Background Image | Imagen al fondo

(Background Image | Imagen al fondo)

other portals

Tuesday, June 30, 2015

8 and a half

para Caty


The tendency of the day's frustration and Franklin's tendency to indignation were equally one-sided. Thoughts impregnated his mind. Mental explosion was on the Horizon and would potentially go public. The vague statement "mental breakdown" was on the verge of being applied to the vocabulary of all the individuals that were around him. Franklin saw his reflection in the sign of the underground, which was being distracted by the graffiti on it, and this confirmed his self image of mediocrity; both in appearance and viscerally. This particular Tuesday pushed him to a blazing indignation, or frustration. To Franklin, an obnoxious nuance exists between frustration and indignation. A fog on the road that cloaks the avenue in the morning. The fog and it's degree of thickness depends on the company that Franklin holds, his location in the city, the time of day, the climate, and the substances that transit his blood stream. Many people in the streets of Buenos Aires argue, and weakly believe, that circumstances also define the moods and emotion. Consequently, this molds a persons compatibility to society, their ability of using underground transit, their willingness to restaurant dining, or their expedience while waiting on a train. Of course, these circumstances are interrelated with other factors and subsequently enhanced and diminished by other factors, still. For instance, Franklin sees billboards, reads headlines of the free newspaper handouts, and listens to conversations of other passengers. These factors lead him to absorb the moments differently. He lives blind to the difference between frustration and indignation which deems him a precarious being and marginal, at best, to society. On this Tuesday, there is no difference at all, was the phrase that he continuously murmured to his inner being. The first murmur was completed before he exited his pension near the corner of Culpina and the Avenida Eva Perón. This behavior of his is not particular to Tuesdays, nor its consequences, nor the ethereal fog. During Franklin's murmur spells, trains pass him and undergrounds reach their destinations. He sweats out the last inklings of any substance in his body while the fog lifts and settles again. Billboards blur and restaurants empty and their lights dim. At the end, everyone goes home to their inner lairs. In rambunctious unison his murmurs, these events, and his thoughts (which are not legible nor writable) struggle for life. A dying lightbulb flickering its last beam of light to proclaim existence. His head fills with noise and static. The static and noise drone in unison and capture his murmurs of there is no difference at all. Interesting enough, the transmissions of his thoughts intertwine with this murmur. It emits a similar smell to that of wet earth. Audibly they harmonize on perfect pitch to the brakes of the underground as it arrives at the Plaza Virreyes station. The composition and performance merits a recording. The moment can be experienced in its fullness by any attentive being. Find Franklin and go on the underground with him. Or go alone, beginning at the Bolívar  station and ending in Plaza Virreyes via the E line in Buenos Aires. Or vice versa. Or start at Primera Junta, whichever. On this Tuesday and on this ride, the lull in time that Franklin experienced added a chorus to the murmurs being backed by the transmission of thought for Franklin. This recognized a minuscule and nonexistent difference between frustration and indignation. The beauty of the murmur and Franklin's transmissions, perceived in smell, sound (and touch), is that differences become obsolete. The bearings of balance declare a presence that is consumed universally by all transitory members of the underground; a portal of sorts. Franklin on this particular Tuesday, possibly entering this portal, had no notion of presence, of existence, of location, of participation, and crashed into a convenient disturbance.  The murmission of Franklin summoned it and opened dialogue with it. A certain duality of indignation and frustration elevated this murmission and suspended it in the dark tunnels of the underground to declare its importance. The suspension culminated in an invisible implosion. Fortunately for Franklin, the tendency concluded in its familiar and mundane transit on the underground. When the sunlight graced his skin again he was acutely reminded how the world is plagued with tendency.

Tuesday, June 16, 2015

The Virgin Villanelle _ May 27th, 2015

I went to sleep again last night, as I do most,
suspending our words above our heads.
The bed has no head board nor a left post.

The window and the river beckons the coast,
illuminated by ferry lights, uniting our beds.
I went to sleep again last night, as I do most.

The calmer and simple talk, dreams boast.
Blur and forgotten faces are the day's shreds.
The bed has no head board, nor a left post.

Dawn collides with the meek smell of toast.
The duo barge and transit vessel treads.
I went to sleep again last night, as I do most.

Sheets weigh on my breast like anonymous host.
She exists in three rooms, or three heads.
The bed has no head board, nor a left post.

The trinity exits the apartment and my head leads a roast.
I Meticulously fold the weights just before I take my Meds.
I went to sleep again last night, as I do most.
The bed has no head board, nor a left post.