What you know

Why do you wish for sweet tomorrows when right now is passed away into yesterday. Today’s news is recycled thrown like periodicos de ayer, a spun record round like discoball sparkling. Celebrations of degradation reputation must come through resume of greatness. So tired of fake shit nowadays hard to find anything sacred. You hide hurt like out in the open. Levitations of elevations for momentary gain leaves tear trails where memories remain. Salutations for everyone slain, parts of yourself wither quicker than rose petals in sun. You used to run with your hair whipping in the acidic breeze like waves on moontide. Now you slide into sessions confidence a lonely weapon against turbulent terrorism. Profession of love a possession constantly seeking perfection – but all the above added up means you still broke. Still hope for future visions of riches leftover with only revenge in vicious frigid dishes.
You step off the curb and it feels like you dropped into the neverending hole in the neverending story. Foreigners surround you and calibrate the kink in each one of your curls. They offer to give you a makeover that is 120 percent guaranteed to make you love yourself. You respectfully decline but not before carefully considering their option, after all your self esteem is in short supply. Thus the demand on your depression has been at record levels causing your mental markets to vacillate between bear and bull when the whole time, it has felt like an African lion, well respected in person, but disrespected and endangered when it’s back was turned.
Next snapshot is a barbed wire fenced in concert of your least favorite reggaeton artists, Mack y Donna, cantando their latest exito, “Damelo Duro.” The strobelights and smoke machines have both blinded and suffocated you and between blinks you see images of masters whipping their slaves with Hype Williams cinematography as the victims mouth Duro along to the beat. Your screams of horror are misconstrued as cheers of support when the manager leans over and whisper screams into your ear, I know you feeling this hot shit right?
You do a lambada Macarena on the Mun2 dancing contest. The crowd goes wild praising your artistic genius one second then decrying your offensive rhythm throwing D batteries at you. The scene shifts you are the crossover movie star of the blockbuster Ole Toro! An aristocratic Mexican trapped by bullfighters forced to fight his way out the barrio Gladiator style swashbuckling battling the commie pigs. You are appalled at your own success but not enough to dissuade you from signing on for merchandising and sequels for the next ten years. This has lead to your endorsement and by default, becoming the Latino Spokesman for Bush the 42nd reelection in 3009. Performing this crucial Uncle Tom role ensures the future domination of your family’s family’s families for millennia to come.
Smiling bittersweet, you grin and whisper, you live and learn. This exact saying was what guided your mother during her romantic genocide with your father. You consider the irony in the situation especially since you have painted misogyny by the numbers in your own relationship soon destined to perish under all this ancestral weight. You chuckle at all the broken hearts in the world and cry at how shattered your own is. Those tears drop like acid in your palms softly stinging your skin.
Relic Rebel

This the rain. This the fire. This sunshine blinds.
This stale breeze. This thunder. This frightened lightning.
This unimaginative impulse. This longing for intimacy denied.
This dragging of self. This unrecognized pain masking as joy. This heart
Dripping like squeezed produce. This bouncing off redemption rebellion
As last rites. This fixed fate. This destiny doomed. This awakening. This life.

word up son despierta

Word Up son despierta

There is a schism in your soul
Somewhere lurking behind your confidence
Dark depression is waiting around the corner
Wanting your security to slip
Paid minimum wage and no attention
Inspiration been getting bored at the job
Wanting to take a permanent vacation
Perhaps relocate with a more community
Minded brother with more dedication
To his craft which has so much potential
But there he goes out the door about to run
Down the same streets so many done got
Gold medals in ghetto forgetting nothing
Remembering everything that don’t mean
Something so much of the world depends on
Perception which you been lacking lately
Did I mean perspective either way adds up
To the sum of zero gain faulty assumption
Shaky planning leaves you standing in rain
Palms full of tears god has cried on your behalf
You won’t get anymore blessings
He has done lost too much sleep too much hair
Too many wrinkles mad back pain pacing back
And forth trying to figure out your destiny
Not an easy dude to work with you know
So damn stubborn want things your way
Like just you gonna get out the hood
Just you want freedom just you want love
These are elemental human desires pa
Everyone around you is scrapping scraping
As much if not more and here you are
Bended knee old crucifix hands together
Prayer like the next poem you wish you could
Write your way into heaven hustle the doorman
For free admission and perhaps if he feeling cool
A free drink longing for the trip to the final resting
Will be comfy cozy easy even cono pana
I won’t try to g you or gas you
Your voice about to leave you
If you lucky you might catch her
Receive pity break up sex
before she gets on that bus
Outta town to parts unknown

08 reflections

life is bueno mi gente....

for those who don't know I'm engaged! god bless her for saying yes.

