Train Station Gitanes

Winter comes to quiet the crying Fall
turning evergreens into static brides
exposing the naked twigs
on the desert of blue

Cold crawls on my bed
like the dwelling phantom
of a wondering cadaver
as I bite the edge of the blanket
wondering where you are
and where I am
and write myself to sleep

Morning comes to chase the night away
swift sunbeams, fiery katana swords
slice its essence, as it bleeds in yellow and orange
and you're not here

Blood, coffee, rushing to my head (I can't tell them apart anymore)
hot water on my face
the decrepit piano of my body
stumbles from the bedroom to the bathroom
from the kitchen to hell

Maybe I'm just a picture in the photo album
corner of your scrapbook
napkin with a phone number tattoo

maybe you think I'll be waiting
like mortals wait for death
I know you think I missed my train
and I did
but I belong to somebody else

Autopsy

I can't
I'm out
no matter how hard I try
it's gone
I stand naked before you
unzip my chest completely open
like the swing doors of an autopsy
I offer you my heart
like a beggar begs for handouts
my heart, scarred and ran over
like a vet in life support
with the expression of a wrinkled pear

Come, join me
let's walk on the train tracks
holding hands on the way to the morgue
I want to see if you can recognize me
by something other than my twisted smile
Come, even if just out of pity
let's hitch a ride in the carpool hearst
to my stupid inspiration's funeral

Like a kid with empty pockets
like a drunk with out a bottle
the poetry musical box is broken
and the paint has already dried
look at the procession, in the distance
waving good bye

Tic Tac Toe

What if the goldfish swallowed the fish tank?
what if a diver swallowed the sea?
maybe it's just a panic attack
maybe just stress
Sometimes alarm clocks, trains, the news
the daily routine
the monotony, growing like a plant
has covered part of the path already
Is it that I can't catch my breath?
is it the weight I gained?
I'm not sure
but I need to get this sumo wrestler
off of my chest
I need silence
ear plug my brain
condemn my phone to solitary confinement
and put a gag on the radio
I need time
and rest my broken piano skeleton
on an abandoned la-z-boy
So long as I'm not destined to live
amongst rabbit ears, garbage cans
and a trailer park in the distance
instead of Madame Renoir

El Pan Nuestro

En silencio
llego a casa cansado y sin anunciar
me quito las botas en sigilio
no quiero sabotear sorpresivamente
un encuentro mas contigo

Quiero destelefonearte del mundo afuera
descomponer el despertador que me mira con prisas
y asi tomarme el tiempo sin medida
para armar el rompecabezas de tu corazon

Quiero susurrarte estrofas
y fajarte contra la estufa
poner tu cabeza sobre mi hombro
sentir tu calor, como un horno en mis manos
y asi
entre cocinas, y telefonos y manecillas
comerte a besos de merengue
como si fueras pan de leña recien horneado

My Grain

Sometimes I want to sail
feel the spray of the waves on my face
anchor in a quiet bay
with a mermaid swimming on my bed

Drive a Stingray
with the top down
her hair waving in the wind
a hotel card key and a joint

Living life
and the amazing dream it is
between patent leather and her skin
caught in the limbo
between her eyes and her lips

But not today
afternoon, coffee and rain
again, the migraine and the pain
today I hope I find the courage
and put a bullet in my head

A River

I write because I suffer
I die because I bleed
and if I didn't dream
I'd never sleep at all

my words make a ship
to sail the rivers of fate
your breath is the wind
the water is the pain

I sail because I'm a skipper
who has nowhere to go
and can't bear the hurting
of walking the world

I swim to meet my mermaid
since most two legged sirens are taken
insane, or drowned in worry
drugged in a constant high
of the stupid and mundane

I suffer because I love
I love because I live
and because I live I ache for love
and life goes on
dying
sleeping
fucking
and letting go

New FTC Rules

Here at Pablo Diablo we have learned that: The F.T.C. said that beginning on Dec. 1, bloggers who review products must disclose any connection with advertisers, including, in most cases, the receipt of free products and whether or not they were paid in any way by advertisers, as occurs frequently.
Since we are law abidding, taxpaying citizens, we shall disclose all sponsorships:
Zandunga Bubblegum. Our most loyal sponsor. Provides mostly sticky material of no monetary value. Still, has stood by us, even after being blackmailed and exposed for sexual affairs happening with Pablo Diablo employees and other scandals, but nothing toxic or radioactive. We particularly like their '08 fall exclussive, Peach Melba.

