La Pura Neta

drink green tea but not the loose packs cinnamon royal jelly equals delicious drink cinnamon: for blood pressure eat royal jelly, two table spoons bee pollen, two table spoons in the morning juice mix: parsley but not the curly one (use a whole bunch) little ginger apples celery red tomatoes: for cancer bitter melon Okra

There used to be this place on Michigan and Ohio. It's now another neon-colored clothes store for those who long to feel hip. It used to be wall-to-floor music. Not the best music, mind you, but it was a place that spoke to my young soul. I dreamed of working there-of opening those cardboard boxes filled with industry-made sounds, which in turn  made the 'ca-ching' sound every two weeks. Alas, it was not meant to be. But that place didn't leave without giving me the most memorable of self -conscious memory. Just another day, walking towards the escalator to go to the toy/stationary section. I decided to go to the loo. Just normal business there. I began to wash me hands when, a tall, beautiful, long-haired girl straight out of Robert Plant's dreams runs to the bathroom stall. I hear the struggle of her unzipping her pants and the slamming of her bottom hitting the seat. Then, a symphony of gas. The cry of freedom was heard and felt and it forever changed me,

The sounds of melody long have gone. Gold lockets, tight disordered tight-pants. The sound of money. Washed face people standing over the floor built upon the people of before. Of the grit and grime of creativity, of indifference ingrown. Built above it a society unaware of color, of dirt. This story doesn't contain any real people, only what people really are. The sound of the singer with golden locks and tight faded red pant.

It's been awhile since I've tried to write in this voice. This voice-the voice that flows like a river through me, now clogged by jagged rocks and wood. Trees knocked down and turned over, trunks rolling down stream. This river can't seem to let me free. What would the trunk be if it were free. Alone on the bank? And the river. An empty stream? And the rocks. They have been placed before as a guide. Where is this voice of mine? Where is mine? text. What is a word with no sound? It sits still, still, still, to become tender or to burn. Too many words together just mash-a bright light that blinds even the light holder. What do these words mean? No escape, no relief, but they are me. They are mine. Letters jumbled together to represent my thoughts. My river of insanity dreams.

I had a dream I was sleeping. ring-ring, ring-ring My left arm pulled from under the covers I slammed my hand on the phone, a drawling 'hello?' Swoosh! A black wave of darkness flowed over me. It started to lean closer and closer. I began to hear nothing but a buzz, a static connection, the sound of a light saber. Pressure was placed on my chest-I've felt this before, I 've deliberately seeked this before. But not now, not tonight. I don't know how, but I'm walking oustide. I'm in a panic, a realization of my brittle state of mind. My palms sweaty. "why must you do this?!", she asked. "What about me and my metal health?!" I know you're crazy but this isn't about you. It's for me. My breath shortening after every passing word, thought. For a lingering moment, I did not know what I was searching for, until I found the one house, on the residential street, that had its lights on. I walked up the stairs, opened

everything happens for a reason. We need to find out what that reason is. you can't fix anything until you fix what's already been broken. everything that is happening to you is all caused by things you've already done. the reason: trying to be just like him. you did what he did when we lived in the south side. your doing it because you want him to be proud of you, to love you; and in away, you also did it because he didn't love you. Because he thought you were useless. you are not. I always wondered why we are so different when we all grew up together. Maybe because the way we each perceive the world is different; the way we choose to cope is unique to that. THAT is something that is formed. We are the way we are, and the way our brain and soul perceive is the way we react in our worlds. We are each a time portal. Since we are walking it we can't really see where we are going. We need to see outside the box; in some else's shoes; from the outside in. W

little blinking red light. blinking when faced up, sleeping when left alone. little blinking red light, show me the way to your home, the the place in which you rome, when you are placed down. little blinking red light, i am banging you out, bang! paz! bolas! andale, come out. little blinking red light, I'll get you out somehow. *sigh*

it was great. front row. behind very sweaty,screaming, boys and girls.

2008: Can you smell it?

2008: The path to the well. Where you can bathe, wash, and watch others do the same.

adj. amer. Chiflado, que ha perdido la chaveta: está deschavetado por ella. per http://www.wordreference.com/definicion/deschavetado Y yo, estoy deschavetada por la camara, el imagen, spanglish, dreams, letras and memori-a.

The Yoshi in the sky...or The Yoshi on conchita's roof.

  2008: mi abue lavando un trapo. because there's nothing much to do.