Desert Walking

There is someone walking in the desert
It's a populated area, but there are parts in which the desert still reigns
So, this person is walking, houses both in their right and left
And they are walking in the sun.
On that path the desert must be felt, an obligation to whoever walks it. I imagine they must be thisty and hot, with all that sun over their head.
And they walk until I don't see them, until they reach a street that connects with the asphalt and houses and the trees, trees that wouldn't be able to exist here if it wasn't for human presence. No, that last bit is part of what I assume of that person.
It might be, very well, that they sink into the ground or they dissipare into the dry air and sunlight.
I don't know, I can't actually see them.
This was the first and last time I have and will see them in my life. I can meet them again, see them on the stree, but I won't recognise them nor they will know I was the person that watched them walk the desert that one time, a Wednesday afternoon in summer.

-Written 08-02-17

14-04-16

Nostalgia del que nunca será, del futuro deseado e imposible en las expectativas de una imaginación furtiva y desesperada, desesperando al pobre soñador de realidades emiferas de una fantasía que se desvanece en el despertar de la divagación momentánea.

13-10-16

- I want to love you until we die, maybe after that.

- Do you mean that? A death promise is not a light thing.

- Yes. I want to be there when you let go of your last breath the same way I desire your presence when I’m no longer bound to this… world.

- It’s rather a morbid thought.

- You love it.

- I do.

- As I was saying… I want to learn to love you as you get older and wrinkly, and dry and mean. I want to love you in your change, in your new beings.

- Let me tell you that your love confessions are the weirdest.

- Yeah. 

30-10-16

Si no puedo afirmar mi existencia en vida, ¿cómo puedo esperar que alguien lo haga por mi en muerte?

08-06-16

Shit’s going down, down, down. When they think one thing is solved, there is always something more to fix, to worry about. And it’s shit going down. My life’s going downhill and I can’t slow down the avalanche threatening to consume my back.

I hate myself for thinking that someone that’s far and away, is okay and safe. Everyone’s shits it’s always going down. The problem is when lives collapse one after another, altogether into themselves, upon myself as the spectator and the actor.

01-10-16

- … Y si empiezas a caminar por ahí encuentras cuerpos…

Su rostro se ensombreció al escuchar palabras de un ser tan pequeño.

-… Cuerpos colgando y… Huesos…

Continuó el pequeño ser, lentamente, saboreando el movimiento de su lengua con cada sonido.

- Después encuentras zapatos, siempre son lo que queda tras retirar los cadáveres.

10-10-16

Pour water on the sun

Or watch it burn down

Anyway we’re going dark

24-12-16

I’ve never made a choice

I’ve kept them all for my self,

my little cute bunch of possibilities

all far away from my reach,

far from temptation of a past I cannot change,

for I do not see the future,

not in the way I can conceive existence. 

Distress signal

It seemed like a distress signal,

coming from the far corners of the universe.

Perhaps another me, I thought as I sank back to sleep.

Maybe our thoughts are in sync,

of course they are in sync, I answered myself. If our thoughts weren’t in sync how would we know if we are the same person, I agreed.

So, perhaps it wasn’t another me, just a remnant of a thousand thoughts led far away from eternity.

- Written 24-12-16

08-01-17

It happens sometimes,

always

It’s the peel of the mask

the façade breaks

It’s the person I have to be when I am with them, falling apart

The part of me I have to force to show

retreats into my soul

comfortable

safe

without the need to fight in a social situation.

Bringing that part of me – the nice me, the polite me – drains me, it tires me. 

06-02-17

We are all searching for a magical cure

A miraculous recovery

A medicine to all evils

To feel good

A rare herb

A nice tea

A prayer

A brand new, not-tested Big-Pharmaceutic new drug

But there isn’t

There isn’t a thing that holds the power to fix life

To make it clear, understandable

Logical

Linear

Nothing to make it better

Much to make it worse

There is no cure

Or the only one there is, a placebo

A trick of the mind to make the entity of our existence to work for themselves

A placebo effect on life

On pain

On me.  

