Thursday, November 30, 2006

Long Island City Song

One New York Summer Night

I watched you sleep
I let myself be taken
clueless and carefree
at peace at last
upon your perfect skin
upon that perfect road
between your neck
and your shoulder
your body, limp and flawless
reminded me of nothing
and everything I've ever seen
before or after

Naked, motionless, helpless
like a dead bird
a dead puppy
still warm, eyes shut, lips dry
heart pumping
reclining on its right side
as if clinging
to the side of God
the side of calm
of everything and nothing

The curve of your hip projected upward
bent and stretched
at full potential
the arrow left the bow
singing and trembling
towards the ceiling light,
towards the eternal
towards the moon, into the night
and disappearing
in the direction of heaven
with its angels

A mess of fine dark lines,
a revolution
in the shape of a crown
expanding black halo
a slow-burning black sun
explodes inside my head
and on my pillow
your face, serene and calm
framed and surrounded
by the mane of black sun rays,
like a painting
of a renaissance virgin
of a martyr
a long-forgotten saint
inside a chapel
in the town of San Miguel
San Juan, San Pablo
by Giotto, Raphael
or Caravaggio

I watch you sleep
peacefully, basking
my elbow firmly rooted
in the mattress
in the glory of your presence
stiff arm bearing
the full weight of my skull
and all its contents
the full weight of my sorrows
with their secrets
with the weight of my thoughts
and my tomorrows
my eyes glued to your chest
to your tiny waist
to the rest
to the formidable arch
of your silhouette
in the space
in a trance
at peace
with myself last

Project Romantic

New York City, November 2006 (from an idea originally drafted in 1983)
Image & Text © Copyright 2006 Alberto Ruiz. All Rights Reserved
Image from the book "Project Romantic" Published by Adhouse Books

Tuesday, November 28, 2006

A Manhattan Story

face 454

Bangs 2

Deusa Europa

You, sensuous nymph
voluptuous goddess
of sand of sweat and scents
of silky reds
of massive legs
of cream and kermes
of ancient crimson
fluids rushing
at modern speeds
from a single thought
to the core of your gender
down the pathway of sins
to the furnace
where anything is possible
and everything is rendered

Cover me in the naked satin
of your milky and fiery skin
malleable red clay blanket
of Mediterranean ilk
forged in blood-stained
salty black water
and medieval steel
made impure in the new land
of milk and honey
Dodgers and Yankees
and cable bills

Quench my thirst
with your left nipple
pink and deformed,
sweet and bitter
at the cusp of giving in
with ancient lust
and modern glitter
motherly in its eagerness
to please
utterly selfless and blind
as only true love can be

Let me rest these dirty curls
on the pillows of your thighs
warm and meaty,
let me play
let me lie along your side
like a motherless child
drawing castles, knights and horses
dragons, damsels in distress
with my reckless, needy fingers
in the sandbox of your sex.

NYC, NY April 2005

© 2006 Alberto Ruiz. All Rights Reserved

Sunday, November 19, 2006

A Brooklyn Story

Disclaimer: Encouraged by a dear friend, I will be posting old poems and other nonsensical things on an irregular basis, if you enjoy reading this sort of stuff and have the stomach to endure these ramblings, stop by once in a while and check them out, I am the further thing from a poet so please don't ask me what was I high on when I wrote these exercises in futility :)

Anne Marie's Lover

I saw Ann Marie standing by the import rack
down at the local record store's basement
a big chunk of her shiny black hair
hiding half of her pockmarked complexion
the dark short spikes concealed her simper
but failed to protect her neck and her back
from the fluorescent lamps and my prying eyes
Long, pale and blue as the New York winter
thick legs curved like silver snakes twirling
towering, wrapping around each other
stout but strong thighs
the child-bearing hips of a young single mother

An unlit, clumsy cigarette
dangling daringly and dangerously
at the verge of her open mouth
hanging on for dear life, half loose, half stuck
to her round and fleshy left bottom bulb
Long and slender, wet and swollen
branded with the lipstick of his owner
advancing and retreating, in a long passionate kiss
in perfect sync with her heavy breathing
her companion, her lover, her kisser
the thing she loved the most
her victim

Ankle-high black army boots
spray-painted with graffiti and Brooklyn mud
multiple rips in her black fishnets
multiple holes in her rose earlobes
filled with neither gold nor silver
shut closed and empty like dead flowers
like tiny black crosses on the side of a deadly highway
short black hair and short black skirt
black blouse, black eye shadow, black nails
Anne Marie's fingers moved like a thief might
scanning and searching like military searchlights
in the midst of a pitch-black Brooklyn sky

Someone called her name
her head turned swiftly
her lips shaken with the violent motion
gravity, inertia, and other secretive forces
plotting like grassy knoll lone gunmen
conspiring like jealous politicians
like most greek gods, like all greek poisons
A sudden sadness overcame me
I felt for her companion, her lover, her kisser
as it shot out like a bullet from her mouth
and landed deadly wounded at my feet
an innocent bystander, a voyeur
I contemplated for a brief second or two
lost in the curved space of this tragedy
but she, abruptly and decisively
put an end to any and all thoughts
by stomping and squashing
and killing the thing she loved the most

Bay Ridge, NY March 1995

© 2006 Alberto Ruiz. All Rights Reserved

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Back to the Old Grind

Texas Was Cold
Just got back from the Lone Star State and as with most of the Wizard shows, we had a great time hanging out with our fellow cartoonists and meeting new peeps. This year, "Artist Alley" was a lot smaller but at least it was held in the same room as the rest of the exhibition. The weather in the Dallas area was unsually cold, I was freezing my balls all 3 days because our table was located directly below two giant vents; displaying a rare common sense, the night of the flight I packed my thick hoodie sweatshirt, which I wore night and day but Joe was wearing shorts and Hawaiian shirts, 'that can't be good!'.

