Am
I am a mess of genes combined with crazy experiences, mixed with bizarre, esoteric and somewhat radical ideas. I am a constant search, between imaginations, adventures, conversations and loves. I see the world through a kaleidoscope and I am accompanied by a soundtrack that sometimes sounds like sugar and honey, sometimes like a locomotive grinding hard against a granite wall. My life smells of earth, of rice and beans, of motor oil, of sea and sargassum, of peanut butter, of wild flowers and roadside herbs, of cigarettes and rum, of sweat and paint, of candy and chocolate. I have lived my life in dive bars, in neighborhood movie theaters, on hot rooftops and dark alleys, as well as on dazzling beaches, amazing mountains and endless deserts. And I have also lived in sweaty hugs with sticky kisses and in half a cloud of my own making.
I live on the edge of the possible and I express myself through words that try to define, trap and delineate a reality that skips, jumps, fights and slips through the spaces between the letters.
Something like that.
Imagine it and in your imagination I appear as an attempt, because that's what it's all about, trying, trying to stretch out my arm and open my hand and maybe you'll grab it even if it's just a handful of words, and we shake hands and there's a hello, how are you? and I'll tell you a couple of stories and you'll tell me a story too and maybe we can get a little closer, and little by little, maybe we'll reach a hug and maybe love.
I grew up on Calle Gertrudis, Barrio Machuchal, Santurce, Puerto Rico. At an early age I threw myself into the world to explore, to search, to learn. In alleys, abandoned houses, Loíza Street, the Grand cinema. I went running, skateboarding, on my burrita bike, on AMA bus number two, in my grandmother's baby-poop-colored Datsun 210. I went looking for beaches and waterfalls all over the island with my friends, to the Caribbean with my grandfather, I planted an anacagüita tree and I grew up with it like siblings,
I traveled through Europe with my mother. Then, on a plane alone with my guitar, I went to Texas for college. From there I explored the expansion that surrounded me. California, New Mexico, Arizona, New Orleans, Oklahoma, Colorado, Chicago, Florida. Singing what I could.
Then in trucks, buses, trains, hitchhiking, I travelled through Mexico from Baja to Oaxaca. Wherever I could go, I went. With friends, with lovers, with bands, sleeping in tents, in deserts, in mountains, in apartments and hotels with dubious reputations.
Everywhere I found a friendly hand and a cold beer.
Amidst that search, I met the love of my life and together we went in a Volkswagen van to New York to see if everything they said was true.
We found a New York full of lights and shadows, food and parties, parks and struggles. Then, 9/11, the supposed invincibility of the empire falling apart live and in total horror. Gas masks in the subways, divers in the tunnels, terror in the stares.
Fuck it.
We rented a van and went to North Carolina, where we found the land of the gringo jíbaros, where they cook their pig on a stick and play mandolins as if they were Puerto Rican cuatros. Full of green mountains and rushing rivers, I found a certain familiarity. They welcomed us with open arms as if we were in Guadalajara or Boquerón.
A few years later, a small business, a house, a daughter, a garden.
And after a lot of music, the songs gave way to narration.
And to parenting, which is both a type of song and narrative that manifests itself in the lives of children.
And to breathe deeply and take naps.
And to walk through the forest listening to the birds.
And to plant cucumbers and apples and blackberries and sweet potatoes and lettuce and everything the garden can offer.
And there are more and more angels or spirits or whatever you want to call them, that I talk to. Great-grandparents, grandparents, great-uncles, cousins, friends, accompany me and tell me things about the past that may have never happened, and they tell me things about the future that may never take place.
And I keep searching:
For those who dance with one leg.
For clowns who cry.
For drunks who save lives.
For thieves who give away what they stole.
I search for the color of darkness when it meets the light. A color that is neither blue nor white, it is like the color of the sky when it rains while the sun shines.
And sometimes I play a song in C minor.