black notebook

and somewhere we will meet.

Frausto 6 Comments

and somewhere we will meet.

the world is maddening science
and murderous laughter
and treacherous whispers.
the world is misleading.
the world is mythical science
and magical laughter
and tantalizing whispers.

the world has its ways
and humans do theirs.
the birds have their own
and other animals more,
and somewhere along the edge
       of the great big empty
       or maybe it’s full-
an infinite void.

everything meets,
but only for moments, seconds, an instant,
and since well everything constantly rotates
       and repeats,
everything meets

like light and the dark.
the good and the bad.
 
 

12.31.10.

stood still watching/waiting.

Frausto 2 Comments

stood still watching/waiting.

 
 
so the earth stood still
       or the nation did,
who remembers?
has the time to?
we are sequestered
in our own little worlds,
who wants out?
or has the energy for the
       fight?
who sucked the joy out
       of being human?
who has eyes for beauty
or has the time to?

so the earth stands still
       or nations do
       and sometimes crumble
as empires are intended to
once the emperor’s grasp squeezes
       too tightly
       around the citizens’ necks,
who must then decide
to also stand still
       or start a revolution.
 
 
 
12.31.10.

alarm on snooze.

Frausto 7 Comments

alarm on snooze.

we will all wake up one day.
one morning i awoke,
opened my eyes and a
strange feeling emerged,
but it had been there all along
       like a birthmark.
an ancient unconscious feeling reappearing,
but modern society creates too much noise,
and it becomes “difficult to
       concentrate,”
and you forget yourself.
i forgot my dreams and what i
       used to want to be.

we’ll all wake up one day,
and stop chasing our tails all day long
until we tire ourselves out for sleep
because we can’t convince ourselves
       that it’s all worth it;
the mind numbing conversation.
the constant competition and the isolation
produced by all the synthetic and plastic.
the artificial emotions and fake smiles
from the androids,
and you forget yourself.
for i forgot my dreams and what i
used to want to be.

12.30.10.

when was meets is.

Frausto 9 Comments

when was meets is.

when i was
what i was,
thought i was
that i was.

but it was only i
projecting
the shadow i reflected
while filtering
through schemas
       and past experiences
while balancing with
my chemical imbalances
and predisposed disposition.

is this was
       or
was this is
as who i was meant
or how i meant it was
to be, or will,
or has it all already
       been decided?
can i still become
       and go over?

08.27.09.

there is.

Frausto 2 Comments

there is.

there is a weapon.
there is nothing left.
there is simple me.
there is a dot on a map.
there is an invisible force.
there is the power of 3.
there is an eternal 9.
there is the fury of 5.
there is an infinite 8,
and 144,000 waiting by the sea,
awaiting the evacuation
of their temple.
there is an arisen prophet,
a fallen messiah,
a drunken leper, and poet.
there is the notion of night
and the stirring of shadows.
there is one single hope
that perhaps humans are not alone
as an intelligent
being; living and breathing
in this universe on this planet,
and that they are much more
compassionate than we.

05.16.09.

she:he.

Frausto 10 Comments

she:he.

she hopes not to appear
       too needy.
he hopes not to appear
       too often.

a question begins to arise.
a fear is formulated.

we’d all like to
imagine ourselves islands,
protect our fragile
sense of self,
and maintain some
type of space
and individuality.

a question begins to arise.
a fear is formulated.

he hopes to learn to let go.
she hopes he won’t let her go.

02.22.09.

how the land’s survived.

Frausto 4 Comments

how the land’s survived.

 

we are standing on the
       shadows of
ancient memories.
the land has been transformed,
but its energy remained,
trapping still
the spirits of those passed.
it’s how the land’s
       survived,
attempting to hold its
       essence intact.

 

we stand on the
       shoulders of
ancient fossils
compressed during centuries
on top of our dreams
all over our schemes.
the land has tried to
       keep herself together
against men that have
       gathered and
       plotted on
       plots of land
to sell her piece by piece.

 

we walk on the
       ashes
of “a dream
       deferred”
like “raisins in the sun,”
“outsiders” on our “house
       on mango st.”
the “fire next time”
       at 451 Fahrenheit.
a “catch 22”
for “the stranger”
in our “notes from the
       underground.”

 

we stand.
we fall.
the land has tried to keep herself together.
it’s how the planet has survived.
we stand.
we fall.
the land holds strong
       to the spirits
       of those passed.
it’s how its energy’s remained
from the fossilization
       of our bones.

 

02.22.09.

agente federal jesus morales.

Frausto 7 Comments

agente federal jesus morales.

he thinks
i look like a
terrorist
or a
drug trafficker.

am i a disease?
do i have
     that look
          in my eyes?
of despair?
of needing to be pushed back
up against the wall?

he asks me to follow him.
he’s going to have to go
     through my bags.
asks, where i’m coming from?
as if he could ever know
     or understand.
so i answer where
     i was
     before Mexico City,
     in Oaxaca, in Chiapas,
     before returning to Chicago.
so i explain,
and show him my passport,
and then he barely
looks through my bags
once he sees my light skinned girlfriend
and realizes i’m a U.S. citizen
because then he just lets me go
without doing anything,
but wasting my time
because of how i look.

he thinks
i look like a terrorist
or a drug trafficker
or maybe just wants
to fuck with me,
which leads me to think
the suit is a cover
to cover a man’s
insecurities.

the badge is a cover.
the gun is a cover.
the cash is a cover.
the car is a cover.
the home is a cover.
the kids are a cover.
the wife, career, and bank accounts.
our whole lives are a cover
to cover all of our
insecurities.

02.22.09.

i’s don’t c.

Frausto 9 Comments

i’s don’t c.

an
arrow
appeared
out
of
the
sky
at
night.

i think
i never saw it,
but saw its victim
wandering the city,
riding its metal trains,
and muttering at shadows
and their memories.
he took off his shoes,
and laid his body on a
mountain of plastic bags;
some filled with papers, cans, and rags-
his tangible treasures.
others were filled with
more bags.
he closed his eyes
and fell asleep;
i think.

and everyone just stared
with cold reproachful eyes.
perhaps they didn’t understand,
but they’ve must seen the lightning,
heard the thunder
crashing through the sky,
but they just couldn’t see
the scars from arrows slain;
the years of agony and pain.
perhaps it was pure envy
that he just didn’t care
that he was truly free
except from their
icy stares and judgment.
there is no shield
from the public opinion
of the masses.

an
angel
fell
from
out
the
sky
last
night.

and no one noticed
or no one cared.

01.07.09.