Well another shitty day, thanks for asking. Lots of work and added to several factors almost made me walk out of the job today. The fact that I had bills to pay kept me from doing that, but I'm just looking for a better offer.

Anyway:

The feds were grounding cropdusters because they were fearful some nut might use a cropduster to spread some biowarfare weapon. When I read that something inside me just snapped. I really don't want to stay in Trashville anymore. If some conflict erupts, I want to stay close to my family. I don't particularly want to die in Trashville, Tennessee.

After morbid introspection and being deppressed for being lonely (yeah even I get tired of that sometimes), it just hit me over the head. A simple epiphany or what can be described as "a moment of clarity".

Be Grateful Of What You Have. Forget About What You Don't Have

I'll keep this in mind and I am grateful. Then again, I've never been much of a comformist.

More reports of outright bigotry and blatant stupidity. Mainly:
1. President Bush calls for a 'crusade'. Many people get absolutely pissed. Sheepishly Dubya apologizes.
2. Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson blame basically anyone who's not a white anglo saxon protestant male for the bombings. After the fallout, they deny everything and when even Dubya rebukes them and when confronted with the tape, Falwell says he's "sorry". Back to the Dark Ages, eh?
3. Three people are denied boarding a Northwestern Airlines flight to Salt Lake City in Minneapolis because they happen to be of Arab descent. They were given $10 food coupons and bumped to another airline. So much for tolerance, eh?

In a much better note, there are links on the left side of the blog. Click them or else.

Kudos to Daryl for creating help not hate. Count me in and bright blessings to you and your family. Check out his blog.

It's interesting how people are crying for blood but ignoring the fact that until recently the US was supporting the Taliban. Now we're going to war with these fools. Life is that ironic, innit?

I don't know what to say and what to think right now. I guess I'm in my own little world. I think I'm gonna work some songs I programmed back home.

Moby you are a self-serving whiny little media whore bitch. And now you backed off your statements you made after the bombing. Another case of swallowing your foot you bald bitch. Let's add another one to this fucking wimp's list. You embody everything I fucking despise about so-called 'liberals'.

Bush wants Bin Laden dead or alive and his cowboy attitude is not helping. Anyone with a grasp of geography will suddenly notice that Afghanistan is surrounded by countries not exactly friendly to the US or Dubya. Where does he plan to set up camp, I wonder? So much for the war he wants to bring to our living rooms.

I decided to stop caring today. Or rather to stop caring for people outside my immediate family. Not that suddenly I'll become this cold unfeeling bastard (trust me, the temptation is there, but i need a really good excuse). but I think the more I try to help people in need with advice and suggestions, the least attention they put to it. Fuck them. Truly. It's fucked how many times I try to help people with some advice they asked me to give and then they do the exact opposite or worse, nothing at all. Yeah I'm fucking mad now, and I'm just sick of it. So I'm going to save myself the trouble of caring. I'll try to take care of my life. Selfish? Yes, but honestly, 99.9% of the people aren't worth it.

And while I'm on the subject: fuck you you ungrateful bitch. You know who you are. I gave you my fucking life and you walked out when I needed you the most. I just paid you in the same fucking coin. All that hate and rage inside you rots whatever's left from your body and whatever your disease has not taken care of, your hatred and anger will. I'm only sorry because you'll leave behind 2 kids who have nothing to do with it. You didn't have many true friends to begin with and you just burned your bridges with me, you selfish cunt. Fine, be that way. Just don't expect me to cry at your funeral. You're already dead to me.

As much as I love and respect women, I can never understand their little moods. Some of them might be related to the hormones, others, I don't even know. If any male can safely and accurately figure women out, please holler.

You know what? Fucking right. Until now we were a generation (at least in the USA/Puerto Rico) of empty heads, no conviction. It takes something like Sept 11 to wake our collective asses off. To get up and evaluate everything around you. To really appreciate life. And with all due respect to the victims of the bombing and the fact that they were innocent people caught at the wrong place and at the wrong time, in this fucking anger and outrage that I feel, I hope we do go to war.

Why? Not because it will certainly complicate matters and will start an endless circle of reprisals and shit. Just because it will thin out the population, give us more breathing room, get people off the fucking planet and maybe with all these struggle and shit that will follow, our fucking generation will fucking grow some conviction, some balls, something other than the fucking numbed pablum that we live today.

