In Memory of a Man…

March 23, 2013

… A mental Monkey Man.


Chances are that what I don’t get blogged today, I won’t blog tomorrow, so here I go before another day passes.

Yesterday was the “anniversary” of the day I got the call that Monkey Man was found dead. I don’t even know if I should call it “anniversary”. Something about the connotation of that is upsetting me. So anyway, I’ll just say, a year ago yesterday, I got the news that Monkey Man was no longer with us.

Those of you that followed me back then know the story.  I will not repeat it, nor do I want to. Yesterday, I spent most of the therapy session talking about it. And slowly but surely I realize that I am moving past this. The pain will never be completely gone, but I am ok with that now. I am working at managing my life and actually FEEL ALIVE today.

Brunet Young and I discussed so much and I felt relieved. I told her how sometimes I feel “happy” that he’s gone and feel like a “bad” person for that. We later found that maybe “happy” wasn’t the right word. No, not at all.

I cried in front of her for the first time. There are just too many emotions to describe or begin to recognize when someone you love dies this way–by their own hands. And there is A LOT OF ANGER! I for one have dealt with anger management problems all of my life (common in peopole with BPD). She suggested maybe, in a way, I’m relieved, definitely not “happy” about it. And that’s ok. It doesn’t mean I’m, a “bad” person.

Why else would so many of the depressing blog posts on here be about him?


One thing I did this week was draw this portrait in memory him. A.F., his stepsister gave me this picture she took of us sometime in 2006-2007. It was what she calls the “happy summer”. Strangely enough, I was very depressed then, but Monkey Man was glowing and everyone said it was on account of me being there.

The relationship I had with him was so intense, so wonderful, so terrifying, so loving yet so abusive at times. I learned a lot from that relationship.

But I did love him and I know he loved me.

Correction, I do love him. I know he’d be proud of how well things are going for me these days. I found a text he had sent me on my phone about two months ago, it reads:

“It’s ok my love. U r one of the most powerful people i know. I wish i had the strength u have”


Art brings me comfort.

portrait of me and Monkey Man

Pen and Ink © paz
When we were younger, fatter, in a sense healthier (at least he was) and stoned. circa 2006.

It’s almost the end of the third month into 2013. I blogged for mental health all of last year. No, no. I BEGGED for mental health all of last year. And I never pledged the pledge but I walked the walk or whatever.

My fellow Canvas bloggies have established a pledging that connects people with the mental-health blogging community. This blog has been a reflection of my personal journey in the last year and a half. My mental health has improved drastically since then. No drastically sounds too negative. It has improved INCREDIBLY.


I am at a point now where I’m not having to fight off suicidal ideations, thoughts and urges damn near every hour of everyday. I am not constantly cryin’ or having panic attacks all the time. Since the start of this blog I lost someone dear, had a ton of medical issues, and made a suicide attempt. Then I found out that my Ex-Young therapist had diagnosed me with Borderline Personality Disorder, my therapist left (that was just before the suicide attempt) and in June of 2012, I finally got back in therapy and tried different medications.

I’m still going to therapy once a week, mostly. It’s on Fridays these days. No more Thursday therapy ’cause I’m working and Brunet Young changed her schedule. Therapy has been a major lifeline, so has this blog (as I’ve mentioned dozens of times before) and my swimming. I’m still swimming despite all the shit thrown at me. I’m fortunate that my mom is still working at the gym and I’m able to go and release my demons for free, for a bit at least.

Of course I still struggle. Life is a struggle and for those with mental health issues, that struggle becomes unbearable, so painful that it kills. It is another kind of struggle in itself. But I have accomplished many of my “goals for therapy” and am still working on others.

My “stability” has settle some.


I have a bit more clarity in my life now and feeling a sense of direction, despite my many changes in course. There are so many challenges, so much more to endure and enjoy. I don’t know where I’m at with this blog. I’ve considered retiring it many times (as a “borderline” I’ll drastically change my mind from one minute to the next ha). But I think I’m giving it a go for a bit longer.

I’m continuing my pledge to write for mental health, to shout out, to show that we are not alone in this.

