fruitless tree

Laughing Children

Jose Cubias — Mon, 16 May 2011 17:48:08 +0000

Lost or alone, in search of common ground for my state of mind, a flat surface to stand on, to see truth and understanding like home after being gone for so long.

Till then, I’ll look up a cliff wall as hope, the clarity of a smile, and the joy of a lover’s hand to hold look down from the sky, teasing me like laughing children.

In an empty day

Jose Cubias — Mon, 16 May 2011 17:09:35 +0000

In an empty day, empty of action, I sit and think. A constant reel to reel of past experience floods my mind and soon I’m no longer sitting. I’m floating upward toward the sky. Suddenly I find myself lost. I’ve drifted too far. On my back floating, my ears submerge in muffled thought and toes wiggling above memories. I begin to realize where I am, in a lover’s bed waking to see her as she is getting dressed for work.

The jump and the zip up one does when trying to fit into tight pants. Putting a shirt on backward and then having to twist it around. The frantic search for the other shoe as the cats create figure eights through her legs as she walks. All while I lay there lazily smiling.

Longing Of You

Jose Cubias — Sat, 14 May 2011 08:05:35 +0000

Today’s walk led to these memories as if the mortar holding up the bricks of the bread factory and the reflective glass of the shop windows along with the eyes of the stranger I passed and the low hovering clouds conspired to reveal on this specific night what I thought to have forgotten. The longing of you.

It’s what had me driving up to Santa Barbara at 10pm, half asleep and annoyed by the lights of the oncoming traffic on the 101. Why I would leave class often on a whim. The songs I would write in the middle of the night as I held my guitar like a happy child holds on to his mother. It had me waking early to be there waiting with a smile.

Dark Matter of Things

Jose Cubias — Tue, 10 May 2011 20:31:14 +0000

What of all the empty space? Vast expanse, which holds all we can and can’t possibly imagine. The things we can’t touch, see, smell, taste, feel, or picture in our minds. Is it the reason for living? The urge to explore is so very human.

I look up into the sky as the sunlight’s curtain is pulled back to unveil the ever reaching distance of darkness. I hope to someday know the scattered lights among the empty beauty. To experience what I have always known, there is more to live for than one world can offer. It is time to think beyond a blue sphere and look away from the light, to take fear by the hand, kneel down and talk to it as a grownup talks to a child in distress.

“I know it won’t be easy,” you say as fear looks at you with a quivering lip,” but its time to look into the dark matter of things.”

Doubt

Jose Cubias — Tue, 10 May 2011 06:01:54 +0000

A great iniquity or my greatest inadequacy; poised in position like the moon through the day.

Hardest Memories

Jose Cubias — Tue, 10 May 2011 05:58:51 +0000

Breathe, and as I watch the tides slip off the coast and falls back with a crash,

My thoughts move rhythmically with the swaying of the water.

Now I know why the hardest memories to forget are the moments you pay no attention to at the time.

Sometimes Thats All It Takes

Jose Cubias — Mon, 09 May 2011 02:15:52 +0000

Up early to work and I didn’t get much sleep. I was fucked. Falling asleep on the job was a sure thing. Walking to my car I noticed the reflection of my face long and drawn out in the curved car window. It looked like I felt.

Just as I was making up my mind on what kind of day it was going to be, the sun came out from behind a tree. I smiled and squinted towards the light joyfully.

Sometimes that’s all it takes.

Want

Jose Cubias — Mon, 09 May 2011 01:50:10 +0000

In the span of a greedy thought, time rules and strength falters. Leaving doubt as king of it all.

Dead

Jose Cubias — Wed, 04 May 2011 18:28:19 +0000

My hands behind my back, I look towards the west, my back to the east as the sunrises, its morning on this September day. Its dry in my mouth, bitter and stale just like how the ground looks today. In the distance is a tree, still, even in the breeze. For if it moved it would break, so brittle and useless. Dark brown bark, thin and shadowless, tree seems dead against the changing light of day.

Mother

Jose Cubias — Wed, 04 May 2011 04:47:49 +0000

You sit in bed every night and read from the bible, in search of a moral beauty to alleviate the hardships of life. Passage after passage you read to yourself as I watch from a crack in the door to your room. I notice your eyes start to water and chin begin to quiver, as you read a certain line. Not because it saddens you. These are a different kind of salty liquid. It’s the tears you shed when something beautiful touches you deep inside your heart. Much like the tears I’m shedding now as I remember the moment.

Why do you write?

Jose Cubias — Tue, 03 May 2011 21:00:59 +0000

“Why do you write?”