Giants

The world ended in a way only a few considered. It was slow at first, some geologists noticed the movement but most of them dismissed the phenomena as earthquakes, well, there was a lot of earthquakes.

Most people where in their hoes, it as a peculiar day, as if everyone destined to watch it on the TV, or watch it live, those who lived nearby.

Once ago the sky sang a lovely melody, a lullaby to wake up, that every single human didn’t hear, for it was a song for the earth beneath their feet.

It was a human skydiving the first to see it, the shapes in the earth becoming clear, defining themselves and making the movement of the wind their own.

The day the world ended was the day the humanity became aware, as they called it.

The real beginning was centuries before they were born, the day the song was sang by the sky so loud the earth awoke.

So, the end of the world was set upon humans the day they felt the movement of the mountains. The day they all awoke.

Slowly they rose, hands grabbing dirt and stone, destroying the bed they slept in. Slowly they set foot into the earth. They were earth. They were earth and stone and mineral, they were water and heat, they were lava and crystal.

They were humanity’s landscape, they were the horizon and the walls, the foundation of their skyscrapers and basements.

The Giants moved the mountains and removed the layers of everything that took home on them. They were the mountains, the faces and bodies only recognizable in the distance, in long way ride on the highway or a sight from heights.

The world ended the moment the mountains woke. The world ended the day humans tried to study them, when they tried to destroy them, then they thought they could be enslaved. The day the paranoia and hysteria took over as the footsteps where the only thing to be heard. 

- Written 16-02-17

11-03-17

There is no much room to hell(p)

29-03-17

Extraño el olor a polvo y metal de la máquina de escribir

A tinta densa

A la sangre que se derrama al escribir

Al papel arrugado

Extraño las teclas

Oh, pero el peligro es mucho

No la traería de vuelta

solo para sentirla

16-03-17 (dream)

They met after a long time, at a party or something. She pulls her away from the crowd and walks with her under an avocado tree. There are some torches on the background and everything.
She is nervous, she knows that we haven't spoken in a long time, so it's awkward because of how the friendship ended, but she doesn't know anyone else to come for this. She's taking rushed and something about something kind of mystic, she's having some weird dreams and there was something related to her grandfather. She's worried. I can't concentrate on what's she's saying because she's pulling me under this avocado tree for no one to listen. She tells me about this... Pull she feels. I can't fully concentrate, she's soo close, talking so close to my face and I can only see her lips moving, her breath against my skin, so I kiss her.

She looks at me shocked.

(time)

Jump.

 We meet again, she does like nothing happened. I tell her I can help her, that I know some things about mystic stuff. It's weird because this feels part dream and part memory, the knowledge of what's happening: there is a entity, a woman of great power trying to reach out through Her. I'm afraid. We go to some kind of library and I ask for a book that my mother had in the house when I was little, a white book that has a metallic mandala, but made of layers of older bronze and kind of steampucky. The book comes with a deck that I use to ask the entity that resides or I connect through the book, about if what I fear about Her and this old, dark and power-entity is true, and it is. I'm unsettled by this. The book tells me not to worry, this entity is buried underneath a metal book in a tree, a long time ago, but to be careful because she's powerful. I tell the book that I  know, but imagine the power she has to be able to reach out to Her even imprisoned. I return the book and talk to Her.

As

She's... Not surprised, something about her grandpa. She asks me how the fuck I know so much about this stuff, I tell her that I grew up with this. She's not upset I kissed her, it's like she understands that's the reason I grew apart from her.

She's going to tell me something, but the world spins, it ends.
I wake up.

I wake up kind of afraid of the knowledge about that entity and that book, it's like a memory, I  have to ask mom about something like that.