Please visit my Canvas family at A Canvas of the Minds. It’s a great little blog of mental health bloggers and shenanigans!

Oh oh. And I ALMOST forgot. Thank you Laura/Soul Survivor for pledging me this year. You can find her blog, Bipolar for Life by clicking the link.

Blog for Mental Health 2013

Blog for Mental Health 2013

Sometime in early summer when my bro, V, and I became friends again, he said to me, “P, I want you to listen to this chick. I think you’ll like her. She a bit off, like you. I know you like that kind of shit.”

He took me over to his computer and showed me a Lana del Rey video, “Born to Die”. I wasn’t very impressed, but I nodded my head and said, “yeah, yeah, she sounds good. Not bad.”

Turns out I’m really diggin’ her now. Not nose deep diggin’, just knee-high diggin’, ya dig?


Yeah, I admit that I like her music ok! There I said it. She’d probably be a cool chick to hang out with too. Yeah, sometimes she sounds like she’s having a seizure when she sings live, but I honestly think she’s just, you know, off. And I kind of like that. She’s not all jumping up and down the stage singing about partying. I think she has a pretty powerful voice actually; she just doesn’t control it well when she’s up in front of the mic live. I mean, shit, I’d probably sing like a dying baby goat if I went up in front of a stage. And I sing fairly good, mind you–good as in mediocre and taking into account my halfway deafness. ha.

Anyway, I was listening to her the other night, ON MY NEW-OLD phone that my bro’s sweet girlfriend gave me! Yep, I now have a smartphone! BOOYAH!


“Ride” is one of the songs that really got me liking this Lana girl—obviously a pseudo name ’cause girl is whiter than YouTube sensation Krispi Kreme. Lana is a beauty. In this song, she expresses some of the core “borderline” characteristics. And I mean the version that’s in this video specifically when she says, “mama said I always had a chameleon soul” and “no fixed personality”. Also the whole being a poet thing and “to seek safety in other people” really rings with me. I mean she’s running around with a whole bunch of older men.

This seems a bit pretentious, but it is good nonetheless. I have good taste so it’s GOOD CAUSE I SAY IT IS DAMMIT. I kid. Whatever never mind.

Note: The direction/cinematography/editing of the video is pretty damn good too!


Oh right the surgery?! The surgery went splendidly. I no longer have a metal rod stuck in my jaw, poking out on the back of my mouth. YAY! I’m in pain now and a bit high on Norco and don’t want to take more ’cause I know how quickly I can get out of hand– being impulsive and all, so I’ll go on the sewing machine for a bit.

Mouse love (the PLDs are off on vacation but they send their love too).


Janis had a voice in tune with the angels and demons. Her Pretty Little Demons must have been beyond pretty, gorgeous even, much like mine. And I’m not saying I’m gorgeous here; it’s just my demons are.

So, today’s song is “Summertime”. The mood in this song is so melancholy and yet the lyrics have a mixed tinge of humor and sadness, of sarcasm and anger, of positive and negative thougths battling between this girl from a rich dad and gorgeous mom. A girl who will someday fly. I love that thought as trite as it may seem. Will she fly as an angel in death? Or will she do great things in her life? It’s up in the air.

It’s like the essence of the song describes my childhood, my youth.

I know all about having a gorgeous mom, about melancholy and being mixed up with ambivalence, confusion and ambiguity. But my dad on the other hand lost his business in Colombia when he decided to move to the States for me. He sacrificed everything he’d worked up for until that point. I always felt so guilty about it. Ironically though, the guy who took over his photography studio after we left was shot while some hoodlums broke in to steal anything they could. Colombia was in deep political unrest at the time.


Well, it’s summer and summertime living is easy for us southern girls. ha! Somer time is ‘a leavin’.

Summertime for me has often been a time of remission from the “mentals” (usually, not always); the only brief remissions I recall. And this summer seems to be no different, despite the burdensome circumstances. I have been getting relatively “better” since July.


I also recall many melancholy summers in my childhood. I was a melancholy child even before the suicidals hit. Oh I do.  Child melancholy. Adolescent melancholy. Adult melancholy. It just gets worse. It’s just another bucket filling in the well.

