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Aug. 22nd, 2010

Tme for DC

Time to go to DC.

Aug. 19th, 2010

el viento soplando...

...los pastos antes de la lluvia.

Io conozco la morte...

Lei ed Io siamo lo stesso.

Jul. 29th, 2010

(no subject)

I'll be between DC and Atlanta for the next month.


My friend Mina was killed ten years ago, the anniversary of her death was this past week. It's amazing the memories that one can supress out of the sheer terror of remembering losing somebody close. It reminds you how important it is to value the lives of those you still have left. Especially those who think you've forgotten. The ones who have gone so far away from our manic star.

Jul. 27th, 2010

Mina Amada


On this anniversary of your departure I still think of you.

In your memory I keep your candela, your ambassador this eve.

I think of us, and the foolish dreams of our shared adolescence.

Together we discovered each other and in turn ourselves.

Everything that we shared now lies beneath that solitary tree en el viejo barrio, the oasis in Miami.

I will forever see you: in my ocean, in shattered mirrors, in broken dreams...

You crossed the river taking with you everything that we were, everything that I was then.

A decade later, I've not forgotten. Nor shall I ever.

For I will always remember, that was the day that I fell painfully in love with death.

This is who I am now.

Una Caricia, Un Amor, Una Eternidad...

Jul. 26th, 2010

New Post on BTB

Check out my latest post on Belowthebelt.org


BELOW THE BELT: Sex & Androgyny
Below the Belt is a multi-faceted genderblog designed to provide a space for informed, critical commentary about gender, sex, sexuality.

Jul. 25th, 2010

Camille Saint Saens - Le Danse Macabre

Imagine yourself on a dark November night, walking along the rural dirt roads of 19th century France. You traverse this desolate path, visible to you only courtesy of whatever scant moon light from behind the shadows of the highway foliage. Suddenly, you're struck by a peculiar sound. You hear the faint sound of a fiddle playing just beyond the hill that lies ahead. Hesitantly, but without a lack of intrigue, you quicken your pace to discover the source of this peculiar instrumentation. Each step brings you closer to the moon above. Once you reach the pinnacle of the hill's height, the moonlight betrays the darkness of the terrain below. There the fiddle can be heard clearly. It plays a sinister melody which pierces chillingly down your spine. You're right to be disturbed by this haunting serenade, for its progenitor is none other than the supreme demon himself. He glows beneath the moonlight playing his fiddle, summoning the bodies of dearly beloveds centuries old. With every stroke of his bow he commands his morbid apostles to dance in a grotesque display of black veneration. This is the beauty and entrancing mystique of Camille Saint Saens' classical masterpiece: Le Danse Macabre.


Jul. 22nd, 2010

Nicolai Rimsky-Korsakov's The Sea & Sinbad's Ship

The Russian Romantics, of which Korsakov is part, were a notable inspiration to french impressionists such as Ravel and Debussy. This piece has become iconic to me as of late. Its sweet melancholy sound dually countered by amazingly epic crescendos is a powerful omen to the battles that lie ahead.

Jul. 21st, 2010

Leopard's Cry

A new chapter has yet again come to pass.

I have traversed the expanse of the western land. Walking its deserts. Out here, my lifelong enemy smiles upon me. I have nowhere to hide, not that I would. Enemies forge a beautiful bond, one which is thoroughly under appreciated. The fire feeds me. It inflames me with feelings. To feel-if only to feel the fire's scorch. It is at least one constance in my life.

The diviner has chosen me. She chose me to reveal my true self. She chooses her lover and does so with caution and purpose. Just as quickly as she takes you into her violet abode she casts you aside. She is in control-always in control of the vision. I am patient now, for I have seen what I was meant to see. A new path. A new course.

The diviner's torch shed a new light on my reflection. Peering below, upon the water's skin, beneath the torch's light shone the face of a leopard. In my hallucinogenic haze I gazed into what was revealed as my new form. A form which defines a new identity and a new life.

This leopard now looks again towards the rising sun. The lifetimes I've lived in the deserts, the tundras, the prairies...they're behind me. No regrets, just memories. If there is one constance between my many forms, my many lives, it is change itself. Like a living river I must never fall into stagnation. This is my life. This is my constance: my purpose. Every love, every experience, every place will become permanently infused in my core.

The moon. The stars. The earth. They, like myself, are constantly in flux, it is in our nature. They are my comrades in this greater lifetime. Beyond that nobody knows, not even the diviner.

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