By the way, fucking numbskulls at work here in fucking N(tr)ashville. An Iraqui immigrant got his two cars burned in front of his house, his son harassed at school and business harassed too. An arab woman almost got swerved on the road by yahoos in pick up trucks. Some islamic/arab businesses were hit by angry assholes and a fucking catfish joint in Kentucky has a sign that says 'NO CAMEL JOCKEYS ALLOWED." We need a fucking war so we can draft all these ignorant assholes and hopefully they will get their asses killed in the name of 'democracy'.

I am sick of the endless parade of repeating the same crap over the television. There's a modicum of progress, but the general mood of this country is to bomb them first and ask questions later. This is really fucked up and surreal. Friday I got drunk first time in months and then went to eat some Thai food with my brother to take the buzz off. Some saturday shopping and now I'm so bored. Heh. Oh well. Tomorrow's back to the office so. Life is so boring today it's not even funny. Change is happening, albeit slowly. Ok. I'm off now.

Mientras mas leo, mas me preocupo. Los medios no cuestionan la 'version oficial' de los hechos, repitiendo la imagen de Osama Bin Laden una y otra vez. Y que pasa si no fue el? Yo entiendo la rabia y frustracion del publico por estos crimenes pero esto se puede transformar en un sentimiento anti-arabe y esto simplemente es inaceptable. Ruego que la represalia que viene no sea al blanco equivocado.

The more I read, the more I worry. The media doesn't even bother to question the 'official version' of the vents and limits itself to show Osama Bin Laden's picture again and again. What happens if it's not him? I understand and sympathize with the public's rage and frustration, but I'm afraid that those powerful emotions translate into an anti-arab sentiment, and that's totally unnaceptable. I hope that the reprisals don't hit the wrong target.

Esto es un relato en directo desde NYC cortesia de mi amiga Liza Rosa Bustos. Lean:

No fue Godzilla, tampoco King Kong. Esta vez las criaturas que perforaron las torres fueron aviones comerciales.

Era martes, la gente llegaba a su trabajo (o salia). Como son muy altas, solo se puede subir a las torres entramos (si la memoria no me falla era del 2do piso al 37, del 37 al 60 y tanto, del 60 y tanto al 102). Dado el grado de dificultad para bajar, es comprensible que despues del infernal impacto mucha gente saltara desde el piso 80 para evitar morir quemada.

Muchos espectadores pensaron que eran escombros los que caian del piso 80. Se equivocaron. Era gente.

9/11

A todos aquí les parecio estar viviendo una pelicula, los correos electronicos y las lineas de telefono atochadas...el metro suspendido y la gente cruzando la isla y las ciudades contiguas a pie...La escuela esta suspendida, nadie va al trabajo, los hospitales llenos de medicos... las calles plagadas con autos federales cruzando freeticamente de un extremo a otro la ciudad. Los noticiarios entregando la lista pasajeros muertos, las miles de historias que se cuelan por el concreto donde antes estaban las torres, en fin


Se acabaron las postales con las torres paralelas. Mucha gente va llorando por la calle. El telon es la inconfundible columna de humo alrededor del hoyo dejado por las Twin Towers puede verse desde cualquier punto de la ciudad.

A las 12 del dia del 9/11, la isla estaba vacia, las tiendas cerradas, no habia taxis, la escasa gente extranamente generosa y ayudandose, los telefonos, los peajes gratis. “Salgan de la isla”, le decian a los conductores de autos que transitaban cerca de los puentes, “Evite Manhattan”, decian los letretros a quienes se aproximaban por carretera a la ciudad.

Todas los puentes estaban cerrados, sin acceso. Y es que no era para menos. La realidad superaba la ficcion de Hollywood. Todo lo absurdo era real.

Todo parece apuntar a los fundamentalistas islamicos. Lo raro es que nadie, ni siquiera Usama Bin Laden cuya fotografia se asoma a ratos por la televison, se haya adjudicado la tremenda gracia.

Expertos del aire opinan que la certera maestria con la que los pilotos se estrellaron en las torres fue de calidad profesional. Las pistas llevan a Daytona, escuela de pilotos donde por 26 mil dolares aproximadamente se presume los secuestradores recibieron entrenamiento adecuado para tener rotundo éxito en la mision.

