Tonight, my favorite song is ‘Dont stop believing’ by Journey. In the guitar strings is our experience in this dark of the night. Rainy metro city
concrete floors, concrete walls. Dark nights, cloudy days, spans of loneliness that lasts months on end. You’ve become an American boy, more than I’ve ever become an American girl.
As immigrants, we feel like the dwelling rats that run here and there, between buildings, trying to live
Your brunet hair and your pale skin, but your name… you’ve swiveled into this system like a lover who’s climbed into his beloved’s bedroom up high. While I stand out here, hanging onto the railing of a fast running subway.
Maybe it’s been a rough ride for you too at one point, but you’re the king of the coup right now. You’ve got cars, wealth, and chicks line up by your door. Like most immigrants here, we got backup assets, and the attitude, the struggle, the undying restlessness
to steer us upwards. Like you, I’ve become successful in my own light. I’m the queen in demise.
We’re stuck here; somewhat. Not just in our successes;
but in this place.
We’re like concrete flowers. Maybe you don’t see it that way, but I do.
Because you can try to immerse with your pale skin
but your name will always be different and I
I got both things against me.
Can’t relate to you but I can.
Can’t find a home; in you I see it somewhat.
Take this little bit of hope I hold, and smear it
through the walls of this city.
Can you do that? I’m so tirelessly alone in this downfall, but here I am traveling the world
and in every place I go, I tell them where I’m from and what I’m representing
this rat world that I hated
that’s become our stance to the rest
we conquered this dump and raised a flag over it
we own it, my love, me and you
rat king and rat queen
I only love this place because of your existence
I only feel proud of this place because of our rough time in it
concrete walls, undercovers in the dark of the night
an electric city underneath the clouds
your colorful trace
your intoxicating scent
your window reflections in all of it.
Hmmm, the tree leaf buds are growing. It makes the tree less stick-like and it’s starting to look more complex. The northern hemisphere of the earth is warming due to the earth’s tilt to the sun around this time. The air is chilly, but the ground is inevitably warm, so the plants are adapting and flourishing. Just in a matter of days, the leaves will come out and the plants will be in full bloom. It doesn’t take much to adapt to warmth and light. Just in a few more days the animals will be out and hopping about more; the bears will stop hibernating; squirrels, done sleeping. They’ll be so happy. They’ll feel alive again and start making offspring. We ourselves lose lives in the winter time by staying indoors.
Life is short for mammals in the north. Like bears for example, if they’re eighty years old, technically they’ve only lived for forty years because half of their lives have been spent hibernating. Damn that’s a lot. If you want to live more, move to a warmer climate. Problem solved. My goal is to live in a warm climate.
Soak it all in, and trap it
Before the sun disappears for the next six months in this desperate place
Nature’s free gift of the north
She was a blonde high-school classmate who wanted to become a missionary one day. On the bus ride home, she told me about a time when someone she knew got into a car accident and almost became decapitated, or was decapitated. I eventually learned what that meant. Those days were cold and grey from what I recall. Sports jackets and pathetic blue jeans. Rice paper powder face and straight long hair. Cold wet basements and visions of a blue house along with thoughts on what it’s like to be grown and to be so far away from all this darkness here. Across the seas and straight to Europe, people probably lived a better life. Riding a car around blue hills with headphones on. From the basement window, the bleak daylight used to shine where I stood. And my heart would skip thinking about the college guy who could save me. He sat at the dinner table with a pack of cigarettes. He had a checkbook and a history of love affairs. I keenly listened and made glamorous assumptions about the adult world and was jealous of him and his freedom and all that. It was sad thinking about what could have been in those times of eye liners and flare jeans. Maybe weekend trips to California and a dark haired boy to go out on dates with and to brag about. But those were tied to dreams with the blue hills and convertibles; far out of my reach. In order to live you have to have cheap thrills so that’s where his cigarettes and stories came in. Those were hopeless cold times and my skin was pale and the clouds were grey and my eyes twinkled at whatever that flickered before me.
I can’t believe I’m hearing this same old tune again. How long has it been, like twenty-some years? Is this what it’s like being old now? My, how I’ve grown… into something no less different. Blank eyed and coming of age, sitting in the car and looking out the car windshield; I once watched my self being somewhere far away from this place.
Here I am, miles and miles away, across the seven seas, years and years down the road
Surrounded by dust and glitter under the eastern sunlight
Finding pieces of myself that my feeble arms have tried to hold together for so long.
How weird, to be hearing some same old tune
That I would’ve never chosen.