Omar Pérez ft. Pedro Ruiz

excerpts from Song-poems

A note to the audience:

These versions do not cover the entire textual, or literary, body of the performace; they only attempt to offer a sample of the topics, feelings and sensations, as well as word and sound play of the originals.

As a matter of fact, many of these song-poems are based on the potential meaninglessness of meaning, when it is seen from the perspective of sound and on the acceptance of the fact that, at times, concepts, when perceived as sound units, reveal their inner lack of substance.

Therefore, the performer heartily recommends not to follow the performance in the pursuit of meaning, whatever the linguistic circumstances; these versions should not be taken as real guidance but merely as reference points, the only real guidance being sound.

The first three versions were made by Venezuelan artist Pedro Ruiz, the rest are mine.

Omar Perez.



Party in Mary ́s house blab la beer blog o smear log NO fear! blade sweets and tears, grass
in gear condom deals smarts like a circus seal you for real? Don ́t psycho the Good Deal, the
dude ́s meal and the dice ordeal guys hungry? girls thirsty? talk non-fiction from 8.30 to play
dirty come over to reality and sanitize the sanity of vanity fair fraud Freud and frailty,
familiarity with fainting upon the same thing once upon a time in the mainstream the men ́s
dream and the mom ́s cream were all over the organizational team is it true that you are the
same to be or not to be without a frame? or inside the lame brain? is it true that our democracy
is your aristocracy of their plutocracy? is it logocracy? Pleistocene of mythophony? The black
lady sets me in while the white lady outsets me, i ́m running out of I, of ies, I mean, the flies
are fleeing the ice I mean the eyes in the sky over a pot of lies and lice would you try? If I
were me in penalty of mandatory diversion you would complete the recreation making me go
in circles of silk silly conversation then i ́m not me but back into creation to show the
congregation the uses of singing, the ashes of sorrow, the orchids of sensation

Languid Hi

                                To Pete Rock

                                                                Hi hi when you clinch to the I
upgrade the ies forget the eyes in the corridors never the less the facilities
translate all your abilities into marvellous liabilities but bro bro sister sister
would you let me mumble a song of love in the hallways of your internal
ears like sudden tears of unresisting resistance telepathy at short distance
marathons of slow dance down passages of can can will will should or
shouldn ́t you normal when you dig the abnormal up into collective
solitudes what an attitude hi hi liquid hi harmless rebellious like a pitcher
in the rye bordering on ordering a fantastic vitamin of melting into also
into as a matter of fact into distract myself like a god in a shelf of happily
rotting apples apes in shackles of imagination starvation but bro bro sister
sister would you treat me like a mister to the mistress of distress so a
mystery of mastery comes back to a mockery of misery that ́s you that ́s
him that ́s her that ́s it evolving in the myth of beat into retreats of
innocence and silent defeat hi hi hi hi hi languid try to mistify the mist of
all the ies and yous and bros bros
sisters sisters hissing glittering in a stuttering world of twittering
repentance no hard feelings no soft killings some sweet
supports. ccm some distillations of anger into hi hi hi hi hi hi
hi hi hi hi hi like trees of hesitation

Laundry Business

                                          To Edwin Torres

during the day     during the night
what an experience to turn on the light!
turn upon left     turn off to right
turn into something and select Dry
during the left     during the right
such an experience to appease the fight!

to complement the Might

where the Maybe is nothing but a plight
a mandatory delusion   push Start button
and you ́ll see why     this guy
is so obsessed with getting high
during the May         during the might
such an illusion         when the door is open
when the door is closed
to conceive the moments of hello goodbye
my oh my     regular heavy     my oh my
permanent pressure my oh my
delicate regular permanent pressure
delicate regular permanent delicate my oh my
during the day     during the night

Oraciones and Prayers

Los girasoles son grandes como platos
Las calabazas semejan pelotas d baloncesto
Is the temptation of mermaids stronger than the temptation of the sea?
Is it the same temptation?
Con dos o tres hibiscos se puede hacer una buena ensalada
Ignorance of the law and the law of ignorance are two sides of the same dish
Mermaids sing, las sirenas aúllan
Sirens wail, las sirenas perturban
Mermaids distract, las sirenas también:
“Not to worry about the sirens: the city tests the emergency
warning system at the beginning of every month.
I know it's loud, but it passes.
Now back to work.”
Now back to work
La lavanda huele a oso.

