The Dance of the Seven Grapefruits

Life is now like a dream. It comes and goes in chunks. Maybe it’s better that way. Love is like that too. Friends , lovers, they come and go in pieces. Don’t get too close or get as close as you can and than it slips away like through a sieve. Some of them are like nice little corners to nestle into. Others come in and out and fade but always with the promise of returning. You can never depend on life and yet you can always depend on it to bring up that marking points, again and again.
Momentos pasa y seguimos. Mucho dolor y pasa, mucho felicidad, ecstacy and it’s all gone. No tienes que correr por un otro lado, tu vida te persigue. Te pesigue por un beso. Yo quiero un beso del pasado. Como un trago del amour de mis padres que los tenieron para empesarcen conmigo y ahora es como un tumbo de gran castillos ancianos. Yo quiero este beso de ti mi amigo mi amor por un momento. Sintimos el pasado dentro nuestro cuerpos. Preguntamos si nos tenemos nuestros secretos guardados como secretos internacionales. Que tengo dentro de mis piernas. Si yo tengo el hambre que pasaste a veces del ninez. Por esto segiues de afuera de mis calzonsillos, no preguntaste si podes por el harto que tienes al injusticia del hambre esto. ?Piensas que no tuvo mucho hambre. No? Una vez paso los dias sin comida por el hambre phycologicamente que tuvo. Mucho confusion. Ahora tambien yo rescate mi vida desde los sinizas del poder del un pais con capitalismo corriendo en la sangre de los venas de un cuerpo llena de tiera fertile que fue violada desde epocas. Que tienes afuera, si te cobra tu cuerpo todos tus piernes enternas tus brazos que me tocan tu boca con el sabor de hashish y de la diente podrido, tu pelo medio corto sucio pero sin piojos, possible con olor de gata vieja. Si te consumen como arana puedo melt el hielo del primer mundo. Que nos ensenan de olvidar el pasadao. Si puedo encontrar en tus brazos como salvarme del final y de la gran final o encontrar mi hijo que nunco tuvo el tiempo de nacir en su propio pais o conocer su jente tradicional. Cuando los tradiciones te salgan como risas y se desaparecen como un burp. Tuvimos un momento de descanso cuando tu reconosiste que yo no queria el sexo y tuviste que aliviarte en el bano. Como puedo allieviarme todovia mi cuerpo esta mojado y saturado con sed. A veces tienes los pedasos materials que se recuerden un sentimiento por vos. Que no puedes sentir en cada momento. Que puedes preserve, atrapandolo, un sabor, un recuerdo del olor. Olor como d-olor. Seguimos, seguimos and we keep going, se pasa se pasa. Estoy excavating yours, are they salty, are thay the same please say they are the same. How are they different how do you already know me like my father. Are you lost too? How can I find you?
It’s amazing to see sometimes the people who hold on and the years hold on to them. Like at the mouth of a river and the sediments grasp o to each other like little landmasses that form refusing for as long as they can to fall into the ocean. The pains bubble around them like greasy sea foam. Something memorable might be like a seed that grabs hold and pulls growing roots. And your wife goes on many vacations while you stay at home trying to paint on the weekends, on all the hours they don’t take away from you by making you work for benefits, por el priviligio. The years collect and they are very different now compared to your 1950’s college yearbook. Very American, though the Heros have grown old and broken down, the love affairs have dwindled. Or those that live Like that dictatorship never happened and you didn’t have to by those fake papers to get out in one physical piece while your life floats by in pieces. You lost your friends to the moments you were being tortured in jail. You spend the years collecting them either in writings nobody reads while your wife works now for the world bank or you die slowly in the mountains waiting for the support of your revolution but that never happens. Your kids grow up and visit you once a year. Vividly they watch you like a ghost of who you once were. Or you move on where work might offer you a better wage. The ideals of society more easily acceseble? WE need money to keep breathing right.
Dammit, queiro tocarme como antes.
?Cuando no puedes controlar el mundo te puedes controla tu propio querpo no? Great urges to take me there and to take you with me. Great boundaryless spaces like jerking off your in the back seat under the covers while your mother drives. Who cares about her anyways. She took half your life anyways just trying to fix hers. Maybe her mother did that too, before… to her. Maybe that’s why she wants her house to look like her deceased mothers. The woman before her who stubbornly wouldn’t listen to los remedies while she was painfully dying. Wretching up the bowels of todo lo que sufrio. My mother though, she lives there alone. That she wishes they would just come they will just come to me right? God tells us so. We only have to be good enough. A man two kids they will go to college own there own house and their two kids and…..I just have to pray and pray……This is a sanctuary, from the life I’ve lead they won’t lead that no they couldn’t. Life is lead by and by time goes and we are not in control always it seems those things come in waves do they choke us with love and ecstasy or drown us in d-olor..
a poema from the performance of The Dance of the Seven Grapefruits