Oh summertime though. Weren’t childhood summers the best? If I recall clearly, even my childhood melancholy summers where better than my remission adolescent and adult summers.

Summertime is  ‘a here y’all. Don’t you cry girl. Don’t you cry. Remember you’re the “mean challenger,” the “brave girl” who never cries.

Yet I’m crying now.

Oh I have so many stories about what this song means to me. So here’s just one of the many….


Once Upon a Summertime

I became extremely close to a dirty-blond haired girl way back in 2003-2004. She had big eyes like mine, only hers were green–mine are brown. And she had gorgeous big, pursed lips. It got to a point where I had an intense crush on her. I’m still not sure why.

Back then, I was involved in this organization called the International Order of the Rainbow for Girls and used to joke that they were a cult of lesbians–I wish they were because at least then I wouldn’t have to wear white dresses and do stupid rituals for Jesus. No offense to Jesus. I’m sure he was a cool dude. I’d have kicked it with him, but I doubt he enjoys all that adoration.

This organization was VERY religious and very strict. I caught hell for wearing a brow and nose ring. Anyway, that’s were I met this wonderful girl. The day I met her, we laughed at the rituals and the white dresses.

Don’t get scared; they didn’t harm me. Well, they did once when we went to Corpus Cristi but that’s another post altogether. This Rainbow for Girls thing was more like a cult of Mason’s Christian daughters who claimed to do charity work (the reason I’d joined was because I wanted to do charity work), but instead of doing charity, they only bickered. Anyway, me and this girl (I’ll call her Emma) connected because we both felt out-of-place there. We were both outsiders.

Emma was a wild one, a  free-thinker like me. We had one of those intense connections that immediately sparked! And one summer, we had a road trip with the other Rainbow Girls, the not-so-free-thinker-ones. In the car, Emma and I jammed to Joplin. Me and her, her and me. We laughed a lot that girl Emma and I.

This girl, Emma, knew ALL ABOUT Janis Joplin. I mean, if you know anything about Janis Joplin, you know that she was from Texas. You’d know she was born in January 19, 1943 and began writing plays in the first grade (oh how I’ve always had a thing for most Aquarians I’ve met). You’d also know that she went to Lamar State College for a stretch between gigs before becoming famous. And since you’d know she grew up in Texas and that Lamar State College is where she went for a while; you’d know Lamar State College is also in Port Arthur, Texas, not too far from Houston where I grew up.

Yep, you’d know, you’d know how inadequate she must’a felt there. You’d know that in high school, she’d earned the name “pig” for being pudgy and “nigger lover” for her “tolerance” and love of blacks and her hate of racism–which she witnessed a lot of in Port Arthur and at Lamar, I’m sure. You’d know that that’s why she often left to live with her aunt in Venice Beach, California.

Surely, you’d know this, but even so, you wouldn’t know all the things this girl Emma knew. Emma and I felt her PAIN. This girl was a DEDICATED Joplin fan–must be still. I became a hardcore dedicated fan thanks to Emma.

A year after that summer, in the spring of 2004, I went on a road trip to the northwestern plains of Texas with Emma. Just us two. We went to visit her then-fiancé in prison. She and I had a thing for bad boys, only she’d slept with many and I hadn’t… yet. She was only a year older than me but had been engaged more than once. I hadn’t even had sex or a boyfriend.

I remember getting so upset when I was in that line of booths where you talk to the prisoners through a connected phone behind the windows. I got upset because the people next to us was a family of five–a mom and her three little kids. The dad was a prison inmate. The oldest child was about ten. They were all visiting their daddy, and to me it was so sad. I just sat and watched the man talk to his kids behind the glass while Emma talked to her fiance. And I wondered if it were better for those kids to visit that man, their father, or not. I was so depressed then. I remember wheeling myself to the restroom past these gates where men in solitary confinement stayed. And I just sat on the stall and cried and cried. When I got back, I sat there just looking at them but trying not to look too hard. I always felt things like that, intensely.

Springs have never been good to me, but sumertime is a little different.


