memoirs of a pianist.

I

Pilgrimage to a land yet unconquered. thoughts squandered as we row, rowing towards the infinite. shit, it almost feels like the horizon gets smaller with each memory of home. 

it held a signature scent: cinnamon with a hint of burnt extra virgin olive oil. I can taste the nectar dripping from the honeysuckles once in my backyard. they laminated the brick wall before the fire.

I live alone, on a boat with many. A shoebox to occupy along with a complementary sheet of cardboard and plywood. no other women on this boat free of suicidal thoughts. no other women on this boat to share lip other than stick. I live alone, and have yet to discover a home outside of myself.

II

these men drown in opulent after shave, and the next gold digging vagina thrown at them as a result of their bank statement. I serve them breakfast, lunch, dinner and yield such surprise at the request of lobster and steak! 

"Some caviar girl, make it quick."
"Anything else?" Our boss told us to always ask them if they wanted more. Though I knew one factor that wouldn't change. 
These women and their "needs". 
"Some of the best wine you've got, for everyone of course."

The life of serving those who need not be served. 

III

The lull of bass tones from the voices of tall, powerful men clouded the room. Flying above them were the tweets of their pet canaries singing their uninviting tunes.

"Oh but darling you need him to be educated, Yale or Harvard? These are the men of tomorrow, the men we should be chasing!"
"Monica, I am the one who should be chased, after all, I do cook."
"As a woman should! Don't let these years slip away without latching onto a man, now. Your parents raised you with more decency!" 

Manners. All a part of the elegant design of this holographic universe. Am I the only one aware? Seem to be. 

Green needles
Piercing pores

Constellations
of clouds
carefully placed
properly.

We share
nothing.

Crystalized
dejavu
in the form
of dreams.

Green needles
Feel fine

Pores become
accustomed
to tropic storms
and soymilk.

II

missed

I

sacrificial
slave



sex
poet

superficials know it

spotted
walking by
thick thigh
jotted
pound sign

lips
cucumber slips

adj useless
verb
to serve
verb addiction
past tense
he was

they were
he was
he is
I am
useless


II

became nothing
becoming something

wishing you were
still around

not because I love you
not because I need you


but crying in your bed
about my sorrows

was
is

the only thing
I miss

telling me life is easy like beach

playing a circle game

Won’t stop to correct

Brick walls are

Swallowed by blue light,

purple converse drowning
in slimy sea water
that you pull

like the nectar from veins
attempt to pollinate
silly fool

switch into the flow of things
diamond rings and spoken word
that sounds like
that sounds like

you sound like fuschia

vividly vibrating volumes
drove your wavelength
ended up in Vegas

futures and pasts and paths
overlap

the urge to pollinate
has never been greater


II.

short conscious story of your middle aged little daughter. she's slept on enough comets to realize that running is the  drug everyone's overlooked. we're calling your agent who says you are booked, but you are in Vegas. they say you've changed--"you've replaced us." me, I'm drifting along this pond searching for baby mosquitos. the wisdom is shown by the worn samsonite. your phone doesn't stop ringing in my dreams, just like my ears that never stop hearing your screams.


IV

to love
is the easiest thing
I never had to do

intellectual men son basura get out my cara with your scholarly ways dreams that reach only as high as the black holes they live in major haters and math minors you can miss me with the bullshit intellectual, samsonite man miss me with the list of "knowledge" the same list you copy and paste into emails and love letters black & mild saliva gravity will pull you smoke weed or not we will all go under what is god cooking in my pot with robots changing season what the fuck do you believe in?

new notebooks, dry erase markers. teal and purple.
new paths, new family. new deaths.

death is just as played out as family.

we wander the streets, listening to the synchronization of cars
honking
honking at nothing
honking at the cabs fucking around.

my silence is heavier than gold
not as precious, but as dense.

They ask me what I've done, what I'm doing, they see me
moving up they want my name
and number signed on the line
in the very blood that races
through the dark tunnels in my
mind dying.

chakras imbalanced, but you knew that
you know me
you know me
I know nothing but self

empty mind empty mind empty mind empty mind
focus on your breathing
not the money in your bank account
it's not forever
so find your forever
find that shit before you forget
you'll forget
they always do.


the higher up you get, the more friends you lose.
pick and choose to stray towards the light
or in the dark where the raccoon's hiding
spot is right beside the tree you smoke by
the bodega you buy dutches at
sewers by the Foot Locker you
consume at


I saw the sun today for the first time in what feels like months.
It looked me in the eyes and told me how nice it was to see me.

