H.

Honey,

So cruel, so sweet to know again about you... Do you know what it means to know about you again?

I said I wouldn't do it. And I'm doing it again.

I miss you and I miss how you would take your replies as harsh as lines to discover who had more insight.

I'm growing dead

You are going alive....

Lo interegional.

Encuentro historias entrelazarse de tierras que no he pisado,
que no he visto.

Acá nadie pertenece pero se pelean con historias, gritan
con voces y timbres, ¿se entienden?
Acá suena mas a quien el ego pertenece

Entiende!
Entiéndeme!!!

Mi tierra es gris
La mía es azulísima
La mía es blanca
La mía es amarilla.

La mía sí es tierra, "y vos no eres planta", no piedra, ni arena.

Barro.

¡YO! - continuaban uno a uno-

- Te muestro mis torpes sentimientos.
- Te muestro mis flores.
- Mis frutos.
- Mis marcas.

A vos te dejo mis cenizas y mis semillas
A vos te dejo mi historias.

Igual no las oían.

Blue morning light.

Somehow my body always forget how to talk in the morning and sounds too rash.

Sin embargo habría la boca con alguna pequeña queja y casi parecería como si pudiera contar esas pequeñas pausas rocosas que hacen parte del quejido y suspiro de la mañana.

Estás de nuevo, en esa posición que para ti no es más que una analogía o una modificación de lo que era tu posición dentro del útero. notas como se infla tu pecho y baja con normalidad, pero dentro pareciese que una pelota perdiera millones de partículas y retornaran a ti, como una manifestación caprichosa y particular de un sentimiento. 

El tiempo sigue igual y está sensación es para ti como la erosión que causa un Río una de las orillas del mismo depositando constantemente en el lado opuesto sin sentido. 

Caen grandes piezas, invisibles, cual cubos gigantes llenos de nada que de golpean y erosionan también, pero no hacen nada... 

Tu cuerpo y mente están intactos. Puedes que salgas y te sorprenda el sol estando fuera y te hará sentir la contradicción del sentir y ver. No podrás jamás desenvolverte ni enrollarte en una escena romanticista, no puedes asociarte a nada. 

Dudo entonces que esta y otras sensaciones que se ven enajenadas y alienadas por lo que nos rodea  pueden existir con tanta fuerza dentro de nosotros y afectar en ninguna medida nuestro entorno sin alma?

Tendré que verme al espejo,  enfrentar mis gestos y la facción que tengo en mi cara... 

Sí, allí también se ve... -balbuceé.

En tierra ajena.

Estaba jugando a perderme en la calle. Me embriague otra vez:

Ruidos fuertes

Música

Folclore

Rezagos

Ahora residuales

Ahora

Dónde ir.

Como me acuerdo.

Y me hice acrílico, me decoloré,  en tu vision, en pintura. En un no verde. 

En aguamarina! un cobre viejo... como el rojizo de hierro oxidado.

El día que te vi me alimente de ti. De lo que tu podías ser.

Me alimente y qué... Dios! fueron tus cabellos... es par de ojos ojos.

Esa mirada injustamente atractiva.

Me alimente, y se hicieron dos refugios, florecientes, solo los tuyos. Mi deseo.

Me fui a esconder de ti, en tus ojos.

Ye observandoles, me embriagaba.

Pero tu, mirabas en los mios,

me encontrabas?

me veias?

Me confirmas?

Haze, mist, smoke.

I like being drunk

I am by self this time.

I hide myself in no memories

this time in dying

in some bad drawn dyes.

I am and I was today, 

and I was alone looking for someone to find me and define me, because I was border-less.

I leaked myself in my house as a dense haze and space of somethingness.

I covered it all, but then it became a cage in which each step I take I would find myself poking around.

Is this the way to live?

Poking and saying:

"what is expected from the first expected thing of us?"

And then someone gazing around, again, around my home,

would make me regain myself, but I would still be a border-less one.

She doesn't dance

Oh!

How well she dances,
even thought she does not.

When she dances, how sincere is she?

She own herself,
she silently fights,
as if she would unexpectedly fade off.

Like fire wavering,
as candles mad at a slight breeze.

How timid and less she knows,
about what she subtly says.

When she dances,
I know more about her.

Again.

How easy I knew;

How easy, a way to know that would end what it is comfortable.

Imagine.

The moment I set eyes on her how would have ended.

The moment you went to your dream, to sleep. 

As you were to sleep I thought I was in a dream.

But I wasn't. 

I was never asleep.

Drunk.

So I spilled again the liquor,

as I spilled the words to you,

I drank it, as I did with these,

Feelings.

I overflowed with them,

became drunk again as my head couldn't take.

Oh, I did it again. I told you what I don't want to face.

Sober.

Words that we couldn't say

We couldn't say them,
so now we just pray them ,
words that we couldn't say.

The lids I didn't know how to close,
the stain I didn't know how to take off,
the message I didn't know how to deliver.

The silent fight,
the unknown vertigo,
the inadverted lies,
where the truth lied.

Even when it was inexperienced I had one,
I had one that had took care of,
I couldn't picture but myself
like a child lost enough.

And I only thought of myself.

The glass that broke silently,
the room that was kept as a mess,
the pet that was left alone.

Scratching it now, trying to hide,
on sand-like walls,
what was left in the floor.
My nails seems to disappear in such rough walls.

The third person images,
the floor,
the wall,
the strugle,
me pulling.

Me seeing in myself what I never wanted to become.

Some day we'll make it right, appart.

I'm sorry.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PdHHIVMJ_VQ