second thoughts, or maybe thirds
chasing the loops in indecision
tracing pendulums of heart hopes &
                   just a little bit of dissatisfaction
please be angry with me
i'm not angry with myself,
i'm chasing my dreams and maybe
the stars are saying, no don't align,
or maybe i'm asking them not to
                   under my breath, in between heartbeats
where no one can hear these words
because they're my own, they're secret
a little consecrated promise to myself
i swallowed your affection like medicine
you did heal me, a little
now let me heal myself, be patient
i swear it, i will never lose your love

I read about Martin.
I read about Malcolm.
I read about Rosa.
I read about Muhammad Ali.
The people that started a revolution to solve a resolution.

I read about Harriet.
I read about Charles Drew.
I read about Nat Turner.
I read about George Washington, Carver.
Some many still re unaware of to this day.

I read about Sojourn Truth.
I know of Thurgood Marshall.
I read about the Count, the Duke, that's Ellington.
And Aretha and James  Brown too.
All apart of the movement of African Americans fight.
All faced injustice for trying to do things right.

I read about  Althea Gibson.
And the Civil Rights protesters fighting against fools.
Some, we see still operating like they still trying to rule.

I hope those reading this has learned something too.

Under the train station from across the road
one musty midnight after a late dinner, I saw him.
He was alone. He watched jeepneys pass by. He
stared at the road. He remained still when
the other workers walked past him.
He held a 7-up or maybe a Mountain Dew
by the bottleneck & brought it to his lips to drink.
He was sitting on a stool too small for him
& so his legs were spread open.
He put his free hand on his knee, in between
fingers an almost finished cigarette.
His work suspenders glowed under the
plastic fluorescent light of Althea’s burger shop,
& beneath he wore a red shirt that
fastened his torso tight. When it was time to
ride my jeepney home, I looked at him for a moment
before getting on, & it could be that
he looked right back. When we
moved forward I tried looking again
but saw he was looking somewhere else.

Manila, 2018

From the blood on your wrist.
You draw a door in the mist.
In the small town far from New York.
Where there are trees and trees and trees some more.
In the small town far from New York.

It only works if they let you in.
The ones who have finished their stories choose to open the door with a twisted grin.
They always have a purpose to let you win.
But you never win, you can tell in their twisted grins.

At least 2 must be there.
One to go there and one to go nowhere.
The one to go in must be ready for nightmares.
The one to go nowhere must but be ready for pain they can't bare.

There are bridges in the form of certain people instead.
But don't think you're a tourist and think you can leave when you want to go home and it's time for bed.
You can visit a bar and ask for information ahead
But if you can't find a bridge, you're stuck, mess with the stories and you're dead.

But this is where you get stuck.
Unless you have intense good luck.

Althea lives all the way.
She's old and crazy but the spinner won't let her die anyways.
Travel like Alice it'll only be a day.
A day in the halfway
is 2 days in the real world okay?

Don't go seeking fairyland
Because you will age immensely in that magical dark woodland.
Don't go seeking fairyland
Because you won't be able to leave until the spinner says you can.

There is a girl whom I love
Her name is Althea
The first time I meet her, I was glad  
Finally, I met someone new I could have

She has a beauty that shines like the brightest star
I wish I could see her but her way too far
She is like the sun that center the solar system
In my life, I want her to be at my system

In the morning, she's my sunshine
Her smile makes my day completely done
She's the twinkling star
In my dark and lonely night


She was like a virus
Who quickly entered unto my body
My spirit  lost
When I imagined she's inside me

I made her my hero
That saves my day from loneliness
The one that helps remove my sadness
The one I wanted to give love endless

My heart was again fulfilled
Thanks to the girl I admire
Oh Althea, the most precious of all
My heart is now refilled.

Brought up in pain,
the blisters in her body are like carved inscriptions,
bold and bare.
An evidence of what used to be.

She was always sucidal and scared,
scared of living and dying in pain.
She felt it was better to die peacefully,
not from beating and battering.

Her good Samaritan came just like
an angel from a dream.
She released her from her den
and made her a new person.

Now she is as beautiful like the flowers,
her blisters are no longer scary,
but a reminder of a war she fought and won.
Even flowers have stripes,her stripes are what make her beautiful.

© Althea

Yeah, I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
The kids are coming up from behind.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids from France and from London.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids whose footsteps I hear when they get on the decks.
I'm losing my edge to the Internet seekers who can tell me every member of every good group from 1962 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and Berlin.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Brooklynites in little jackets and borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered eighties.
But I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge, but I was there.
I was there.
But I was there.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
I can hear the footsteps every night on the decks.
But I was there.
I was there in 1974 at the first Suicide practices in a loft in New York City.
I was working on the ***** sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart started up his first band.
I told him, "Don't do it that way. You'll never make a dime."
I was there.
I was the first guy playing Daft Punk to the rock kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
Everybody thought I was crazy.
We all know.
I was there.
I was there.
I've never been wrong.
I used to work in the record store.
I had everything before anyone.
I was there in the Paradise Garage DJ booth with Larry Levan.
I was there in Jamaica during the great sound clashes.
I woke up naked on the beach in Ibiza in 1988.
But I'm losing my edge to better-looking people with better ideas and more talent.
And they're actually really, really nice.
I'm losing my edge.
I heard you have a compilation of every good song ever done by anybody. Every great song by the Beach Boys. All the underground hits. All the Modern Lovers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Niagra record on German import. I heard that you have a white label of every seminal Detroit techno hit - 1985, '86, '87. I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and an arpeggiator and are throwing your computer out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Yaz record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitars and bought turntables.
I hear that you and your band have sold your turntables and bought guitars.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records? This Heat, Pere Ubu, Outsiders, Nation of Ulysses, Mars, The Trojans, The Black Dice, Todd Terry, the Germs, Section 25, Althea and Donna, ****** Harrassment, a-ha, Pere Ubu, Dorothy Ashby, PIL, the Fania All-Stars, the Bar-Kays, the Human League, the Normal, Lou Reed, Scott Walker, Monks, Niagra,
Joy Division, Lower 48, the Association, Sun Ra,
Scientists, Royal Trux, 10cc,
Eric B. and Rakim, Index, Basic Channel, Soulsonic Force ("just hit me"!), Juan Atkins, David Axelrod, Electric Prunes, Gil! Scott! Heron!, the Slits, Faust, Mantronix, Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines, the Swans, the Soft Cell, the Sonics, the Sonics, the Sonics, the Sonics.
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want