On our way back from the prison–oh those lovely Texas prisons and there are loads of them– we stopped at this old ma-and-pa shop looking for a place to eat spaghetti. Emma got herself a Southern Comfort plaque, and we planned to see if we could sneak our way into buying some Southern Comfort whisky back in Houston.

Janis had been a “troubled girl” like Janis and I, so she drank a lot of that Southern Comfort whiskey (we ended up not getting the whisky after all).

She was my “date” at my senior prom. She wore a tucks with high heels and I wore a beautiful black and green dress. I didn’t enjoy myself. I only cried after it was over.Then Emma told me that she was planning on going to Lamar State College. She never did. She went somewhere else. She also told me she had BP (bipolar disorder), but back then I hadn’t had my monumental mental breakdown, so I hadn’t been diagnosed or sent to any psychiatric clinic. I was still struggling in silence. So I felt awkward telling her about how much I empathized. I did tell her I empathized but not REALLY EMPATHIZED like I did on the inside. I guess I paid no mind because I was trying to put “mind over matter” like a good Christian Scientist would. I still suspected BP or something similar in myself.


What do you think happened between me and dear Emma?


Very borderline is what happened.

Our intense friendship broke–just as intense of a rupture as its union. We dissipated from each other as quickly as we had bonded. I see our little summer escapades as a chemical reaction between atoms, forming new molecules, new bonds–that became our friendship. Then, the borderline in me and the bipolar in her was the catalyst.

Then again, I could over analyze it like I tend to. Or oversimplify it.  Of course, life is just like that. Some people drift in and out of our lives. But for me, it’s everyone I’ve been close to. Maybe that’s just how life is for some of us.

In 2006, Emma and I rekindled our friendship online. And for a brief moment, all was well between us again. Then one day, she let me down. She asked me out to a Greek festival and the day of the festival she didn’t return my calls. I instantly went from loving her to hating her guts! I wanted to tear at my skin and pull all of my hair out.

“How could she do this to me?” I thought. “Why wouldn’t she at least call back and say she was sorry, that she wasn’t going, or that she couldn’t pick me up because something held her up?” When I emailed her about it, she didn’t reply. “What did I do? She obviously hates me. No one will ever like me.”

I insulted her in another email and cut her off completely though I missed her terribly. Now was that just life or some of the “borderline” in me?

Soon summertime will become “autumn time” in this part of the world. Molecules come together; molecules break apart. Warmth becomes cool.



addendum: Monkey Man L. had a vinyl record of hers I really wanted. mmmhmmm. I would have wanted it as a memento. I think his sis too it. Well, she deserved it.

So back in May 18th, if I’m not mistaken, Joy and Ruin (J & R) nominated me for the One Lovely Blog Award. Thank you for considering me J&R! I’m honored, tickled and still abashed.

Bloggies, J&R can write! He writes lovely poems and short/flash fiction pieces! I tell you! I mean damn good poems. And I know good poems when I read them, so that means you should go over there and read. Do you like the Misfits? Do you like poems? Well, get on over there!

Anyway, I didn’t want to take the award at first (well I was just waiting to take it later hehehe) because that’s around the time I started fighting with my blog, and then Mouse had to go and start playing with the PLDs, making them more cosy in my skull and shit. Fuckin’ Mouse! Ugh, they’ve made a mess in my head I tell ya–cigarette buds everywhere, pizza boxes, bread crumbs, ping-pong balls all over the place, beer bottles, knives, charred wood and glass, shitted toilet paper overflowing the trash cans, vomit, needles and other drug paraphernalia and they leave the lights on all night not caring about conserving energy–it’s disgusting!


Sigh, I guess I have to follow some stupid rules for this. But I’m only going to follow them the way I want because I’ve always been a rebel with a cause. If you shoot me for failing to comply to these rules, I’d be more than happy because that would make the PLD’s scatter out of my head, along with the trail of blood, like roaches. What?