I've still been writing every day...some exclusive fire about to premiere right here....

I've still been teaching everyday....so if i can't make it to your poetry reading please don't be mad. That other writer may be cool but Ant love the kids!!!

Big ups to Gabe and the CEPA family showing mad love....

Shout outs to the Acentos crew, my Urbintel peoples, and all my family across the city who hold me down.....

gente, i'm now a sports columnist at miapogeo.com please check it out and support!!! here goes some of the new columns below.

pa'lante siempre pana....holla at me.

mi apogeo.com new article

#1 Sports Heckler Otra Vez

Well, well, well. All that glitters ain’t golden. Just ask Oscar De La Hoya. Golden Boy was destroyed by Manny Pacquiao who came up in weight to pummel his opponent. I have never seen Oscar look so lost so dazed so confused. His face looked like a piƱata, his will sucked away by a much more hungry fighter. Give it up, nino de oro. Oscar told Freddie Roach, his former trainer, “You’re right, Freddie. I don’t have it anymore.” Epiphanies pop into your brain after having your ass handed to you. Like it is easier to sit back and promote overpriced fights than actually being inside the ring. I’m sure after the 45 punches Oscar absorbed during the 7th round, he was mentally doing the Macarena on the beach, far from the abuse he was receiving. A beat down can make you realize many things. Mike Tyson wanted to eat Lennox Lewis’ kids alive, but after the fight he praised how much he loves Lewis’ moms. An uppercut will turn on the light bulbs.
Speaking of flashing lights, CC Sabathia is about to sign the largest pitching contract in baseball history for the New York Yankees. While I’m usually behind any move the Bombers make, I think we overpaid for the Brown Behemoth. I hope I stand corrected. But why give a guy even more money to come play somewhere he didn’t want to go? I’m sure the extra 21 million dollars provided some incentive to motivate the West Coast product out east to withstand the storm of the media frenzy. All my concerns aside, he is a Cy Young winner and carried the Brewers to the playoffs so I hope that success translates in the Big Apple. The histories of big money pitchers are not too sweet, but let’s hope and pray for the Taxpayer Titans.
With that, I hope that you don’t get knocked out, and you too can purchase your own free agent along with your newly funded stadium for whatever price you like. Happy Holidaze!!!

mi apogeo.com

#1 Sports Heckler in the Twilight Zone

“The ones who want it don’t ever get it….the ones who have it don’t even want it.”
-El Puente Academy students on the American Dream

Seems strange the above enlightenment coming form the youth. When we look at the American Dream, sad but true so many youth of color only see athletes or entertainers. Now when the youth became superstars, they don’t leave their young ways behind. The prime examples of old models, not role models are Plaxico Burress and Stephon Marbury.
First Plaxico. An incredible talent with a history making catch in the Super Bowl last year, Burress wore out his welcome by missing practice earlier this year but put the icing on the cake by pulling a Cheddar Bob in 8 Mile, shooting himself in the right thigh. That was the most expensive bullet in NFL history because it cost him the remainder of his contract (27 million plus dollars) and the rest of his season. He put the Giants’ season of dreams in jeopardy by removing a key player who could have helped them repeat as Super Bowl champs. Now I understand the necessity of packing heat being a millionare target, but it was wrong place, wrong time and self inflicted. I could see if he got shot by someone else, heaven forbid. But he harmed himself and made Plaxico Burress the center of attention. There is no I in team, but certainly one in ignorant. Cono, Plax you should have stayed home and watched Rudy on demand.
Speaking of staying home, Stephon Marbury has been excommunicated from the New York Knicks. Donnie Walsh has banned him from the team for refusing to play in two games. Steph was once loved, admiered, and idolized in the streets of New York. A city legend from Coney Island, he was one of the best point guards ever to grace a playground. He has now turned into a nightmare for Knicks fans. He has put himself above his hometown team and he’s not even playing. A nut on and off the court, his bugged out behavior has alienated his longtime hardcore supporters (myself included). From Isiah’s trial to Bruce Beck’s Miked Up (youtube it), to his lack of trust in D’Antoni, to almost being knocked out by Quentin Richardson and Kurt Thomas, Marbury’s star is buried. The best thing he got going for him are the Starbury Steve and Barry sneakers for record sale prices. I’m going to get me a pair today, not to support Steph, but because I love cheap kicks. I also love my students, who know that these American Dreams we are being sold, are never worth buying.