so much has happened in the past few weeks
i've been contemplating suicide
i had 11 of the worst days of my life last week

in my lifetime, i saw the red sox beat the New York Yankees and the St. Louis Cardinals
line ups that included Alex Rodriguez, Derek Jeter, Gary Sheffield, Hideki Matsui
Albert Pujols, Scott Rolen, Jim Edmonds and Larry Walker and we're ripped about

by a bunch of red necks and four dominicans (i would call them hicks but im bigger than that)
a bloddy sock and a bunch of errors that turned into nothing
and the red sox beat the bloody life out of the St. Louis Cardinals

so i was upset
to say the least
i haven't been writing alot

just playing alot of guitar
and acting like i know what i'm doing
even though sometimes i do

work is work
what more can i say
it hasn't driven me to quit

like most jobs would have with their
unorganized tactics
but at least i'm working

i started a seeing a therapist
for family counseling
it's much better than court

and the outcome is better too
i might figure out whats wrong with me
i just fell weird cracking jokes during a "session"

the nights are crawling faster than usual
and the moon eclisped
and the red sox won the world series

armageddon is around the corner


Bonafide

everything in life is risky
the fork in the road is rusty
get rid of the old, make room for new
i think cliches are nice
because whoever made it up
was the first person to make it up
what's a cliche before a cliche????
whene you write something do you tell yourself (is this a cliche?)
and why is it pronounced (CLEE-SHAE)
why not (CLEESH)

today is a gloomy day

rain is not my friend

my chuck taylors get wet real easily

i' m going to grow a beard

i'm thinking about locking hair up

i've only been thinking about since

i was eighteen and the people who think

that locks are only for Rastafari

kiss my ass

that's like saying rice and beans are only

for puertoricans

or noodle are only for chinese

i hang out with two guys named Angel

right now

am i the devil in disguise

(Beelzebub, Lucifer, Mephistopheles, Satan, Diablo)

and does that make Johnny-Cerebus

hopefully the sky will open up

and ride the earth of all the infidels

(does that include me also)

(hopefully not)

you say goodbye and i say hello

B.

so i've had conversations with people about how personal a blog should be
and when you read RAC's blog (see link to your left under I'll KICK YOUR ASS RACHEL)
and she leaves it all out there and i'm always very imrpessed by that

shit how do you think we know what was going on with her
but i always feel like if i do that it'll come back to haunt me
most people i know and who are close to me know

the personal beef my son's mother and I have
John Pablo is a beautiful wonderful person/creation/event
but his mother and I still have such a road that makes me scared to walk down

and sometimes i just don't give a fuck, for the simple point that
i am scared of losing John, and i know i shouldn't be writing this
but i don't give a fuck, i'm tired of walking on glass when it comes to

the issue of what i can say and cannot say on my blog
if you don't want to read THEN DON'T, if you want a nice blog
to read then make your own.


Bonafide Rojas
Responsible Father
(maybe not on your standards but SO WHAT)

fela kuti and king crimson is playing
and my head hurts

birthday journal entry: (with parts of Bob Dylan's Not Dark Yet)

Shadows are falling and I've been here all day

it's 4 in the morning and i still can't sleep
another birthday but this one is different
i've gained life and lose life

It's not dark yet, but it's getting there

the day starts the same as a friday does
woke up, got out of bed, drag a comb across my head
stretched, took a nap, ran out the house, picked up john

Behind every beautiful thing there's been some kind of pain

there have been twenty seven birthdays before this one
only 5 have stood out. 10 years old, i have a big party with friends
17 i brought things with my own money,
19 i had just come back from Cuba, everything was good then.
22 i spent it in Puerto Rico, and this one
27, in the last few posts i talk about mortality alot
because the way i was before i starting writing poetry
i wouldn't have made it this far, i know that for real

I was born here and I'll die here against my will

John Pablo was born last November on the 17th at 9:pm sharp
and he's almost a year, and i think he is beautiful and wonderful
there is no life before him, i'm trying to figure out when i've been
more marute/grown up (there is a difference) and he's laughs
with his two teeth

I've followed the river and I got to the sea

back in new york and i'm grateful for it, my mother is a fighter
i feel blessed to be in the position i've been the past years
it may be 27 but there are days it might be 47

I can't even remember what it was I came here to get away from

i've been "living, exploring, writing, since i was 14 i've been hanging
out in NYC almost every weekend, warm day, cold day, rainy day dream away
so i feel older than most people which is probably why i act like 16 year old
when i'm 26 but laughter is laughter, learn to love it, i have

(i'm tired but happy)
(hurt but not jaded)

It's not dark yet, but it's getting there.


