used to be

there are so many
things that I feel I used to be 
that I am no longer 
never have been able to put my finger 
on what it is I believe my purpose is on this planet 
but I will someday 
until then I smoke my cigars and drink my coffee 
cough a little and stay hungry...

undo(for the record)

from a different

angle now
a different spot
above or below
back to the spot tonight
it is possible
 
for the record
realizing the truth
and the trust broken
where it will lead
no one will ever
trust these words
it’s all the same
no matter what every moment
 
for the record
back to a spot that might
make sense to someone
trying hard to find myself
pull myself back out of myself
I know he’s there
wishing to undo
what’s been done
it’s already too late
trying to understand myself
again and again…

quiet now(for the record)

the house is quiet now

sleeping on the couch

he’s writing in the basement

always will be

for the record

the house always seemed

quiet from the street…

never wanted to be(for the record)

no idea

what is going on

an eye sore and admittedly

the pain behind it all

taking too many chances

like pills they say will make me

feel like myself again

point me in the right direction

never knew myself

still don’t

fix myself find health

make wealth

for the record

the hole is too deep

can’t even spend too much

time discussing

and I am disgusting

myself I know this much

for the record

became the guy I never

wanted to be

said I would never be

didn’t know how much strength

it would take to avoid that hole

can’t escape

might take years…

five years ago(for the record)

for the record

five years ago
standing on the sidewalk
falling into love
and knew that it was real
twenty-four hours
changed too much
just as well not think
too much anymore…

the worst(for the record)

not afraid

of what comes out
only afraid of the hurt
it will cause her
 
for the record
breaking my own heart
inconsequential
no one is gonna hear
the song I sing
some say for better
or for worse
and then I am just
the worst
you could imagine…  

from there to here(for the record)

for the record

cross-eyed and dangerous
early morning drive
not the same
wish I really knew
how to get there
from here…

for the record
undeniable
multi-personed
dangerous…

not the best(for the record)

for the record

I am not the best
or anywhere close
as once I had imagined…

nothing concluded 173

can't be trusted

another liar I would hate
can't hate myself
don't hate myself
don't know what I am doing
 
things don't ever get
easier and I don't
wish for anyone else's life
can't even figure out
my own
 
always so alone
and it's my own fault
don't know how
to tell the people closest
to me how I feel...

no surprises(for the record)

for the record

nothing could possibly
surprise me at this point
four months
in between entries
is not acceptable…

folded paper monster

beautiful struggle

the mind turned over

like fireworks

no one can see

with these eyes buried deep

in my mind made up

of wonderful moments

stacking them higher

with every night

away returning

true holistic creativity

beautiful danger

hidden in the folds

of the paper monster

created as the music

all around stops

night falls to where eye sit

alone on my perch

like that bird

putting pieces together

like the jigsaw puzzle

that’s fallen to the floor

time honored consistency

like jello always room

especially when a gray night

steps in the way

of sudden moonlight

reflected on the surface of the water

only for those who take

the time to notice…

backwards again

no one is making enough noise

so that everyone hears

when he arrives spinning

backwards again

no one is telling tales better

than worse than that

done in another language

no one knows

direction lost kept walking

no one is watching

so eye will continue to sit

out in the open air porch

airing out these thoughts…

esteban lives!!

yo miz, thanks for the comment,
but it should be a posting
so I am going to put it in it's entirety here:

Well niceFro,

It seems that you have left the door wide open as to where this blog will take its readers. If that is indeed the case, and I am the first to comment, then I will take what you selected to post and run with it.
For those unaware of my relationship with niceFro, we met over 20 years ago and our mutual appreciation for rap music and the Hip Hop culture has been a common thread. For anyone who logs on, views the video that niceFro references, and does not "get" why we would find that clip, art in its truest and purest form, then I would ask you "Why not?"
And here we begin to get to my first axe to grind. There are a large number of people out there who view rap music as anything but music. They feel rap is profanity laced trash that serves no purpose, and does nothing more than glamorize drug use, dealing and sex and the exploitation of women. However, these same people go on to talk about Eric Clapton, the Doors, Aerosmith or any number of "rock" bands who essentially project the same messages with one exception-they are white.
Sex, drugs and violence sell in America, regardless of the type of media or artists involved. Rap music began with young black males originally making music that was proud and playfully braggadocios, built on break beats from old records (guitars, pianos, horns, and drums are not readily available to inner city youth living in poverty-so they used what the had and created a new artform). Record execs new that black pride would not appeal/sell to predominantly white buyer base, but the good old sex, drugs and violence theme would.
Therefore, groups like De La Soul and A Tribe Called Quest were replaced with the 50 Cents of the world. However, the greater crime here is the further violence that has been perpetuated by this transformation of what was once (and in many circles still is) a positive outlet for frustrated urban youth to express their ideas and opinions about their race, culture and history. One type of violence (see David Gill for the complete theory on violence) in this country is that which is created when our institutions deprive some of its citizens (generally impoverished minorities) the right to live and engage in meaningful work and activities.
We all should be granted that opportunity, but sub-standard educational systems, living conditions and health care prevent many from pursuing meaningful work and activities. When this pursuit is obstructed, the frustration and anger is often released in violence, which is of course met with violence in the form of our prison systems. So essentially rap music emerged as an art form that allowed urban youth to engage in a meaningful activity and release their frustrations positively and creatively. It was then stripped of much of its history and culture (a familiar theme when talking about white europeans and native africans), degraded (again familiar) and used to generate profits for already wealthy white males (hmmm).
Now, watch that video again and note the black, latino and white men all gathered around the artist-community building 101. Now, try to recite the verse that Mos Def raps at the same rate and articulate it as clearly. Now, go and write a 50 second rap that not only rhymes, but says something meaningful and engages the listener to the point that they begin cheering upon its completion.
Finally, tell me why you are not impressed and why when an affluent white man does it, its called poetry, but when a poor black man does it, its called trash.

