Paving the road to nowhere, one word at a time.

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Location: Tijuana, Baja California, Mexico

American born, living in Mexico since 1992.

Saturday, December 11, 2010


How can you see into my eyes
like open doors?

Leading you down
into my core

Where I’ve become so numb

Without a soul,
my spirit sleeping somewhere cold

Until you find it there
and lead




* * * *

Mine is a love story. Perhaps. I usually have to think about it, but not about her. I can’t tell you in terms of quantity how many times I came close to leaving this house, nor will I count the times that I did. It isn’t out of embarrassment. She doesn’t read my columns. Neither do my children. Too many words. This is what happens.

Anna was conceived on the living room floor in a house in Rowland Heights, California. This is one of my fondest memories ever. It was over eighteen years ago. Slowly after that Rocio leaked. We all leak. She timed it perfectly. I’m not so certain I could handle it as well now as I did then.

We married a few months later. Right there in Rowland Heights. I would have invited you all if I had known you back then, if we’d have been friends. My parents would’ve appreciated it. The Mexicans certainly represented. Again, this is what happens.

When Rocio leaked first, it was on the front porch of that house in Rowland Heights. It was all I could do not to fall down. Sometimes people go to war and we’re just too wrapped up in our own lives to realize it. I got it, it hit me right upside the head. She had come undone. I couldn’t blame her at all.

* * * *

(Wake me up) wake me up inside
(I can’t wake up) wake me up inside
(Save me) call my name and save me from the dark
(Wake me up) bid my blood to run
(I can’t wake up) before I come undone
(Save me) save me from the nothing I’ve become...

* * * *

"Well, baby, I’m drinking and I’m smoking."

Of course, she doesn’t like the response. First boyfriend was killed by the cops here. The son is named after him, "Juan". Then came her fiancée, he was murdered in cold-blood in Long Beach, California while she was still pregnant with Juan. I don’t utter his name in this house, I respect her that much. Holy shit. So, I found this all out when we were betrothed. And she said to me this: "When I die, I want to take my children with me."

Which, obviously, was a suicide note in the making.

We argued over that one for weeks. Ultimately, she changed her mind. So, back then, when we got married, I can’t for the life of me remember what we danced to. I can only promise you that it wasn’t exactly well planned. Later, I told her that our song, that the song where I always thought of her when I heard it, was "Everlong" by the Foo Fighters. This was, and remains pretty much true. But our real song is this one. On both sides, I promise you.

After all, I leak too.

* * * *

that I know

What I’m without
you can't just

Leave me

into me

And make
me real



to life...

* * * *

And so, I married her and I reckon we saved each other. After all, I was still beating my skull against the wall from my first marriage. An ex, two kids. I still miss those kids. I still dream about them, they’re still that young and I can still be their father. Last dream was just a few nights ago. It’s the latest of hundreds. Never mind the boy has a daughter I’ve yet to meet and the girl is approaching thirty. They are still four and seven in my pea-brain.

These things beat me up constantly.

But you know, there are so many other things I never talk about with the wife. My writing is one, I’ve learned, she just wants to sleep and I don’t blame her. Her past and my past, those are other things left untold. What we have is now. Right? No idea about the kids. Television, I reckon.

"Really dad, did you write something again?"

I could always lie. "Just more lesbian stories."

They would never read them. Thank God for lesbians.

* * * *


your touch


Your love

Only you
are the life




(all this time I can't believe I couldn't see
kept in the dark but you were there in front of me)

I’ve been sleeping a thousand years it seems
got to open my eyes to everything

(without a thought without a voice without a soul
don't let me die here)

There must be something more...





* * * *

And you know, it doesn’t always take all of this. Sometimes two people look at each other. Something clicks. But I think it’s when two people understand a simple thing together and they never have to even communicate it, I think that’s when it really comes together. You know, figure it all out on your own time. Meanwhile, I’ve got a few hundred words to hide away here.

And do me a favor? Don’t tell my wife that this is our song. But it is. On both sides. She saved my ass, too.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

You should make her read this. Tell her you're not feeding her again until she does.

Gringo's To Do List:
1. Institute Read for Food program.
2. Make bid for sportswriting gig.
3. Meet 2 white chicks in SD for soul food.


10:38 AM, December 12, 2010  
Blogger EmJay said...

Ah, the meloncholy and tender moods of a writer...

6:31 PM, December 12, 2010  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

dave .the past is the past let it go .rocio loves you thats all that counts.i know first hand you cant change it cathy loves me and she knows every thing about my past i would not have it any other way and as far as baca and josh go your hands were tied behind your back you were damned if you did and damned if you did not its not your fault.have a merry xmas i miss you all give all my love me and cathy are geting married next summer i wish you could be here. love doddjohn48at get back to please .

7:53 PM, December 17, 2010  

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