You have a virgin forest in your head, it seems easy, it seems candid, but no.

Intricate, colorful, warm, but above all humid. That humid monsoon, fragrant, soaked and green.

Cursed deciduous trees that stumble the way, and soft brambles darkly intertwined.

I want to look inside. Go in there. Make room for me, get my hut to enjoy in peace. Jerk off as I please, under a rain that comes like a dense nebula.

Bathe me with the thoughts that you enclose in that casket. Precious and fearful. 
Get me dirty with peat. 

Give me what you are while I dig. Give yourself as a gift to anyone. Shower me with your embarrassed and excited obscenities.

Don't spare me the evil, give me that too. I am the blank canvas, for once and a thousand more if I like it.

Be a serving cavalier for thoughts, works and provocations. No flowers, there is no space in the jungle. Not below. Not here at the bottom. Not in here.

I am the epiphet, which lets its filthy resin run down the trunk, which it leads straight into the heart of your belly.


And then I took my heart in my hand.

Throbbing and bleeding, like all hearts that have lived long enough to feel more than one emotion. Maybe a few too many. If only he had throbbed less.

Now it's here, in my hands. It no longer belongs to my body. It doesn't have to belong to me anymore. I look at it as a foreign object. That blood is not mine.

There is a crystal case. As fragile as it is insurmountable. That's where I put the pulsating organ. His heartbeat is no longer heard inside. Go dumb. And I am deaf.

How sweet this silence is.

I want to be deaf forever.

My heart has stopped belonging to me.

Stay there, you stray! Never again will the poignant litany of your beats be music to me.

Your melodies are omens of death. And I've died too many times.

And now you are dying, by my hand.

My revenge is complete and eternal endures.

Pain is eternal. SILENCE.


The space outside of me is immense, and I feel so small. Your distance is immense. You know, sometimes I spend my days trying to breathe, because since you’re gone, even breathing has become tiring. At first it was difficult to stifle the tears. They appeared suddenly, flaring up in my ordinary life; do you know how difficult it was to hide the streaked face among the people in the train carriages? Trying not to look crazy, to pretend everything was fine? As the days went by, I tried to shelter my heart from sadness, and try not to think about it. But do you know what the absurd thing is? It’s that I also miss the nostalgia I have for you. Then I feel guilty for not thinking about it again, and if I can’t fill my immense empty space with you, then I will do it with my lack of you, Lacks have a weight, they know of that love we promised each other, of those stories we told each other, of the violence with which we said goodbye for the second time, We are ashes again, and I don’t know if there will be the phoenix again. Since you are no longer there I feel lost, because my emotions no longer have a recipient. I try to live, to smile, to blend in with the rest and try to be part of it to the fullest. But it is in the heart of my nights that I realize that all this is not enough for me, that all this is not enough. A small part of you would satisfy me more than the whole cosmology. I would like to hate you because you didn’t realize what we could have been. All that love, all that respect, the laughter, the time zones, the furious quarrels, our pride, my insecurities, your coldness, the nights in Paris, the bites on the lips that smell of life … if I think of everything this and all we could have done again, anger rises in my heart. It was all taken away from me too soon. The time I was allowed to love you was too short but love has no countdown. You told me I want to love you but I cannot love, and I accepted it because we are a contradiction. And contradicting myself, I tell you that even if the fire of my hatred towards you is brighter, my love for you is still brighter.


Tell me everything will change again,

which we will return to a moment earlier

of all catastrophes, fly over

without falling on Nagasaki,

promise to fly to Hiroshima

without listening to orders, gliding over the sacred lives of children

and sink into the blue sea
of those who know how to disobey at death.

Tell me who I am

because only you

you seem to know.

I feel my test is approaching, or is already happening.

I feel it in my body which is always tired because it is always alert.

I feel it in hunger, thirst, lack of air.

What shouldn't happen again could happen.

Live in me, penetrate me.
Your blood be one with my blood.

Your mouth enters my mouth.

Your heart magnify mine until it burst.
Tear me apart.

You fall whole in my bowels.
Let your hands go into my hands.
Your feet walk in my feet, your feet.

Blaze me, burn me.
Fill me with sweetness.

Wet my palate with your saliva.

Stay in me as wood is on a toothpick.

I can not like this, with this thirst burning myself.

With this thirst burning me.

Loneliness, its ravens, its dogs, its shreds.

Don't let the explosion happen.

I have to stop everything and please don't stop me.

Let me burn to avoid the end.


And in these years I have understood that we must never stop dreaming because, sooner or later, all our dreams come true. All those dreams we have fought for come true. All those dreams we believe in come true. Everything is realized but it is up to us to make them true. We have to fight for our dreams and our ideals. We have to fight to the end and do everything to make it happen. Certainly all this will lead us to make many sacrifices and not always everything will go well. But if we believe in this dream every single effort will be rewarded. And once our dream has been realized we will be proud of ourselves. There is nothing better than being proud of having made our great dream come true. But is the dream real? Is it part of real existence? The dream life that happens is either red or it is a mental construction. Do you dream, I dream, and does the dream remain within the mental universe?


