Pretzel Greetings

“In the old days, it was not called the Holiday Season; the Christians called it ‘Christmas’ and went to church; the Jews called it ‘Hanukkah’ and went to synagogue; the atheists went to parties and drank. People passing each other on the street would say ‘Merry Christmas!’ or ‘Happy Hanukkah!’ or (to the atheists) ‘Look…

Not That Kind of Love Poem (A Reading of “5-7-5”)

5-7-5 (you can find the full poem here) was written with a girl in mind. Last night, something happened. I merged Christina’s audio reading of the poem with a photo of a boy and some background music. The result was something unintentional yet wonderfully and indescribably different. I will never see 5-7-5 the same way again.…

: )

My friends say I smile for all the wrong reasons. —————————————————– Most of the time, I smile for no reason at all. ————————————————– Maybe I was born with a stupid smirk on my face. ————————————————- But whenever I walk into this cafe. ——————————————— And wander into her perfect world. —————————————– This meaningless smile is a…

Why I Keep Coming Back

THE DOOR HAS never swung shut ever since we left it so, creaking on its hinges, slightly broken.  We kept it leaning out a little, as if we agreed its openness was an invitation we would take up when we felt braver to explore the house of our separate strangeness and particular fears. We had…

Playlist # 2 (Revenge of the Turd)

Three fast facts about men and their music playlists: 1. You don’t really know a man until you’ve heard his music playlist. 2. Women generally get their mp3s from iTunes, CDs or from friends; men from The Pirate Bay. 3. You can always copy or steal a man’s playlist. But it will never be yours. The…

Tempest In My Coffee Cup

YOUR COFFEE MUG still sits where you left it, half-empty, atop your favorite porcelain, brim smudged with a curious combination of dried froth and pink lipstick. It’s my little testimony, you know, to a life well led and a union I thought was blessed. I never had the heart to move it even as it perches precariously on…

Will You Dance With Me?

TODAY ISN’T exactly a good day. We’re moving to a new office. That means an extra 12.5 mile drive. They say the new office will be better but not necessarily bigger. I’d say bigger is better. I will miss my old room, which exudes a scent of pretzels by the way, as well as its…

The Face in the Crowd

EVERY BALL player worth his jersey will tell you that, for the entirety of a championship game, the roaring crowd will be reduced to one enveloping, panoramic blur. And from that undulating haze of humanity, he will recognize only one face — that of his father. (missing you)

Sometimes When I Look at You

“Sometimes when I look at you, I feel I’m gazing at a distant star. It’s dazzling, but the light is from tens of thousands of years ago. Maybe the star doesn’t even exist anymore. Yet sometimes that light seems more real to me than anything.” — H. Murakami

The Last Brew

TIME FOR one last cup. I still dream of coffee. I still dream of dipping my fingers in eddies of swirling froth and suffer the distant warmth fading with the passing of time. I still jump out of bed with a start, disoriented, roused by a whistling kettle that’s never there, struggling with tangled sheets, hoping to catch a…

The Scent of Cinnamon and Coffee on My Hair

IT IS official. I have forgotten how to write. It didn’t take more than a sentence to know that I won’t be getting anywhere. My thoughts could no longer command these brittle fingers to pry themselves open. Perhaps they have gotten so accustomed to wielding a pen that jabbing at a Chiclet keyboard seems so…

First Light

“It is even quieter at dawn. I sit out back and I write stuff, like stories. That’s easy.  I don’t know, it’s like at that time of the day, because everyone’s still asleep, all the best thoughts haven’t been taken yet.” – House at the End of the Street

5-7-5

I SEE HER for what she is — uneven, a runaway three-line poetry.  Lesser minds have plunged her depths only to break the surface with questioning faces.  All these years they never understood for they saw her differently, an odd number in the realm of pairs and parallelisms. She was often measured, but in their eyes…

What It Means

Since we’re into videos as of late, I’m posting this slightly-tweaked, short video, which disappeared when i deleted my old Google account recently. Those expecting the “inevitable” appearance of Zooey Deschanel will be sorely disappointed. I wrote this short poem (?) some time back as a tribute to old Johnny, habitue of this cafe I…

Two Songs

I HAVE A thing for women who sing very well, especially in live performances. Charlotte O’Connor is one of them. Shine On has the melodic signatures of Adele, Nelly Furtado and Sarah McLachlan (she shares the same writers with the first two), but Charlotte, I believe, raises the bar by deftly and stylishly getting through…

For Loss of Words (Sit Beside Me Still)

For Loss of Words (Sit Beside Me Still) — “The Caffeine Chronicles” Number 4. This is my portrait of you. It speaks to me in strange, colored verses, in whispered codes of ancient languages. I often get that illusion.  You are not easy to ignore. I’ve long studied its dog-eared corners, one by one, pressed…

Neil

A visual interpretation of a popular quote: “Have you ever been in love?  Horrible isn’t it?  It makes you so vulnerable.  It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up.  You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole…

Do I?

Somebody once had the courage to tell me:  “You have been writing all about Love, but you do not know how to love.” To that I had no reply.  No gallant comeback.  Not because she was right, but because I didn’t know how to tell her that all I’ve been writing about is Hurt. (pretzel…

Revisited

(Feb. 2006) Do you still remember when we found ourselves lost in this place, blindfolded and numb, yet feeling an old strangeness like when two souls stray on a barren land or near open sea alone? We felt it, the sudden gust of wind that brushed harshly on our skin.  Those unmistakable straws that lay…