No sé por qué te beso

No sé por qué te beso

No sé por qué te beso por la tarde
No sé por qué te beso por la mañana
No sé por qué te beso por todas partes... de Tijuana
Desde la cabeza hasta la cinco y diez
No sé por qué te subo las colinas del Cerro Colorado para besarte encima
No sé por qué me deslizo por la Vía rápida a 2000
Al Rio
No sé por qué Alamar-nos lleva al Chaparral
Siento el aliento de la boca al mar
que, no sé por qué, nos jala por la línea aguantándonos en el precipicio
No sé por qué te empujo con un beso al final, nos caemos amortiguados al jardín binacional
Donde nos amamos entre las amapolas

I don’t know why I kiss you
I don’t know why I kiss you in the morning
I don’t know why I kiss you in the evening
I don’t know why I kiss you all over… Tijuana
From head to the Five and Ten area
I don’t know why I climb the hills of the Red Mountain to kiss you at the top
I don’t know why I slide down the Fast track at 2000
To the, I don’t know why, Uponloving-each other-River that takes us to the Chaparral point of entry
I don’t know why the river mouth’s breath that opens to the sea
pulls us along the line barely holding to the ledge
I don’t know why I push you over with a kiss and we fall softly into the binacional garden
Where we love among the poppies.

Don't "fight" the Trump admin

After reading Fire and Fury and learning in depth what goes on with the Trump adimin I realize they work off conflict.  So if liberals "fight" back it only makes the admin get stronger cause their base is built on and feeds on criticism of liberals, fighting with them.  With this admin, more than any other, I think the best strategy is to contiue to move forward despite any obstacles they put up, obstacles are always there anyway.  Keep your eye on the ball and let them throw temper tantrums if they want.  If their tantrums hurt people protect them as best we can.

To those of you who say war can solve problems, even as a last resort, I say war, the build up to it, the preparation for it, and the psychological issues that motivate it  ARE the problem.  There is no solution that war can provide that peace can't and there is no level of peace that is unreachable without war.

My lonely motorcycle

My motorcycle scooter has a really good motor, 22,000 miles and it's still going strong.  It's a Honda, of course it's still working.  The plastic front is broken and would be falling off it weren't for the twisty ties holding it on to the dashboard. It's got the classic Honda Elite scooter look with the flat front that makes the dashboard look like someone holding their arms up to cover their face in shame. The tail lights and the rear break lights are out.  I don't know why and I've been meaning to fix them. It's hurting but knows it can still run and it just keeps going even though it needs help.  I just hope it doesn't crash and burn some day or, if it does, that it'll get rebuilt and will live the rest of it's life in better shape.
Last night I had a dream that I was sitting on an unfamiliar couch with my Mom who was curled up fast asleep in a sitting position with her feet propped up on the cushions.  Somehow she woke up and was slurring her speech not making much sense.  I told myself she was just groggy from being woken up in order to stifle the thought that she had been drinking again.  She claimed to be sober for almost 34 years even though I caught her in another dream which in this dream seemed like reality so i guess this was a continuation or recurrence of the same nightmare.  As she slurred her speech and couldn't really focus on me or anything the fear became stronger.  I thought, at 45 years old and her at 75 that this is just like when I was ten, when the person I loved and needed the most would trick me by having her physical self there right in front of me while completely disappearing.  I grabbed her water bottle and took a sip. It tasted like vodka.  How could you do this I said as I walked to the other side of the long still unfamiliar house to dump it out in the kitchen sink on the opposite side of the room some 40 ft away.  She realized what was going on and was making a failing, flailing attempt with her long skinny arms to defend and justify.  "How could it be that you're drinking again? This is the second time I've seen it and I don't even live with you."  I said crying from a distance.  Her head shook conveying the drunken "this is all fucked up" message and she bowed her head as her arms went up to cover her face and I looked at her as she turned into my lonely motorcycle.

Fabricating scaricty and generating violence

Why is that weeding is an endless job?  I have a garden that is growing and I can't keep up with the weeds, the invasives.  I need help, I recruit volunteers, we weed and it looks great for a while.  I'm happy cause the garden looks good, all clean, no weeds.  I tend to my garden and catch one of those nasty weeds popping up and get'em.  Then I leave for a couple weeks and come back and their all back even worse than before I recruited my volunteers, so I recruit some more.  One day, several years ago, I climbed to the top of the highest hill in Tijuana, El Cerro Colorado.  There were no people around and I looked at the plants, they were all native plants, no weeds.  How is that possible, I thought, no one weeds here?  How is that we spend hours and hours weeding my garden and never finish and yet here, there are no weeders and no weeds?

Why is it that stopping terrorists is a never ending job? If we have helicopteres and border walls and jet skis and armed guards with flack jackets and helmets and guns in vehicles that are stationed and roaming back and forth along a high speed corridor that cuts through the contours of a borderless sacred land.  Why is it that as the war on terror has created ever more sophisticated equipment to find and route out terrorists has increased so has terrorism?  Why is it that when I go to Mexico, they don't have this protection that hovers around open lands vigilant to any danger and yet there are no Islamic extremists or anyone wanting to bomb their sky scrapers?  Why are the only so-called terrorists in Mexico the ones who fight against the armed militia trained at the institute of the americas?  Why is it that the only time people terrorize other people in Mexico is when plan Mérida is implemented to create war machines to protect its people?


