Free Flowing

 Free Flowing

~~~ This is how my stream of consciousness would be on drugs. (I guess)
Squeeze my lemons
trickle-down social insecurities
third world project
criminal justice injustice
three strikes or a home-run prison system
mutual terror
bucket list priority destroy the world
total absurdities
my mother was a fish
as I lay dying
experiment stream of consciousness
extreme mind fuck
non-required grammar
uncensored thoughts
under subconscious and comatose dreamlike visions
dormant and inert subliminal messages from the dark side
both dumb and smart need not apply
a comma here, a period there
absent and dismissed obsolete comprehension
sent to hell
they’ll laugh from there while others remain in heaven, bored to death
pitiful pride
useless words
inhumane humans
voting against clueless republicans
ignoring democracy
conservative donkeys living in the past way in the past
centuries behind
implanting fear bible in hand
frustrating progress
preventing advance
stampede of fools proclaiming preposterous promises
while the opposition opposes most propositions
cut to a flashback to the future
where non-existing scripts kept unedited in perfect literary freedom
analyzed and approved with uneducated brilliance
free-flowing
upstream rivers containing regrets that will get stuck
by the stubbornness of indifference
deviate back to my naked impure thoughts
where people will always find meanness in the words
offensive and crude
the interior monologue was never meant to be heard
struggles to find the following line
stolen by a ghostwriter
wrestling to avoid a block that impedes his free flow
a conflict of minds trying to invade
and plagiarize universal letters and words without legal ownership
voicing internal feelings
senseless emotions
unobtainable dreams
reserved only for exceptional persons with genuine talent
that cannot be bought or taught
eternal envy of simple minds
abundant in a world of mediocrity
where billions of people swim
unaware of misery or wealth but happier than the rest
conformism attracts health and joy
stream of consciousness
think and write whatever comes to mind
unfiltered and uninterrupted
unafraid of failure
absent of objectives
aimless freedom
oblivious of pleasing results
and disregarding unpleasant goals
arrive without traveling, see all without looking, do all without doing
and never become a pirate
no end in sight
no subject is forbidden
except for nonexistent exceptions
majestic graffiti adorns the walls of a dark tunnel
wasted space
a desert on the ocean floor
as might as well describe my organs too
heart still palpitating
reversal of misfortune
tune for miss American imperialism, capitalism colonialism
domestic love
universal hate
continuous flow
the stream found a dam
unanswered dialogue
voiceless speaker
overheard thoughts
one way conversation
never dull and never clear
I could go on forever until I die
whichever comes first
theories that violate logic
a brilliant mind required
with a bizarre succession of ideas
the hell with a logical sequence
I lost my virginity to a whore
this is inconsequential and irrelevant
but that’s the point
if an acquaintance is reading
I guarantee this is fiction
the rest of you consider it true
you lose your virginity once
did I mention you’ll never find it back?
question marked with a perennial tattoo inserted in the interior walls of my eyelids
one thing leads to another
resume the obsolete task of building a lifetime of useless resumes
describe your failures instead
it’ll be more accurate
nothing makes sense when you write an autobiography that belongs to someone else
young and daring
freedom-loving fearless punk
addicted to excesses
school he flunked
found love early
the free bird also found a cage
never-ending bliss decreased
he then turned to rage
lost is the name of such an accomplished ignorant
no more crying. I heard my daughter downstairs indicating wise advice to kids
Edmundo Barraza Lancaster, Ca. 05-13-2016

A Day in My Life

 

A Day in My Life

The barber was almost done with my haircut when I heard the beginning of a song on a tiny radio. First, a single beat of a drum along with the piano, followed by the guitar and then the vibrating organ. The first sound grabbed my complete attention with its beautiful melody. 

I couldn't understand a word. The lyrics were in English. Before I heard this song, I had listened to the Beatles and Elvis: great music, but nothing quite like this. The song went straight to my heart. At that moment, I would've given anything to be able to understand the lyrics. 

Until then, my young mind had refused to accept other kinds of music. For me, only rock existed. My mind blocked everything else. My inability to understand the lyrics wasn't an inconvenience for me to enjoy it.    

I was fifteen years old, living in Mexico in the summer of 1966. In those days, I didn't have a friend who liked rock and roll as much as I did. 

