There Is Still Here

I think a lot about life as if I've lived several already. Like my past can be segmented into "past lives", beginning and end not tallied by birth and death but by events that I deem metamorphic. The logical tenant that occupies my head space warns that these events only seem important and the journey is much more congruent than I like to admit. In other words, your dead selves are always in tow.

When two of my best friends decided to collaborate on art project concerning text they brought this little poem out that I wrote a long time ago. "This poem will be the text", they said. "ummm, OK, rad."

There Is Still Here
There is still here because I still have burns and scars and tattoos from there and they're here. I still have cuts and tattoos and burns and burns from lighters that Aaron gave me in Lori's bedroom.


one of my old lives

American Gothic

Playa Vista Style...


This was the prelude to a grey-haired, wife beater-clad, gentleman chasing us from the basketball court of the Playa Vista planned community.

"You woke up my kid and I'm going to take your head off", he yelled as he swung his condo-sized garden implement.

"Fuck, how old is your kid, you old fart; 30?" , I thought as I jogged backwards away from my geriatric attacker. "I'll be back for you", I prophesied, and I meant it.

He scared Steffi badly, and for that he must pay. After all, IT WAS JUST SOME FUCKIN' MORTARS AND A COUPLE MAXIMUM THRUST.


This was our pre-4th trunk-stash. I still possess around 40% of the load

a long drive home

and before I quite reached home a stopped and did something I haven't done in many years, since I lived in the desert. I pulled into 7-11, took a 32oz cup filled it half way Dr.Pepper and filled the rest with Mexico's favorite rice beverage; horchata.

That's right, horchata -pepper. or whorechata due to the bastardly nature from which thine hydrib hath sprung.

Haiku

Because you said that you like it when i write about you



My Dope mans grew mold
Nike Swoosh frowns on New York
No kicks since you left


Authors note: The photo of my moldy Cortezes featured above is real. I keep all of my slippers in plastic shoes boxes, this makes them easy to sort and stack. I've done this for along time without discovering live cultures living in my kicks. All of the sudden I pull my dope mans out to complete the perfect gangsta-cas(ual)-mac outfit and, voila, a fucking 5th grade science fair 3rd prize winner.

old friends

I used to ask to copy your algebra homework before class.

...I was totally asking for the wrong favor.

Things I Like

If Luxey can do a Things I Like entry, so can The Kid.
Here are just a few of the Things I Like...

1. Dodgers Fitted Caps


2. Accomplishing Goals


3. Ginger Stuff


4. Books from The 70s about Metaphysics


5. Baby Girls


6. Hearts and Arrows

I gotta bitch named Kesha

In the age old tradition of grand Hip Hop sex joints...

Because you need a little persuasion. Plus, you need a little ventilation.

It was the Summer and we listened to all the Summer hits on the radio. Now, the night comes much earlier and I have been conditioned to believe that all of the radio jams are about you.

So, I started listening to the classics...


They were about you, as well. Then I remembered where I first heard that melody; it was 1996...


Good 'ol Wu Tang. I haven't yet figured out how their shit is about you.

late last night I heard the screen door slam

I wasn’t more than 15 when Joni Mitchell first convinced me that you don’t know what you got ‘till it’s gone. It’s a lesson in temperance.

Here I am, 15 years later, paving paradise to put up a parking lot.

I suppose ample parking is important. Plus, who needs trees when you can visit a tree museum. I have a buck and a half, anyway.

Searching for my Baby Mama

It’s apparent that I’m a magnet for motherfuckers lost photographs. Wherever I tread I seem to discover snapshots of people that are perfect strangers. Strangers, that is, until the moment my hand touches the photos and I get stuck; Obsessed with the unanswerable...

Who are they?

Where are they?

How did they lose their precious Disneyland flicks at the Valero petrol station on 4th street and Alameda?

This photographic find was special, however. Look mi ruca in the eyes and explain to me how you don’t fall in heart with her. For real, please explain!! Your boy is starting to lose sleep on this one.

I’m on some L-Boogie: Loving girl is like a song I replay every 3 minutes and 30 seconds of every day!

And all we really know about her man is that he

A) Spotted for some Disneyland tix, and

B) Dude likes to wear different silly hats

Dear girl in the flicks,

If were your man I wouldn’t have to floss with different types of pirate hats because I’d be wearing YOU like a hat…that’s what I call rocking LA above the brim. I also vow that you wouldn’t have to eat dinner in Anacrime again, unless your tia lives out there or some shit.

Xo,
RL

My friend told me that I shouldn't fall so hard in like with all these Latin broads cause they turn into gummy bears after 30…WHAT??!!?

I’ll worry about that when that shit come to fruition. Right now, I bow before the alter of my Mexican Mami’s. Puro La Raza!! Puro La Rojo por siempre!!