Alcohol found its way into me.
I breath, talk and smell like vodka.
There are people around me but
I still feel alone. The vodka is not
doing its job. I get my cellphone
and with some coordination
problems I manage to get to
the send text application.
I know you got rid of your cellphone
sometime ago, but I hope it was
all a dream. Months have gone by and I
still don't get a reply. Honey, if you
are reading this, I just wanted to ask:
"Are you still there?"
-LaLobaTonta

I do not get scared when somebody tells me about how they tried to kill themselves, or how often they think about killing themselves.
I've accepted the fact that only idiots would never think about suicide.
Life is kind of stupid and people are kind of annoying and you are gonna die anyways.
Ever since a gypsy read my palm and told me that I was gonna have a very intense but very short life I decided that I would only kill myself after I had SUCKED ALL THERE IS TO SUCK OUT OF LIFE.

-La Loba Que Quiere Lamerle el Culo Al Mundo

I woke up covered by the blues today.
my sheets, skin and eyes have changed color.
the after sex sadness is not going away.
maybe your blue eyes jinxed the natural way of things.
let me tell you that we made a blue day together.
and the sound of a collective of animals moaning and south dakota and comic books and unemployment are all over my quilt.
you're sperm paste....somewhere in a sea of deep blue.
makes it even clearer.
laying on my bed. smelling the fish and hearing the ocean from a shell.
we are only together to feel lonely together.
and the cigarettes smoked and sweet words whispered are only to remind us that we must attempt to make love.
as i sink into the cold waters of the ocean i think of me on and under you.
out and in you.
just like the water surrounding me.
but my thoughts are still about me... just sinking alone.

He is from Mexico, and he is shaking his dreadlocks back and foward while he is infront of the mosh. his cigarette is still in his mouth. as he is pushed, the tabaco smoke comes out of his mouth making beautiful patterns.
A dude in a red jacket screams in the microphone.
I cannot help it: i join him.
He has a heart tattoo on his left wrist and he is always looking for his girlfriend.
he tells me to fuck off when i ask for a picture
but he still posses next to that sticker on the refrigerator that says something about domestic violence.
i say: thank you sir, you are a sweetheart!
I try to scape but then the smoke comes.
I first think is my cigarette doing the tricks on me, but soon i realize it's just the smoke machine.
making sweet smoke for us: the moshers.
it is a laundry room with a refrigerator.
but when the guitar player gets his face close to another dude's crotch: it becomes heaven.
bodies and screams colliding into a mass of cacophony.
cacophony made by the people.
some of they do, and they do it well.
She is in the middle of it all.
a little hot mess on the smokey-cigarette-butts-covered grounds.
When she hits the ground you gain complete understanding.
crash against each other, bond through pain, feel through pushes.
it is rock and roll baby and I feel it on my skin.

Picure me walking down Columbus street.
I like flowers.
I really do, specially when they are free.
But this time I am kind of drunk and with 20 bucks in my leather jacket pocket.
Me and a new zelander and a former macho lover.
I am with my bike, passing every single red street light 'cause I hate waiting.
I see purple flowers and then red roses.
I buy one and wait for the change.
A voice in my back says "how much are the flowers?"
I say "three dollars".
The macho ex-lover soon realizes that I already pay and says, "oooohhh. ok. I thought you want it me to buy it for you. That's what man do."
I say " That is what girls make boys do. A real women buys her own flowers"
Mad that I did not say it loud enough, or my accent got in the way and I only mumbled.
How the fuck did I almost fell in love with this piece of shit.
Burning inside, not enough bad words to describe.

And ooooohhhh....sweetheart I am bisexual, I like all colors...blah blah...SUCK YOUR MAMMA'S LAME ASS RELIGIOUS VAGINA MUTHER FUKER.

I can buy my own flowers. But this time, I am not buying a flower for me. To make you understand how I function, I am pushed to lie.
"I'm actually buying this for a man"
Then I use his bathroom, leave his hotel room and bike so hard and fast that my ankle gets hurt. Is that what man do too???
OOOOhhhh sorry, next time I'll let you buy me flowers and I'll make sure I hurt your ankle.
'Cause you are kind of a man, right??

why i do the things i do

Femme Fatale es una palabra interesante.
Rip people's heart and make them feel filthy, broken and empty.
I know someone who likes to play that game.
The game of the alpha women.
The women who has it and then eats it all.
Because she likes that pure and bloody destruction.
Just like when you look at yourself in the mirror.
Lonelier than ever, darker circles under your eyes, maybe a new tatoo or two, a different shade of lipstick and you ask yourself why you do this things you do. and then the image in the mirror gives you one of those smiles that real femmes make and with a raspy cigarette voice and a slight shoulder movement says...... because you can.

La Loba Loca Es La Femme Revolucionaria
(pico para quien lo lea)

sunday is supposed to be a day of rest. yeah right fuckthatshit i'm going out. espescially since yesterday was "game day" and everyidiot in this town was playing beer pong on their front lawns while the police stood buy and "directed traffic". these idiots can "get wasted" in public but i cant smoke a little weed in my own house? this is bullshit. usually i get the fuck out of here or i don't leave my house, but i woke up feeling like a giant coughing yeast infection so i needed to get drugs. i think the most pathetic part was the 50 year-old dads getting drunk on frat lawns. you graduated 30 years ago. its over. go home to your wives you pieces of shit. i can't fucking wait to move.

so now it is sunday. ive been in all day so far but Mamma said i needed a bike. i call the number. what time do you "close"? the woman laughs and says whenever the entertainment stops. its 5 oclock? fuckit. wheres the F at? i make it to 21st and san carlos. they are still there. after a a few test rides and some hearty conversation with Francisco, i find my bike. i find the most amazing pizza ever made and eat it in the curb. i know Ash Reiter is playing a show around the corner at some bar, but America is threatened by young people drinking so I don't know if I will get in. fuckit. im here i might as well try. i go to Valencia, one of the more beautiful streets i think. park my bike (cuz i have a bike now) and proceed to light the first cigarette of the night. how ya feelin' tonight? oh god. of course. how do i always end up next to these sleazy jazz musicians with hats and pony tails? its like, unavoidable. whatever, maybe if i walk in with him no one will notice that i'm not 21. it worked. im in and right before they start charging people. these "men" are supposed to be almost 30 and i feel like im talking to a drunk 14-year-old. he finally leaves because he was hungry. wow. i somehow end up in the back of this very dark bar "hanging out" with the Ash Reiter band. We talk about the terrible ordeal that is "game day" in Berkeley, being drunk before a show, and she tells me the meaning behind my favorite songs. wow, that made my night. they dont even have to perform at this point. i dont get what so cool about bars. who wants to pay for every piece of alchohol they drink? good thing i have my own. i take a swig. shit the bartender saw me. please dont come over here. can i see the bottle in your bag? fuck. what this bottle? whats the problem. its just iced tea. i dont even drink. theres no need to open it up and smell it or anything mr. bartender man. you trust me right? okay your good. wow that was close. maybe its better if i dont call attention to myself in this bar that im legally not supposed to be in and didnt pay to get in to. they finally play and its all i needed. red air light. this is great. la bahia. thank you ash. paper diamonds. how sweet. stumble and fall. why yes, i think i will. i have to catch something across the bay so i get on my new bike and speed down some sidewalks. i wait for the last train as some man plays the ukelele and sings about his lost love in Cancún. it was the perfect way to end a sunday night alone in the city.