By the time the barber finished, the song wasn't over yet. I stood there paralyzed. I looked at myself in the mirror, wishing for the music never to end. Then, I noticed the barber staring at me. I was sure he was thinking. 'what's wrong with this stupid kid?'

But he was right. I was a stupid kid because if I could run to my house fast enough, I could listen to the rest of the song and catch the title. I was three blocks away from home. And I ran. I didn't see the cracked sidewalks, the unpaved roads, my friends playing soccer on the street, the grocery store, or the butcher shop. I didn't hear the birds singing, the dogs barking, or any noise. I was still listening to the most beautiful song I had ever heard.

We used to live on the second floor of a two-story house. I was up there in a flash. When I went to my room, I could still listen to about a minute of it. The humble authoritative angry voice, the sweet, sad harmonica drilling the core of my soul. And the part where the organ cried full of joy or pain. It induced my first mental orgasm. 

They said the name of the song and who played it. I knew that very instant that I had to buy it immediately.

I went to ask my three sisters for money. The first one, to no avail. She was the stingy one. The second one, the pious one, I asked her for church money for the next day. And the third one, the one that loved me the most, I told her the truth, and she gave me the rest.

I got the record. People used to call them 45s because they used to turn forty-five revolutions per minute (RPM). I played it all afternoon. I even marked the record and counted how many turns it made in a minute. They were right; forty-five times per minute, about 280 times. I played that song dozens of times that day, loving it, even more every time I played it. At that moment, I promised myself I would learn English before I died.

Anybody could get bored after listening to the same song a few times in a row, but not me, not with that song. That night I didn't even watch TV. I had dinner, then I took a shower and returned to my room to listen to "my song" a few more times before falling asleep. 

It was probably past midnight when the sound of music woke me up. I stood up and turned the light on, then turned the record player off and returned to sleep. But the music woke me up again. This time, it was the radio, but it was playing the same song. And once again, I turned it off.

The same thing happened once again. Pissed off and scared simultaneously, I disconnected the cable from the plug and the radio. I pulled it from the wall, removed the batteries, and put it under the bed. That should do it. 

The next time it happened, I was out of my mind. I didn't want to open my eyes. I thought Satan was playing tricks on me under my bed. I gathered all my courage and went under the bed. I was having terrifying thoughts. I imagined Lucifer grabbing my arms and dragging me to hell. But no, the only thing down there was my record player. I threw it to the cement floor downstairs, where it broke into a million pieces.

In the morning, my mom was poking my ribs and saying, "Wake up, son, we have to go to church."

I opened my eyes and saw my record player in one piece with my new record still on it, unbroken and ready to be played. 

But first, I had to go to church and pray. 

And I begged God to allow me to enjoy music again without receiving any punishment. 

"Like A Rolling Stone" by Bob Dylan. Duration: 6:31

2004 Best Song of all time. Rolling Stone Magazine.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IwOfCgkyEj0

 

 

 EDMUNDO BARRAZA

Visalia, CA. 06-04-2012

Method Actor

 

Method Actor

"It's never easy to turn failure into a hit."

 

 

 

 

We started shooting on Halloween Day. It was his first movie. The title was a little bit grandiose: "Apocalyptic Moons." The film was supposed to be a one-location two actors-no-budget deal. Nevertheless, the aspirations were high. 

 

The leading actor was a little precocious, even for a three-year-old kid. He required naps in between takes. He also demanded milk and cookies during breaks. His real name was Lucius Night, which was perfect for the role. There was no need to change it.

 

The post-apocalyptical barren land mentioned in the script couldn't be found in the area, even though we were in the middle of the desert. The absence of adequate transportation for the cast and crew was an impediment. 

Lucius' mom offered her house, but we used the front yard instead. The post-production team and the special effects department would be working overtime. —and for free also— Luckily, the old camera from the 90s came with a zoom. Now, we could turn the miniature Godzilla into a monster bigger than the Statue of Liberty. The trick was to experiment with new tricks. Sometimes, dumb ideas look good on film (or digital.)