Se encontro un automovil con manuales de piloteo de avion escritos en arabe. Aunque nadie se ha atribuido el hecho...muchos musulmanes que viven en los Estados Unidos han recibido amenazas de muerte por telefono. Se puede ver a muchos americanos, precavidos ellos, llenando sus tanques con gasolina, temiendo consecuencias del acto de guerra y provoque alzas o escaseo de combustible.

Todos estamos bien, con pena y en ascuas. Gracias mil por preocuparse. Alguien dijo por ahí que todos teniamos al menos una persona que conociamos alli y si. Asi es.

Acaban de sacar a 7 personas con vida de los escombros, eran personal de rescate y eso ya es un aliciente. Pero a nadie se le borra el patetico paisaje, los escombros en un espacio donde todos habiamos comprado mas de alguna vez o donde muchos, incluyendome a mi, habian trabajado, la gente que nunca podra ser encontrada.

Tras esta muestra de violencia sin precedentes, muchos americanos recuerdan Pearl Harbor. Pero pocos vieron personalmente los estragos que causo el ataque japones.
Esta vez el cuento es diferente y no concierne solo a gladiadores. La victima pudo ser cualquier persona viajando en otro lado del mundo, un turista visitando, un junior pasando por ahí o un encargado de mantencion trabajando a millon para la familia.


Estan ademas las imágenes televisivas (y sin efectos especiales) las torres cayendo en picada sobre la calles (que en ese extremo de la ciudad son muy angostas), los replays de aviones cohetes, cargadas de gente aterrorizada, atravesando las columnas seguidas por la explosion infernal de fuego y humo.

Solo hay que pisar afuera y echarle una ojeada al cielo para darse cuenta que este espantoso paisaje resultante no tiene nada de televisivo, que es de verdad.

Hay mas de 15 millones de habitantes en NY, eso sin contar aquellos que visitan a diario que lo pueden ver, que saben que es real. Esto quedara, como una senora dijo en la TV, plasmado en nuestro inconsciente colectivo.

Las torres han sido arrancadas de cuajo por un navajazo del cielo empunado por no se sabe quien y aun no se sabe por que....la anonimia y el absurdo se esparce por el cielo tomando la forma de una inconfundible nube marron que al mirar hacia arriba desdibuja el rostro de los que son de aquí y de los que no.

Aside from the obvious reaction to the disaster that happened today; fear, amazement, sadness. Does everyone notice that on the day that a poll is published about the economy being on recession, this stuff happens? Does everyone wonder why when the US economy hits a snag, and we have previous knowledge that an attack will be carried out against the U.S. we ignore the warning, the shit hits the fan and we go to war????

It's not like it's happened before!! Look at Pearl Harbor, Desert Storm, and now this.

My heart *does* go out to the victims and those who died today, but my questions remain.

And here for something completely different:

It was nice to hear from you
It was nice to know you still cared somehow
But then when we actually talk
You don't want to
Grow up some
I don't understand your duality
Your tantrums
Remind me the reasons
I left in the first place
Thanks for reminding me of them
I'll use them whenever I get blue
And think about how much I miss you
and how much I love you
I'll remind myself of your moods
And hopefully the blues will go away

Sometimes I feel so happy
Sometimes I feel so sad
Sometimes I feel so happy
But mostly
you just make me mad
Darling
you just make me mad

- the velvet underground "pale blue eyes"

I need something to dull the pain
I need someone to hold me
To paraphrase a good friend:
"You fucked up. No overdubs. No second chances."
The damage's done. No turning back.
Sorry I hurt you, but I need you to understand.
I needed you. I could've waited for a few months but I still needed you.
And you refused to walk with me when I needed you to hold on to.
What kind of shit is that? I remember the good times and yearn for them,
but I remember also what you did to me.
My time wasted, all for you.

¡RESCATEMOS LA RADIO!