Alright, the rules are:

1. Thank the person who nominated you and link back to them in your post *check*

2. Share 7 things about yourself.

  1. I’m a very indecisive person, CHRONICALLY indecisive (I think it comes with the BPD now), so when I went to college, I switched from major to major so many times that I had accumulated enough credits for a masters degree even though it took me six years just to get a bachelors, granted that I COMPLETED IT even when I thought I was going to die, and I completed it Cum Laud. And in my defense, six years is the average for an undocumented student considering the trials and tribulations and legalities. I finally settled with Media Production though I wanted to get a double major in the school’s English – Creative writing program which I did get accepted to but didn’t go through with. Oh AND I also got an associates of applied science in sound engineering/music production. I say this to boost my low self esteem, not to be haughty; it’s just reminding myself of accomplishment more so, so I don’t start feeling like a failure for the six years thing.
  2. Speaking of music, I play the piano and the ukulele though I’m kinda nearly deaf in my right ear and somewhat in my left.
  3. I was a vageterian vegetarian for two years in college but since moving back with my parents last year, I’ve become a meat eater again. I still don’t eat beef or pork. I just can’t eat piggies. They’re so smart, well, you know not smart smart but smart enough to warrant me not eating them. So I just tell people I’m Jewish and/or Muslim when they ask why. That usually shuts ’em up.
  4. I’m queer.
  5. I got a toy French poodle for my eighth birthday. I was at this flea market with the family one day (it’s an outside market, Mexican/Spanish style) and I saw this little puppy, little fluff ball, curled up with a bunch of pigs! They had him in a pig pen! He was getting beat up by the much bigger pigs who rammed their heads against him nonstop; they were tiny too, but still, that must’ve hurt the little poodle puppy. I felt I had to save him. I told my mom and dad I didn’t want anything for my birthday, except that puppy! I said I’d refuse a cake even. My mom said that if I really wanted the puppy that I should go over to the guy selling the dog (and piglets) and try to work something out with the fella because all she and my dad had with them was 50 dollars. Well, I was a good talker then, and I talked the man into giving me a deal–$150 dollars! I don’t know if it was the cutsie face I made or the wheelchair or both, but he accepted my offer! And he’d let me pay the rest in two weeks! Just like that! We kept our word and came back two weeks later with the $100 and I also brought my new puppy along so he could see his former owner one last time. We named him Tito, like the latin drummer Tito Puente. He lived to be 17 and that’s well over a hundred in doggie years.
  6. I’m legally “insane”… NOT… You actually believed me? heheh. You’re so gullible! Insanity is not a proper term or how should I say, a “politically correct” term, but I do have a case of the mentals–a mental disorder, I suppose.
  7. I am “illegally” here and unless I get dragged out of the country in handcuffs, I’m staying here.

3. Nominate 10 or so bloggers you admire *I’m noting how they said 10 OR SO*

4. Contact your chosen bloggers to let them know *rain check*


Take your pick nominees. I find these awards often have poor graphic design quality, but I admit, these two are pretty well done! Kudos to whoever designed them! Not bad.

Salted Lithium writes about his recovery and maintenance of bipolar disorder.

Sailor Carrie from Hello Sailor is a wonderful mental sailor and blogger! She’s my MFF 😉

The Silver Poet is simplicity and complexity at its best.

Branches of Thought is a blog I just recently discovered on and I’m in love already. Her poem, “Transparent Armor” in particular helped me chill out after I was over thinking and letting my Punitive Parent (see Five Faces of Borderline) criticize me for sharing so much. I always carry such a heavy armor. We all do sometimes.

KJP García is another insightful poet I just recently discovered.

Peace the Consciousness by Mari Sanchez is bursting with trippy versus, so surreal. Her versus remind me of what a Salvador Dali painting would look like in words.

Downward Spiral Into the Vortex is a blog I just discovered, like two nights ago. And let me tell you, this girl nailed it for me! She’s also dealing with borderline personality disorder and being a “transparent borderline”. I just don’t have enough words for how much I connected to what she writes. I’ve always said that I can relate to some bipolar experiences more than the borderline ones, but I think I was lying to myself. I relate to the borderline blogs just as much, or moreso. I don’t know, but this one hit it home for me and it’s partly because Haven has such good wealth of BPD information.