Walk by the Clock

It ́s too thirsty
in a beer and a half we shall overcome
and come over the rainbook, somewhere
the diary is a let-go     the daily can b
two auras late
the mirror is not
necessarily ascetic or athletic  but
walk by the clock
faster and fasten your sea-belts
your sodas and the rest of the
bridge between blank white collar
deep blue collar and the other
collar in the cellar: wine red
so cut the crap
crop the grass
rock the cat
cross the lap
to get the pap
into the gap
walk by the clock

Office Mix

How remote! how remote?
did you mention the literary creeps
are they smiling? Yes
they are. I feel again like
a European, your rope hanging
around in this translation workshop.
honest mistake to let things happen the way
they should     or shouldn ́t
she smiles still beyond and below the horizon
of her own nose.
Her nose is our horizon, surely
the Germanic madness, the curly demure, the bricks
of language taking THAT FOR GRUNTED?
the porpoise of description
(now they laughter with participatory indifference) some
almonds, some eyes, some pumpkins; grapes of graph
generally spitting, as a matter of fat, everyone
remembers each word that has been said: let ́s go back in thyme!”
would you consider a dash after better than a dish
the way you pronounce “sentence” reminds me
of a car trunk closing on a butterfly. Now, we all,
in one way or the other, go over “butterfly”
in a September School of Manners manner
I wish but I don ́t
at a more pedestrian level, says the word doctoress
AN OVERACHIEVER, then I think: 
There ́s only one thing more real than you
and is the river.
The 3rd person always wants to fuck the first person
he (or she) meets in the sentence whereas you
are still absent
love poems are a sort of reaction, yes, the incubatory, the
circulatory and the ejaculatory, side by side, ah!
translate this:
del árbol d la duda nacen los frutos d la perseverancia.

Your love is like a video  clip
Your love is like a video clip
your love is like a video clip
your love is like a video clip
your love is like a please please please
please please.   please please please please pleas
your love is like a planning bee
hideous plea  tedious flee
sulfurous tree
curious meat
& sullen treat

Loneliness & Co.

Paper butterflies
crawl during the day
drift during the night
very much away
from the open fire
of the heart
are they really butter
these gorgeous flies?
Are they just runners 
from youtopia to metopia
MFA to NYU, PHD to rest in peace
“i ́m not sure we ́re in the same page”
Philosophia, coprologia, myopia?
Nothing personal they take
nothing personal they give
don ́t touch me, don ́t rock me
don ́t prick me, don ́t reach me
don ́t roll me and don ́t misunderstand me
are they really butter
these colorfuck flies?
The water in the shower smells like a river
but the mouth tastes like rust.

Make it look like an accident

to believe or not to believe
that is not the question

whatever the crime
follow the norm


noticing makes you feel nice
3. 30 in the morning, the bourgeoisie
once more has made you feel uneasy


used to the main role
the right hand is sloppy
in secondary characters
who’s the right hand’s right hand?
The left hand


beyond the issue of syntactic properness
this universe must be faced and must be thanked
for bringing us all together
altogether us


let us put politics where it belongs it belongs
in the kitchen
not in the living room
it belongs in the bathroom, not in bedrooms
let us place politics where it deserves to be
it belongs in the bathroom
it belongs in the kitchen


the last will be the first
follow the line


light does not rot


the tongue has many uses
according to speech, speaking
is the most important


we could agree with a political community
as long as it’s not run by politics


innuendo     conundrum
rigmarole on parole
make it look like an accident


am i not silk?


the right hand and the left hand
disputed the right to light the match
to light the sacred candle
Me, on the right! Me, on the left
It’s not a question of left or right
but of dexterity, said, the candle.
The right hand was the more dexterous
and lit the candle. Make it look
like an accident


no role     no goal rigmarole
on parole
The Midas touch? Make it look
like an accident
the war on war, the war on word
from worse to worth
make it look
like an accident
the wall the worst workshop of the world
make it look like an accident


“One makes war to win, not because it is just” (Foucault)
“I don’t personally, agree with that” (Chomsky)
If one wins, one can make it look just
while if i loose, i can always disagree


war on warps or unonthological worth
on rigmarole? No won want one wand
wander? Wonder, or other world around
an innuendo? On one oneness?
Wanna go ? Golden, Walden, guardsmen
and gore them, then Golem or Gollum,
goal them


who is the best consort for conundrum
the best conundrum condom?
The drums of doom, the don’t
the won’t upon the dome:
human infirmity in form
infant infinity
infamous infantry in phones
in photos: infohuman


“All Cretans are liars. I’m a Cretan” (Epiménides)
is the funkiest conundrum
A general aspect of this chorus line would be “communication” of an in-communicating
sort. Incommunicado. For the babelian combination, registers of public speech
cheering, protest, lamentation, warning,
advertising, prophesying

we could have as many types as participants
divide them into innuendo, conundrum, rigmarole
multiplied by public speech.

