Sunday, August 24, 2008

Is It So Strange?

is it so strange? written by faron young, sung by me

Saturday, August 23, 2008

Jesus Walked That Lonesome Valley

jesus walked that lonesome valley by mississippi john hurt

Sunday, August 17, 2008

Rapid Notes

My cell phone came with ten pre written text messages. They are called notas rĂ¡pidas. Here are my translations, in the order they are listed in the phone.

1. I'll call you later.
2. Urgent, call me.
3. I will be __ min late.
4. I'll wait for you __ .
5. I'll see you __ at __ .
6. Be happy.
7. I'm waiting at the train/bus station.
8. Don't worry, be happy.
9. Have a good day.
10. I will always love you.

Dear reader, please stop what you are doing and text someone, anyone, to say "I will always love you". Please do this for me.

Monday, August 11, 2008

Self Disclosure Via Object: Guitarra escolar

The metro in Mexico City is problematic ya de por si because it is frequently slow, late, jam packed with people. It becomes more difficult to manage one's voyage when one goes with baggage.

One man has a basket of churros big enough to hold baby Moses and a green wooden stand for the churros and a black plastic shopping bag filled with boxes filled with marzipan.

Another man has a bundle of wood which he will later assemble around an eighteenth century painting of the Virgin of Guadalupe he has restored for a Swedish banker's wife.

Another man has a greeting card in a white envelope to give to the boyfriend his parents, siblings, coworkers and friends from High School have never met. He is running late to the birthday dinner.

I have a child sized acoustic guitar which I have purchased so that my fingers will not forget how to make chords and so that I can record contemporary interpretations of gospel favorites in my wonderfully resonant bathroom.

Saturday, August 2, 2008

Sonnet XX by Fernando Pessoa

When in the widening circle of rebirth
To a new flesh my travelled soul shall come,
And try again the unremembered earth
With the old sadness for the immortal home,
Shall I revisit these same differing fields
And cull the old new flowers with the same sense,
That some small breath of foiled remembrance yields,
Of more age than my days in this pretence?
Shall I again regret strange faces lost
Of which the present memory is forgot
And but in unseen bulks of vagueness tossed
Out of the closed sea and black night of Thought?
Were thy face one, what sweetness will't not be,
Though by blind feeling, to remember thee!

Retrieved from ""

I memorized this on the plane from Houston to MXCity, before arriving safe and sound. In the evening it rained, and I went up to the roof to test my raincoat. In every direction I looked I could see the lights of the city, as if I were looking out at four different huge metropoli from the top of a distant hill, but it was only one and I was somewhere near the middle.