Zen and the Art of Borderline Maintenance  (and her other blog How I Developed Borderline Personality DisorderI absolutely love Zen! I’m so glad I found her blog and you should be too. I’m serious.

Not Quite Lost is a funny lady like me. Her writing reminds me that I’m not alone in this rambling head.

Millie Ho is such a talented artist. She paints and doodles and writes nice flash fiction and what-have-yous.

My Medicated Cartoon Life is the blog, well, one of the blogs that inspired me to write this blog. See, when I first opened up a WordPress account, I had no idea what I was going to title it (as many of us do), but I did know what topics I wanted to cover. And I knew I wanted to doodle my stories in a cartoony fashion which I haven’t done enough of. Anyway, I had google searched “comic and illustrated blogs and depression” and BAM, I found the Bitter Animator of My Medicated Cartoon Life, and thus, my Melancholically Manic Mouse came to life. We’ll, she’d already been living there in my head for fifteen years or more, but I brought her to the spotlight when I found Bitter.

Kyle Mew is funny, is risque, is so entertaining.

Broken Light Collective, I thank you.

This Blithering Idiot  Hansi’s Hallucinations inspires me to draw again.

The Howler and Me makes me howl.

Dotty Headbanger | Notes From a She Hermit | Mental and Loving It is so dear and so dotty. And Dotty I know you won’t accept this but just know that you’ve inspired me in more ways than you know.

Bipolar Muse thank you! I just cannot say thank you enough. I think you know what I mean. 😉

Jen and Tonic is another bright and funny lady. Sip on some jin and juice and read this lady’s tonic. Wait, did that come out right?

Laments and Lullabies  is yet another funny mental lady. She draws nice things like four eyed mommies. She’s also got a funny husband over at A Clown On FireI like to pick on the Clown.

Totsymae is another tough southern lady full of wit. She’s also a talented artist. I’ll go on and pat myself on the back for finishing this now. I know Tosymae, these blogging awards are hard to accept. You don’t have to. Just keep being funny and southern and artsy and totsy.

Brainsnorts is the creative and wonderfully funny writer and nut that will stalk a neighborhood nut (you know how there’s one in every corner) and write blog post about it, with pictures and stick figure diagrams included! Oh right, and the snorty-brainiac (his name is Rich) has samples of his novels too. I particularly like “Disconnected”.

Disorderly Chickadee  just got me with her latest doodles, so she’s been taken as a last minute addition. Oh and she has a lot of good info about bipolar and in particular, bipolar II. You know, stuff like how to do mood charts, how they work and gummy bears–lots and lots of gummy bears.

A Canvas of the Minds is a wonderful space for discussing mental health issues. I have met some wonderful bloggers and dare I say even friends there.


Argggh. I hate this! I feel like I left so many out! BAGHaghahagh. I want to add more, but I think I’ve gone beyond taking my liberty. Ah, fuck it, I’ll be back with more nominees, eventually. And to Dear Dotty, THAM, Totsymae and a few others, I know you won’t accept this. I get it; I was indecisive about it since these awards can be silly and nerve wrecking. Well, I feel like I’ve gone with a lot of female bloggies in this one, so I’ll make it up to you fellas. I’m just in a feminist mood; I’m always in a feminist mood! hehe.

Also, I wanted to particularly post some of the mental/mental-health bloggers, the artsy bloggers, the poetry bloggers and the humor bloggers because they’ve helped me so much. Thank you guys.


Oh, I still have the Versatile Blogger Award in the closet; it was given to me by Beautiful Rose from But I’m Beautiful, actually I take that back. I have TWO. I got one from Zen also. So when I decide to dust them off and fully accept them, I’ll add those of you that I feel I’ve left out.

You all are great!

Much love from the Mouse and P (we’re one today).

In commemoration of Monkey Man L. today, I selected Joy Division. He was a huge fan of Joy Division. And I think if he heard this song today, it would remind him of me. ha!

Here’s some irony for you, actually, it’s just more of my contradictions. There’s a part in the lyrics that go like this:

And she’s clinging to the nearest passer by,
She’s lost control.
And she gave away the secrets of her past,
And said I’ve lost control again…

So in my previous post “Grieving and the Mentals”, I just mentioned my trouble with expressing my troubles and emotions. I have an extremely difficult time reaching out to people–friends, family, etc.