I've grown too accustomed to following stars until late.

whispering melodies

and for anyone that's lost, fellow nomads

you will find home.

to stop sharing my work until I actually finish a book, or a poem at that.
to stop talking, thinking, wishing, desiring anything that I have the power to achieve.

refrain from saying that I'm a bad friend, cause I'm not the only human that's a piece of shit. we all are.
refrain from calling humans pieces of "shit" because at our best, we are so much more than that.

dream, but not for long. reality is still waiting underneath your pillow.
dream, and tell that one special person that resembles your inner light.

I've made the decision to close myself to Hip-Hop.
I've made the decision, once, to only listen to 93.1. I was six years old.

the world is an addiction, the world is yours, the world is a losing game.
so win. be vindictive. be free for the world that's enslaved.

to stop anything you used to do back when you found comfort in the shrewdness of shackles.
to stop sharing my work until I actually finish a.. fuck.

stream of consciousness

friend (n)

mami tells me that the only people who classify as friends are those who have known me for over five years. Anything under that is a stranger, or a theif. fulano, sultano. fulana, sultana.

papi tells me that friends are simply people you keep in contact. They might know about your life, they might not know that your dog died, but if they call you to make sure you're alive, they're your friend.

rose (n)

something that grows, then dies. it grows into something beautiful, not rare, but rare when received.

asshole (n)

anus. where shit comes out of. so when they treat you like shit, you can't be surprised.

Scarsdale, NY. 2006. I was 13 years old. This is my story.

Her name was Pin Pin. I wish this was a stereotype, but her name was really Pin. Pin.

Tuesdays meant twelve Lemonheads to the face. Tuesday, like any other day, carried 24 hours. These hours were dedicated to excessive talking in class, trying to get fatter, and playing spitball in the McDonald's play-place on Broadway.
23 of those hours were spent trying to convince myself that 23 was a far more interesting number to look at. Mami tells me that military time makes you smarter.

"Alistate, que nos vamos. You're going to be late," my mom would say to me.
"Ma, I'm sick today. I can't go ma. I'll just clean my room instead, madre linda mia del cielo."
"We pay for these classes for what? Para la mierda, get dressed, and let's go."

The more I procrastinated, the faster my mother would drive. I never won.

Out of the 24 hours, one hour was spent, every Tuesday of every week, eyeing the time, along with my fingers, and the sheet music that never managed to stay on my keyboard. We were forced to play on thick, Casio keyboards that were conveniently twice our age. All four keyboards were connected together by expired mustard for cables that we were forbidden to step on.
If one student failed, we all failed. If one student played the wrong chord, we had to start over.

My teacher's eyes were never on her piano. She played while simultaneously watching us, as if the sheet music was beneath her.

"Losangelica, Losangelica," she'd project through the class. "You play the wrong thing. Sing the notes now."

I turn back to look at my mom, but she is asleep. I think of an excuse to leave the room... vomit, my period, Seinfeld.
Word vomit beats all excuses and I ask "Why?"

Her alarm clock rings, and I'm saved by cliche's once more.

Each time 8PM came, so did her pep talks. I couldn't complain though. 8PM meant a new day- a regular 24 hour period. I'd go back home and return to my, "normal" only for Hispanic women in The Bronx, life. I'd listen to my mother scream my name across the hall.

"Prepare for the future, Rosangelica! No esperes que llege manana!"

I'd lock the imaginary lock on my door, and blast Eminem. His anger was one of the first emotions that any artist has ever tapped into, and I loved it.

"Rosangelica, ven a practicar el piano antes que se ponga tarde," yells my mom from the kitchen this time, one room closer.


My mom loved Pin Pin. Her name was indeed, Pin. Pin. She would ask us for dating advice, but never enhanced my skill. Not once did she teach us to play Hip-Hop, but she convinced an entire room that the letters L and R sounded exactly the same.

