poor father

he's as ignorant as the past.

i have come to the realization that he and i are just not meant to be-
so after we spoke today for the first time in 4 months,
i erased both of his numbers out of my phone
in the hopes of erasing him completly.
i do not hold hate for him
i just hold nothing for him.

david lopez jr.

my father texted me for the first time since October.
he told me to listen to "the rooster" by alice in chains.
(as if i had never heard it before)
i played along and told him "ok, i will"
and then later said "oh wow, those lyrics are intense".
i wonder how he is and where he is.
somewhere in New Mexico,
he owns a huge house
with 2 freezers, 4 cars, 4 bikes,
a dog, a wife, 4 television flat screens, 3 game consoles, and 2 boys.
living somewhere nice.
but he only cherishes the garage,
a place where he once told me-he hides out to gain some "calm".
a place where he stashes the alcohol that he is not supposed to drink,
and listens to old classic rock.

i remember the last time we spoke last year,
he was fasincated with Kurt Cobain.
he said "man, Nirvana, man...they were some pretty heavy shit"
and then he went on to explain how much of a conspiracy went behind Kurt's death-only to repeat himself until he boldy stopped speaking (for once) and then said "but what do i know. i mean, this is only what i think"

----------a memory of him.
driving in his convertible Seabring in the late 90's (i was in the 6th grade)
he wanted to play AC/DC real loudly and I wanted to listen to Brandy or Bill Withers. He wouldn't compromise-he just blasted that awful band.
----------a few years later. I was in high school and we were now in a different car, maybe his porshe. He wanted to listen to Led Zepplin and I was into it. We drove for hours to nowhere-listening to Led Zepplin, Sade, and the Deftones (who I introduced him to and whom he acutally liked).


i don't think we will ever do that again.

nostaglic as fuck. (no need to read this)

the past few days have been uninspiring.
i need to change my environment as well as my attitude about things.

i've been missing a lot of things lately.
my mother, being 12 again (and only caring about the Olympics, basketball, and Dominique Moceanu), old friends, the 6th st house, machu, lucas, jimmy-jimmy-jimmy, spray paint, my old classical guitar, my room with the 1 wondow, my old bathroom with the apple ornament, my tiny front yard, the roof, my old obsessions, my brother, the neighbor with the tiny dogs, dinner parties for friends, jessieca maranda, conversations over wine, chelsea, conversations in general (jesus!)

i'm tired of watching movies or falling asleep in front of TV.

not going to do that anymore.

this week, i'm dead to the world.

i see grandmothers and mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters and uncles and cousins and lovers and children and families at work all the time.

i miss grandmothers and mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters and uncles and cousins.

dear emergen-c

day 2 at the hangeeer.
all 4 tracks are done-musically
tomorrow, the big vocal session.

of course, i'm getting sick.
emergen-c
work for me
please.
atleast just hold off for one more day.
i'll lie in bed all thursday if you'll just not make me sound like a tranny tomorrow.
deal?
ok thanks.

in his attic.

i had a dream last night that jeff buckley was alive. 

he and i were not lovers but we were friends-very close friends. 

in fact, jordyn and i were at his house the day that he did actually die. 

(in my dream, you see)-

he was alive and beautiful as ever.

he wore a flannel red shirt and black jeans, his white undershirt was stained by coffee that he had had the night before. 

he was wearing some sort of leather necklace and his wrists were strong. 

i remember holding them in some brief embrace-where he grabbed my arm to look me in the face and say

"thanks for coming over you guys-

i just didn't want to be alone tonight. 

let's go hang out in the attic and listen to Indian records-I have so many new ones that I think you will enjoy".

and we climbed up the ladder (he, jordyn, and I) and sat in a room with candles and carpet and Fateh Ali Khan and lied down on our backs and watched the ceiling. 

I was not high.

He wanted to be. 

Jordyn was silent-all crystal eyed. 

After a few hours, we had to go downstairs. 

I don't care to recall what happened next but in the end, he was gone and 

i woke up crying because it felt like death all over again. 

bellow

first day of feb. 

the shortest month will prevail!

woke up to jordyn having a severe toothache. 

i wish i could magically heal her. 

i hate seeing her in pain.

day 1 at the Hangar to record the last 4 songs

for our first album, "bellow".

mercy.