Birthday Blog; tho one for my Soul Mate

Another year past, another one closer to death. Ok, time to drop the morbid act/ two-bit Pink Floyd line drop. It is (was) your birth day, the day you first gazed at light, gasped your first breath, and began spreading your passion and joy over those who care about you and love you. It is by all means a passing milestone on your windy road of life, and the road to the next one will be different and twisted in some parts. However, this blog i write for you is to remind you that there will always be someone who can be a guide for your soul during the hard times and through the easy ride, as a meens to keep you intact and stay a course that is true to yourself.
You happen to be the most fantasticalay unique and genuinly understanding individual that it has been my privileged luck to encounter in this existence of mine. In truth, i believe there are no mix of emotions, words, or even well spoken notions by the most prolific artists and poets that could touch the true sense of love and respect i hold for you. Discribing the way it feels to know that I ocupy a place in your heart is a task to great to sum up in writing or even in spoken words, for that matter. But you can just tell by the way i look at you, and listen to you, and you ll know it when i am there for you in the best of times and in the most challenging situations. Its the very least i could do, especially for my best friend, and perminent partner in crime...and from one fellow Robert Zimmerman enthusiast to another, " It takes a woman like your kind to find the man in me."
Whenever i talk to you about a bad day, weather it be a shitty practice or just the natural grinding along of the day, whatever it is that was troubling me melts from my mind and desolves in your words of comfort. I am never in a more natural state than when i am with you. No matter what it is we occupy our time with, concerts, hikes, trips ,they all stand out in my mind as connecting moments that we share together on so many levels it would be shallow to mearly call us friends; we are, in this time and place, Soul Mates for each other.

-I think it took a memory straight form the best memory we have shared together, MMJ at the Greek, to release my writers block and write you something meaningful and real. I feel I never tell you how much you mean to me, i say it insted internaly because its in my heart every time you are with me. When I look at you I sometimes catch myself slipping into a state of delirious daydreaming at the very sight of you, because sometimes, I honestly find our connection too good to be true and my mind tricks me into thinking that the bond we share no longer exists in this world. And then we touch, we hug, we lock lips, and I can tell without doubt or equivocation that you are the real and tangible evidence of pure loving friendship. I know you recognize the same in me, because I see it in your eyes as well. I see it in the way you run up to embrace me, and I can sense it when I lead you along a heavily wooded trail through the wilderness of our collective thoughts and tribulations.

I want you to know above all else that I Love you. I want you to know that we are both special people in our own right. We are in a sense pariahs because we hold fast to the tried and true values of a society not of this day and age, that chooses to neglect its own individuality and morals of chivalry for such reasons as popular opinion and monetary gain. We strive for each other, and for the peace of mind which stems from leading a life long harmonious existence with and through those around us while living in no particular way but our very own.

Its interesting to think that we could have had our time together, as a conventional pair. We could have indured the social strains and bridged our age gap and we would have done it all with smiles on our faces and gratified hearts in the knowledge that people need not accept or understand our motives and feelings. All we would ever need and count on would have been each other. Is this so different than we are now? We are as we are, the same as we ever were, and I pray the same as we will always be.

You mean more to me than I dare you can ever know, Alissa. Please know that above all else.

-Your Soul Mate,

Jose Alberto Cueto

Fall

I heard the waves from the sidewalk of seashore Dr. Now I sit atop tower 52 gazing at an ocean turbulent and choppy, gray and white like the skies above.
- I feel, in a sense, not dissimilar to Holden Caufield, a lucky outcast who yearns for perpetual childhood amidst open field of rye. For me however, my open fields are more like vast expanses of water, graced by the occasional ride able wave.
2 Surfers have paddled out about 100 yards to my left. Not much to be surfed on this windswept stretch of beach i thought, nothing but wind-chop and whitecaps. These waves are like a One-Trick Pony, drop in to a hack, and that's that.

Newport is a ghost town with abundant parking.
Russel's surf shop is now on the better side of the street,
I like it.


I wondered to a lightly trodden piece of the peninsula, 19th st at the Bay, to rest my thoughts upon the tranquil waters of the harbor. The water was as a sheet of marbled streaked sky reflection of which there was no distinguishable discernment of the liquid mirror image reflection on the surface or the billowing sky aloft. Outside my car, the atmosphere was crisp with the feel of a moist welcome to the beginning of Autumn. The slight chill in the air was no more than a nip with the onshore breeze blocked by a barricade of private residence stretching several blocks deep to the sandy threshold of beach beyond. There slid the bow of a boat through the seamless channel, creating a series of waves that marched outward, away from the cutwater, as though they were elastic bands bending toward the exposed silt of the bay shore. I was left befuddled by the effect created by the incoming groundswell train making landfall. From the minuscule wavelengths coming ashore, there projected a series of barreling tube shaped breakers. No more than centimeters in diameter, the tiny barrels broke in perfect mathematical synchronicity. The way the swells trajectory traced a slight incoming angle to the land, the waves preformed an act of calculated physics, and bent lengthwise to wrap to the couture of the oncoming beach. I was left aghast when the churning curls swung past my place on the sand, and there emitted an audible gurgling, the sound of the lip of a wave slicing into the underlying water. It is the most unique sound in the universe, a hollow echo from the chasm of a holly cathedral of liquid cascading over itself to create a pocket of air, and a space of temporary existence within.
Oh, to be a minuscule rider on these waves, and to travel in the most perfect tiny tubes for seconds that would fold out like minutes along the inception of air and water.