Her name was Pin Pin, and I fucking hated her class.

curves lined with error
choose a favorite color

red scare
terror

shine, sierra
broaden the spectrum
find your favorite color

orange iris-silkworm pen
soft essence of man
wisdom trickling from forehead

instigate the margin
your wooden frame hardens
become your favorite color

money and time

we flew as fast as autumn leaves
blowing stacks of forest green papyrus
faces reminding me what time it is.
11:11
wishful thinking on cotton sheets
a candle lit, dark abyss
free doom
freedom constricting you to a 9-5
9-5 9-5 9-5 9-5 9-5 9-5 9-5 9-5
my age celebrated more than my existence
confusing wax for sticky merengue
contagious like light skin
contagious like black skin
in the drawer of my co-op apartment
ii.
snorting bricks of black oxygen
the taste of tears, of molasses
labor colored sweat

rusting the rose gold
fade into stone
into the bricks of black

remaining in permanent shackles
crimson rivers unable to flow through my wrist
becoming a prisoner of time

For anything that was taken from me, that I attempted to give back, that was then taken from me again. For anything that my soul owes anyone, and for the souls in debt. This is for you.

carving red blood on the shaved wood
lead bleeding off ivory papyrus
python green veins emitting gamma rays
strong enough to call your bluff, I know.

lingering eyes of zeus as I hover
chapter to chapter, pages absorbing sweat
sprinting through tight spaces between words
searching for something called love, no more.

fingerprint ghost towns
muscle memory
beige cotton sheets
chocolate truffles
cigarettes and coffee
adoration and good riddance

i.

Sound beautiful
Words my mind deemed modern
I stopped cleaning my ears out and followed my eyes

Sound appealing
Many senses but only one is functioning
Touch

Sound sweet
Mumbles buried in pillows along with strands of the curly wool
That layered my ears. Listening to you wasn't even an option.

ii.

The words of liars descend through my mind in the same pattern. These patterns all follow the same, phony wavelength that never fails to penetrate my outer shell. Luck fails to be on my side so why lie to such a woman? A woman who has slept with deceit and committed her soul to scoundrel. Not to be manipulated into innocence because I've never known a man to be synonymous for ethical.

I have never been at the right place, if it exists, at the right time. If I have, the universe did not permit anything to be so.

Time, specifically my time, has been spent on the wrong people. I'd go bankrupt just to get some time back. Might not mean anything to those who are promised tomorrow. None of my promises have ever been kept which explains why no one keeps their's. It's only just.

That was the biggest lesson of all.

Embracing the desert, I was, I am. All that we have, the one thing they don't provide enough of, serves as sharp cactus. Chewed up and served to contaminate our youth. The young compromise knowledge for poison disguised in bite-sized packages, and silver cans that come alive in their own filth.

Our signals dance on the waves of the ocean. Pretend to be hip as we hop around to an entrancing melody at an urban gathering. Most of ,we, listen blindly, but I pick up the hints. Parading to the sound of drum, the sound of struggle; trying to forget the sound of defeat.

A maze is what separates me from the real world, so they say. Living in a nightmare without any options. We are constrained with the chains we so proudly and loudly let jingle. The whips we break our backs with. The paper we mass produce without paying homage to its mother, our mother.

Fear and loathing are our best attributes. Somewhere in the past our ancestors worked so that we would not have to. History has a bad habit of repeating itself and it seems we have run out of time.

The trap was built along with the whips used to crack our backs and without nothing more than a tip of the hat, in we go! Never to turn back.

I'm from the place you see the stadium, you think it's humble, while up the hill it's looking like a concrete jungle. - Fat Will, "Fat Will For Mayor"

However blunt this might make me, I'm just going to come out and say it. The homie Fat Will is representing The Bronx with the exact same passion that Hip-Hop's been missing for quite sometime now. Why the bold statement? I'm going to take you back to the 70s, and sometime after that, to Bronx, NY.

The Bronx: one of the five boroughs that makes up the world-renowned "NYC." The Bronx happens to be the poorest borough, and this has gradually worsened over the decades. It's been a home to myself, my brothers, parents, and the talented artists who carried Hip-Hop, and the political issues it brought, for as long as they could. A home to the Yankee Stadium, the once Shae Stadium (now CitiField.) The Bronx, home to Hip-Hop legends such as KRS-One and Alien Ness. The place where Hip-Hop, breakdancing, DJ's, MC's, graffiti and beat-boxing truly began to spread their wings.

Regardless of the fact, The Bronx is currently referred to as the worst of the worst. I've seen my neighborhood decay in the last 18 years due to the selfishness of corporations. Buildings taken down to replace Starbucks and other "high-end" stores. People who once would never step foot into a certain neighborhood, are now there to add to the reason of it's demise. So where does Fat Will fall into all of this?


Q&A

Where exactly were you born and raised?

- I was born and raised in the South Bronx; Highbridge to be exact. You'll have a life changing experience when you spend a day here, where the only reason people know your neighborhood is The Yankee Stadium.

