Thursday, March 04, 2004

yesterday i went job hunting, applied at Urban Outfitters, my boy Damien who was a DJ at my book party is a manager, so if i don't get a job there then i really need to find out what the hell is wrong with my records I need to check if there is a warrant for my arrest of i actually have felonys laying around in there. that would suck so bad. waited for Raze Regal to come through but he never showed up. i hate that.

later that night I saw Oscar at the Blue Ox for their BCA poetry reading.
it' not Acentos i'll tell you that but when did they get a pool table. i was with Angel last night for a little while, we actually had a man to man talk which is weird since i've known Angel since i was 9 (i believe).

today has been a little slow and weird, i went to mindbuilders to see Oscar and handle some business. had an arguement on the phone, not really an arguement but it's damaging my outlook on the day. i really wish certain things in my life were better. but who am i to complain. i'm 26, i have a book, a healthy baby boy and a roof over my head. Americans are so greedy and i say American because i live here, puerto ricans, dominicans, cubans, ecuadorians, mexicans, not all of them are greedy like Americans but we're all greedy somehow. you know.

I miss my youth and the having the ability of not having a care in the world.
but those days are long gone and G.W. Bush is still our president and Kerry scares me, and Radiohead said they're not recording another album because their contract is finished. Capitol better hurry up and sign them before I do.

Pedro Pietri died either last night or this morning and i will not mourn his passing but celebrate his life and work. Pedro was a weirdo and that's why i like him so much, he to me was a chip off the original shoulder, the last puerto/rican/dadaist/surrealist/spaced/out/poetic/sun/ra/smoke/a/joint/on/the/empire/state/building and for that i admired him. One time in his house I was invited to his house for a Pampleteros collective with Sam, Stephanie and a few other heads i was too young to recognize (19 yrs old i think) and i remember him throwing a book with nails sticking out and i almost caught and he looks at me and says "That's Hard Poetry, Son" and i love that shit. if i'm ever considered to be as eccentric as people thought Pedro was (which i thought we was normal) it would be honor to be even mentioned in the same breath. i miss you Pedro, you and your extended hand.

Bonafide Rojas
graduate from the nuyorican school of poetry

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