To be or not to be is a long roll of a conundrum
The onthoconundrum, ontotheosis, halitosis
And ostheopoiesis. Varias veces: overdoses
To be or not to be is a hit
single or long play, double play, what about
It takes all the running you can do to keep in the same place (Alice. Through the looking-
glass) c
ivilization, a hit-and-run answer,
progress, capitalism, language

The most important thing about the tongue is not language
Lo màs importante d la lengua no es la lengua
Speech is not to be taken for granted in humans
not all humans speak not all speech is human
nor humans be taken for granted in speech


Something between innuendo and conundrum is making sense
at last
through mental operations such as deduction
in diction
deification of the meaning.
what about rigmarole, does it make sense
as sound, it dust, it drought make sense
make sex to drop on vowels, notes
is jazz rigmarole, if you have to ask
you’ll never know (Amstrong - Red Hot Chili Peppers)


herein, that that the ideal
and the real move together, as a box with its cover. (Sandokai)
and goes on
as two arrows meet in the air
so the ideal and the real move together.


this Peter Pan thing
called language
literature is a form of otium, odium
opium. Human titanium
as a box with its cover go together
as two arrows meet in the air
make it look like an accident


Do you have a gun in your pocket or
are you just happy to see me (Mae West)
an innuendo? A nude one
innuendo as Annunciation
and Annunciation: an innuendo?
The phallic angel, the feminine Will
call it faith: a veiled reflection on character or reputation (Webster)
faith: a veiled reflection, substance of things to come (St. Paul)


there are no mines in Patmos, only revelation
a woman in the sky dressed like the sun
with the moon on her feet
a red dragon
a brass section, seven angels with trumpets
sounds funk again, or Chinatown: it’s Apocalypse
when the Seventh Seal is opened
there’s a silence of about half an hour
( a musical notation)
then lightnings, earthquake, rigmarole
is Apocalypse a riddle, an insinuation
on character, Babylon,
a Babelian dramatic persona
astral lady, dragon in red, fireworks
babbling in a prophetic bubble


the one-hand clap
the inquiry about Buddha’s nature
in the dog
conundrumming our heads for ages
has Buddha attained, or retained
the nature of the dog?
This, an antidote for the New Age hangover,
is, in fact, “a veiled reflection on character
and reputation”
is Buddha as accidental as a mongrel
as constructed as a German shepherd?
In the context of the human species’
multiple activities, Buddha is a Hobby
(which sounds like a dog’s name)
holy wholeness howling
hound wholly holy
hauling humans home

that they let me not to ask them for anything
I ask the gods (Pessoa)
a riddle to get rid of theodependance .

philosophia, a maieutic conundrum
“if you have to ask, you’ll never know”

Nothing itself nothings (Heidegger)
gives way to the multifarious platitude
which cuts, in turn, back to the triad
a rose is a rose is a rose (Stein)
a nice shot at cellular division and proliferation
albeit anticancer homeopathy

it’s not over till it’s over (Berra)


jargon and rigmarole plus platitude
the cask of philosophy
the realization of reason is not a fact
but a task (Marcuse on Hegel)
the cask is a mask is a carcass
of a task
now what, it’s not over till it overdoses
it has, in fact


Sometimes fear is a (not so thin) disguise
for laziness
it’s not danger what frightens me
but the task
of facing it

the meeting point in Hegel
between reason and reality
I makes the I perdurable
not the circumstances

what is it with words?
Einstein “deplores” the bomb
after Hiroshima and Nagasaki
Borges calls “El Manisero”
“a deplorable rumba”.
In a letter to Freud (1932)
Einstein wonders
“how is it possible for this small clique
to bend the will of the majority”
concluding that school, press and church help to
“organize and sway the emotion of the masses”.
So does rumba, though it doesn’t kill anyone.


so does rumba, not exactly a form of domination
so does rumba, not a “rumble in the jungle”
in the form of superego