They set up the Halloween decorations. A huge inflatable menacing cat was the main attraction. It moved its head sideways. The dark, pessimistic story also mentions humongous spiders devouring humans. If only we could find a little spider.

The scene called for Lucius' immense abilities as a ninja warrior to save Katana Luna —his one-year-old little sister— from the ferocious cat and its deadly claws. The director told Lucius to ignore previous instructions. Instead, this time he should look at the camera. He had to imagine the camera was the enemy and that he was attacking a powerful enemy. They placed the camera on top of a two-step ladder. No funds were available for a tripod.

Katana Luna was at the mercy of the monstrous feline, only a few feet away. The cat seemed to be enjoying the moment. It took its time intentionally, knowing its future meal had no escape. The cat prolonged the suffering by moving in slow motion toward the victim. Inch by inch, the cat approached Katana. At that precise instant, saving Katana was anybody's guess. 

Out of the blue, Lucius Night appeared in a close-up with a sword in hand, attacking the camera.

Brando had never been this good.

Of course, we never finished the movie.

The budget was so low; we couldn't get a replacement camera.

 

 

 

 

*Especial thanks to my grandkids Lucius Night and Katana Luna for volunteering their talents.

 

 

 

 

Edmundo Barraza

Lancaster, Ca.

Jan-30-2018

 

 

 

Holy Water and Other Stuff

 Holy Water and Other Stuff

I'd like to know how potent and effective holy water is.
I'd like to know whether the Pope can have more blessing powers than a simple priest.
I'd like to know how far a drop of holy water would reach in the ocean.
Would the entire ocean be blessed, along with the rest of the water on the planet?
Does a gallon of holy water have more reach than just one drop?  
And if I throw holy water on the ground, would the entire Earth be blessed too?
Along with all animals and humans in the world, including a heretic like me?  
And how long will I be blessed if a drop of holy water could bless me?  
And if I'm blessed a second before I die, will I go straight to heaven?
And what if a pregnant woman is blessed? Would her child be too?
What would happen if we injected holy water into all criminals worldwide?

What if I cook food with holy water? Would germs, viruses, bacteria, microbes, and parasites in my body be blessed too?  
And if they are, can they become benign and not make me sick?  
What if the priest is a pedophile? Would he be able to bless the water and forgive my sins?  
And what if I confess my sins in advance? Can I use it for future sins if I have a credit in my favor?

What if I donate a million dollars to the Church? Would they guarantee me a place in heaven?  
What if they can guarantee it, and I still end up in hell? Can I sue them from there?  
And what would I do with a million dollars in hell?
And what if I rightfully gain access to heaven but refuse to get in because I want to check the other option? Maybe heaven is not that good, or hell is not that bad.  
And what if I go to heaven and I don't like my neighbors, or they're mean or boring, or they don't speak English or Spanish?

What if I don't like the weather? What if I refuse to be naked or want to be naked?  
And, before I get there —if I get there— I'd like to know if heaven has a democratic system. And if they do, can we vote for a different God?
Is God supposed to be a perennial leader?  
What if he turns out to be a dictator?  
Can we get a Goddess for a change?  
And if we misbehave in heaven, can we still go to hell?  
And if we are good in hell, can we still have access to heaven?

Can we organize a peace treaty between the leaders of heaven and hell and find a way to avoid punishments?  
Can we alternate vacations from one place to the other?  
What if they put an ocean in front of hell, with many hotels and casinos and a non-stop supply of cold beers and margaritas —now we're talking.

What if we could be polygamous and be able to reject jealousy? No, that's a bad idea. We could turn into Sodom and Gomorrah. It all depends on how you see it and where you end up.
Can we have several paradises at different levels? And according to the gravity of the Commandments we break, we get the best or the worst heaven.

However, I still like the hot one with the ocean, the beers, and the margaritas. With no jealousy, no taxes, no punishments, no hangovers, no illnesses, and no regrets.

Either way, I'll see you in heaven, hell, or both.



EDMUNDO BARRAZA
Visalia, Ca. 01-17-2011

Levitating

 

Levitating

I bet you'll die with a smile and wish I could see it. 