Carmelo Ruiz Marrero

¿Acaso no le molesta a usted escuchar la radio
comercial de hoy día? ¿Es usted de esos que ya no
pueden aguantar la programación mediocre y repetitiva
en nuestra radio, la mezcla repugnante de baladas
sosas e insípidas, merengue embrutecedor, rock
super-comercial, salsa monga, rap atonal, programas
mañaneros de mal gusto y pausas comerciales
interminables? ¿No le indigna el que a la gran
diversidad musical de nuestro mundo, toda la música de
alta calidad que está saliendo de todos los rincones
del planeta, no se le dé ni un minuto en la radio
comercial, y que como consecuencia hoy haya
prácticamente toda una generación de chiquillos que
creen que Ricky Martin, Grupomanía, Britney Spears y
Elvis Crespo son los músicos más importantes del
mundo?

Los programadores y dueños de las estaciones que
perpetran este crimen contra nuestros oídos nos dan la
excusa barata de que "sólo ponemos lo que la gente
quiere". Con ese cinismo y democratismo populachero
quieren justificar sus actos de vandalismo cultural.

¿A qué se debe esto? ¿A leyes inmutables de la
naturaleza? ¿O acaso no se deberá a fuerzas políticas
y grandes intereses económicos? El autor Greg
Ruggiero explora estas interrogantes en su breve libro
"Microradio & Microdemocracy: (Low) Power to the
People" (Seven Stories Press).

En la radio de Estados Unidos se está dando la misma
debacle que acá en Puerto Rico. Ruggiero argumenta que
la Comisión Federal de Comunicaciones (FCC, por sus
siglas en inglés), lejos de ayudar a mejorar la
calidad de la programación y ayudar a expandir la
variedad de puntos de vista en los programas
noticiosos y de comentario, ha hecho todo lo
contrario.

La FCC requiere que las estaciones de radio tengan por
lo menos cien watts de potencia para poder obtener una
licencia. Esto significa que hay que ser
prácticamente un millonario para meterse en el negocio
de la radio. Este requisito caprichoso evita que
grupos de comunidad y organizaciones progresistas
tengan acceso a las ondas radiales. Por ley las
frecuencias del espectro electromagnético, que usamos
para nuestras telecomunicaciones, son un recurso
público que le pertenece a la ciudadanía. Pero la
realidad es otra, gracias a la FCC.

Quienes establecen estaciones de radio dentro de los
parámetros legales tienen gastos operacionales que
pueden rebasar los $30 mil anuales (sin incluir
salarios), y por lo tanto están bajo una constante
presión para buscar patrocinadores y complacerlos. La
innovación y la experimentación, lo diferente y lo que
rompa con esquemas, todo eso se va directo al infierno
en la radio comercial. Nada de eso es compatible
dentro de una empresa comercial, porque el capitalismo
necesita crear un producto estable, uniforme y
predecible para funcionar bien.

¿Y la llamada "radio pública"? ¿Es una alternativa?
Se supone que la National Public Radio (NPR), cuyos
programas podemos oír en Radio Universidad y Radio
OSO, sirva el interés público, pero su programación es
mayormente música clásica y noticias lite. Lo cierto
es que ese tipo de programación no es de interés
alguno para la gran mayoría de los radioescuchas de
Estados Unidos. Poca gente sabe que la NPR aspira a
monopolizar los espacios radiales no-comerciales y
apoya las barreras que pone la FCC para que no surjan
nuevas alternativas en la radio.

Nos informa Ruggiero que la cosa se ha puesto peor
todavía debido a la Ley de Telecomunicaciones de 1996,
la cual le ha dado luz verde a las fusiones de
corporaciones para crear superconglomerados de
telecomunicaciones como AOL-Time Warner, GTE-Bell
Atlantic y MCI Sprint. Esta ley también aumenta el
número de emisoras que un dueño pueda tener. ¿Sabía
usted que Hicks, Muste, Tate & Furst posee más de 400
estaciones de radio en Estados Unidos? Esta firma
desconocida es la institución que más estaciones
comerciales opera en ese país. Le sigue CBS, con 175
estaciones. Cuando uno tiene tantas estaciones, no
tiene sentido en términos comerciales el nombrar un
director de programación para todas y cada una de
ellas. Es más barato y conveniente redactar una sola
lista de éxitos y mandarla por fax o e-mail a todas
las estaciones. Así se destruye la diversidad, y por
eso las estaciones acaban sonando todas igual.