The show ran smoothly, nothing major to report except an unexpected visit from the amazing Bill Sienkiewicz, I've admired Sienkiewicz's work for some time now so I was pretty excited to see him standing by my booth waiting for my arrival, telling me he's my biggest fan and that he bought all my records. He said I was the king of Spain and that he wants to have my babies (well, he didn't put it quite like that but he was extremely gracious and flattering) That was the highlight of my weekend for sure.

Thanks to the great Bill Sienkiewicz and all the kind people who stopped by our lemonade stand, I'll see you all there next year!

The Romantics Are here!
Finally got home after a long drive from Newark Liberty airport on a rainy and miserable night and what do I find at my doorstep?
My Project Romantic anthology comp copies, that's what!!

These books look beautiful! Over 250 full color pages worth of great stories and art. Do yourselves a favor and purchase a copy of this wonderful volume, put together by my good friend and fellow independent publisher: Chris Pitzer. You can order the book directly from the Adhouse Bookstore


Wednesday, November 08, 2006

Texas WizardWorld Convention

This is a good day, Scum-sucking Rumsfeld and those republican assholes are out, finally (not that the dems are much better, career politicians everywhere are the lowest form of life, right next to lawyers) still, a little change won't hurt.

Once again, I'm heading to Texas to attend the last show of 2006 at the Arlington Convention Center this coming weekend -November 10-12-. If you happen to be in the neighborhood, drop by and say hola, I'll be sitting next to my friend Joe Pekar at table 2490.

I love You Well

I write to you
expecting nothing
asking for nothing
giving you nothing
I seek nothing more
than to be a shadow
on your wall, a window
to the pleasant past
not to your past anguish

An old coat
a glove
a rosary, the bridge
to the sweet medicine
not to the bitter cure

A point of support
a string, a chair
a joist
a ladder
a kiss on the cheek
the certainty of a dream
the embrace of a child
who remembers you and plays
in your backyard, with you
who remembers you and suffers
what you have endured

A truncated romance
for lack of malice
by cowardice or fate
by adolescence or rush
a heartache
a sadness
a teardrop
the corner of my mouth
a frustrated utopia
an insane hope
a sound, a hush
the remote possibility
which hurts when reminisced
and sweetens when recalled

The sensation of being
by your side and not to see you
of seeing you without you being
by my side and to have you
to hold you
and to lose you
of missing you
of false starts and stops
of cursed tomorrows
a whisper in your ear
and an absolute faith
in what has never been

From you I expect nothing
but I await anxious
to see me in your stare
to chat about our childhood
when I held your hand in mine
as if it were a rose
trembling and smiling
as I gazed into your eyes
and tightening my lips
I said a thousand silent words
the ones I never told you
the ones you knew all too well
hoping that one day
you'd forgive me and realize
that I loved you then and I love you still
and although it doesn't matter anymore
that I miss you now
and that my voice
still calls your name.

© 2006 Alberto Ruiz. All Rights Reserved


Edit: The original spanish text, for my friend One

Te Quiero Bien

Te escribo
sin esperar nada,
sin pedir nada
sin dar nada
no busco nada más
que ser una sombra
en tu pared, una ventana
al pasado bueno
no al de tu tortura
un viejo abrigo
un guante
un rosario, el puente
al remedio dulce
no al de tu amargura

Un punto de apoyo
un lazo, una silla
un sostén
una escalera
un beso en la mejilla
la certeza de un sueño
el abrazo de un niño
que te recuerda y juega
en tu patio,contigo
que te recuerda y sufre
con lo que tu has sufrido

Un romance truncado
por falta de malicia
por cobardía o sino
por juventud o prisa
un dolor
una pena
una lágrima
la esquina de mi boca
un idilio frustrado
una esperanza loca
un sonido, un silencio
la ilusión tan remota
que duele al recordarse
que endulza cuando evoca

La sensación de estar
a tu lado y no verte
de verte sin que estés
a mi lado y tenerte
de abrazarte
y perderte
de no volver a verte
de empezar y parar
de maldecir
mi suerte.

un susurro a tu oído
y una fé absoluta
en lo que nunca ha sido.

De ti no espero nada
pero espero con ansias
mirarme en tu mirada
hablar de nuestra infancia
cuando tomé tu mano
cual si fuese una rosa
temblando y sonriendo
y te miré a los ojos
apretando mis labios
y te dije mil cosas
las que nunca te dije
las que sabes de sobra
esperando que un dia
me perdones y sientas
que te quise y te quiero
y aunque ya nada importa
que te quiero
y te espero
y que mi voz te nombra

© 2006 Alberto Ruiz.Todos los Derechos Reservados