But I know I'll die first because, seeing what you've been through your whole life, you must be immortal and indestructible. 

Your guitar is an instrument that connects your brain to your heart and your soul. 

Or is it all the way around?

And you transmit all your feelings with your fingers.

And if you add the correct lyrics, you'll incite a riot. 

And your lyrics and riffs will echo in my bones.

Love went bad, cheating, mistrust, lies, suffering, double crossings, deception, and abandonment. 

We can find all devastating adjectives in your lyrics. And yet we believe you because we know you're an expert. You have been the cause and the effect of all those feelings.

You're an authentic, soulful blues man. You borrow alien sentiments and affections. 

You instigate young and old minds with messages of rebellion and mutiny. 

You twist and wring love and devotion and turn them into evil provocations. 

Beautiful music inspired by a black sound that the masses had ignored for decades. 

Exporting it back to the blind ears of America. Transformed into 'devil's music.' 

Your image is a symbol of revolt and anarchy affecting generations. 

And for decades, you fooled us because you were a humble and sincere human being. 

The man was so gentle that, without a doubt could be called a gentleman.

Like all good brothers, great artists, and great bands whose members had contrasting egos, you fought with your own.

But now, we know it's all good. 

All blues and sad music had to come from misery, anguish, and desolation. But you never suffered; you were always having a great time. So you convinced me I was wrong. 

How could you create such music without living a miserable life or going through hell?

You had to scrape the shit right off your shoes with your overloaded acoustics to create a devil full of sympathy. 

You were always trouble, it seemed. A Houdini in reverse, never wanting to disappear. 

A consummate monkey reaching for coconuts can also fall from a palm tree and end up like a pirate with a broken skull. 

Never a dull moment, indeed.

Lines inspired after watching "Under The Influence." About the life of Keith Richards. 

Edmundo Barraza

Lancaster, Ca. Dec-19-2015

Jealous of Me

 Jealous of Me


Two cases of infinite love

 

The couple was lying in bed, still and silent. Sadness invaded their faces. You could hardly find another adjective to describe the expression on their faces.

While caressing her face with tender care, he began to talk.

"Honey, your face is so cold," after kissing her cheek, he reached for her hands and rubbed them. He tried to warm them with his breath. She remained motionless, sunken deeply in her sleep. The night she had been comfortingly cool. He loved the way her cold skin felt. Whenever they went to the movies, he urged her to wear a short skirt to slide his hand between her legs. He had always loved that feeling. Her skin was always a few degrees cooler than his. But this morning, she was a bit colder than usual.

"I had a nice dream," he continued, "but it wasn't completely nice. It was bordering between happy and sad, between ecstasy and misery. A little bit sadomasochistic. Let me explain. I was flirting with you but wasn't sure it was me. And when you responded to my flirtations, I felt cheated and got jealous."

Her eyes had remained closed the entire time, but he knew she was listening to him. She was that way sometimes, reflective and profound; she had the quietness of a tender poem. Yes, that's the correct description.

And he proceeded, ". . . and then I had a whole affair with you. We shared our love and had a glorious climax. But I wasn't sure it was me, so I felt betrayed. And the happier I saw you, the more miserable I felt. You displayed enormous joy, yes, your enjoyment had been immense, but the love you felt seemed illicit to me because I wasn't sure it was me giving it."

She remained immobile, her eyes squinting as if concentrating and relishing the conversation.

"I know it sounds silly, but my dreams are so real I woke up with tears. I'm sure you know I had loved no one before you. I belong only to you."
 
 He was tempted to lift the sheets and caress her legs but refrained and continued talking.
 
 "The last time I made love to you was as good as the first time. Honey, I love you so much you could not love me more than I love you. I owe all the happiness of my life to you."
 
 And then, after all, he couldn't contain his desire and caressed her legs.
 
 Then, he became aware that the pause had been too long. And she had never ignored him for so long.
 
 "Honey, are you awake . . . ?"
 
 A sweet word, a question, and then he pulled the plug.