Pero en Estados Unidos hay muchos individuos
comprometidos e intrépidos que se han negado a
cruzarse de brazos ante esta situación, y están
estableciendo estaciones "piratas", sin seguir las
dichosas directrices de la FCC. La programación de
estas emisoras revolucionarias, que incluyen a Free
Radio Berkeley, Black Liberation Radio, Steal This
Radio y Radio Mutiny, son como una ventana hacia el
mundo de diversidad cultural y política que podríamos
tener en nuestras ondas radiales. Estas estaciones y
sus operadores se han enfrentado a la represión
federal y a los tribunales, y continúan hoy día su
lucha para que las ondas radiales sean lo que deben
ser: un recurso público, y no privado. Ruggiero nos
presenta los esfuerzos de estos activistas radiales y
de organizaciones como la Microradio Empowerment
Coalition y el Prometheus Radio Project.

El establecimiento de emisoras "piratas" aquí en
Puerto Rico abriría un nuevo frente en la lucha
anti-colonial. ¿Porqué rayos tenemos que pedirle
permiso al gobierno de Estados Unidos para transmitir
en nuestras ondas radiales? ¿Acaso nuestras
frecuencias de radio no son patrimonio nacional
puertorriqueño, al igual que nuestro territorio físico
y recursos naturales? Si en Puerto Rico tenemos
"invasores" de terrenos estableciendo comunidades en
terrenos privados baldíos, ¿Porqué no podemos hacer lo
mismo con nuestras mal usadas ondas radiales?
¿Quienes serán los primeros aquí en nuestra tierra en
desafiar la FCC y comenzar a retomar lo que es
nuestro? ¿Quién se apunta en esta lucha?

-12 de enero 2001


Para más información:
PROMETHEUS RADIO PROJECT-
http://www.prometheus.tao.ca/
Steal This Radio-
http://www.echonyc.com/~gargoyle/str/

FBI's Most Unusual Deaths
Forked over by Dan Patch

Every year the FBI, is asked to investigate over 36,000 Serious Crimes including Suspicious Deaths and Homicides. Every year the Homicide Investigations Unit puts out its Top 12 Homicides of the year.

1- Alex Mijtus, 36 years old, is killed by his wife, armed with a 20 inch long vibrator. Mrs Mijtus had enough of her husband's strange sex practices and one night during a prolonged session of fun she snapped, pushing all 20 inches of the vibrator into Alex's anus until it ruptured several internal organs and caused severe bleeding. OWWWW!!!!

2- Debby Mills-Newbroughton, 99 years old, was killed as she crossed the road. She was to turn 100 the next day, but crossing the road with her daughter to go to her own birthday party her wheel chair was hit by the truck delivering her birthday cake.

3- Peter Stone, 42 years old, is murdered by his 8 year old daughter, who he had just sent to her room with no dinner. Young Samantha Stone felt that if she couldn't have dinner no one should, and she promptly inserted 72 rat poison tablets into her fathers coffee as he prepared dinner. The victim took one sip and promptly collapsed. Samantha Stone was given a suspended sentence as the judge felt she didn't realize what she was doing, until she tried to poison her mother using the same method one month later.

4- David Danil, 17 years old, was killed by his girl friend after he attempted to have his way with her. His unwelcome advance was met with a double-barreled shotgun. Charla's (the girlfriends') father had given it to her an hour before the date started, just in case.

5- Javier Halos, 27 years old, was killed by his landlord for failing to pay his rent for 8 years. The landlord, Kirk Weston, clubbed the victim to death with a toilet seat after he realized just how long it had been since Mr Halos paid his rent.

6- Megan Fry, 44 years old, is killed by 14 state troopers after she wandered onto a live firing, fake town, simulation. Seeing all the troopers walking slowly down the street Megan Fry had jumped out in front of them and yelled Boo!. The troopers, thinking she was a pop up target, fired 67 shots between them, over 40 of them hitting the target. She just looked like a very real looking target, one of the troopers stated in his report.

7- Julia Smeeth, 20 years old, was killed by her brother Michael because she talked on the phone too long, Michael clubbed his sister to death with a cordless phone, then stabbed her several times with the broken aerial.

8- Helena Simms, Wife to the famous American nuclear scientist Harold Simms was killed by her husband after she had an affair with the neighbor. Over a period of 3 months Harold substituted Helena's eye shadow with a Uranium composite that was highly radioactive, until she died of radiation poisoning. Although she suffered many symptoms, including total hair loss, welts, blindness, extreme nausea and even had an ear lobe drop off, the victim never attended a doctor's surgery or hospital for a check up.