“I write because I feel lost in this world and writing brings an understanding to the whole mess. The words on the page, if they mean something, if there is beauty in them, help me feel closer to the mysteries I love so much. I uncover the secret of life bit by bit.”

“It is comforting to know that a few simple lines can shed light to a world so vast just by taking the time to explain how it feels to you.“

“When I see a tree I’ve seen many times before differently, because the time of day has given it an unspoken beauty, which no one who walks by it cares to admire, I feel compelled to take action. To record such an event, to put into words the admiration I feel for the simple beauty of unknowable, unanswerable moments.”

Thoughts Of You

Jose Cubias — Mon, 25 Apr 2011 05:31:26 +0000

Thoughts of you, like atmosphere I breathe, inhale and let out. Should I breathe in and hold, die without a doubt? To be special in the eyes of another is a beauty only humans can understand. To be made a world, with the nothingness of time to conjure up the greatness at hand. To build up another, the action called love, but what of being in love? The worship of such a belief puzzles me as I think clearly. Infatuation‘s only difference with loving someone is the difference between being needy and being needed. I linger somewhere in between with thoughts of you.

The Void With A Human Face

Jose Cubias — Sat, 23 Apr 2011 09:50:15 +0000

God, the mistake of building something out of nothing to fulfill the emptiness and anxiety of life, lets give the void a human face.

Lets give him a family, a favorite son.

Lets make him merciful and forgiving.

Lets make him sacrifice for the greater good.

Lets make him angry and stubborn when faced with moral dilemmas.

Lets make him love.

Lets make him like me, Human.

And let him be everywhere so I’m never alone. Something beyond flesh, something only the human mind can imagine, the epitome of perfection.
To have everything and to be a single entity, to be special in a world of normalcy,

Let me be chosen.

Let me partake in perfection.

It’s my only shot at greatness.

For my mind, my thoughts are unique.

I must be special, a part of god.

The void with a human face.

You Are The Wave

Jose Cubias — Mon, 18 Apr 2011 19:20:33 +0000

You are the wave that hits as I stand on the shore. Distracted by the way the sky seamlessly merges with the ocean. Caught by surprise. I wonder, will you drag me in and make me yours or leave me on the sand, wet and distraught.

Something Special

Jose Cubias — Sun, 17 Apr 2011 04:05:48 +0000

Soft, a gentle graze, lips pressing together, exchange of breath, we face each other, something happen in a compact car as Dvorak’s String Quartet # 12 in F major, “American”, played. The second movement I believe.

Something special.

Burning Trash

Jose Cubias — Sun, 17 Apr 2011 03:33:45 +0000

I walked home only to be reminded of the past with a whiff of smoke in the thick hot air. Soon I was an eight-year-old boy on a cobble stone road in a little village in El Salvador where my parents grew up and met. The stones on this road where sometime smooth, but mostly jagged and misshapen, I think some were bricks and others lumps of asphalt. Behind me the church towered over me and hits me with its omnipotent shadow as I walked down the sloping road holding my mother’s hand. I saw piles of trash in front of the colorful shack-like houses. I thought to myself, what do they do with all the trash? And the response came in a whiff of smoke carried by the thick hot air. I turned my head to see trash a few blocks down the road, glowing and burning.

Gasp

Jose Cubias — Wed, 30 Mar 2011 18:05:56 +0000

Driven to kill with no sense or skill. A dull knife and wet palms, weakly thrust with eyes calm. It squirms till it dies,

a perfect breath,

gasp,

its last.

Lampposts

Jose Cubias — Tue, 29 Mar 2011 06:52:51 +0000

A rush of cold than hot, I freeze and evaporate simultaneously. Kicking a can of soda on the sidewalk and the can is full, so unexpected. Stopping to wonder why I always think like a cat waiting for its owner. The streets are empty at this time and the space fulfills my anxiety. It will hover over me like the lampposts’ shadows on San Fernando Road.

Carried Me To Sleep

Jose Cubias — Wed, 16 Mar 2011 09:03:46 +0000

I knew you well. Your smell a beacon, the sight of you was home. My hands were familiar to your skin. I held you always then, by the hand, by the waist, in the longing of my eyes. I sunk deep passed the worry of the day while you slept in my arms. The tickle of your hair on my nose never seemed to bother.

No, it never seemed to bother.

Gentle and light, the scent of you carried me to sleep.

Nameless Commonality

Jose Cubias — Wed, 09 Mar 2011 04:24:18 +0000

3000 miles, it might as well be if the distance isn’t within arms reach. Multiple vast American terrains split the image of your face, too much distance to focus. It leaves your eyes so far apart there’s no way we can see things the same way anymore. Someday the air you breathe will fill my breath, as mine will fill yours, a nameless commonality. The only thing we’ll share from now on.