Too early for a child, sex was there when I was only 5.
Images formed by thousands of pixels arousing and piquing my interests.
Unknowingly sharing bodies, I have touched another the same age as me.
A young student — many tangible lessons in human anatomy.

Too early for a…

A clique as close as constipated feces in the large intestine. The herd screaming ‘one of us’. Frolicking within a slow murder of my soul, these outsiders pour their screams and fake flowers into me. Whatever was left inside, the contents of my soul ain’t content.

An airborne virus spreading…

Like a thief in the night, she sunk her teeth in the bite.
Oh, she really did a number on me. I fell for her like Rome.
Her braids sprawled out and covered all space — flowing like the rivers of Oshun. She was a real one. …

A body is a machine.
A machine receiving inputs from other machines.
A body and its organs coexist in a parasitic relationship.
Organs structured in a organization of an oppressive system.
Machines feeding machines.
A mouth machine to a nipple machine — a nipple to a mouth.
A foot machine to a bicycle machine — a pedal to a foot.
All of them machines.
Some flow, some move, some go, some open, some close.
Machines — all of them machines.
What is a body without organs?
A body free from it’s own territory.
A body free from limiting restrictions.
A body free from regulatory processes.
Remove a heart and we are liberated from pain.
Remove the brain and we are liberated from constraint.
The acephalous body is no longer beyond the pale, to deterritorialize the body by removing the organs, is to be free from oppression.

Director’s Cut

A clockwork orange — my eyes in a straight jacket — forced to watch the visual projection of my behaviors. Your direction like beams of light in a gaseous vapor. I am attracted to this version like moths to a light. Is this reality? As the director of my life, my preferred cut sequestered by the producers of the unreal. The reels are real, but my reels are never real.

Payin a price twice as expensive as white kids’ — Big Punisher

Mexican, wet back, spic, those Bridgeport kids, that Puerto Rican, thugs, trouble makers, those niggers. Mothafucka, I even heard sand nigger. You know, I’m sure there was mad other shit they called us behind our backs. …

206 bones in the human body. 14 in the hand. 26 in your foot. I relish in the macabre, my brand is the darkness. A ghetto geek from the projects, a hood ass nerd. Who woulda thought this dumb Boricua would be living in a world of magical realism. The…

“Myth can reach everything, corrupt everything, and even the very act of refusing oneself to it. So the more the language-object resists at first, the greater its final prostitution; whoever here resists completely, yields completely.” — Roland Barthes

Watergate was not a scandal.
The revolution came and went.
Everything you want…

A stroll in the park — the old Gods are with me. Jupiter beams lightning out his mouth while Aries swings his dick in a mobius strip. A winding and interweaving path — I stand on the long, rigid, and protruding nails of a forlorn homeless woman.

She inches ever…

Visions of your death plague me. They haunt my sanity until the thought invades my brain; pillaging my mind, body, and soul. My entire essence is engulfed by this foul miasma — the causal link to the implosion of my chest. Collapsing into itself — my body takes on the topography of a great waterfall; at the center a deadly whirlpool. The weight of 10 sets of hands descend onto my throat as they clasp ever tighter.

I am alone. Even you have left me, but you are still mine — will always be.

Live, my son. Play, my son. Be who you are meant to be. Forever my baby.

N.Q.S.

Product of the projects. Local socio-political urban philosophy.

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