9- Military Sergeant John Joe Winter killed his two timing wife by loading her car with Trintynitrate explosive (similar to C4). The Ford Taurus she was driving was filled with 750 kgs of explosive, forming a force twice as powerful as the Oklahoma Bombing. The explosion was heard by several persons some up to 14 kilometers away. No trace of the car or the victim were ever found, only a 55 meter deep crater, and 500m of missing road.

10- Patty Winter, 35 years old, was killed by her neighbor in the early hours of a Sunday morning. Her neighbor, Falt Hame, for years had a mounted F6 phantom jet engine in his rear yard. He would fire the jet engine, aimed at an empty block at the back of his property. Patty Winter would constantly complain to the local sheriff's officers about the noise and the potential risk of fire. Mr Hame was served with a notice to remove the engine immediately. Not liking this he invited Miss Winter over for a cup of coffee and a chat about the whole situation. What Winter didn't know was that he had changed the position of the engine, as she walked into the yard he activated it, hitting her with a blast of 5,000 degrees, killing her instantly, and forever burning her outline into the driveway.

11- Michael Lewis, angry at his gay boyfriend, used the movie, Die Hard With a Vengeance as inspiration. He drugged his boyfriend, Tony Berry, into an almost catatonic state, then dressed him only in a double sidedwhite board that read Death to all Niggers! on one side, and God Loves the KKK. On the other. Lewis then drove the victim to downtown Harlem and dropped him off. Two minutes later Berry was deceased.

12- Conrad Middleton, 26 years old, was killed by his twin brother Brian after a disagreement over who should take the family home after their parents' passed away. Conrad had a nasal problem, and had no sense of smell. After the argument Brian stormed out of the house, then snuck back later, and turned on the 3 gas taps in the house, filling it with gas. He then left out a box of cigars, a lighter and a note saying, Sorry for the spree, have a puff on me, Brian. Conrad promptly lit a cigar,destroying the house, and himself in the process .

So You Thought Your Life Sucked Eh?

Ok that's it. Fuck these bastards at work. I'm getting the fuck outta here. Take this job and shove it, indeed!

Aside from watching "Hannibal" on DVD, there's absolutely nothing goin on here. Life is such a fucking bore.

I love you cause I need you, not because I need to - U2 "Luminous Times (Hold On To Love). So true.

If you're curious as to why I don't archive my posts, I guess I'm going Gibsonian. Especially the whole concept of Agrippa. Also the last minutes of Blade Runner can give you a clue.

Gone. Like tears, lost in the rainfall or something like that....

Yeah, that's me being the best man at Nuria and Rafael's wedding. More on that later. Click the pretty picture and visit their site. Back already? Ok read on.......

"How I Spent My Summer Vacation" by Jose E. Roman, age 33. lol.

I flew from Trashville to San Juan via Miami. Pretty straightforward flight. Flew in on a Wendesday and decided to take a cab home to surprise my parents. It was enlightening. Three years is quite a time when you see the changes in the city. The city changed mayors in my absence and it shows. At least in the parts near my house is a bit more messy than usual. New government also so they sort of changed the bus routes. I went home and saw that it needed some maintenance. Shit. I don't mind coming back, especially since my parents are quite old, still the task of taking care of your parents and running the house is quite intimidating.

I believe in having as few attachments as possible. Little or no complications. Then again, I'm also fiercely loyal to the few people that touch my heart. My parents, among them. I arrive and surprise them. Yes, they're getting old. I got to see my foster grandma briefly. Yes, I miss them. I think of how much I would've loved to come home and introduced my ex-girlfriend and the babies to them. Oh well. I drop my bags, talk to them and then get some rest. Outside, it's raining. I guess the weather has a way of mirroring where my heart was.

It's still raining and I start making phonecalls to the usual gang of suspects to see what's up. Noel is spinning at Pablo's new bar, Candela. I'm trying to get a ride, but no dice. Shit. Jose Ramon chickens out because of the rain, but I get Andres' number. I call him and he tells me: "Clayrol is leaving tonight for NYU Film School. Full scholarship. We're getting together and I'm coming to get you." It's on.