04-04-17

Too much shit to worry about
Long time companions waiting to say
Life long ones
Impending death, waiting, agonising
I'm tired
Too much worry about the possibility of losing a home
Of loosing things
Of falling apart
It feels like my life is falling apart,
slowly, piece by piece
Work becoming more difficult for everyone
Study becoming more time consuming, more boring, more stressful
I worry too about keeping friends together, trying to not to lose contact
But anyway, I'm losing control,
I don't think I have a big thing about control, but a small measure of it makes life easier
My plants are dying
I don't know what to do about it, I've tried everything and still...
I fear the lack of money, for a long time looming over me

10-04-17

in class

That sensation
That fear of losing control
of my body
For it to move on it's own volition
Making my dismissed will manifest
And then my vision freed from my eyes,
watching my skull broken upon the table
bleeding like a sacrifice
from my body to it self,
Breaking myself
But I hold on
I keep fearing
The lost control, the movement released
The ongoing momentum
Success and I die
I break my skull

13-04-17

Sometimes I feel how easy it would be
to like someone
to fall in love even
So when I feel it i stop it
I set in place my suppression and restriction mechanisms,
they are not flawless
not perfect
But they do their job
They stop things to become complicated,
they stop the little hope,
they stop my heart from jumping a little
Stop everything

20-04-17

Acaba de pasar un auto de los pacos
Y hay gatos peleando a lo lejos, gruñidos y chillidos
Estoy fumando en la ventana
Y no hace frío
La noche parece extraña, el cielo casi iridiscente por el reflejo de las luces de la ciudad en las nubes
Siento que hay algo detrás de mi, en las hiedras
Como si me observara, casi sin moverse
Pero se escucha el movimiento cada un par de segundos
Ahí quieto
Pero veo nada
Se me acabó el cigarro
Y mi cama me espera
Pero lo sigo escuchando
El sonido
Son gotas cayendo
Está empezando a llover
Pequeñas gotitas
Se Huele en el aire
Mañana llueve
Se supone
Como desde el medio día
Ahora para
La temperatura desciende
Y cierro la  ventana

20-04-17 #2

El otoño ha sido extraño
Súbito
De 30 grados todos los días a mínimas de 6
Las hojas empezaron a caer de un momento a otro
El otoño estaba sobre nosotros hacía un par de semanas
Y se estaba haciendo sentir, como la pantalla bajo mis dedos
Ahí, presente cada un par de segundos
Fue como poner más mantas en la cama, pesadas y aplastantes, contribuyendo al sueño
Fue como salir de la casa y ver las hojas amarillas bajo los pies
Pisarlas
Romperlas
Triturarlas
Amarillas
Ahí fue cuando los rojos y los naranjos dejaron el otoño

Post-apocalyptic vampires

They rushed down, closing the trapdoor behind them. They took shelter in an abandoned basement.

- The one thing that has really surprised me it's that I have remained heterosexual over the years. - said the vampire, crossing his legs and sipping the last blood of his cup.

- I couldn't say the same. - his friend said, filling her glass with blood from the thermos.

The other man in the basement, the one human they had picked in the way here laughed.

- I never was. -he said between chuckles.

Then they all laughed.

- Written 27-01-17

22-01-17

Then she put off the cigarette, and her hand brushed the lamp. That was the first time she became aware of the warmness of that light. Without giving much importance to the matter, she returned her eyes to the book in her hands.

Latter she would forget this and then when her hand touched again the amber glass of the lamp she would become aware of the warmness again. This would happen countless times, even if she wrote of this event. This would always be forgotten.

The warmness of the light is a phenomenon usually and easily forgotten, the brain just dismisses the knowledge by obviousness.

When she decided it was time to sleep (and instead turn her eyes and attention to her cellphone) when this happens, she remembered for the last time the warmness of the light besides her, as she turned off the lamp.  The event slipping off her consciousness as the electricity abandoned the filaments of the lightbulb.

Beach

I sit on the beach and I watch the sky, the sunset coils between clouds and the dying beams.

There is a man sat on the tips of his feet, squatting, watching the sea, his legs fold in a unnatural way.

Those are the legs of a goat, he touches the surface of the waves with only his fingertips.

He leaves with a calm demeanor, he leaves as softly as the waves touch my boots.

The coastal wind gets colder in his absence.

Seagulls gather where he stood, the footsteps of a god leaver their imprints remaining in the world far beyond mortal times.

They pick on the sand, trying to swallow divinity.

-Written 28-07-17