Interlude Docs

Doc 023: Marco Vera

Interlude Docs


My near fatal vehicular brush with death occurred in the summer of 1996 after only 3 days of sobriety

When we were loading back up we saw the vocalist’s windows got smashed and, since he lived just down the street, proceeded to get revenge

We ran back as a burst of air gun pellets swished by our heads, …

How are vehicles so ingrained in our lives
The smell of grandfather’s whiskey in the old station wagon
The air freshener on the new romantics clean leather pants
A portable boombox on exposed car seat springs
Makeout sessions with the wind blowing in the backseat hair
Overworked junk food wrappers ricocheting in the passenger’s side as the one lane traffic accident finally clears up

No air conditioner crossing the border
Cigarette smoke when you thought you’d run out of gas, not a station in sight
Burnt rubber and accordion music
A light in the glovebox
Chewing gum
Cigarette lighter pullout stereo pyromaniacs

A floating scripture

When somebody crashes into you there is the Impact muted sound of the air collapsing

I remember that thundering solo and the high beams filling my ghostly face with sunlight

Pre millennial tension and energy
Working shitty jobs to be free
Wandering with the few days of desert wind you’re gifted
Drinking the coldest beer you can find wrapped in newspaper all alone

nighttime belonging to you
the smell of fried everything
dusks trying to learn an instrument

u could drum so hard ur hands almost went in unison
ud come down with a cigarette
drenched in sweat
now you can’t be seen in the same room with former allies
sometimes upon the first deep breath you cry
boom another package
smelled like laced everything

as you’d approach the vacant lot gig the snare would crackle off like a gunshot in the distance

waiting to get hit in the face

when u were all there in that sweaty gig, dressed dysfunctional, it was real

everyone there was fucked up
living in pigeonholes
wearing baggy sweaters

friends finally started to be strung out
some lost their minds

never in love

Pierced my ear with a fork after eating instant soup

I looked in the mirror and said, “ur ugly…”
Looked down at arm

pigmentation calling

It really was

And during the bridge it finally penetrated

So many years dabbled in music, never knew the difference between
Bar and measure

There was a bunch of punks waiting outside the Chinese fast food

Breaking bottles in nice neighborhoods

They were heroes transformed into humans, wandering thru the public transport laughing hysterically upon seeing a giant rat

Always liked the sight of a perfectly geometrical speck of dried blood on people’s skin as they less than casually converse


Every time we fight…
It’s 70 bucks.

There’s a sadness only parents know

The medic cut my shirt in half

Hypnic jerks

Volume swells on ambulances like a cinematic wind section

Rolling to a party with a backpack and some tapes, arms full of bottles
Sun drenched

Have you ever dated a person who lives in a bad neighborhood?

Empty tenements
The heroin room
Watching tv and then
There’s someone on the roof
The sounds of lungs
Shivers from working too much

The mathematics of so many things
Add up

Panic attack activist
Tin Can Alley
this is two weeks late
but so are paychecks
Miserable birthday party
Tired of waiting for the end
in the heat of the best hell ever

There’s always dust on the barbwire

When u used to punch the side of your head repeatedly
Can’t do that anymore

Travel safe my friend, thank you for listening.

Marco Vera is a video editor and writer living in Los Angeles. He founded and ran Mexicali Rose Media/Arts Center, a grass roots communitarian organization dedicated to providing free access to artistic media for the community youth of Mexicali, Baja California, for twelve years.


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