R.I.P. J-Dilla.

Respectfully yours,

Esteban
May 29, 2007 10pm

eye reality

sounds of the night
mind trapped
stuck in the mind
the beat eternal in an irie place
spent part of the day
moving around H town
no direction seeing who is out while
eye work doing the best eye can
sounds of tonight
spinning beats moving from room
to room creating more room
at the island located not far away
unbelievable but undeniable
at the same time like flood
waters power through any
boundaries head spins away from the smile
starting the dread all over again
mind spins still as sleep will arrive
shortly as time together
staring into eternity
with these eyes no limits
to eye reality...

manifest

sometimes I just need to air it all out

frustration—yoga felt good

detoxification mind and body

sometimes I just keep it all in

never know what it’s about

never find out part of

the frustration

sometimes I will flip it inside out

trying to get a better look

never really works as well as it should

backwards from ten until I fall asleep

again each night forget the sheep

falling forgetting how deep

sometimes I wonder

why I am who I am

and not a better manifestation

of what I want to be…

months

there are months 
and days within them
they pass by silently
without a written thought 
wishing to capture them 
before they vanish quick
even when the days are long
and drawn out like sketches
on napkins 
secret meetings 
discussed future plans
there are months
and days in between them 
they go unnoticed...

beyond the reach (for the record)

for the record

every sound and thought
revolving like the sun
or around it
resonating into the night
beyond the reach
of imagination

never imagined

the scenario flipped
the mind
into another dimension
not to mention
undeniable attention…

loud as the whisper

cool breeze
stopped me dead
in my tracks
forgot where eye was
momentarily still shocked

ten days without
thought clear on these
pages finally
pen doesn't feel as stuck
loose change is always good

even when it doesn't make
sense at all now
could anyone
believe an official story
they all have flaws

cool breeze
what could be the cause
no hair lost the dread
any loss always walking
forward eye might not
know the direction
lost in thought

loud as the whisper
in the wind
as the winter ends
and in with change
cool breeze
refreshing not chilling
solitary deep
into the night
from below the street...

bald and dreading(for the record)

fifteen years of work
has done nothing
for my work ethic
wishing to kick back
and coast like an old timer

for the record

bald and dreading
the day still beat nature
to the punch
in the face
can’t believe she still
looks this way

for the record
insecurities will get
the best of times
at the worst times
a celebration
never been beaten down
by anyone except the most
powerful self
circles come out in
a mixture of smoke

for the record
every right to hold steel
fear only the self
and what it could do
never will carry or shoot
every right to bear both
in defense of the self
and the family extended
unarmed but fearless
may pass the point
of falling down
and keep right on going…

nothing planned(for the record)

gone awhile
six twos greet upon return
nothing planned
spontaneity insane
my father says the world
won’t ever change
war may continue
for generations
before and after now
what’s the difference
 
for the record
getting much closer now
teaching daze coming to a close
love his grey blue eyes
and white beard and
nomadic mind
inspired both sons
 
for the record
only one daughter
raging against every
machine life throws
her way who knew
she would grow
to be so strong…

cerebral experiment

twenty plus days and nights as well

been silent right through the holidays

took a run at some office

still don’t know how bad the loss

grandfather passing hard enough

twenty some days and bunches of hours

spent wasted on being busy with whatever

thoughts piled up against the wall

the days of Bickford’s are gone

although the grill still poses as one

nothing like before probably closes at eleven

twenty minutes from now eyes could be closed

as well as should be if eyes grown weary

in the day new experiment in the mind

silent like the wind barely moving the trees

in the yard still too warm for winter

hardly a complaint but something isn’t quite right

as the moon has been left dipping below

the tree line view twenty days

worth of pages blank as if written by a mime

unheard of eye know he might

be hiding something again…