With Hip-Hop being our native tongue, what were some of the rappers you've looked up to over the years? When did your musical journey begin?

- Musically, besides having major influences from artists such as Big Pun, Jadakiss, Big L, and Tupac Shakur, I looked up to my cousins growing up. Every time I used to drive up to Yonkers with my father to see my family, my older cousins would always play their demo CDs in the car while we drove around. Even though I couldn't understand some of the lyrics, I always knew, from a young age, that music would occupy a part of my life.

What would you believe your best couple of bars to be?

- I dont think I have written my best bars yet. I still have a long way to go and I'm not satisfied at where I'm at with my music. I'm positive that I can take it to the next level. However, since you asked, my best bars would have to be "I'm from the place you see the stadium, you think its humble, while up the hill it's looking like a concrete jungle." This would have to be my best bar because I know the people who live around me can relate to it. Tourists that only come around my neighborhood to come to the Yankee games always think the neighborhood is calm. The NYPD always has some type of control of the area; plus, there's all types of transportation surrounding the area. Tourists just come and go but they don't understand the struggle that lies between the cracks of the streets; the struggle my neighborhood has to undergo on a daily basis.


Fat Will's Debut

Fat Will dropped his debut EP, "XIX EP," this year on March 18th. Although it was his first step through the door, it was certainly the best foot forward, indeed. Fat Will gave his fans a mere glimpse of the talents he possesses. Time is key in Hip-Hop. Some people become complacent with fame, and others strive for what they truly believe.

As mentioned before, Fat Will is getting his foot in the door. He had his first performance yesterday, August 8th. Most people don't learn how to rock the stage right until after they've become an established artist. Our native rapper, on the other hand, sits on his throne with comfort, pizzazz and character. I'll upload more videos once I receive them, but for now enjoy this treat.

"I predict future happiness for Americans, if they can prevent the government from wasting the labors of the people under the pretense of taking care of them." — Thomas Jefferson





The more people I meet, the more I begin to notice a pattern between our miseducation and lack of interest with the real world; the failure to recognize the actual world we live in. In our society, it is common to consider "real world" as being the events that take place in the lives of the Kardashians. Who is to blame for our distractions? The individuals that provide them, or the individuals that partake in them? With praise to the technological advances over the last decade: iPads, smartphones, notebooks, and 3D movies and television sets, these "distractions" have increased tremendously. Everything has been handed to us on 3D platters and as a result, we have become dependent on most of these advances to survive. With this dependency for our "entertainment," information, and knowledge on electronics, is it far-fetched to identify that there is a direct correlation between a misinformed public and a distracted public?

It's difficult to categorize USA into two groups, but here it goes: those who attempt to make a difference at least once a day and those who refuse to seek knowledge because for some reason they believe that it won't affect them. Yes there are numerous sub-categories but let's break these two down.

Those who make a difference:
Who are aware that we are in dier need of social and political reform and do their part by researching from time to time, staying updated with current events, and passing this information onto people who don't have the same "resources." That resource being interest.

Those who refuse to seek knowledge.
This caters to the older folks on welfare that can only afford certain outlets of information, the basic the drug dealer spending all of his money on name brands, the kids that have it all and the kids that don't have anything, the typical miseducated college student pursuing a good time, the superficial daddy's girl that believes everything revolves around her, the "rebels" that think government is unnecessary but can't tell you a thing about how it works, and the hipsters that don't care about anything but the social scene.

Most importantly, the people who constantly accuse the government of being "wrong", but aren't sure exactly who they are accusing. So? they blame the president and everyone that's "behind" him.

News flash: You have the ability to vote for all of the officials running for office. If you think voting for a president is all you have to do to make a difference, you are highly mistaken. If you're not 100% sure about something, you don't co-sign it. Don't take anyone else's opinion, and simply research it yourself. Resources are availible to everyone, but all people do is complain.

I would be willing to bet my life that most people reading this post couldn't tell me off the top of their head the specific differences between a councilman and a congressman. They probably can't even tell me who the congressman of their district is, and what he/she can do for them. Were you even aware that they existed?

The Cycle:

Government will always be referred to as corrupt by the informed and the ignorant. Nothing can be perfect, but it can be better. I have to quote Aaron Sorkin's script when I say that "The first step in solving a problem is acknowledging that there is one."