Sincerely Yours
Bonafide Rojas
poet
musician: The Mona Passage

so the yankees won laast night
that's all that matters
for the last 15 years i've watched
a playoff game on my birthday
i can clearly remember
the Reds kicking The A's ass
the Giants-A's earthquake
Kirk Gibson home run (maybe that's just the highlight films)
so i get a Yankee game on my birthday
that's nice (as long as we win!!!!!)

so everyone keeps asking what am i doing for my birthday!
and i tell them i'm taking care of my son
(yeah B, bit what are you doing for your birthday)
(yeah, i'm taking care of my son)

so tomorrow is the day
Big Deal, i'm another day older
like i was last week
if you want drop a line
say hello
buy me a guitar
you know small stuff

Your birthday boy
Bonafide

so i've been talking to a few people about my spot on Def Poetry Jam
and i see a lot of people want a copy of "In Front Of The Class" and i
use to wonder whether or not i should post it, but yesterday someone
approached me about using the poem in his correctional facility class
so i decided to post it and whoever wants to use it in their class go right
ahead, i would do the same thing, so i hope everyone enjoys. two more days...


In Front Of The Class

I'm standing in front of a class
society has deemed derelicts and hoodlum
and I am their teacher

I share with them the poem
that will save the world
and they say that it's got to be as good
as a Nas rhyme and have more emotion
than Tupac did

my class consisting
of ex-gang bangers, drug dealers, graffiti writers
and students who have traveled too much
in the cracks of the public school system
they are my students

and as their teacher
I have traveled as many roads
as they have, and stand in front
of them without fear
because they can smell fear

I am them eight years ahead
with poetry being the left turn I made at 17
I tell them that road is approaching
all they have to do it take that road
and run down it so fast that their past
will never catch up to them

I tell them in their metamorphosis
they can change their name
their place of rest, their life,
their career, their goals
and strive for that that has seemed
unattainable for so many years

one student says "HOW?"
it's easy for you to say it now
how the hell am I supposed to get there,
I have one kid, one gang after me, and no job,
how the hell am I supposed to go anywhere
besides down.

I ask him "how bad do you want it?"
in the beginning all I had was poetry
everything else took a back seat
girls, family, and work was a part time
that lasted 6 months with me getting
fired for writing on the job

I tell them to use their connections,
intern somewhere,
learn to live, live to write
write to love, love to learn,

This is the last day of your life
What are you going to leave behind?
What will be your legacy?
and they stare at me like
a rabbit in the headlights
and say they don't know

I tell them to open their chests
and let whatever falls out
let it fall on the page

Let the page be your doctor
Let the page be your therapist
Let the page be your lover

Let the page be your enemy, punch it in the face
Let the page be the best friend that'll never stab you in the back
Let the page be your Prozac

Let the page be your hip hop
Let the page be your rock and roll
Let the page be the fancy ride you're always talking about

Let the page be the bling bling on your wrist
Let the page be the underground beat your about to rip
Let the page be your autobiography

tell them who you are
tell them they're wrong for labeling you
tell them fuck you for giving up on them
tell them your life may not be worth shit now
but tomorrow gives you hope
so you won't take your life today or the next day
tell them you will be here forever
tell them you are the future your parents have been planning for
tell them you are the ones who create beautiful art from stark realities
tell them you are loved
no matter what anyone says
tell them you are loved

and they write
head down for fifteen minutes
pen in hand
never coming off the page
no cares for grammar
no cares for spelling
no cares for structure
never coming off the page

and the first student gets up
and his mouth open wide and says

"I want to live"
"I want to love"
(repeated a hundred times over)
"I want to live"
"I want to love"

and he asks me
if that was any good
and I tell him
it's the best poem
I've ever heard.

today is the fifth of October
and in three days i celebrate
the day of my birth
and i don't know how i feel about it

when i was 17/18
i thought i was going to die at 27
because of my obsession with dead icons
Hendrix/Cobain/Morrison/Joplin/Brian Jones/Robert Johnson
and icons who never died too young
Jef Buckley/Tupac Shakur/Biggie/Cliff Burton/Ian Curtis/
Keith Moon & John Bonham both at 32 both on overdoses

so here i am at 27
feels weird 9 years ago
i told a friend that
"yeah i'm not making it past that"
but i want to be a nice old man now
you know see John Pablo be a grown up
and make me proud,

how about 72 years old
still includes the numbers 2 & 7
still writing poetry
still playing guitar
still hairy

past year has been a whirlwind
i hope this year is a breeze
(i know it's not though)
(i'm still getting old you know)

Bonafide Rojas
10.08.77