 
 She had been in a deep coma for the last three months. He had blamed himself for the accident. And rightly so, because there was no need to text her. She was right there in the car with him. A moment before he sent the message, he was caressing her legs. She was wearing a short skirt. When the police rescued them from the wreckage, they found the phone. The message said, "I love you, honey." Three hopeless months had passed. He chose that day for a specific reason.—It was her birthday.

 A moment before he disconnected the plug, he had taken an entire bottle of sleeping pills.

 
 
 
*****




He was profoundly asleep when she awoke. But she didn't dare to interrupt his dreams. He had been working hard the day before. He seemed like a baby, sweet and innocent. She knew he was sweet and gentle. She loved him more than she loved her life. She wasn't afraid to love him more than he loved her. She wasn't selfish. She knew life would cease to exist for her, too, the moment he died.

One of her fears was that their love would stop growing. It made her sad to see other couples fall out of love. That would never happen to them, she thought.

She wished to be inside his dreams, to participate in his dreams and desires. She wished she was the only object of his passions, even in his dreams.
 
 The love she felt for him had been at its peak for a long time. She hoped it remained there forever.

She began to talk to him gently as if singing a lullaby to a baby.

"Honey, I want to tell you that my love for you has increased daily since I first met you. I love you more today than yesterday and will love you more tomorrow. I want to tell you that I need a bigger heart because my love for you is overflowing. And you're not helping because everything you do makes me love you more. Every morning when I open my eyes and see you next to me, I ask for nothing else. My happiness is complete."

Her strong desire to touch him surpassed the risk of waking him up. Even so, she began to caress his face and kept talking.
 
 "I know it sounds silly, but if all people could love the way I do, wars wouldn't exist. The word 'hate' would disappear from dictionaries. There would be floods of happiness all around the world. Wouldn't that be wonderful?" she softly kissed his eyelids and continued. "I don't know if I could love another man as I love you. I mean, if I hadn't met you, would I have been able to love another man the same way? Do I love you so much because it's you? I mean, you are generating the love I feel. You are the cause, and you are the source, the origin. See how silly it is. I can't even explain myself."
 
 Then, with her fingers, she began to comb his hair.
 
 "I enjoy going to the movies with you because I love to feel your warm hands between my legs. You drive me crazy. I must also tell you that my life is a blessing, and I thank you for all the happiness you've given me. And one more thing, I beg you to take me with you when you die. I know I couldn't resist living a moment without you. I love you, honey."
 
 
 
 

Edmundo Barraza
Lancaster, Ca. 08-18-2016
Posted on Blogger.com 08-18-2016
Posted on WorPress ?

NIRVANA

 Nirvana

The middle is a convenient and easy place to be, where no arguments or controversies exist. The center is a comfortable neutral point where conformity shares space with submission. The middle is a tedious place where no one voluntarily should remain for a long time. Life is meant to be a continuous experiment. The middle is fine, but only temporarily. I must go to the extremes, both extremes. I should never be static. I should never allow myself to fall into docility or mediocrity. I would rather be invisible than mediocre.

If I ever get lost, I should dig deep inside my mind to find myself again and break through to the other side. My inner light, where my subconscious remains amid heaven and hell. Limbo? Then while there, I should visit my storage dump, where all my repressed memories lie, and cleanse myself of regrets, fears, and sins. And reconnect the mind and soul with my mortal spiritual body.

I should also distance myself from all human suffering that obscures my enlightenment by crossing the abstract threshold that leads to the path of my intangible insight that helps me to assimilate the objectives of a meaningless life. I would also liberate the confined beliefs that could help me realize that suffering is never inherent to any situation. My good deeds will eventually guide me to my karma and final encounter with the ecstasy of reaching my Nirvana.

I must find where the past and the present collide to avoid an unmerciful future. I need to push the button to pause all brain activity to counteract severe burnout.

Nihilism will cease to exist. My zenith will rise above my nadir. My reborn optimism will help me obtain the best possible world. Now that I reached the highest happiness, I will create my perfect destiny. The scary part of reaching Nirvana leads to a downward spiral to the depths of hell. Once you get total spiritual bliss and total euphoric ecstasy, you will crash against a wall of confusion.

Damn! I can't continue. I ran out of weed. That was my last joint. Now what?




EDMUNDO BARRAZA
Visalia, CA Jan-11-2012