The only thing one can do is educate self, and others around you. Blaming people for "being ignorant," which every single person is guilty of "being," and pointing fingers will not solve the issues that we have at hand. That is merely another distraction and that my friends, is the cycle. The misinformed continue to be misled while most of the "enlightened" continue to share their knowledge with those that have already achieved knowledge of their own. You'd never see a Jew from Riverdale suddenly decide to preach wisdom to the Spanish Harlem community. Do I blame him? Of course not, but there are so many effortless ways in which we can share the knowledge we have. I'm doing it right now.

Misinformation to blame?

Yes. You have Fox News, and many other news outlets like The New York Post to blame for that. Don't get me wrong, I am not trying to attack Fox. However, I speak from experience. My 85 year old father spends most of his time watching Fox News. He has been doing this for years and he knows absolutely nothing about what is going on in terms of politics, new laws being enforced, oh and "terrorism." He thinks we're doing a swell job. Along with these topics he's also been misinformed with topics such as global warming, the Ground Zero mosque, the Iraq war, and the most recent: ObamaCare.

As read in the article "Fox News Viewers Are The Most Misinformed: Study" by Jack Mirkinson:

"The study, conducted by the University of Maryland, judged how likely consumers of various news outlets and publications were to believe misinformation about a wide range of political issues. Overall, 90% of respondents said they felt they had heard false information being given to them during the 2010 election campaign. However, while consumers of just about every news outlet believed some information that was false, the study found that Fox News viewers, regardless of political information, were "significantly more likely" to believe that:

-Most economists estimate the stimulus caused job losses (12 points more likely)
-Most economists have estimated the health care law will worsen the deficit (31 points)
-The economy is getting worse (26 points)
-Most scientists do not agree that climate change is occurring (30 points)
-The stimulus legislation did not include any tax cuts (14 points)
-Their own income taxes have gone up (14 points)
-The auto bailout only occurred under Obama (13 points)
-When TARP came up for a vote most Republicans opposed it (12 points)
-And that it is not clear that Obama was born in the United States (31 points)"

"My past was the most beautiful symphony, me being the orchestra, and my words, a beautiful future."


Recently, I have spent much time reflecting on the various ways that I've spent my summer. 2 weeks of community service, an amazing number of weeks interning at Eliot L. Engel's congressional office, which I'm still doing, and spending time with the people who have continued to nourish my soul over the years.

This summer provided numerous opportunities, most of them Uptown, to dabble in numerous sketchy scenarios, party with lonely singles seeking attention on Twitter, and simply have an all around "good time." I've noticed one major change over the years, perception being one of them, and my defenition of a "good time."

The stories that my peers deem new, I find old. Legends re-lived, repeated, and reworded. After a while, I got over the glamour of constantly drowning in a scene of rebel-like adolescents just like me who were in a rush to grow up. That's all we were; ignorant kids chasing the only high we could: time. That was three years ago. What has become of me now?

From the hectic, fast-paced days of high school, to the calmer days that college had to offer, many aspects of my life have changed. Appearances, relationships both family and friend related, funds, dues, knowledge. It's been real. Instead of trying to figure out where the best party is going to take place on Saturday night, I'm trying to figure out my next move. My next move? Whether it is journalism, music, or business related, THAT and only that is what concerns me on a Saturday night.

There will be numerous weekends and events in which I can relive my youth. The only difference will be the righteous people I choose to surround myself with who are well aware of the society we live in and are concerned on making a difference.

Superficial women dolled up, asking for attention from the scum bag guys that come to parties strictly for one reason. Some of the things I am extremely proud to leave behind... well for now. Lord knows people never change. Numerous people, with amazing futures, that have crossed my path have fallen victim to this life. Being blinded by the lack of responsibility, go out and spend recklessly while simultaneously not being able to pay attention in class. Such is life.

Follow your heart, aspirations and meet all your goals. That is what truly fulfills the mind and soul.

Peace

"See a lot of y'all don't understand Kendrick Lamar because you wonder how I could talk about money, hoes, clothes, God and history
all in the same sentence. You know what all them things have in common? Only half of the truth if you tell it. See I spent twenty-three years on this earth searching for answers til' one day I realised I had to come up with my own. I'm not on the outside looking in, I'm not on inside looking out, I'm in the dead fucking center looking around.You ever seen a newborn baby kill a grown man? That's an analogy for the way the world make me react. My innocence been dead. So the next time I talk about money, hoes, clothes, God and history all in the same sentence just know I meant it, and you felt it cause you too are searching for answers. I'm not the next pop star, I'm not the next socially aware rapper, I am a human motherfucking being over dope ass instrumentation: Kendrick Lamar." - Ab-Soul's Outro, Kendrick Lamar.