Tu sonrisa

i miss your lips

Tus labios

Your eyes

Tus ojos

i miss your skin

Tu piel

i miss your hair

Tu pelo

i miss wandering around San Telmo

Con vos

with nowhere to go

not caring where we were going

No me importaba donde íbamos

just caring that I was with you

Con vos

i miss you

peeling my Bombachas off in the taxi as you calmly told the driver where to take us

and I miss what you did to me

once the Bombachas were off

i miss hearing you speak to me in spanish

how your voice changed

your being shifted

ever so slightly

as you switched from english to Español

Mi mente sólo entender algunos de lo que vos decías

but my body understood the rest

Mi cuerpo entiendó

i miss walking to the Parada

catching our bus together

Cincuenta nueve

you got off near the Obelisk

Bajar de

and I rode all the way to Belgrano

i miss you

opening doors for me

i miss you

running to see me

Corriendo a verme

i miss running to see you

Corriendo a verte

i miss walking towards one another

Caminando a ver el uno al otro

i miss you

Te extraño.

i didn’t know if i was capable of staying with you

if i could really do it

Quédate conmigo.

Porque:

Mi amor

i was so lacerated

Herido.

until tonight:

i had one foot out the back door

and i was looking for that side door

that side door

i’m always running through.

Y ahora:

i know

Me quedo con vos.

i stay with you

Quédate conmigo

i forget where the back door is

and that side door

well

that side door doesn’t matter anymore

i don’t care where it is.

No me importa:

where we are

what we are doing

O

if there are:

doors

windows

walls

rooms.

Quédate conmigo

it is replaced by three:

one for vos mismo

one for tu amor

y

one for tu familia

pasado

presente

futuro.

let it be known:

i am not a net asset.

all these years:

searching for a revolution

devotion to the rebellion

sacrifices for the creation

la libertad es libre.

algunos de nosotros walk away from it all

algunos de nosotros throw it all out the door

and then,

walk through that door.

i did not walk out that door to walk through another just like it

el mismo: no

i walked away from it all.

and i will stand here

alone

sola

with what i have left

la libertad es libre

and i will continue to fight my good fight.

i will not be obtained

i will not be occupied

i will not be overlooked.

the support is

the art of bravery.

reinforced in the courage of

walking away from it all.

so i will stand here with what is left

in the fortune of this success:

la libertad es libre.

and now:

i have three hearts.

and

I believe in no one.

everyone seems to believe in me

I’m behind enemy lines

and

I no longer cling to the other side.

I reject my teachings

I cast off my philosophies

I’ve forgotten my intellect

Everyone is a fake:

including me

Nurtured on revolution

Fed on entitlement

Marched into the dark hollers of poverty

Encouraged into well education

now I am shipwrecked in extremes

We are all hustlers:

i’m just trying to crack the unrivaled hustle

bring it

take it

fuck it

i’m coming

i’m leaving

i’m staying

Repeat the song until the melody is seared into the synapses

Say the same words until they are memorized

Worship the same idol until it is useless

Then try to forget it all.

Fuck it

i ate my own heart.

she was leaping over the cracks in the sidewalk

escorted by the intensity of fire.

it’s possible I saw her last night:

boarding a bus to the sea

tango shoes still on her feet

with the daughter of Poseidon beside her.

The other night i might have seen her:

flirting with a proprietor of abstraction

drinking champagne

smiling and taunting

and discussing the finer points

of art.

i believe i saw her again:

en la calle

drinking beer, smoking cigarettes and seducing a Peruvian

she was talking and laughing

as he whispered in her ear.

she sleeps late

eats oranges and dark chocolate for lunch

and desires kisses for dinner.

i heard her say:

No voy a volver

Soy una bruja ahora

Snow White lived in a brick house

in a very cold country

Three small trolls scuttled around her feet

and

A knight in shining armor played guitar in her basement

She made dances and devoted her life to the theatre.

There were two other princesses

and they threw big parties where everyone

ate and drank and celebrated art.

Then one day:

the knight in shining armor began playing his guitar in other basements.

Snow White did not know this

she guessed it

but she did not know:

as she was too busy learning how to cook

gardening her four gardens

tending to her three trolls

remembering how to make dances

and auctioning her inspiration to the theatre.

Then one day:

the parties stopped

the guitar playing stopped

and the theatre ate her soul whole.

After throwing everything out the side door of her brick house:

including the three trolls she loved

with all her heart

She ran away.

I still don’t know where she is.

fuck everything else.

i’m just going to dance the tango!

you can find me in the tango.

and fuck you….

i’m coming home…..

where’s home?

i’ll let ya know

after i dance the tango!

along with letting go….

i believe i let my mind go too.

nahhhh….

i found my mind.

it’s somewhere in between

the space of letting go

and the tango…

fuck it

just let go….

-

j

I can let the fairy tale end.

Today

I can imagine building a real life again.

Not one built on imagination and dreams

developed from the art of running away

But a life established in the very real nature of human existence

and my karmic place in that situation.

Today

I can imagine being fragile again.

Today

I can quit being so tough.

talking to you makes me feel like i have a home to come home to

like i have a life i could make again

that i can continue to fight the good artist fight.

Today

is the day I can let go.

happy early new year

feliz año

i love you

-

j

i don’t know what my life looks like.

i don’t know what i look like.

can i come home now?

one of those days.

oh wait….fuck! i don’t have a home.

bright fucking idea garner. bright fucking idea.

feliz fucking navidad

i fucking hate christmas. i fucking hate the holidays.

i’m a hater.

and i’m in love with love.

…i don’t know if i can keep being an artist. i don’t know if i can stay here. i don’t know if i can keep fighting the good artist fight: living like a pauper, working like a slave and getting not much in return.

and now i’m doing it alone.

where’s my fucking dance company?!

and i left my city.

i fucking hated that city but it was still my city.

my art city.

oh…and i left my fucking country!

do you really have to be hungry…is it the hunger that produces the art?

Marina Abramović said an artist must suffer:

well….trust me….i’ve suffered

and suffer

colossally fucked up. colossally.

oh well, i have my meditation. i have my stories. i am building myself.

ok, world, here i am.

i’m really fucking strong.

i love you.

-

j

order me

summon me.

and I wander:

Do they know whom they order?

Do they know what they summon?