on a plane from guadalajara to atlanta: notion 125.

notion 125.

i should really
stop thinking
or worrying
about mediocrity.
i’m no superhero.
i’m just ordinary,
wandering and
wondering what’s
really happening.

i can’t put my finger on it,
but damn it, everything,
well it just passes.
why does it happen?
why does it happen?
we let it happen,
snd then start complaining.

so i blame me.
i blame me,
but i’m just ordinary.
i need hands.
i need arms,
so let’s join together.
we can try.
we should try
to make it better.


on a plane from guadalajara to atlanta: notion 124.

notion 124.

the rebel bandit.
the turtle.
the raccoon.
all are simple images
for me to understand
what’s going on,
at least that’s
what i tell myself
so i can sleep
because the world
is so depressed,
and i’d like to
shatter schema’s
on how one’s learned
to view the world
cause all i want
is to love and live,
love life,
live love,
and be able to sail free
without having to hide
my identity,
or what it is
i’m thinking.


on a plane from guadalajara to atlanta: notions 121-123.

notion 121.

so i’ll judge
you too,
based on how
you look.
and well, based
upon your attire,
i’d say you’ve
always been a slave.
corporate whore
how did it feel
selling out
your soul.



notion 122.

your eyes are empty,
and look is vague.
you are nothing.



notion 123.

i am nothing too,
can’t wait to grow
up into it
under a banana


on a plane from guadalajara to atlanta: notions 118-120.

notion 118.

i’m not sure
why we try.
i don’t want to be
defeated by everyday,
so i’ll go out
into the dangers
of the world.


notion 119.

but i’m just me,
and you are you.
try and explain,
but we’ll end up
at the same point.
i am just me,
little, tiny,
frightened, and scared
of these humans.
i am just me,
and you are you.
i can’t explain.


notion 120.

when very young,
i went and got
now i can’t
get back
to how it was
more innocent,
and one could breathe.


on a plane from guadalajara to atlanta: notions 116-117.

notion 116.

i’m flying high.
hello, the birds.
i love the clouds.
everything sleeps,
but nothing seems
peaceful to me.
there is chaos.
children crying.
how far till home?
how much longer?
to disappear?
finally rest
my old tired bones,
and all the world
can go away.
i wouldn’t mind.
how much longer?
how far till home?


notion 117.

when i say home,
i’m thinking of
an imagined place
i haven’t been.
not there yet, cause
i do not know
where it is at.
i’ve only dreamt
there has to be
a place for me.
people like me,
no dirty looks.
people smiling
regardless of
how one may look.