A soldier is a serial killer
one wants to change the world instead of abandoning it
to wage revolution even if
it turns into involution eventually
a tourist in perpetual convolution
an ameba of change
a quantity how many revolutions
per minute
a soldier is a serial killer
a serial killer is a soldier of anomaly
incorporated (anomalink)
a priest, a certified persuader
a television of purpose & will:
divine or not divine, that is the purpose
of anomaly, the price of malice
the molasses of good: a player
is a serial hero but is Venus really a porno star
as it aligns with the crescent moon
who’s the serial rejoicer
who’s the animal player of the star
singing is a better exercise than swimming
which is the best exercise ever applied to the hydraulic condition of the human
it’s actually hard to sing underwater, so, who’s the amphibian
who’s the soldier in the constellation of rhythmos
in the session of Pathmos...whatever so as not to get formal
in an anomalink of language and its music.
As much as soldier, killer, pro hero porno star,
an anomalink is an intersection of human and debris
human debris, what a beautiful name! for any cosmic animal
except the unicorn.


When in this life you cannot get what you want
chained to what you reject or choose,
you cannot control yourself nor find any calm,
let the storm cast your soul to the sea.

In the vessel that fills up your overfull mind
thoughts move ceaselessly into nothingness
it’s difficult to accept that all thinking is deceitful
and if you want to meditate you must become mountain.

Let’s go to mounts, let us go there
let’s go, they are waiting, don’t think twice.

If one day a treasure comes into your hands
think that out of the humblest matter gold is made
you shouldn’t reject it or feel self-satisfied
you’re that treasure in yourself, keep it close to heart.

The path of a simple life is very constant
it unfolds itself with an elephant step
one foot upon the earth, the other on the void
don’t inhibit yourself and dance to this rhythm of mine.

Translation: Pedro Ruiz


To kill doesn’t make you an executioner
to eat doesn’t make you a cannibal,
to fly doesn’t make you a pigeon
nor sweet-talking turns you into honey.

To dream doesn’t make you a Quixote,
to fuck doesn’t make you happy
floating inside the mayhem
like a tree without the roots.

To grow just as grass does,
like a leaf from the tree stump,
to be shit for the fly
and for the kid to be a song.

To know the truth contained
in the developed anguish,
the soil has the same flavor,
tastes like soil and tastes like nothing.

You wanted life to be dead,
all at once,  to control it
you wanted to close the door
and all you’ve done is taking it out.

Translation: Pedro Ruiz


Tremble, hoarse city, lame city, ramp city
spin fortune wheel of rats and rupees
malicious city, I look at your ceilings,
your garbage bins, I look at your tits
and on a dishonorable corner
I could swallow 12 croquettes.

How much is a rumba of competing jingle-bells?
How much is an ice cream, a smile, a patience?
How much is this dark moss that fills everything with glitter
from the timely past?: bibles, shackles and castanets.

I know that you’re fond of mambo, that you want to be part
of the ordeal, I know that you blow and suck,
suck and blow full of rebelliousness.
I know that you sing “Havana” as if it was a paradise,
sheer marihuana dreams licking asses for a permit.

Crawl down snake, run away deer, turtle shut up,
let the small birds chirp and the kid dance with his rattle,
my tongue gets crammed in a prehistoric rigmarole:
the prisoner gets his cage and the guard gets his doughnut.

Translation: Pedro Ruiz


The poet’s attic is word
the poet’s nightmare is word
the poet’s commitment is word
the poet’s Eden is word.

I once heard “in the beginning was the word”
Adam & Eve found out that the Wall
wasn’t the realm of the thing itself at all
and every sin in the past is better off.

The poet’s nightmare is Word
the poet’s Eden is Word
the poet’s itch is Word
the poet’s commitment is Word.

The philistines found out that the War
is the way to go from good to worse
accumulating bread by the clockwork
and producing circus by the mock worth.

The poet’s commitment is Word
the poet’s Eden is Word
the poet’s orifice is Word
the poet’s edifice is Word.

Over the water goes the floating Word
the Great Book is advertising war
and the poet is very happy for
the copyrights he shall perceive in Word.

The poet’s attic is Word
the poet’s nightmare is Word
the poet’s commitment
the poet’s orifice
the poet’s edifice
the poet’s sacrifice
  is Word.

I am not a Buddha

I am not a Buddha
I have two hands, two feet like paws
five finger each and with their claws
I can break and tear but nonetheless
I can also stop.

