chapter 2

purpose of meaning: wasted energy.

Frausto 24 Comments

He wants to know. Carlos wants to know. He wants to know where reality waits. The essence of humanity, wants and desires. Wants to know if any of this around him is real. And he has a million questions to ask, some of which, he hasn’t put into words yet.
Wonders what humanity is aching for? Is waiting for to return to original being and simple existence? He starts to think that the world’s a ball of pain, spinning out of control. Wants the pain to stop and the nightmares to go away.

Wants to feel complete,

And safe,

And secure and pretty and in control with a plan and direction like all the other men on their way to work.

Wants better pay and health insurance, a dental plan, a plan for better living, and a better body. Wants anything that does not remind him of now. Wants at all costs to avoid the collision for which humanity’s heading for.

But at the end of the day, he’s just an animal that shits, eats, and wants.

He wants to change his name, really change people, and change the world. Save the world, really save people, and save himself. He wants an original idea; a sacred thought to keep to himself, a secret away from humanity to hold precious and dear.

Wants someone to tell him well done or say good job. Wants someone to look over his money. Wants someone to listen to all his stories. Wants his own priest and psychiatrist. Wants to see the world. Wants to fuck everyone. Wants to fuck everyone in the world. Just wants something that’s real and his.

Doesn’t want more war. Doesn’t want anything that’s anyone else’s. Doesn’t want to take anything from anyone. Doesn’t want to be a capitalist, imperialist, or social climber.

Just wants a little knowledge and a little truth.

Wants to be engulfed by energy while meditating on an Asian mountaintop or dancing to rain gods on pyramids in Mexico. Wants it all, but he can’t have it all. Starts to think; he just wants something he can never have. Wants the Earth to whisper in his ear while life breathes into him.

Doesn’t want to be so average and so mediocre anymore, so generic like all the other plastic selves.

Wants to know. Wants to know.

Wants to know everything, why energy moves and meanings of everything.

Wants to know. Wants to know.

And needs to know, this he keeps repeating, shaking in bed, staring at plastic neon stars on his bedroom ceiling that he once thought were so cool, but now only aid his insomnia.

But he’s not trying to bring the stars down from the skies.

Starts thinking, everyone wants something. Something from everyone and everything for themselves. No one will take anything from me. And all thoughts seem so circular.

Wants to sleep now and rest.

But the universe has a secret; a meaning for breathing, and he

Wants to know.

What it is? Where he can find it? When will it appear? And whom does he need to talk to?

At the end of the day, he’s just an animal that shits, eats, and wants.

in queretaro: notions 52-54.

Frausto 2 Comments

notion 52.

there is a void,
which one falls into
to rest,
fall asleep away
from all the noise,
and in this void
sometimes there’s peace.
(buddha hums, “nirvana.”)
but then
there’s a void,
which one sinks into,
and disappears
all alone.
(where are the arms
to hold us?
to save us?)
all alone.

07.25.2005.

 

 

 

notion 53.

someone please
speak pretty
words to the world.
it gets so lonely.
it gets so lonely,
(and i just want
you to hold me.)

07.25.2005.

 

 

 

notion 54.

puff
of
smoke.
the world is oh so fluffy,
and i need space
from rules,
from norms.

and when and where did this all form?

07.25.2005.

in queretaro: notions 51.

Frausto 7 Comments

notion 51.

i have a father
who dreamed
of being an engineer,
but left para el norte,
and let go of his
dreams.
(without sounding
egotistical),
he left for me.
he and my mother,
him and her.
loosened his dreams to float away,
let go of
life in his country.
and life in the city
was a life of society.
i hate what this country,
how this free america
has enslaved my father
to forget his dreams.
those i’ve not forgotten.
and how can it not hurt?
when he’s done it for me,
us, his children.
so i live in hopes
he remembers his dreams,
and his life never in vain
for he has been my guide
along the way.

07.25.2005.

in queretaro: notions 49-50.

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notion 49.

a cuanto?
no me lo deja mas barato?
halla lo venden
por menos.
a cuanto?
a cuanto?
cual es el precio
de todos
nuestros
deseos?
y en cuanto
me dejan
mis sueños?
en paz
que descansen.
D.E.P.
E.P.D.
R.I.P.

07.24.2005.

notion 50.

have always been
of the kind
that liked
to escape-not life,
“i could deal with that,”
but the humans’
blank stares
piercing over me, through,
cause no one
looks directly,
and does that say anything
about we? (u or me?)

07.24.2005.

in queretaro: notion 45.

Frausto 6 Comments

notion 45.

will
i
am
not,
but
carlos
i
have
been,
but
could
not
will
to
am to be
like
william
carlos
williams.
could
not
will
to
enjoy,
get lost.
why
did
so much depend
upon
a
red
wheelbarrow.
i ams,
i is,
but
could
not
will
to be,
to say
i am
what i
could never be,
and
never was.
in america,
was i,
am i
an american?
poet?
o’ america
could i
will
to see myself
in your own
image?
i am
not
my
will-
the self
long
murdered
after
longing
for
someone else’s
self,
so
as to
feel more american.
uncle sam
was not
designed
in my image.
in fact,
it was designed
to crush my
image.
not in my name,
so how
did i will
to speak
under confused
tongues?
willing,
god willing
to pull the wool
over our eyes,
america,
oh say (josé),
can you see
how blind
you have been?
you have grown?
whitman’s america
wilted.
what walt?
and
i
could not
will to be
like
williams
just another
american poet.
i’ll
will to be
like
blake, rimbaud, kerouac, borges, ginsberg,
baraka
of the
world,
of the
americas.
oh say, i
do see
how this
country
never wanted
me.

07.24.2005.

in queretaro: notions 42-43.

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notion 42.

so islands, we have fallen into
till self deserts the selves
of all the things we are
till we just all become aliens.
but it’s ok.
i won’t burst your bubble.
and like balloons float,
it’s ok.
don’t be afraid
of what you really are.

07.22.2005.

 

 

 

notion 43.

delusions
raised up like walls,
and innocence
has lost its place,
and it’s started
to hurt to dream.
hard to take
things so seriously.
are people
ever going to
change?
and the world
we’ve dreamed of
might never become
if we don’t
have time enough
to speak
or love anybody.
slowly dying
and innocence
has lost its place.

07.22.2005.

in queretaro: notions 38-41.

Frausto 4 Comments

notion 38.

go live
your life
free from me.
i give you back your
liberty.
you treat me like i
stole it,
but you can
have it back
if you need
it that bad.

07.20.2005.

 

 

 

notion 39.

?

 

 

 

notion 40.

afraid of touch.
my bones shake.
you just broke me.

07.20.2005.

 

 

 

notion 41.

yes,
we all crash
into cars
out on the ground
against the stars,
but have you dreamed?
(you know i dream.)
of crashing, colliding
forwards, towards
love?
crash.

07.22.2005.

in queretaro: notions 36-37.

Frausto 3 Comments

notion 36.

monica,
asleep
and me,
i can’t
escape.
i can’t
see a thing
in this
darkness.

07.20.2005.

 

 

 

notion 37.

i’m so god damn
fucking ugly.
who could ever really
want me?
i get lost in the confusion.
might as well just leave
me behind.
i’m some piece of shit
you found
and now to dispose.
just leave me.
i’m so fucking ugly.
who could ever really
want me?
believe me i understand.
throw me away.
i’m so fucking ugly.
who could ever really want me?
who could ever love me?
i’m so fucking ugly.

07.20.2005.