We also decided do disclose that our international partner:
Muñecas Inflables "NICANOR" - which is a Mexican manufacturer of inflatable dolls with perhaps, not the best reputation. Has provided us in the past with human size pinatas as well as boob floaties and voodoo dolls.

4titude

Finally 40 have set in
It took a while, there's no doubt about that
As mentally dispersed as I am (in reality it's just an overwhelming curiosity)
I've always sought answers and in that pursuit only deeper questions arise, they always do. Now I approach topics with a little bit more ingenuity and I no longer focus on just the answers, at least most of the time. Those supposed to guide me only blurred the path even more, throwing the blanket of their insecurities and frustrations over my quest, which is not theirs.
The very few, yet extremely valuable signs and directions always come from those you least expect, almost to the point of doubting coincidence. But sometimes you just have to let go to be free. I tried to reach the sky, but now I've got my feet on the ground and I've given up on that dream, and I also no longer fear being sent to Hell after I die. Hell is here and that is why I fear growing old and poor, everything else is just life and by now I've learned to deal with it.
I like to see people helping people, it reminds me some have learned the life lesson. I also like to see my mother's unbendable blind faith and I would love to see Obama do something for this nation other than giving Billions to the greedy and irresponsible corporations which are largely owned by the same Saudi and Middle Eastern men whom have partnerships in the Carlyle Group and are known to sponsor terrorism in Israel.
I try to make me believe that there are coincidences and not all is fate. Their purpose is to make life funny and leaving it all up to fate is like letting off the wheel. Which I do... but I also like to hold it and guide it, since I like to step on the gas sometimes. After all, if I die in a car accident it won't matter if it was fact.. or coincidence.
The guilt wheelbarrow I push everywhere I go has only strengthened my arms, the stronger I get, the heavier it gets. But my arms let me handle my woman in bed and I like pleasing her, cause it pleases me. The best book about sex you can find is exactly that, a woman next to you. If you fail once, she will understand, if you fail twice she will leave or grow ugly (like a bonzai twisted the wrong way) and you might as well give up and dedicate your life to greed and envy and making others miserable...or the church.
But now.. I have now.
I keep reminding myself to forget the past, and stop thinking about what didn't happen and what should have. Now.
I'm slowly giving up on future. No, not the common idea of a sun tomorrow. But the worry of a house, a job and a family, or retirement. Giving up on the worry of what is expected of me and all that garbage.
Now.. is now.
I have a roof over my head, good friends, decent health, a car to take me places and a cold, crisp Seattleite afternoon.
My vivace caramel is here, I never would have thought heaven was this simple and uncomplicated.
Unlike paradise, strong, curvy thighs, barely covered by skirt.
Forty
and still addicted to lust
in love with love
where music is my wine
and her sex my violin

Quotes (well, sometimes they just hit your head)

The 69 is like having sex while performing a magic act of escapism

Mercedes Sosa est Mort

For many, she was the voice of the rebellion, of the resistance. A voice of exile, love and dictatorships, a golden strand, indestructible she, weaves in the mesh of us, born under the Southern Cross.
Alfonsina will be waiting.
GraciasMercedes esta noche la vida me va a dar tres luceros

King Crimson - Easy Money

I could honestly not listen to anything but King Crimson for the rest of my life.
Particularly with Levin, Bruford, Belew and of course, Fripp