Why is it that when I plant brocoli, it grows and grows and when it's all out the leaves continue to grow and no matter how much a lady harvests for her children the leaves keep coming back, in fact the more she harvests, the more they come back?  Why is it that when there are fields of monoculture it some how is finite and runs out at the grocery store?  Could it be that we fabricate scaricty and generate violence?

Beach thought

If I had a ladder, I would lean it on the light of the stars, climb over the sea, and hang from the moon, glimmering in the night.

If I had a rope I would lasso the sun and climb up through an opening in the clouds to lay on the songs of birds.

If I were an indigenous plant, I would grow dark green in the shadow of a menacing barrier and reach through the lines of sunlit cracks to bloom yellow petals and a brown stigma on the other side.

If I were a kite, I would tie my string down to my mother's womb and soar above the divide to find myself in the sky.

If I could live as long as a rock, I would tell the story of how I burst out of middle earth in a fiery passion that lasted a human lifetime only to cool down, solidify, and observe millions of years of experiences that could only be explained in irrational dreams.

The dream that woke me up after the Trump election

The  first night trump was elected, I didn’t sleep at all and then I was in shock for two days. That 3rd night, I stayed at a friends house, Jim Hornsby.  He's a close left wing liberal friend and poet who lets me stay at his house in City Heights when I need it.  He was the first American I talked to about the election.  It was a relief to vent everything I was feeling and listen to someone with similar feelings.  I crashed sound asleep and woke up with back pain after a while like I often do.  I stretched and moved around for a bit and laid back down.  I closed my eyes and assimilated some of the days events that began to mix with symbols of my subconscious, the conversation with Jim, the election, street protests... riding my bicycle to a bar and having to fish something out from a space in the wall behind the bartender.  I met a girl and was just going along with whatever she wanted.  She was showing me up to her room on the ninth floor and as we turned off the stairs on the seventh floor for some kind of detour, I saw an old and well-known activist friend who I haven’t been able to communicate with lately round the stairs with two others helping him.  He turned his head and his face was pale, sickly, yellow-green and his eyes were unfocused.

The people rushed him up the stairs so fast I couldn’t say anything to him but I gasped, “What’s wrong with him?!?”  I chased after him but couldn’t find him.  I saw some of the people who were with him who said he had been driven away so I caught some type of public transportation van to follow him.  The van turned into a transport to take me and a young man to a particular destination.  We got there and it was exactly like somewhere I’d been before in Baja on the ocean but we were in California on the same ocean, standing on a brick balcony.  I looked out at the ocean and noticed it was quite tumultuous and a big black wave splashed up about 7 or 800 feet  off shore.  “What a weird storm.”  I commented to my young friend who was also starting notice and as I finished my sentence we both noticed these white clumsy mechanical boxes with tentacles flying around… “DRONES!” we both shouted as we realized they were dropping bombs and ran to opposite sides of the porch deck to take cover.  I was crouched down in an opening in the brick floor that had cover around it but not on top thinking I wasn't quite doing it right but strangely not caring too much.  I was thinking, not scared at all, ‘this is normal for a lot of people in countries that we bomb.’  After a long while the bombing stopped and we both came out unscathed and a group of young people walked up.  They were all people of color in their upper twenties early thirties.  They were as american as me or anyone in their speech and mannerisms but none were white.  They were asking each other what the bombing was about, why it happened and one of them asked, “Do you think it was because Trump just got elected?”
“Of course it was,” I butted in, “The world is reacting.”  
We walked over to a docking ramp made of the same brick the patio in general was made of and a very white man in camouflage military garb drove up the ramp from a cargo ship and started to speak to us in a language that sounded like Russian but was just a little different.  One of the youngsters knew the language and translated.  The soldier was nice and courteous and said we needed to follow him.  We walked along the brick board walk until we got to this really nice place.  It was like a resort but nicer and it seemed like people lived there, like they never left.  There was a young girl talking with some others standing by an olympic size pool, putting on her goggles and behind them was a huge sectioned off by glass walls dance club where people around the same age were having a great time.  I remember a guy who seemed kind of separated and a little nervous asking a girl to dance and her accepting and them having fun and thanking each other at the end.  I didn’t have much feeling or judgement about the place and was just kind of hanging out.  Some Asian women came up to me and one of them started massaging my foot where I have an old injury that bugs me sometimes.  It felt really good and after a few minutes she stopped and showed me a piece of paper with a list of time periods how much each costs and then it hit me, this is a scam.  “No I don’t want this…” I told her in an almost offended tone.  I walked away and leaned over to grab something from a couch and felt this sharp needle in my butt.  I stood and turned and saw a guy with the needle in his hand.  I started to feel woozy and thought I was about to pass out but still had my wits about me somewhat.  
I can’t remember what I said or if I just gave him an annoyed look.
“Here is the list of what each dosis costs,” showing me a list similar to the one the foot masseuse showed me.
“Get out of here, what the hell are you doing?”  my adrenaline overpowering the drowsiness, my tone, my attitude, and even my accent going back to my New York roots.
“Well, you don’t have to buy any if you don’t want to.”
I got the same feeling I get when I deal with Border Patrol how they manipulate the situation to try to paint me as the aggressor.
“What do you mean I don’t have to, you just shot me in the ass…” I turned my back and waved him away, “Get the fuck outta here.”  

Light came in the window and woke me from the dream.