Andy arrives with a girl and another friend. We drive to an old rehearsal studio in Hato Rey. Descojon Urbano and Hijos de Cain used to rehearse there. In the rehearsal studio are the fine folks of La Experiencia de Toñito Cabanilla$$$. They've got a new bass player, Angel, from La Murga R.I.P. We start talking and shooting the shit. They have a new CD out on Sept the 7th. Rehearsing. There's a get together at El Quenepo on Friday and aparty at Cusa's house that Saturday, which I didn't end up going. It was good to see them. I catch up with local gossip.

We head to el Cojo, a bar near a place i used to live in Eleanor Roosevelt ave. (Mondo Bizarro, that takes another story), and it's closing. No problem. We go to the lesbian bar 2 doors down. The DJ and the bouncer are the only males in the bar until we arrive. 4 guys and two girls. We head to the pool table and start a game and order drinks. Everyone's cool. I ended up at the bar talking with the bartender about the neighborhood and talking trash. Really cool.

We head back home and I missed Noel's set. It was a good start.

THe next week I spend it going to Old San Juan and running into my old mates. Chino, Berty and Rauly out of their heads. Jose Ramon and Pipo, a new acquaintance. Ran into Ivy (an ex. Long story) on the telephone. We had the best conversation in years. It was fun to hear her mad rantings. We were very civil, which was cool. I also ran into Yanira. A good friend. Wanted to see her badly.

Also hung out at the radio station on Saturday and did a show. Really cool shit. Ran into the new gang at the radio show called frecuencias alternas. Iohann, Eliezer, Angel Luis and the gang are doing a great job down there. Fucking mad props and love to them.

I also saw Alberto from the old crowd at the UPR, and some friends from back in the hood. Carlitos, Davidcito. Damn. We've grown old. "Has The World Changed Or Have I Changed?" - The Smiths. People marry, divorce, kids. Meanwhile I'm still single. No kids. Heh. Saw "A.I." and "The Others". A.I. what can I say? Spielberg added so much fluff to it. Still the love thing bugged me. Because I know how badly it gets. How love is such a motherfucker. I loved madly and deeply. Left and I'm paying the price. I wonder if I'll ever love someone like that again. Watch "The Others". What a movie. The mute girl reminds me of Lana. Looks just like her. Am I going insane? Fuck, her memory haunts me.

Also ran into Myriam. Jose Ramon's ex. Beautiful woman. Married and a baby. Damn.

I didn't get to see so much people it's unreal. I'm fucking sorry.

Played a show with Local 12 at Rumba at Old San Juan. The day before leaving. It was good to play and see some friends over there. Next time I want to do it with a guitar player. Get some more noise.

Went back home to Nashville for a day. Did something really dumb. Called Lana. Just to hear her voice, yeah I still love her but she's an ice maiden. Gone. All my own fault. Sometimes I regret leaving, but I always come back to that lovely Butthole Surfers lyric: "Well son, a funny thing about regret is, it is better to regret something you have done, than something you haven't done." Her voice still move me, but I have no illusions. It's over. I loved her and did every possible thing for her. Walk in beauty baby.

Next day and armed with a new laptop I headed for Orlando, met Rafy and Nuria and had a blast. Originally I was gonna give away the bride but I ended up being the best man. The wedding was done at Rafy's boss' home. Gorgeous house near two lake. I knew Rafy's boss back in the day where I worked in the union with them. Cool place. The wedding and reception were beautiful. Nuria was gorgeous. Everyone else was crying. I kept my emotions in check. Of the four couples that hung together three years ago. Two of them made it. Oh well. It was good to be a part of it. And Nuria and Rafy were very gracious hosts. Thanks.

We drove to the airport to find out that my flight was delayed, but if I took it, I would miss my connection to Trashville. The airline put me in a hotel until the next morning. I barely made it back to Nashville just in time for work. At the end of the day I fell asleep and missed the Bella Morte / Cruxshadows show at Club Voodoo. Shit. Back to the usual silliness.

I don't want to stay here. Not unless a powerful reason. I came to Trashville to give my then girl, the babies and me a new start. It left me broke and alone. Fuck it. Unless something powerful happens. I don't see myself here anymore. I don't necessarily want to go back to Puerto Rico. Still... I feel I'm ready for something. I need change. Crave it.