook.


--

I might post a video of the endless terrain that we cruised through and the songs that I heard. I mostly have sad love songs.

I wonder. When people fall in love - if they ever fall in love - do they keep loving those same sad songs? Do they hum them on long rides too? But I mean that kind of love that might exist after being in a long enduring relationship. Does it?

---

Sleep. Interestingly I am not craving it now. I just realized I need more good books. I don't have enough books to keep me company at night. My last two were wonderful, so much so that they kept me awake even after I flipped the last page. I'll just take a trip to the swapmeet today - later in the morning. I am sure to find old tattered books that need a home.

Right Here.

“Solitude gives birth to the original in us, to beauty unfamiliar and perilous - to poetry. But it also gives birth to the opposite: to the perverse, the illicit, the absurd.”


- Thomas Mann


More on this later. 

Un día le dedicare esta canción...

¿Porque No Duermo?

Talvez es porque yo tengo varias cosas que todavía no resuelvo. Porque tengo muchas cosas que no he dicho a personas en particular. ¿Porque me torturo tanto, porque? Cada vez me pregunto quien soy. Mis creencias siempre las cuestiono. Siempre estoy en cuestiones perpetuas.

Fish Soup.

A couple of days ago, my mom made fish soup. It's the kind she would make in the days of yore - haha. okay maybe not that long ago, but you'd have to see how it looks, you'd think it was from the centuries before they had tools to clean fish.

See, her soup was made with whole fish, two to be exact, and she simply put some vegetables, salt, spices, and other secret stuff. You know, mom's secret recipe. The specific type of fish she used is called a mojara (when it's fried).  However, she did not fry these fishes.

When my mom cooks, she makes a whole vat of whatever it is, wether it's soup, meat, enchiladas. Sometimes, I know it's due to the fact that she had a huge family,  she was used to cooking for twelve other people, and now she simply cannot cook for only three people. She misses my aunt too (who always came over for dinner) but recently moved to state of Dorothy and the Wizard of Oz.  Although I shouldn't complain much, my mom seriously is known for cooking skills. Her cooking is the envy of all my uncles, they wish she could cook for them all the time.

However, this particular soup does not look appetizing at all. The soup is a mix between gumbo with fish soup, plus the fish is horrible to look at. Imagine, the fish's texture is that of a cayman, green, rough, unpleasant to the touch. The eye of the fish stares at you, one eyes is a blank stare, I feel remorse for having cut its life short (considering its already short life.

The fins are spiky, and the smell, well, let's say you'd rather not eat once the smell hits your nostrils. See, this is supposed to be healthy eating. I usually don't mind this, but my relatively unhealthy habits die hard after dining out so much this past year.

So time for a change. After getting sick for a record breaking two weeks (including a two-day all time high fever), I've opted for the healthy eating lifestyle.

 After the first spoonful, I actually enjoyed it. Don't let the looks of the fish soup fool you, even this repugnant looking soup is delicious.

Lesson: Judge not the soup by its looks, but by its taste and nutritious value.

Bring on the fish soup =)  My mom's cooking never fails.