Don’t be scared of what’s happening to you: confusion, curiosity, doubts, feeling strange and all the mix of feelings and emotions you are experiencing now are normal in the situation you are going through. Do not be afraid of yourself, we are not always the same and sometimes we are not prepared to react better to different situations. In these cases it seems to us that everything gets out of hand … actually a little bit is like this, because we cannot have control over everything. But something can still be controlled, even if it requires a lot of energy in such a strange period, you can try to keep habits: the times you are used to, your things, your spaces, reading books and watching films that most reflect you. right now, eat what makes you feel best. All of this not in honor of the typical phrase “life goes on”, but because your body and heart demand it. It seems strange to say, but sometimes we have to strive to do what is good for us, which brings pleasure, which makes us vent, which frees us even for a few minutes. Get out of the box. Get out of our inner room. Entering an unknown space. Enter the world of an unknown being. Nothing happens by chance. Everything is decided by our destiny. Everything is upset, carried away, by a flow stronger than us. What are we? We are just the leaves of a larger tree, the Tree of Life.


Punctuation is very strange as I see it.
The ellipsis make me anxious, yet I use them a lot, they give me that feeling of indefinite, of something to leave pending.
The two points are used to define and explain precisely, but I remain with the idea that you cannot always explain everything and, you know, to define is to limit.

The exclamation points are overbearing, like a cry, a firework, when they explode they make a lot of noise.
The question marks? Sore point, they are very dangerous. They leave you with only doubts and uncertainties.

There is the point. Definitely too final, it is always difficult to put a period, not to mention that sometimes you have to go to the head or even turn the page.
And then there are commas, I love commas.

After a comma, everything can change, or nothing can change.
Each comma is a breath, a brief silence between one word and another, a small pause.
The nuances mark out, and where there is a comma there is no end, there is no doubt, only the desire to continue.


No puedo ver la luz

dónde está mi cabeza

no a la vista

simple y desnudo. 

Todo mi mayo

mayo primavera

que los perdidos. 

Algunos dicen que el gobierno se lo comió. 

Como un niño traicionado. 

Algunos dicen que es tu culpa

Como un cielo sin viento. 

Que un niño ha perdido su cometa

socavar la vida. 

Vuela cerca del máximo

Al subir su precio

Solo por sus vidas de mentiras

un dia come

Alguien agarre esas aletas

Detrás de la nuca

Dar mi vida brillante a través de la brecha

Por el mapa de la justicia. 

He estado sangrando todo el día,

mi pecho estaba inyectado en sangre,

mi cara no sonreía.

No sé si mi alma estaba ahí pero me la sacaron

y me dejaron solo a la vera del camino,

detrás de paredes oscuras.

Como un esclavo de la vida

que elevó su alma por ellos.

 Resulta que no tenía nada, ni siquiera un alma.

Pero encontré a Dios en mis plumas rojas como la sangre.



Día perfecto
tus ojos y el universo
Sigo siendo bella y triste.
¿Dónde estás?
me estas diciendo?
Soy tu alter ego.
¡Ven aquí!
Te necesito.
Necesito estar cerca de ti.
Necesito tus ojos, tus manos... que me tomen con dulzura y fuerza.
Se rompen.
Tus manos me elevan al cielo y yo también, quiero volar.
Luego me acaricias, me besas, me miras a los ojos... me abrazas.
Y por eso yo también quiero volar.
Contigo el sueño es una fiesta llena de muertos.
El pasado de esta casa baila en mis sueños.
Volando más y más alto, tocando el universo dentro de nosotros con un dedo.
Ahora sé volar..
Tú me enseñaste eso.


It's a cold day inside of me today, I realized when I woke up, and the first thing I did was pull back the curtains and admire that beautiful sun.

He tried to warm me with his powerful rays but failed.

Today is one of those days where I think everything I do is in vain.

I've spent the last few years working on myself. To protect me from everyone.

And if I had opened that window some time ago, that sun would have warmed my heart, I would have noticed the lady who lives right in front of me, I would have noticed every detail. Like her blonde hair always in warp even after she just woke up. The way she observed passers-by but suddenly turned behind her and went away, I would have seen her go away to enter the kitchen, to help her husband who was asking for "help" for a failure in the TV remote control.

And I would have smiled.

I would have noticed the bits of dust floating in those bright bands of sun.

But I didn't see any of that this morning.

All I saw was my empty bed, worn out by a devastating night.

The pillow wet from the dramas, the sheets impregnated with mistakes, the book reread a hundred times on the bedside table full of burnt hopes.

I close my eyes for a moment and I see him, I see someone on my bed asking me to lie down with him, who between one caress and the next, every drama goes into paranoia and leaves the room. That between a kiss and a look, given this way, almost without thinking about it, I see a rose blossom on that bedside table, making that cigarette that stinks of regrets and wasted efforts disappear.

But then I open them again, look down and see only those tattoos on my arms that are there to never make me forget that certain battles are too difficult to win.

And I also smile, yes, because sometimes I really believe in the bullshit I say to myself to cheer myself up, that after three minutes, it has the same effectiveness as a television teleshopping, one of those with low budget.

That you see them, and you think “do they really think they make me believe that those knives are capable of cutting even a diamond?”.

And you believe it, you fake it.

Finally, I make my bed, change the sheets, arrange the books under the bed.

I dress.

And I wear it. In all its beauty.

With all its sweetness.

I wear a smile, and even for today, the outfit has been decided.

Embellished with uncertainties and mistakes, persistent paranoia and perennial anxiety that I carry with me as if it were my favorite necklace.

Previous Older Entries

%d bloggers like this: