Whispers in the Dark

Whispers in the Dark


I walked this old bridge which whispers sweet things
When I caressed its wood panels it was comforting to see
It still stands solid, stoic, and romantic
Witness to lovers throughout centuries

The wood is impregnated with love it would seem
Absorbed as if by osmosis loving whispers of long ago...
Soulful embraces, inebriating kisses, heartfelt sighs...
Of loves so intense, it hurt to part ways

The crash of the surf, the bridge and old trees
Those counseled me
I shed my callous skin, I felt in my element
A delicate flower with an unbreakable stem

My dear sister you may not agree
They said that these lips, hips, valleys, and crevices
As well as to nurture and give birth
They are meant to comfort the man one selects

There is only one caveat
The union of body, of mind, and spirit
Must be blessed by Eros, Cupid, and Aphrodite
This is how it is meant to be…

Since the Beginning

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picture Puente de los suspiros in Barranco, Lima, Peru

Nostalgia

Nostalgia


Exactly a week ago
I dreamt of my childhood
On a whim I took off
Upon arrival I looked around
Nostalgia constricts my battered heart


I looked out the window
Drinking everything in sight
I focus on the beauty and romance
I hear melodious tones of another epoch
Even if slightly tarnished, the soul never dies


The colonial architecture
Impervious witness of loves and wars
Veil the ugly truth of conquest, pillage, and despair
The air is perfumed by the coastal breeze
I close my eyes and feel myself in a time freeze


I wish I could see with the innocence of a child
And feed my senses to overflow
I must focus on my goal
This is to heal my ailing soul
I feel my father accompanying me in spirit form

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Memory Lane

Promenade through memory lane
Does one pack sexy underwear?
To dress like a lady in lace and chiffon
When women were nurtured and men were gentle

Remember this, my feminist sister says
Those times we were dames, broads and lays
With less opportunities save baby making
Babe, we’ve come a long way

I think we are half sisters anyway
Yesterday I asked an elderly gentleman
To let me help him carry his purchases
He was struggling with the enormous weight
“How can a lady carry this for me?” he said

I wanted to say…silly man
That would have injured his pride
I could see it in his eyes
Days gone by, when he walked on the outside of the curb

Get a grip and be pragmatic
Don’t forget your books to feed your mind
Instead of the latest celebrity rag
I am…I am! My mother brought toilet paper for me
I laughed and thanked her generosity

What does one carry down memory lane?
I’m packing my deceased husband’s t-shirt
For that trip we never made

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Anticipation

Anticipation


It’s the acceleration of my heart
It’s the realization that it’s so close
I want to inhale big gulps of air
To kneel and utter a prayer

A pregnant woman’s anticipation to meet her babe
A man adrift at sea, for company
A man's who's been scorched under the brutal sun

for shade, a cold drink, and sea breeze
An addict’s…for one more hit

It’s a kid’s anticipation for Christmas day
It’s the layman’s…for payday
It’s a woman’s for more foreplay
For a prolonged drought, to taste kisses of rain

It’s the tired man’s for the hour to retire
For the funds required to acquire one’s hearts desire
To hear the loved one’s voice through the telephone wire
How much time is spent in anticipation
Of the ephemeral pleasure?

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Rhythm

Rhythm

A pulse in the scheme of things
A beat which makes one undulate the hips
Not talking about the discordant beat of the streets
Where people walk as graceful as chimpanzees

It's the rhythm of the spheres
It's the rhythm of the drums, so sensual and liberating
It's the rhythm of my heart in your vicinity
Of your hips as they slam into me

Alternating tempo augmenting to a crescendo
Resulting in sheer agony
Almost unendurable ecstasy
No...don't retrieve just yet

Feel my heart beat
In tempo with my clutching heat
Let the rhythm slow down its frenetic assault
To simply delight in the afterglow
But for a moment, not so alone

It's in the cadence of a poem
Be it life, conception, progression, dessertion
Of the recurring seasons
Death gives way to birth...one reasons

It's the rhythm of the Afro-Peruvian beat
Coupled so sensually
One can't help but to gyrate the hips
In rhythm to its seductive beat

Lose yourself with abandonment...if only for a moment

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Open link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HDaYqGB8CjU

Longing

Longing

Prolonging the bittersweet
All that glitters isn't gold
Withers away the soul
One feels incomplete
Amid the automatons

I am famished, malnourished
Not for food, drink, or song
My soul clamors for substance
Evoking memories of long ago
Scented with magic and hope

I wear the wrong vestment
It’s like a uniform meant to conform
Speak in a monotonous tone on the cell phone
On your own…be distrustful of the unknown
This society condones

I long to walk barefoot
Swim half naked next to a waterfall
Look at the writing on the wall... life is too short
Above all, be free, carefree, believe
Retrieve those dreams like precious stones

Shed the mask…look deep into your soul
What is it that nourishes you besides coffee and a roll?
Let go of what’s beyond your control
Reach for your goals, your true role in the play
Has it dawned... you may have to do it all over again

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Pseudo Comfort

O.K...single guys can put a melon on the right pillow and draw a happy face.

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Words

Words

Flightless birds
They caress, make love, hurt
They cloak hidden meaning
Some as blatant as ethnic jokes
Once uttered…cannot be revoked

Words evoke memories
They provoke and entice
Word of advice
Don’t use as detonation device
To win at any price

Deep as the ocean
Light as a whisper
They move us to weep
Or lure us to sleep
Those close to the heart we keep

Jagged weapon cuts
Clear through the heart
These cannot be taken back
Although maybe forgiven
Perhaps never forgotten

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Cinnamon Flower

The trembling awoke me
I am thoroughly wet
I know that we had met
I can’t recall where yet

I recall the impish smile
The twinkle in your eyes
The plump and rosy cheeks
Come play you beseech

A woman serves a ham sandwich
Bent as if resigned to her fate
Her energy seems spent
You hint you’d rather play patty cake

That moment I recognize you
Myself at such a young age
I’ve abandoned you
In pursuit of a living wage

I am so far from "the old bridge
River and the alameda"
From the soil that nourished me
My soul flourishes with the memory

When I awake, I ache
My tears bathe my ears
As your image disappears
I will always hold you near

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"Old bridge, river and the alameda" Lyrics by Chabuca Granda

Easy Money V

Cindy stood petrified, in the middle of Lucien’s office.

This was one of those defining moments in life that test one’s mettle, and could quite possibly alter the direction and shape of one’s future.

Cindy did not move; it seemed as if she could not move. She was standing on the borderline between the wholesome girl she once was, and the hardened woman she was crystallizing into.

When she tried to take a step forward, it seemed as if she were a rubber band, snapped back into place. This was all wrong…yet…did she want to look back on her death bed with major regrets? Regrets about not grabbing the precious and few opportunities in life with both hands?

There is so much she could do with this money, she thought. There are so many people she could also help, so much grief that this money could alleviate in her hands.
If she did not take it, who would? A portion might be pocketed by unscrupulous cops? Surely the IRS would seize it, since this was unreported revenue.

Cindy went from being cold and shaking, to wiping her clammy hands on her hips. What ever she chose to do, she had better get a moving on.

She quickly scanned her options. She would need four large industrial trash bags, so as to double bag it, and a pair of cleaning gloves. To avoid the security cameras outside this office, she would throw the black bags down Lucien’s window, and make a hasty exit through the fire escape stairs. The alley bellow was even closer to her car anyway.

An invisible wall hindered her movement. A remnant of the girl she was brought up to be said that she would be selling her soul for that money - blood money. How many men had been broken by greed, by the need to consume, to acquire more and even more to fill a vortex that was never satiated for too long? How many marriages had been torn apart because if this money? It was just wrong to do so. She should simply walk away.

Another voice reasoned that she would not be the only one. This world was fucked up as it is. There were very prominent people with blood on their hands, who had never confronted enemy in battle themselves. Some chose to jeopardized the security of the family nucleus by massive downsizing their work force, only to appease share holders. Yes, the world is fucked up.

The jewels of wisdom, integrity, and honesty were obscured by the dizzying glitter of diamonds. Justice itself was myopic, and feeble in her judgement. Soiled and corrupted by man as she was, way too often. Such is the world now, this voice said. Darkness is in an everlasting dance with Goodness.

Rivulets of perspiration began to descend to the valley of her cleavage. Her hands were shaking, as if had consumed on overdose of Redbull, and taken inhaled a few lines of cocaine.
That thought galvanized her into action. She had on a few occasions seen Lucien do drugs with his friends. When the cops came and inspected this place, if they found drugs, she might be charged as an accomplice.

When Cindy decided to be thoroughly honest with her self, and to embrace her flaws and virtues, she was then able to make a decision….it was that easy.

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Easy Money IV

-“So, Cindy what brought you all the way from Indiana to California?” Oscar asked while parking himself on the edge of her desk, with a smirk plastered on his face.

-“Well, I’d like to write for a living. That is why I came to study here.” Cindy contributed, not that it was any of his business.

-“Oh! You mean like for scripts and stuff? Hey! I’ve got contacts. Why don’t we have and early dinner one of these days, and I can tell you about hooking you up with my movie making buddies in the Valley? I mean, it’s strictly porn, but, you know, those movies need a story line, right? They can’t be non-stop fucking, if you know what I mean.” He added with a toothy smile and a wink.

Just as Cindy was about to formulate a neutral fuck off, dressed with politeness, when a commotion in the adjoining office interrupted their exchange. This was followed by a gun shot.

Oscar was the first to exit her office to see what the commotion was about. What happened next was quick and definitive. A vindictive and inebriated, former client shot Oscar point blank between the eyes, while he was standing in the hallway.

Cindy could see from the security camera Oscar’s body swaying as in a little dance, before collapsing on the floor. She could see the shooter coming towards her office and guided by sheer instinct, she made herself inconspicuous as she crawled under her massive mahogany desk.

She intuited as well as heard the steps of the deranged shooter enter her office. She imagined him waving his revolver, and walking towards the end of her office to Lucien’s office.

Cindy’s heartbeat clamored so loudly in her diaphragm, that she thought it would burst. She put her hands over her ears, and shut her eyes tight, as she trembled like a wet dog in winter. She was so scared, that she thought that she would pee in her cubbyhole.

Cindy knew what was coming next, and as expected the thunder of multiple gunshots from opposing sides collided, and the resounding thud of a hefty body making contact with the carpeted floor.

-“You fucking son of a bitch!” Those were the last words uttered by Lucien, as the words ended in a gurgle of blood seeping through his mouth, and in multiple parts of his expansive anatomy.

Sensing that the coast was clear, Cindy crawled out of her improvised shelter to inspect the scene. The shooter’s body was blocking the entrance to Lucien’s office, as she carefully walked around the sprawled limbs, and the oozing rivers of blood permeating the beige carpet.

She saw Lucien sprawled over his desk. His head cradled by a pillow of money. Stacks upon stacks of crispy one-hundred dollar bills, which had been in the process of being summed and gathered into stacks of ten thousand dollars each.

Cindy walked closer to Lucien’s desk. The massive safe door was ajar, inside there were easily over two million dollars in cash.

To be continued…

Easy Money III

Cindy swallowed an aspirin, and rushed it down her esophagus in a tide of coffee. She had three more calls to make, before she called it quits for the week.

She psyched herself to make the call. Somehow, she had still to find the magic key to getting tangible results.
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Although Cindy was very persistent with the roster of delinquent clients that she called on, for some reason her efforts did not yield satisfactory results. It seems that they took advantage that she is a woman to play on her emotions with a sad story.

-“Hello Mr. Ramirez? …Hi, this is Cindy from Lucien Enterprises calling again. Remember that we spoke last week concerning your short term loan…..yes; I was wondering if perhaps you were coming next Monday to pay?

You know you are already two weeks behind your due payment, and if I don’t see results, I may have to forward your account to my supervisor.

-“Cindy, I already told you, I will pay you guys as soon as possible. An emergency came up, one of my kids fractured his arm while playing football and my wife is also going for some medical check ups, and we are worried it may be cancerous. Please Cindy, just give me a little bit of time. I promise to make it next week. I promise.” He said as solemnly as a prayer.

-“All right Mr. Ramirez, I am sorry to have bothered you. I hope everything turns out all right for your wife….goodbye.” Cindy said apologetically.

She needed a mental distraction. She dialed the cell phone of the guy she had had dinner with last weekend, to see what he was up to next weekend.

-“Who is this?” An angry woman answered.

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-“Hi, my name is Cindy and I am calling for Mark, can you put him on the phone please?” Cindy asked almost hesitantly.

-“I know who you are. You’ve been leaving him messages. I’m HIS WIFE! AndI don’t want you to call him EVER AGAIN!” His wife yelled into the receiver.
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-“I…I am sorry. I did not know Mark was married - honest! And I want to thank you for letting me know this, but I think you should direct your anger at him, and forbid him from approaching other women to ask for their number.” Cindy said mortified.

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Cindy put back the telephone on its cradle, and then put her hands to her temples to quiet the internal pounding of her head.

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What a shithead. Who would have thought it? He seemed so nice and caring, and insisted on going to a nice place to be ‘together.’ She had had to endure his little kisses on her bare shoulder and back while eating her dinner. She should have asked for appetizers – that shit.

All the time, while her body automatically reacted to the kisses on her shoulder, her mind refused him saying: NO! NO! NO! Not him. He is only an usurper, and those little kisses on her arm only served to remind her of someone else doing that.

Before parting with nothing more than a kiss on her hand (thank God), she went to the restaurant's bathroom to wash with water and soap his slobbering on her arm and upper back. She roughly scrubbed her skin with the industrial type paper towels to get rid of his cheap cologne, and any trace of his slobbering little kisses.

Her date had morphed into a motivational session that would have made Tony Robbins proud.

With sincere enthusiasm and pragmatic possible solutions, Cindy had motivated him to fast forward to plan where he wanted to be five, ten, thirty years from now. That in itself was more than the price of dinner.

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She should have told his wife that she sent him back, a better man.

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Cindy’s head was boiling in anger. How could men be such dogs as to sniff everything that walked in a skirt? The aspirin was not making any improvements to her augmented headache.

She would make one more call, and then leave earlier than usual.

-“Hello Mr. Bronson? Hi, it’s Cindy again calling from Lucien Enterprises. How are we doing on the payment due?”

-“Hi Cindy. Oh I gotta tell you, I haven’t come up with the money yet. You know I told you one of my kids got sick, and my car payment came due….next week. By next week Cindy, I promise to go there and pay everything I owe.” He assured her.

-“I see. Listen to me Mr. Bronson. If I were you, I’d hold on paying the electric bill, or the rent, or even eating out. Do you know why? Because if I don’t see you next Friday here before 5:30 pm, I am going to sick on you my assistants, and after they are through with YOU, and with your car, you will not have to worry about diverting funds for the car payment anymore.

Not a minute after 5:30 Mr. Bronson. There is no room for negotiations from now on……have a nice weekend.”

.

From that moment on, Cindy seemed to have unlocked the combination to making her easier, productive, and more lucrative. She did not personalize or employ pity on any man she collected from. She was a long way from her small town. This town hardened people.

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Her commissions started generating from thereon.

To be continued

Easy Money II

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-"Mr. Lucien, I really do appreciate the offer, but I have to tell you that I don't think I'd do well with the hyper-aggressive collection tactic you may require. That is not how I was trained to deal with donors at KCET. I think I'm not qualified, and I need to pass on your offer." Cindy said timidly.

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-"Oh Cindy, don't worry! We will re-train you! And before you walk away consider this.... I will double your old salary over there, plus! You will earn a commission of every delinquent collection you bring in.

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You see, due to the economy and what not, we are doing more business than ever! We also give short term loans, which would seem of a desperate nature, and at a higher interest rate, but hey! Desperate times, require desperate measures. We need to have those loans collected on time, as that money needs to keep circulating.

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So, on top of what you made there hustling non-stop, this will be easy money and possibly almost three times that amount, considering the take on the collections. So, what do you say now?" Lucien asked expectantly.

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Cindy lowered her eyes to run her hands over her lap. Earning twice, and possibly more on top of what she had earned before; she could then change her crappy car for a new one. It was a gas guzzler and unreliable anyway. She could then also move out of her roommate's apartment and away from the neurotic-psycho roommate they had.

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She had called the cops of their third roommate, and that fight originated only because he had cleaned the fridge and thrown away her rotting food. That had developed into a hysteria fest for that psycho bitch. The drama usually erupted when she was premenstrual.

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What would she do for some peace and quiet? She thought for a minute.

She could push people to pay up that's what, and deal with this beast if she had to......fuck it!

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-"O.K Mr. Lucien, I will take the job." Cindy said this as she rose from her chair and extended her hand in a firm handshake.

.

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to be continued...

Easy Money

Cindy polished her reading glasses, and replaced them delicately on her face. She then proceeded to smooth her lace trimmed shirt inside her tube skirt. When she was called into the office for her job interview, she quickly donned the matching navy rayon jacket of her assemble.

-“Welcome! Ms. Branford, may I call you Cindy?”

-“Yes, of course Mr. Lucien.”

-“Good…good. I think we will get along just fine, you and me.” As he takes a few minutes to browse through her resume.

-“I see in your resume that you’ve only worked four years in fund raising at KCET right after your graduation. Good, for your information, this job would be similar in nature, as it entails mainly dealing with raising funds in the form of collections.
As my right hand, you would help me oversee several of my business ventures, as I dabble here and there in various multiple projects. The latest is the acquisition of hazardous waste sites, cleaning those up, and eventually rebuilding on them.
But there is much so more for you to be acquainted with…. ”

Cell phone rings.

-“Excuse me….Hi! How you’ve been?............... What do you mean you can’t make it?....................
Listen to me you scrotum-sucking, son of a cheap whore, I don’t give a fuck if you can’t make it on time, this is gonna cost you 5% penalty……………..
No excuses!.........................
You can slobber over my balls you faggot. I want that money no later than in two weeks! Do you hear me you anal rimming sissy? If I don’t get my money then I’ll cut your balls, and feed those to my dogs…right in front of you!

Sorry about that Cindy, so as I was saying, I dabble in multiple projects. There is no time clock card. You work with me until late hours, sometimes if necessary, and you will be well compensated for your efforts. We even have dental and eye benefits. You will become part of the family. Speaking of which this is a family oriented business.

I run this with my little brother, and until our father passed away - may he rest in peace, - he was head of the business.

Now Cindy, part of your job is to keep me posted of what is going on around here. Since it is a family oriented business, I had to hire my brother-in-law so that my sister can enjoy a decent life style. His name is Oscar and he is a perfect imbecile, and as trustworthy as swiming with a piranha. For which reason, I have his telephone and office bugged.

I am telling you in strict confidence, since part of your job will be to listen to what he says in his office, but only on certain occasions.

Now Cindy, what do you say? Will you take this job and be part of the family?”

Cindy’s mouth was gaped open. She swallowed saliva before answering her decision.


To be continued….

Exposure III

I was walking towards my car which was about five long blocks away, and I decided the destination loomed way too far. A caravan of red metro buses whizzed by me, so I decided that I would take the bus home.

I ambled to the nearest bus stop, where I inquired in Spanish from a guy waiting for the bus, as to when he thought the next bus would arrive. Registering a perplexed expression in his blue eyes, I asked this in English, to which he answered in a British accent, that it would come around about one in the morning.

After three packed buses passed by without stopping at my bus stop, when a bus did deign to stop, I stood on its platform, and politely asked the driver if it was even remotely fair that I pay for lousy service, since three buses have failed to stop to pick us up.

I really don’t know what my eyes looked like; he simply gave me a free bus transfer, so as to get the bus moving again. I made myself comfortable as the operator’s radio blasted “Ladies Night” on the Saturday disco radio show.

I was surprised to see Downtown in the wee early hours brewing with activity. I briskly walked to my connecting bus stop, while looking down at the floor. Since I was wearing flip flops due to acquiring blisters on my feet the night before, those due to promenading in high heeled shoes, I was afraid to step on a rodent the size of a month-old kitten, which proliferate downtown L.A.

The connecting bus ride was surreal. My mouth gaped open at the audacity of the female bus operator. She was careering at high speed a 40,000 pound, 40 ft stainless steel mammoth while texting. She alternated between a second glance to the road, and back to her Iphone, and so forth, with more time spent on the texting. I ceased my reading to watch the road, in case I needed to alert her of an imminent collision. After all, what could I say? It was a free bus ride.

Later on Sunday morning, I dress for the weather with a spaghetti strap turquoise blouse, and I venture out to get my car. I stop at Cliftons’ Cafeteria on Broadway to eat breakfast and people watch.

I observe an elderly man clasping his hands in prayer, these hovering over a tray which contained one small milk carton, and a slice of quiche. I also notice a woman leaving embracing her boyfriend, while wearing her Sunday best. Hopefully not to any church, as her powder blue backless disco dress made of polyester, and straight out of ‘Saturday Dance Fever’ would be a bit too festive for such a place.

As I wait for my bus to take me back to my car, a man with white, orange, and blonde hair in subsequent layers like those Big Stick ice cream pops, stood next to me. He rubbed his left eye, and I notice white eye matter caked on the corner of his right eye.

Last Sunday, the sun was brutal, and I was too exposed to its cruel punishment.

Exposure II

The latest book I’ve read from the L.A Library, dealt considerably with alcohol, and pot as crutches used by the protagonist. Curious to get a grip on what the protagonist of the novel endured, and thanks in part to my overtly stressful week, I decided to try some.

I met the person who offered to share the peace pipe, who happens to be a very nice personal trainer. Not to say that I’ve never tried it, but it was so long, long ago, it was as if I had never had any.

When we met, he asked me if I was afraid of dogs. I replied that I actually love dogs. “Good” he said, as he opened the door and two wolves jumped on me. These are large mixed breeds, and instantly I braced myself. I was not afraid; I intuitively knew we were kin, and I communicated this in thought and manner.

The white female, with one ice-blue and one brown eye, stood on her hind legs to place her paws on my arm as if to welcome me. She was noble and regal, as we maintained direct eye contact. She seems a replica of the wolf in the picture which hangs on the wall next to my bed. This symbolic of my feral side which I must nurture to be balanced.

The male with a brown and black felt, instantly dived his nostrils into the crotch of my jeans. Did he sense I was in heat? I wondered. I thought what a simple and straightforward way to meet. How great it would be to simply sniff out strangers, to get a whiff of their true intentions, essence, and compatibility based on naked, razor sharp instinct.

I only tried it about three times, considering that I would need to drive home that night. The effect was immediate, as I felt myself collapsing into the cushion of the chair, as if to become part of it, so deep and that much deeper into myself I folded, as pliant as a leaf.

To make conversation I asked the personal trainer how much he charged per session, to which he responded with an estimate. He told me that I have a beautiful face, and that he could get me in great shape in about six months.

By this time my instincts were as sharp as a dull, plastic knife. I could not tell if he meant it, or if it was merely a sales tactic he commonly used to recruit new clients. Sinking further into the chair and into myself, I concluded that both assumptions merited credit.

Still, his offer is tempting since left to my own devices, I run the risk of being inconsistent. When pressed on by a strict taskmaster, I tend to produce. At least the is how it was with my teachers and professors. The more formidable and challenging they were, the more I strived to excel.

After a while, it was time for me to go. The trainer asked me if I was O.K, to which I automatically answered, that of course I was fine.

It was past ten o’clock; I knew I was not fit to drive. I walked to the main avenue to find an eatery that was open all night to read a book and get something to eat.
I made my way to Bob’s Big Boy, and took my time to eat something and to read. At midnight, the restaurant closed.

The multiple cups of coffee had not helped enough. I was still not fit to drive. As I walked down the well lit Wilshire Blvd., I saw a homeless man sleeping under the arch of a store front of Miracle Mile. I stood nearby endlessly waiting for the light to turn green thinking how ironic that was. I also contemplated what my options were at that moment.

To be continued….

Exposure

The sun was perverse. Today, I do not feel as if the sun enveloped me lovingly in a blanket of warmth.

The skin of my upper body feel as if has been flayed unmercifully with searing lashes of liquid fire. These lashes map the expanse of my exposed skin with pulsating welts, raw to the touch.

As I ponder that I will have to sleep face down tonight and uncovered, I think back to the events which resulted in such an excruciating situation as I am in.

I decide that part of the blame lies on the Los Angeles Public Library. Yes, on the ideas one may encounter ensconced in the pages of obscure volumes expectant to be chosen; these hopeful as abandoned pets in shelters, longing to be adopted.

To be continued….

Wilted

Yes, the heat does it to me every time, I am wilted. I cannot think of anything else but of taking off my clothes and jumping under a cool shower stream. Did that already, after all the highlight of my early afternoon was licking a scoop of vanilla ice cream, while simultaneously driving...and having the melting ice cream dripping onto my perspiring cleavage.

Good thing I'm quite adept at multi-tasking. Driving, slurping, and one hand dabbing on the adventurous ice cream.

For this lazy Saturday, I will post these delicious quotes which are more clever than the four letter word too commonly and uninspiring used.

The exchange between Churchill & Lady Astor: She said, "If you were my husband I'd give you poison," and he said, "If you were my wife, I'd drink it."

A member of Parliament to Disraeli: "Sir, you will either die on the gallows or of some unspeakable disease." "That depends, Sir," said Disraeli, "on whether I embrace your policies or your mistress."

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-"He had delusions of adequacy." - Walter Kerr

-"He has all the virtues I dislike and none of the vices I admire." - Winston Churchill

-"A modest little person, with much to be modest about." - Winston Churchill

-"I have never killed a man, but I have read many obituaries with great pleasure."
- Clarence Darrow

-"He has never been known to use a word that might send a reader to the dictionary."
- William Faulkner (about Ernest Hemingway).

-"Poor Faulkner. Does he really think big emotions come from big words?"
- Ernest Hemingway (about William Faulkner)

-"Thank you for sending me a copy of your book; I'll waste no time reading it."
- Moses Hadas

-"He can compress the most words into the smallest idea of any man I know."
- Abraham Lincoln

-"I didn't attend the funeral, but I sent a nice letter saying I approved of it." - Mark Twain

-"He has no enemies, but is intensely disliked by his friends."
- Oscar Wilde

-"I am enclosing two tickets to the first night of my new play; bring a friend.... if you have one."
- George Bernard Shaw to Winston Churchill

-"Cannot possibly attend first night, will attend second... if there is one."
- Winston Churchill, in response.

-"I feel so miserable without you; it's almost like having you here."
- Stephen Bishop

-"He is a self-made man and worships his creator." - John Bright

-"I've just learned about his illness. Let's hope it's nothing trivial."
- Irvin S. Cobb

-"He is not only dull himself, he is the cause of dullness in others." -
- Samuel Johnson

- "He is simply a shiver looking for a spine to run up."- Paul Keating

-"There's nothing wrong with you that reincarnation won't cure."
- Jack E. Leonard

-"He has the attention span of a lightning bolt."
- Robert Redford

-"They never open their mouths without subtracting from the sum of human knowledge."
- Thomas Brackett Reed

-"In order to avoid being called a flirt, she always yielded easily."
- Charles, Count Talleyrand

-"He loves nature in spite of what it did to him."
- Forrest Tucker

-"Why do you sit there looking like an envelope without any address on it?"
- Mark Twain

-"His mother should have thrown him away and kept the stork."
- Mae West

-"Some cause happiness wherever they go; others, whenever they go." -
- Oscar Wilde

-"He uses statistics as a drunken man uses lamp-posts... for support rather than illumination."
- Andrew Lang (1844-1912)

-"He has Van Gogh's ear for music."
- Billy Wilder

-"I've had a perfectly wonderful evening. But this wasn't it."
- Groucho Marx

The Box

Jump in! Just do it! Its fun
I am afraid, I’ve got to run
We have only just begun
Although it may be unclear

you must persevere

What’s in that box you hold, unlock its contents
I am afraid it will be broken I say this softly spoken
Lend us your ear; for we are sincere
Trade you fear and your tears
Don’t allow your mind to be austere

Life is a game, learn to play it
I am afraid to be lead astray
I am too wild to be tamed
I don’t need the pain
That is a shame…for nothing stays the same

Life is a game, learn to play it
Set your heart aflame…unlock the key
And simply be carefree
On that we do agree
Though I don’t need my heart to bleed

Jump in, just do it, its fun
In the long run, make each day count

Although you have been betrayed
None of us is immune to the loved one
All of your experiences have brought you here

We speak of love and fear for those rule us
My dear... although you’d like to steer clear
Listen to the celestial spheres
That is what makes the world go around
Love and fear

.

.

Spanish Lesson

Whole VII

There was a slight sensation of déjà vu as Lucy briskly walked on Broadway Blvd. this morning. The sun was welcomed, as its warmth dissipated the chill from the air.

Lucy did not stop to feel its caress on her cheeks; she did not even turn her head to check the oncoming traffic for negligent drivers before crossing the street. She walked with her head tilted down, frankly, she was uncaring if the idiotic drivers were on the loose.

She sat on the lobby of the clinic waiting patiently for the pregnancy results. A mere flicker of hope lighted the deepest recesses of her psyche. This only a tiny flame, tenuously kept alive in the midst of a hurricane of emotions which threatened its extinguishment.

This tiny flicker of light resided in the part of her mind which still held a shred of her former, whole self. What she was right now, she mused, was a shattered, empty vessel.

Although externally she seemed intact, the vessel was cracked and could not contain water, contain her former self, or even an ounce of hope.

Sometimes she thought that only a bullet to her temple could cease the paralyzing anguish. While some dreamed of going to Paris, or winning the Lotto, for Lucy to simply achieve a state of numbness - nothingness at last, would be simply beautiful.

Two young women sat in front of her, one with a toddler on her lap. It was a little girl with a doll's face. The tiny flame seemed to augment for a moment, as Lucy looked tenderly at the little girl. Lucy offered a tentative smile to her; this was the first smile she had generated in months.

Is there anything more sacred and precious than the love for a child she mused? A love that is so pure, unconditional, enduring and blessed? Babies were angels, they felt like, and smiled and smelled like angels…. Jose Jr. had been an angel who had been called back to heaven prematurely.

-“Are you sure I’m not pregnant? I mean, my period did not arrive last month!” Lucy asked anxiously.

-“The blood tests are very accurate. You are not pregnant, although you may feel that you might be. Are you eating well? You seem to be precariously underweight Lucy. Not eating enough can arrest your period. Why don’t you make an appointment for a physical?” The nurse on duty asked.

Lucy felt the flicker of light dim to almost nothing; it was merely a speck now. She ambulated aimlessly the artery of Downtown Los Angeles, with a different shade of glasses.

It was as if her eyesight had been vastly improved with Lasik surgery, for now she was able to see the demons who sat on some people's shoulders earnestly instructing that person to appeal to his or her baser side. Some were little elves with furrowed foreheads and tiny feet dangling from someone’s shoulder.

Perhaps she was disoriented from lack of food, and that is why she confused mean looking people with elves; although, she had heard tales of real elves sighted in the sierras of Veracruz. One man said to have witnessed several elves playing together and making mischief in the forest. There is where the most seasoned witch doctors in Mexico practised their craft.

Perhaps those who pawned their souls for riches, vengeance, and success, carried the weight of their elves. These might just be the collectors of their debt when the bill was due.

Her olfactory sense seemed to be particularly heightened as well. The smog ingested from the buses and cars wheezing by, carried a scent emanating from the putrefied sewer system; it was merely a whiff of the filth, tears, hopelessness, diseases, and the anguish and despair of the residents of this city of angels.

Suddenly she came upon The State Theatre, rather the former, as it was now the Cathedral of Faith which promised salvation and a cure for all ailments with the holy water they sold. The brilliant sunlight made the cavernous lobby of the theatre dark and mysterious.

Lucy needed desperately to find her soul again. She closed the gap to enter this place with this magical water; she wanted to be immersed in it, then perhaps...perhaps, she would be whole again.

.

Whole VI

-“Lucy, it’s called ‘Crib Death Syndrome’ it is relatively common in newborns up to a year old.” Ana said this in a soothing tone.

Ana was the therapist visiting Lucy at the county hospital where she had been taken after her meltdown, which had occurred at the fish processing plant.
.
Lucy was programmed to soldier on; to simply forge ahead even under the harshest physical and psychological hardship.

Just the ride north had tested her mettle, and that she had survived.
She thought that she would go insane during the non-stop, twenty-four trip originating in Puebla inside a delivery truck.
In this truck one-hundred illegal immigrants were pressed together like sardines in an overheated, insulated environment without access to water, food, adequate air supply, or a chance to relieve themselves on a toilet.

The experience was forever ingrained in her psych - it was unforgettable. It had been a sauna. A stinking, claustrophobic calamity, drenched in human sweat, misery, and odorous human despair.

The women took their blouses off, along with their last remnants of dignity.
How can one grasp to the last shreds of dignity when you are transported like cattle, and one had to pull down one's pants in front of ninety-nine other people to defecate? What can one say? “I’m sorry, I gotta go, please don’t mind the stench?” as she wrapped the redolent, steaming turd in a plastic bag, just like the dog walkers do for their pampered canines.

.
The rude reply the coyotes offered when too many complained was, "Shut up cabrones! We are almost there!"
.
Yes, Lucy was a trooper. She had worked through extreme temperatures, hunger, sexual molestation in the fields of Salinas, worked two jobs during her pregnancy - she had tested her mettle.

Naturally she assumed that she could go back to work, just after she buried her baby. If she took more time off, she was afraid to lose her post. Besides, one came here to work - one lived to work, what other reason was there to leave behind home, loved ones, and the sense of belonging?

After three weeks of automatic pilot mode, something triggered her meltdown. There was a collection at the plant for a baby shower for one of the women about to pop.
Suddenly, Lucy stopped her work, which was to be part of a continuum flow, to keep abreast of the rhythm of production.

When her supervisor came to her side to inquire what the matter was, Lucy seemed to gasp for air, as she clutched at her chest, seemingly unable to breathe or talk. She was shaken by the arm and prompted to respond while someone called the paramedics.
.
Lucy was able then to formulate an incomprehensible and primal cry. The piercing cry of a wounded animal, inarticulate yet fierce; this originating from the very core of her palpilating womb. As if from the depths of mother earth, debilitated and sickened by man; these cries made the hair on the back of the neck stand up.
Lucy screamed incessantly while falling to her knees, until her throat was hoarse, and the paramedics injected her with a tranquilizer.
.
Mario could not be more solicitous. He picked up Lucy from the hospital stay, and told her that she did not have to go back to work, until she was ready to. He said that he would pay for her share of the room, food, and utilities.

Lucy did not reply. She was an automaton.
.
She did not resist when Mario took off the barrier which separated their small room. Mario took down the dividing curtain. He took to her bed also. At first, it was only to hold her spoon-like fashion. Ultimately, his baser instincts took over and he took what he wanted. He took her leaking milk; he took her from behind, uncaring that her lights were off, or that she was as dry as a paper towel.

Lucy did not care either; the lights were off.



To be continued….

Whole V

Absolutely nothing.

The grueling days and lonely nights passed in a blur, while her midsection ballooned.

Still, Lucy hoped that Jose would come back to them, for which reason she kept her share of the room, harboring the hope that Jose would walk in any day now. The days turned into weeks, and these into months during which her hopes deflated like a punctured balloon.

Her baby already had a distinctive personality and kicked whenever she went too long without eating, or when she listened to music, or when she occasionally succumbed to despair and broke down to cry. Her baby, (a boy), already seemed eager to console her and remind Lucy that she was not totally alone.
.

Lucy worked full time until the day her water broke while standing on her feet for six hours at the fish plant; this was her only source of income now. On a cloudy October morning, her son Jose was born.

.

Enjoying the time off from work for the following days, (she would return in three weeks), Lucy nursed her tiny son, while clutching his minute and perfectly shaped fingers. His nails were long; she would need to get new little scissors to trim his nails. Lucy also pondered what her next move would be.

For almost seven months now, she had not heard a word from Jose. She had gone to his job days following his departure, and there she had been told that he had simply quit and left on a Friday after getting paid. One of his co-workers said that he had talked about joining some cousins in Alabama, where he’d heard that there was a lot of work. Lucy asked if by chance he had left a telephone number where he might be reached, and the response was negative.

Lucy thanked the guy, while guarding her expression. She only allowed the dam of tears to flow freely, after she was a block away from the car wash.

Her job at the fish plant was still waiting for her; that job and Mario.

Mario was her roommate. He was a quiet man - a loner. He is the one who shared the other half of the room separated by the curtain. Many times she had sensed, or rather heard his jagged and labored breathing behind that curtain late at night, and she pretended to be asleep and oblivious to its implications.

Into her seventh month of pregnancy, as Lucy came home early now after she finished her shift at the fish packing plant, Mario started joining her at the kitchen table as she cooked her dinner and lunch for the following day. He also started bringing home extra groceries when before he would simply eat at a cheap taco place in the vicinity. One evening, emboldened by a few beers post work, Mario gathered the nerve to ask Lucy if she would be his woman.

Lucy had suspected that Mario was interested in her, well; at least the close proximity of the small room was too intimate to elude the obvious attraction he felt. She turned him down. In her mind, she still harbored the hope that Jose would send for her once he was established in Alabama. She adamantly refused his proposition.

While Lucy was busy preparing the milk formula for Jose who was three months old, Mario looked at Jose Junior’s resemblance of his father with hostility. His mother still refused his honorable advances - even marriage. She stupidly waited for the coward of Jose to show up, or to cough up some child support money.

-"Stupid woman. Stupid kid."

.

He recalled that he had seen once on National Geographic that the female lions only mated every two years. This time lapse allowed her cubs to be nurtured and to grow independent.

If a new male lion wanted to mate, he had two options. He could wait for the female’s time to ovulate and be in heat again, or kill her cubs which would expedite the cycle of the female’s ovulating period. This would provoke the female - after a short mourning period - the need to mate again and seek to get impregnated.

Jose Jr. seemed to sense the hostility emanating from Mario. He started to fuss in his second-hand crib. As his little face wrinkled into a grimace with the intention of gathering steam, to bawl with gusto; Mario took hold of the baby pillow which was resting behind Jose Junior’s backside.



to be continued...

Whole IV

Lucy waited for the right time to speak to Jose about her pregnancy. She had no doubt now as she had missed her period the last two months, and the morning sickness was further evidence of her condition.

She was worried that she would not be able to work at the dance hall when her pregnancy showed. She might have another two months at the most before it would be too noticeable to keep undercover.

Lucy laughed when she thought that she might have to resort to wearing a tight girdle as the one the girl at the clinic wore. The woman had resembled a piñata bursting with treats inside. Her animated laugh halted when reality dawned on her. There is no way they could survive with what only on what Jose took in. Who would hire a ballooned woman anyway? Soon enough she would resemble the Good Year Blimp.

Lucy calculated that perhaps she could look for daytime work before her pregnancy was noticeable. Her best friend worked in a fish processing plant in Downtown. The women there worked until the very end of their pregnancy, even if they had to stand for eight hours in a freezing climate.

The following day which was a Sunday, they walked to Olvera Street after mass, to get breakfast at little Mexican fast food place they loved to eat in. Lucy had put on her favorite pink dress, and made up her face especially pretty. Seeing that Jose was in an especially happy mood, in comparison to his perpetual frown, Lucy ventured to tell Jose about her condition. Afterwards, Jose looked down pensively at his callous hands.

-“What’s the matter? I told you I was careful. We’ve been together a whole year, and it’s you who refuses to use condoms anyway. Aren’t you even remotely happy?” Lucy asked expectantly.

-“Of course I am happy.” Jose said, followed by a soulful sigh. “It’s just that... it’s going to be tougher, as it is, I’m not even paid for all the hours I put in at the car wash.

What can I do? At least I take the tips home. People are getting laid off, instead of being hired. Others are getting their hours cut down. Companies now are afraid to hire without proof of legal papers, for the migra is cracking down on large companies with large Latino workforce.

.

That is why I am at the car wash, you know they look the other way, even if…even if we are exploited without remorse. I work long hours, and the job is so damn tiring Lucy; I don’t have the time to find another job or the energy.” Jose admitted with despair in his eyes, his backed hunched over as if in admitted defeat.

- “Don’t worry Jose, I am having this baby. God will provide. We are not the only people struggling to make ends meet, that get pregnant. I will get up early tomorrow morning to find work, and work two jobs as long as they allow me to work. I don’t think I will be able to work at the dance hall more than a couple of months anyway.” Lucy said with tears clouding her vision.

Lucy washed the makeup off her pale and gaunt face. She hurried to bed to make the most of her four hours of sleep before she would have to get up to report to the fish plant ….at seven in the morning. She found their bed still made and empty. It was cold, but she did not register what it meant. Her body was too tired to rationalize what this meant. Her body clamored for rest and her mind required numbness.

to be continued...

Whole III

Lucy reapplied her fuchsia lipstick as she elegantly crossed her legs, while anxiously waiting for a customer to call on her. It was still fairly early on that Saturday night, and she hoped she generated more business than she had the rest of the week.

The slow economy and the soaring gas prices seemed to be affecting her job as a dance hostess as well. The random ICE raids which were becoming more frequent, affected her job as well in a sense.
.
Most of the men who patronized this establishment, and paid by the hour to dance with her and the other women, were mostly lonely immigrants. Most did not speak enough English so as to venture to a regular dance club, and simply ask a woman to dance and offer to buy her a drink.

To ameliorate their loneliness they came here every week. They paid for a little bit of human touch; they paid for the illusion that we were a loving couple dancing cheek to cheek, or those bold ones who groped for a feel of the curves their hands circumvented.

One had to be pragmatic. One had to let the wandering hands slide, for it meant securing a tip, and a repeat customer. One had to produce or get kicked out. The girls that did not meet a quota were laid off.
This place after all, was not a bad gig. Looking at the chipped nail polish on her big toe, Lucy reminisced that this was heaven compared to her first gig up North.
In Salinas, she had worked like a beast in the fields. She endured back breaking labor, the oppressing sun, and the abuse by the field managers. That was the worst. Just about ninety percent of the women were sexually accosted and even molested by the field managers.

It was disgusting, to endure the rancid odor of the bodies saturated in sweat and dust. It was a daily occurrence; it was a life of perpetual fear of whom he would pick on. One was tense and anxious, yet more afraid of going hungry, or the single mothers of not being able to feed their kids, or of being deported.

Lucy lowered her top to better display her wares. Yep, this job in this air conditioned hall, beat having to bend over for work, for men... for mere survival in squalid conditions.

Lucy stood up to circulate the room, with the intent to hustle for a customer. She seductively walked over to the bar where only soda pop was allowed to be served. There he was; she eyed Jose as he was buying a Coke. She zeroed in on her target and smiled sweetly, carefully camouflaging her bad teeth, and her despair.

That is how our love affair began. It was not love per say. He did not pay anymore to strange women to dance with him. He had me now, and together we made a whole of our American dream.


to be continued...

Whole II

.

Lucy ran to make the light, while crossing the street. She was late for her appointment, yet she was extra careful to see the opposing traffic.
.

She had been almost traumatized last weekend, for she had been a hair’s breath from being hit by a car.

She had been crossing a stop sign, when she saw from her peripheral vision a car coming towards her at full speed. Her instincts told her to jump away or else she would be run over.

Lucy quickly sprinted back away from the oncoming car, barely missing being hit. Had she not purposely moved away, very likely she would have been hurt as the car stopped two feet beyond the stop line.

While it seemed the episode unfolded in slow motion, the thought that ran through her mind was, were she had been injured, she would not be able to work, or collect for damages considering her precarious legal situation.

Who knew if this stupid driver had valid insurance, or would even stop to affront the damage incurred? One needed to work to live in this very expensive city.

That is what one came for, to work. Being able to work had been her only and main concern.

She reiterated to the reckless driver what an idiot he is, and walked away, utterly shaken. Lucy arrived to her appointment just in time, then settled to fill her application.

While Lucy filled the application for a pregnancy test at the clinic, she observed the two women in front, asking information from the clinic’s receptionist.

-“How far along are you?” asked the receptionist, eyeing suspiciously the woman inquiring who seemed to be in her early thirties.

This woman wore a short miniskirt and a knitted, form fitting blouse, which made the overflowing bulges of her mid drift all the more blatantly obvious. She seemed to be wearing a girdle by the way her midsection seemed compressed to maximum capacity; the extra folds of meat overflowed from where the girdle commenced moving like snakes fighting for release.

-“I don’t know…like a little over three months.” Responded the young woman.

-“Why didn’t you come sooner? We can’t do abortions on advance stages. You seem to be quite along.” Responded the receptionist.

-“I didn’t have the money!” said the girdled woman, sounding desperate and ashamed, as she lowered her eyes.

-“Just fill the application, and we will see what the doctor says.”

Lucy could not take this anymore. She was disgusted and did not want people who treated such advance cases touching her very core. She bolted from that office and walked briskly down to Broadway, past the black guy who danced for hours non-stop to with the hopes of getting tips deposited in his hat. She ran past the gloomy faces of vendors who vied to entice customers into their shops, in English or Spanish…everyone was an amigo; dollars made you welcome.

Lucy came to Seventh Street and Broadway to wait for her bus to arrive. Her gaze was drawn to the former State Theatre, which was now converted to a church which advertised that the miraculous water would cure any illness even cancer and aids. The testimonials were very convincing on TV. There it was, just across the street from her, there was a panacea for all the ailments in the world, you just had to believe and pay for salvation.

Maybe two halves made the semblance of a whole she pondered, as her crammed bus arrived at the stop.

Time would tell.

She smiled when her passed rode by the dance hall where she had met Jose. She had been working there as a dance hostess for guys lonely for human touch, for a girl to smile at them and dance with them. They stupidly spent a good portion of their hard earned money on such an illusion. Lucy smiled as she remembered how she met Jose.


To be continued…