espero curarme de ti en unos dias...

When I first began to put this video together I thought it would be a fun little project - but as the hours past and I found myself editing audio files and formating and rendering video... I wondered if it was worth all the trouble, when there are other things I could (should) be doing... I hope you enjoy it...

A mask to hide behind

pastel on paper

She walks in beauty...

Amanda's Rose

If it was in a dream the first time that I saw you
I can’t believe I let you slip away
I recall the many ways I loved you
In vain I lost you in the light of day
I remember when they hanged me for being a pirate
In a crowd I found your eyes
And the angel that could have saved me
Was drowning in the tears you cried
I went off to save the thrown of my king
Next to my heart the letter I meant to send
A jagged blade pierced my skin - my soul did bleed
But I cried because I lost you again

I can hear the sound of wild horse charging
across the battle fields of Mexico
I can hear your voice whispering sadly
Begging me to stay and never go
In front of a firing squad
I was trying to be brave and strong
A bullet killed another dream and
once again you were gone
How many times have I lost you
How many times will this heart break
How many lives must I go through
How much more do you think I can take

(photograph - Amanda Vasquez)

The nights we danced at the Havana Club

We were nowhere near Havana. No, we were on the pacific coast of Mexico twenty miles out of Acapulco on a private vessel called Indigo Cloud I was just a boy and our family was on holiday enjoying the sea on board this magnificent yacht... that may have been the point when I fell in love with boats, but certainly not the point when I fell in love with the sea... no, I fell in love with the sea the first time I saw a photograph of endless waters falling off the edge of the world... and it was not the point when I fell in love with women... that happened long before her... but she was beautiful and she would be the one I would compare all other women to - until "E" came along and brought me to my knees... This girl was sixteen years old - Gabriella was her name and she had sad eyes the color of amber... or was it gold? Her skin was kissed by the sun and she smelled of coconut oil, to this day every time I smell coconut I get lost in dreams of her. Her mother was from Chile and Gabriella had inherited that sweet accent that God blessed the Chilean people with - that their words come out almost as if they were being sung... and she laughed at everything even though she carried a natural sadness in her eyes that made her look as if she was about to break down and cry. Her lips were full and I wondered if they tasted like plum... or strawberry... and far away from Cuba we would sit around on the deck of the Indigo Cloud listening to her father's collection of records by Tito Puente and Celia Cruz... when we tired of listening to Menudo... I would watch her in the sun... as she rubbed that coconut oil on her body and stretch out those long skinny legs that she could use to dangle into the sea and stroke the backs of a dolphin with...Aquatine... was the secret name I gave her... Aquatine.  In the evening after supper the adults and the children would all gather in the main saloon for drinks and games. The Adults would have their Tom Collins and Gin with Tonic and play card games and the kids would listed to more music and dance... and if we were lucky... sneak in a couple of Tom Collins of our own... That was a good summer - before my family moved to that God forsaken waste land of the South West called Odessa... but I will never forget the nights we danced in the main saloon of the Indigo Cloud which they called "The Havana Club".

My dearest...

I am becoming a slave to your letters. My pulse races every time I see that I have a letter from you on my computer. I shut off the telephone and ignore the world around me for the few minutes I take to read them slowly, trying to imagine your voice with every word.

I want to open myself up for you and let you know every thing there is to know about me, but the details of my life are more than I can put into words in a letter for you to know who I really am... so if you have any questions you wish to ask me about my life - I will answer them for you openly and honestly.

I hope you know by now that I am not as serious and dark as I make myself out to be - I can also be quite silly at times... you’ve seen that... I like making you laugh. You are way to serious... If I promise to make you laugh more... do you promise to lighten up a little when I am not around? If I promise to think less... will you promise to sing to me more... the way you do some times at night when you try to distract yourself from those strange random thoughts that wandered into your mind from some other realm where angels and devils throw snowballs at each other laced with kisses and sighs and teardrops from eyes that fell in love at first sight... I get them too... they come in from the window... fallen from butterfly wings... You don’t have to sing... you could hum a gentle tune of your own design... and let the last note linger in the air like a whisper that gets lost on its way to the moon... distracted by the smell of the sea. If I promise to respond to your letters quicker and more often... will you promise to leave fragments of poetry, signed with your kiss, scattered about the city where those who hunger for love can find them and save them in little tin boxes for nights when God may be tending to his children on the other side of the universe... If I promise not to be so mysterious... do you promise not to push me into a conversation I do not want to have... and let us sit in silence... lost in the rhythm of the breath we take in and out... lost in the tempo of our hearts beating in the low light of the this computer screen... lost in the crescendo of the rising lust... you inspire...

“Do you believe in love at first sight?” you asked - I believe in destiny... I believe in lust... I believe in desire... and hunger... and the passion and the pain... and the moonlight and the rain... I believe in dreams and that angels scheme to make it harder for me to prove myself to my God... I believe... somewhere in the night the devil believes he will be redeemed if he helps a scoundrel like me find love... but I suppose I can be persuaded to believe in love at first sight... or something close to it...

I dreamed of you a few nights ago - There was a storm and I had laid down by an open window to listen to the rain fall and I had fallen asleep. In the dream I was back in Chicago walking down State Street, I was looking for a book store to buy some maps - but I don’t know why, had I planned a trip to Moscow... or Budapest? Suddenly it started to shower and as my luck always plays games with me the faster I walk the herder it falls - I was wearing my rain coat but I had no umbrella... I was drenched by the rain... through the chaos and storm I spied a coffee house on a crowded corner floating above the shoulders of those mindless conformist that laugh at mad men wrapped in cardboard boxes shouting that Jesus saves to the world... I made my way to it to get some hot tea and dry up a little and wait for the rain to subside. Sitting in the café, listening for a familiar rhythm in the storm outside... a song or a poem I may have misplaced in some far away bordello in Buenos Aires or Monte Video... perhaps finding its way back to me... I took out my journal from my rain coat and began to write you a letter... when you sat down beside me... I was surprised to see you... but you did not know who I was... we began a conversation and you told me you had come to Chicago to look for - censored - you described me and told me everything you knew about me... you spoke of me with tenderness and affection... I wanted to let you know that I was - censored - and that I was the one you were looking for... I was sitting right in front of you ... but you were in such a hurry to find me that you left as suddenly as you had arrived... I watched you walk out into the storm... like a ship that surrenders itself to the tide I watched you float out of sight... I felt a little empty inside, but I shook my head smiling - the way I do when I dismiss that little voice inside my head that tries to whisper the secrets of the universe to me when I am in the middle of a conversation with men much smarter than I...

As I write this letter it is raining outside... I do not know if this is the letter I want to send you... I have spent most of the day answering letters that should have been answered long ago... I still have to write eMi and Dutch, and I have to call Carlos... about that thing in that place with the guy... or perhaps I’ll just sit here in the light glow of this computer screen and listen to the rain fall... and try to find a familiar rhythm... a song or poem I may have misplace in some far away massage parlor in Hong Kong or Singapore... I will read your letter once more before I lay down to rest and dream of you in your city by the sea... are you thinking of me? Are you vandalizing the margins of history books in libraries and bookstores with dramatic endings that consist of men that look like Captain Rhett Butler taking some haughty princes in his arms and consuming her with desire before he sails off to conquer more lands filled with gold for a king that does not deserve to be one... are you tearing out pages from poetry books and placing them in travel books with ripped out pictures from girly magazines? Are you walking down the beach tossing the shells you collected back into the sea? Are you sitting in the lounge of some hotel with a bottle of bourbon or scotch, hiding words of passion and lust in a letter for someone across the sea... if by chance... it could be for me...