I am not a Christ, I have a big mouth, not a Christ
I have a reckless tongue, I am not a Christ
I can lick and chew but nonetheless
I can also shut up and offer you
this silence as blue as death

I am no meek sheep practicing Zen
to avoid missing the train
of Awakening
I am a vandal trying to revert the scandal
flowing from the Superego to regal legal
supposing that, beyond or before the beatings
life will give you unconditionally
there’s a void
a subtle point of emanations, inverse or reverse
never perverse, the brunt perhaps of crude existence
I am not a Buddha, I just resist although resistence
Is not a good instance
I’m no Spiderman, Batman, jazzman, barman
no Superman, Rastaman, bang bang gangman
nevertheless I exist.

There is no theorem

There is no theorem
it’s the same addition
ten thousand years beating the bushes
Iwrite regueatones and forget the subject.

There is no theorem
out of the same fog
come down the primates
in search of phonemes
make your own regueton and treat the system.

There is no theorem
with the same lather
we write song and poem
everything I hear sounds like a motto:
to be or not be, I think therefore i am
God loves you, it’s not over till it’s over.

There is no theorem
it’s the same lather
that drips the fog upon the subject matter,
o granite syntax, conceive your problem
as just one law tainted with infinity
which says what it says and what it says is red hot.


People live in their drunkenness
enjoying the rewards of madness
and to whomever awakes from slumber
they all together sing this lullaby:
One strait-jacket, snow-white
One stone crucifix, pitch black
One gold medal, fairly false
And one chain
White, black, gold, chain.

Daddy, when i grow up
buy me a hero’s disguise.
Son, buy it yourself
with the savings of your mind.

People go in ten parties
first party, those who kill
second party, those who teach
party number three, the diggers
party number four, those who fly
five, those who speak in numbers
six, those who weave with words
seven, the gardeners of patience
eight, the farmers of war
nine, those who play the game of seriousness
ten, those holding the righteous razor.

Son, when you grow up
you shall build me a big ladder.
Daddy, build it yourself
with the steps of your own tongue.

People live in their drunkenness
enjoying the rewards of madness
and to whomever awakes from slumber
they all together sing this lullaby:
One strait-jacket, snow-white
One stone crucifix, pitch black
One gold medal, fairly false
And one chain
White, black, gold, chain.

Little bird

If you can’t let go of the life you have
you cannot take back the life you lost,
when they play for the dead, you don’t know how to cry
when they play for the living, you don’t know how to dance.
A little bird who never fell from the nest
never learned how to fly.

You don’t want to die to make it to heaven
don’t want to suffer, yet you find no consolation
when they play for the dead, you don’t know how to cry
when they play for the living, you don’t know how to dance.
A little bird who never fell from the nest
never learned how to fly.

If you cannot forget what you have learned
you cannot learn what you have forgotten,
when they play for the dead, you don’t know how to cry
when they play for the living, you don’t know how to dance.
A little bird who never fell from the nest
never learned how to fly.

Little bird, I want to fall
so that I can learn to fly.


Proliferation, a yellow atmosphere
a virgin with a chain, is it gold
is it rain?
Proliferation, a pet saint
with 2 dogs in hibernation
a penitentiary in the heart of every nation
proliferation of angels in your wallet
two lies a dollar, one truth per congregation
the machinery of fun administration
of news, chats, verses, versicles
antidotes for insubordination, you didn’t know about it
the animal plastic planet in migration
the tragicomedy of digital vibration
the turkeys chanting “thank you” from the oven
such a constitution calls for a declaration
a kaleidoscope of roasted opportunities, a fornication
of law & accident, a waltz of problem permutation
pickled solutions & chips of condemnation, you didn’t know
about the mechanical smile in the teeth of regression
that this monument is empty inside, as the other
monuments in the wind, just pay attention.

You do what you can

You do what you can
you do what you can
you do what you can
at last, you do what you can.

You do what you can
nothing less and nothing more 
whatever is left undone
is left behind, behind, behind.

Not even dreaming should you do
that which cannot be done
for if you manage to do it
a duty will it become.

Do not fight against yourself
nor against society
laugh at selfishness disguised
as evil or good, that is the same.

Partake & participate

Partake and participate
the singing bird lets go of his gut
blowing on the edge of actualities
the Pan flute of festivities.

Partake and participate
in the voltage
communicate with the nymphs of potage
novels of parallel underworlds
group monologues of telos, melos,
jealous and signals.

You see yourself soaring over channels
above an Eden of schools and clinics

Partake and participate
in the pipe without peace, peace with no pipe

Gazing at the lowlands of carnival
mechanical parades of special troops

licking the saltpeter of monuments
rusts the hinges of sentiment.

You see yourself soaring over channels
above an Eden of schools and clinics
partake and participate
in the pipe without peace, peace with no pipe