notion i.
the unrealized self,
the undiscovered self,
the development of the self,
the experience of the self
in a racist country.
04.2005.
notion j.
the final breakdown
and how we’ll measure
up in the final
moment.
2005.
notion k.
are you just
feelings
that i have?
you’re just an
ancient feeling
that i’ve had
erupting from within or
without me.
nothing
ever does
make sense
and no one
ever did,
understands.
2005.
notion g.
we were once
memories
from an island
empty, alone.
across the skies,
your name is a
memory that lies.
we were once
a divine,
intertwined
feeling of coming
alive.
we were designed to
offset from the jumpstart
from which truth
derives.
belonging to chaos,
we turn ourselves
in, forgotten-
seeking redemption
to be forgiven
by the unseen
not spoken.
08.30.2004.
notion h.
cultivating silence
and the culture of isolation,
fragments of detachment-
fearful of involvement.
2004.
notion f.
they said that the boy seemed
interesting. and in separate rooms,
they analyzed the
ancient texts
that lay hidden underneath
the boy’s unconscious
until engulfed by the
universe unraveling
as each room spilled out.
oozing with feelings
that no leader could withhold
whole as the world sucks
the soul of those that
grew old.
but the boy is still a child,
and so innocence is still wild.
and in children’s hearts
the ghosts of the future
are aching and screaming
because the past and present
are in direct contrast.
a contradiction of
what the future should be.
and any child, without reading but
just by observing,
can sense it’s all wrong.
and the interest and love
they once felt becomes
dissolved as grownups.
08.30.2004.
notion d.
write life away
and social interaction.
no one understands
like my pen and
paper do.
lock me away underneath
to repent
for having been sent.
08.24.2004.
notion e.
while
studying memory,
i only want
dreams to be
free.
not have to pay for
what i’m thinking,
and be sure it’s me
that’s doing the feeling,
and not just another marketing scheme.
08.30.2004.
notion c.
soy
yo todo
este dolor.
como
explicarte mi amor
lo que nunca sabremos.
como
se dicen las cosas
sin quebrarse el alma.
yo
soy todo
este dolor.
del cual
yo nunca
he podido escapar.
pues ya no hay
manera de ser
feliz.
como
una triste lagrima
se sequaron
mis palabras.
08.03.2004.
notion a.
this mr. president be angry.
someone please,
give him
some ecstasy.
05.2004.
notion b.
so that the effects of these
economics on hispanics and blacks
is not some concept that’s abstract,
but plain obvious.
just go check out some facts,
and ask
city tenements, ghetto projects.
prison cells are modern forms
of slavery and shackles.
but no one blames presidents
or their cabinets
for a nation of addicts
chasing american dreams,
blindly hustling schemes.
just to get by,
just to get by,
just to get by-
barely under the radar,
hoping not to be bombed
or found disposable.
06.06.2004.
contents.
introduction.
preface (notions a-q).
prologue.
in chicago.
notions 1-35.
in querétaro.
notions 36-54.
in la ciudad de méxico (méxico city).
notions 55-56.
in puerto escondido.
notions 57-78.
in san cristóbal de las casas.
notions 79-98.
in guadalajara.
notions 99-115.
on a plane from guadalajara to atlanta.
notions 116-127.
on a plane from atlanta to chicago.
notions 128-140.
in chicago back again.
epilogue (notions i-xvii).
Copyright © 2006 by Jose L. Frausto. The book author retains sole copyright to his contributions to this book.
36 haiku on suicide and the disappearing pond.
the wheels rotating
then going out of control
stampeding the rest.
stampeding the rest,
over the rest of the world.
too late to stop now.
to late to stop now,
this is how it’s always been.
no one changes things.
no one changes things
because either no one cares
or has enough time.
or has enough time,
so that all that is known is
never really known.
never really known,
everyone’s a shadow
quickly passing by.
quickly passing by
no one is meant to stay long
cherishing people.
cherishing people
offers temporary hope and
and optimism.
and optimism
matters little when cup is
completely empty.
02.03-12.20.04.
36 haiku on suicide and the disappearing pond. p.3
a message sent in,
an alien satellite
requesting return.
requesting return
to an island to escape
to rest my tired bones.
to rest my tired bones,
remove this feeling of pain
to be left alone.
to be left alone,
an opening universe
awaits by the dark.
awaits by the dark,
silent whisper of murder
calling dreams to rest.
calling dreams to rest
so that consciousness can rest
with eternity.
with eternity,
one should always roam and not
amongst the simple.
amongst the simple,
the burden becomes too great
till nothing matters.
till nothing matters
and burnt out like a candle,
the wheels rotating.
02.03-12.20.04.
UP!::urban po'E.Tree(s) 