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It’s just difficult to find them


“I guess…I think there are many people you can be soul mates with. It’s just difficult to find them. And I think maybe some people think there’s only one person in the world because they don’t even arrive at finding one of the several. I think that the fact of searching is necessary, but you can often get lost in the search, and think the one has passed you by.
hey leo, what do you know about life, love, paris?

+ Pulp: Do you remember the first time/live

I've wanted to be a Samurai since I was 5

I think I'm about to embark on a long brewing anime kick of old favorites.

+ Samurai Champloo: Jin Vs. Mugen Fight
"Are you one of those so called Bad Asses?" ]

+ Samurai 7: Shimada Kambei versus Kyūzō
"I'm in love...I'm in love with your skills, that is." ]

+ Tekkon Kinkreet: Intro with English Subtitles
"C'mon, White. It's playtime." ]

I like Anime but holy #@$# people like this scare me. These people are adults, right?

Samurai Champloo has a wicked soundtrack. Example: "The Million way of Drum"

Movies seen in the first 15

I was not expecting to like "Bright Star" but I did. I was surprised by Paul Schneider. I couldn't believe he was the same guy from "Parks and Recreation" and "All The Real Girls". I expect an Oscar nomination for costumes at the very least. Also, I had no idea Abbie Cornish looked liked this when not in a Jane Campion movie...


Next Up:

At first I was thinking, "How did Michelle Monaghan go from being in Mission Impossible 3 to being in some 90's looking-I've never heard of Indie flick?" but pairing her up with Nathan Fillon made me think of "Waitress". I gave it 30 minutes to get my attention. Time passed and the melodrama went on until it was over. She was good in it. Rough. Not like any of the other movies I've seen her in.

1) I think Saoirse Ronan will win an Oscar one day. 2) Just watch "Heavenly Creatures" instead.

[ The Rest ]
Fame (2009):  I liked the little bit where they danced to a Santigold song. Time for the Flashdance remake then.
Zombieland:  Woody Harleson and Abigail Breslin should have a sit com together. To me their car scenes were the best.
It's Complicated: Old people need comedies too + Meryl and Alec meshed so well.
The Road: A Bore.
Gamer: Liked it. Possibly Maybe because I'm a gamer.
Youth In Revolt: I think all the "funny" parts are in the trailer.
The Fourth Kind: As soon as I saw the first Owl all I could think about was the Twin Peaks quote "The owls are not what the seem". The movie is just a wanna be Blairwitch  but with aliens. Did you see a witch in the Blairwitch movie? Then take a guess at what happens in this movie.

do you hear my heart beating?



This line is for your need of an island and your modern execution of distance. This line is for the way you look in the morning (as brilliant as in the back of a crashed car at midnight). This line, that lacks pain killers, is for the injection of reverse repulsion I suffer at your invasion of my oxygen. This line is for the way your frame moves away from me (without making my purpose come true). This line is for the sweat and the ancient postponement of closure. Poetry is no substitute for survival. For a moment there, I was bombarded by a pretty girl and the clothes I swim through to care for her. I am thinking of a capricious girl and her pictures inside my copy of Hemingway's "Men without Women".
 Photo (c) Jonathan Leder 

that old prelusion


The First Blog Post I made in 2000 in my first blog:

I am only safety. I am someone you defeated. I am sleeping pills. I am letters. I avoid everything. I'm stuck in the wrong place. I crave I wish I want what I won't write in this line. Nothing is in its right place. This will be the place for digital remains. I need to collect it all place it here and be defined by it.

+ Jeff Buckley: Woke Up In A Strange Place/Acoustic

Modern girls always get their way


+ The Strokes and Regina Spektor: Modern Girls and Old Fashioned Men

The last poem I’ll write for a girl (while I wait for a woman)

I pay homage to the queen of no subject (who won’t let me lay upon her chest like she does her favorite book)

Directly from my neurotic bed (which she has made her own) I lie here in the anguish of her extremely perfect geometry.

She gets confused, much too loud, and I dare report the she is as believable as a miracle. Even two ounces of regret can’t bring me to my knees.

The frustration of her dress is a painless disaster as long as I know I’m gathering her thoughts,  (they always drip slowly) her mistakes, and her innocence.

She keeps bringing me to the book. To her highlighted Lolita sections. She brings me to the mirror. She kisses the hallucination to feed the commitment.

I think of the timestamp to all this. Trying to capture my moments with the queen of no subject, is like trying to see in the dark.

passion or an imitation of it



She situated me in the company of the extraordinary just for her amusement, and to take advantage of my congruent search of arms to collapse in.

She was sleeping under pianos, drinking next to cellos, dressing in pale colored underwear, playing with me like a new toy with the chew marks of her ownership.

I knew she longed for a dark room with two beds and an open window. I knew she deprived me of things so that I would learn her discipline.

Six storms after midnight and nine rooms down the hall, she was clumsy a girl stumbling into my pile of magazines. Not much later, her room was my castle. Death to her morals, death to her threads, death to her memories, death to her past, death to her medication, death to her will, death to her diary and the long accounts of her cruelty.

Three sighs into one night and the bed was too small.

Karma and alcohol made her aggressive. She demonstrated her talent, I showcased my weakness. I knew she would leave me crawling for talent. I memorized her eyes, the repetition and confessions.

I bowed for status, holding hands and confronting our barricade of grief. The one condition was not owning an ounce of mercy. We survived on passion or an imitation of it.

Was the sign "Handle with Care" on my chest making her think twice?


 Jose M 

insomnia is my friend, lunacy my guide



Our arguing about art has always been sexy. You are even kind to the blithering idiocy of people who ignore books and Buddha. I always admired your List for Love Making: cellos, Chinese food and chocolate. It stinks of desire and deviancy. It was eye contact that did me in. Not the promise of feathers, five album long foreplay or the study of god's gluttony. I never complain, insomnia is my friend, lunacy my guide. I take long sighs and I pause often to soak in all the snogging we did inside the manipulation of your mischief. Your movie would be called "nudity", my play "obscurity". I'm writing down your Omni sexuality towards earth since I will never see again. I can only be distracted by pop culture and strange rumors of paradise. I can be completely floored by your screaming solipsism. Suburbia contains us, like we are victims of some underachieving voodoo. It can't be your warm skin that spells weirdness. I will come back to you. Women are not Toys and I meditate against nudity.

Photo by Brittanie Pendleton