Tuesday, February 7


Mmm, mmm ... goddamn this burrito is good
And to think this is just what I wanted
Broiled onions, laying, glistening, sizzling
Pensively next to a voluptuous habanero, charred just so

just so

just so that the pastor collides with it like
a Black lowered Landrover and a Golden raised Expedition

When I tried to explain to Ms.Stazer
To explain why art was what,

was that

that That

The words didn't spill out like jesso unto freshly stretched canvas
No, just a meager,"It's like this band," and I point above me,

"this band of energy that flows constantly.
For some reason, I think I can be part of it; I can reach it."

And that was That, that That that had

No Definition.

No Delineation.

Perhaps amongst the swaying palmtrees
Banshees lulling the swarm of motor-locusts to gentle sleep
Among the Angeleno Archbishop's trunk of implored hope
Perhaps I finally surf-it-dude like I knew I wanted


There I am, finding myself again, as I keep on doing
I've realized the power of the band
I've toiled, inspired and championed under its tide
And goddamn! Mmm, mmm this day is so good

I ruminate

Mis amigos
Mis ambiciones
Mis exitos
Mi comunidad
Mi ciudad
Mmm, mmm ...

And I see another surfer
He's on Virgil, catching a yellow rip-curling pipe unto the next sidewalk
Whirls past me in a cyclone of stone-washed jean mayhem
From out of nowhere, a shark of a 70-pound pedestrian school girl!
He stops, politely miffed

My red, goes blue,

goes green, goes green, goes green

I take that moment to say to me-self, "he'd do better on one of My single ..."

Snap! Chain breaks, that is, his chain breaks as I say this

"Ha! I saw that!" I yell across the walkway.

He's looking like, "fuck off asshole.
I'm looking like, fuck it must be alarming having a strange 6-foot plus smiling messenger dork bicycling at you with unwarranted enthusiasm

I repeat, calmly, "I saw that."
He Peaky No Engli, so I stay quiet, cause I'm too excited to really say anything valuable
Swing left, snap center, poop, yeah poop and out comes my Federico Tool bag
He's incredulous till the chain-breaker says, "Yeah, this is your lucky day biatch!"

1, 2, 4, 10 ... dirty fingers and then some

Chain fixed.

Do not bother to tell him the whole story, at all
It was a private moment in the pipe, just call 976-...
"Cuanto?" me pregunta

"No. Nada, hombre. Asi esta bueno, " le digo.
And with a perfect "gracias" se va.

I'm late! But that was dope. Fuck, that was perfect.
I clean my hands, put the tools away, adjust my L.A. County Coroner cap
and "Toma. Funciona mejor que antes. Muchas gracias, " as he returned astonished and pleased.
Always aiming.
And he shoves a fiver into my hand.

Me pongo a rumiar.

My comrades
My lady
My aspirations:

Cool, Studio Fund!

I tell him the abbreviated whole story and
Mmm, mmm
Chinganda, este pinche burrito esta buenisimo!

also published here with a little introduction by f.

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