But OUT OF NOWHERE, I’ll grab someone (the “nearest passerby”) I barely know and spill my guts to them. I’ve found a pattern in this behavior; I tend to do it to men I’m getting to know, flirting with, etc. And I think it has something to do with making them think, “Holy shit, this one’s a mess. I better go”. Maybe I do that so they can leave before I can get attached. OR, in reverse, I may subconsciously think, “Well, this person doesn’t matter to me, so it’s ok if they know my messy secrets since I’ll probably never see them again anyway and their judgement won’t leave a sting and if they do stick around then they’ll matter after all”. Sometimes we find it easier to talk to strangers. Makes sense doesn’t it?

Click on the “Read the rest of this entry” button to see Lyrics to She’s Lost Control :

Read the rest of this entry »

I like nonsense, it wakes up the brain cells. Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living, it’s a way of looking at life through the wrong end of a telescope. Which is what I do, and that enables you to laugh at life’s realities. ~ Dr. Seuss


To me, living is pure nonsense. With that, I’m not saying life is meaningless. It’s full of meaning! Exploding with meaning! We find our own meanings to life. It’s just that when shit gets so heavy, I kick off my shoes, fall out of my chair onto the ground and laugh hysterically. Of course, after laughter always comes tears. I guess that’s the “maniacal” part of the mostly melancholic Mouse.

Oh sheeit. Did Mouse just get a little philosophical here?

Gracias por este refran del Dr. Seuss querida Zen from Zen and the Art of Borderline Maintenance.

I asked November to be kind
because it’s always been so vicious.

And for the first time,
for the very first time
in three long years,
it was.

It embraced me and
I embraced back, embraced
its orange falls,
crisp curls,
crackling thunder.

Then December rolled in with
it’s contemplating chilled breath,
like an angry drunk,
smacking me around,
lying me down.

January inebriated me
with its Atlantic breeze.
But I showed no

February just hit my face
harder–paralyzing it–
again and again–then,
it cracked my porcelain
bone. And I crashed
once more.

I laughed at her though,
laughed and threw my finger up!

Then, I asked, I
crawled, I begged
“Will you be kind to me
dear April?”
because March had been
so cruel, because
I didn’t know my own
will, my own strength–
two poets dead,
one beside a bed we’d
shared. He had been
the one I loved.
The other, I admired.
(how funny for a poet to
be dead)

One had lost control too many
months before; that one was
a mystery.
The other, a man of his people,
faced death a year ago–death
came in the shape of an
idiot’s pistol.

April was warmer;
she held my head up,
gave me water, refilled me,
showered me as I drained. She
carried me by her teeth like
a bitch carrying her pup
to safety.
But I was a disoriented pup,
loose skin still
too stretched
to move.

And May.
what did she say?
I haven’t heard.
I’ve gone deaf.
What should I ask of
you my May, when I’ve
lost nearly all sense?

As I search franticly
for more questions to
collect, I cannot ask her
to be kind to me,
no, not like April.
How could I,
when I haven’t been
so to myself?

Will June heal me
as it’s done countless
times before?

What else, what more
can I ask these months?
I wonder.


Facundo Cabral was a singer/songwriter/poet and activist from Argentina. One of my favorite folk singers. He was shot last year. Not long before that, he’d done a free concert for peace in Colombia.

And well, the other “poet”, Monkey Man L. … if you’ve read much of my blog, you know about that one. I think it’s really helped the grieving process to write about him on here, so please forgive me in advance if I don’t shut up about L.


This is quite possibly one of the most beautiful songs ever written. It’s not his original but his rendition of it is my favorite. It’s called, “Thanks to Life” or “Thanks Be to Life”. Here’s a translation of the lyrics:

Oooh look. An illustrated one, LIVE version duet with some other singy dude named Edwardo Soto, oh, and a PIANO! A PIANO!

And this is one of his many sarcastic poems about humanity’s idiocies and follies. “Pendejos” means something akin to “dumb asses” or “idiots” and so on and so forth.