Spaceship

He decidido que no puedo. Me declaro incompetente para luchar contra esto. No puedo con esos horribles efectos que produce tu ser en mi. No puedo con toda la admiración que me provoca tu generosidad, me es imposible lidiar con eso y no caer rendido a tus pies con algo que para ti es tan natural. No puedo con estas irrefrenables ganas de abrazarte cuando eres espontánea, y no quiero dejar ni un segundo de ver todos los efectos que la vida tiene en ti. No puedo con tus ojos brillando aquí y allá ni con esa sonrisa que llena la nada tan de repente. No puedo con tu maravillosa imagen a contra luz iluminando todo. Eres vida, eres magia, eres libertad. No puedo tampoco con tu mala simulación, me provoca tanta ternura que seas la peor actriz del mundo, porque tu cara está llena de emociones. No puedo con toda esa belleza que consideras simple, pero que sabes utilizar como tu arma más letal. Me muero antes de tener que dejar de disfrutar de tu inteligencia, esa que hace que toda la magia sea p

My mind is blocked when I'm writing a word on you. There's no reason, no bad feeling, no pain, but I know the appropriation is mine. Your memories are mine; I don't want even share them with my writing. The memories of you are apart from the world; they are far away. They don't live in the fire, and the passion of handwriting but they live there, enough, permanent. I know, however, you're made of all of the elements. The fire lives on you but is calm and shiny, comforting, balanced. I've been heating by those flames so many times that I got used to getting burned. I'm used to your water also. Patient and infinite, wise and eternal. Full of life but wild and destructive. I've been drinking for a long time but I'm always thirsty.  I've also seen the passion, and the wild wind, but I'd better like to remember the soft touch of your hands in my hands. You are the elements together, and the perfection of someone I've renounced and I'm not

I’ve heard not long ago a real question about what was happening in life, and was something like why aren’t you cooking all of that for yourself? It’s fair to say, to make some context I’m saving in one shelf of my closet plenty of exotic ingredients from too far away lands. Then, I’ve tried to figure out so many answers that I’ve got exhausted and forgot the issue for a while (I’m quite good for that), but as soon as the question came to me, I’m trying to write it: I’m waiting. Is it for you I’m waiting? I don’t know. Is it the right thing to expect? Neither can I answer this one, but I’m sure the wait is the best way to proceed now. I’m waiting for your curious. For one day, one moment in the universe you become curious about what I am, and my best answer could be a flavour. I can be as sweet as the panela with concentrated sugar, but is not my best; that’s why I’m saving just a couple of that, that kind of sweet is most times cloying, but sometimes is necessary for real relief. I ca

You are the expression of the limits just from your name.  Every detail of you is expressed in the closest way to perfection, but it has the advantage of being just simple to construct even more perfect being. There's no description for that. Your limits come from the sky, as the colour of your eyes, and the deepest part of the infinite is not brighter than your smile, the shadows are part of the contrast to understand the complementarities between light and dark. Every hair of yours is made of durable finest thread, golden and bright as forbidden treasures, longer and not so straight to be lost in its deepest aroma. Your beauty is as natural as the warming sun rays after a long winter, fresh and relieving, sweet all the time. The expression is candid, and the look is unstoppable, but everything conjugated is what makes you strong. Is not any part of you outside the frontier of perfection, but it's the combination of everything that turns you, human. The symmetry of your hips i

She was there, but not quite of it, tempted the conqueror with her expanse and mystique, but was his ruin when, steeled to great feats of endurance, proved capable of weathering deeper privation...

The world has been shocked by the news. Everyone is dying, and the hope is collapsing at the same time as desperation appears in everyone's face. There's no way. Death is here for you as it is for everyone. It's the first time you face equal to the others. It's the first time you're missing fresh air. There's no difference in the same destiny; there's no lie bigger than future.  It's your last chance for love and life. Ten hours and thousands of kilometres are not a wise move in the moment luxury have transformed on the next breadth. And then, you realise there's no other move. The play is over as the chessboard is falling apart and your pieces are melting down. It's like they described in the old movies, it's like the ritual books have told. Then in the middle of nowhere exist one last sensation, one last emotion, one prevailing thought. You were born in the middle of crying, and you're dying in the midst of your mind. The question is wh

8 de marzo de 2013...  Celebrarte hoy parece que es la reafirmación de lo contrario a lo que buscamos, ser tratados como iguales. Me pregunto entonces, como podremos ser iguales si no hay garantías que puedan igualar la maravilla de tu ser?  No hay derechos que alcancen para garantizar que tu sexto sentido desarrolle su máximo potencial; no hay ideas que liberen nuestras mentes de la tradición que lastima si no podemos entender que las oportunidades pueden llegar a ser las mismas en tanto nos reconozcamos como personas distintas; y no hay posición, cargo, ni encomienda más valiosa que la que se gana por el mérito de ser evaluados como iguales, sabiendo que nuestras habilidades son diferentes, pero también sabiendo que eso no hará que dejemos de lavar un solo plato o de limpiar el desorden de esta mañana, tu en tu casa, yo en la mía, algún día en el espacio nuestro. Y no alcanzan todas esas herramientas porque justamente no hay maravilla que de ese tipo se haya inventado, y tampoco hay

I'm ashamed. Every year it's harder to understand the true meaning of March the 8th without being politically incorrect, but this year is about be the revolution of the ashamed. And the road has been long. I should not congratulate you for being of one sex different than mine because I have to understand the difference between sex and gender. It's ok, it's always a social construction, like the one you have sometimes used indiscriminately to favour your position without the ethical protection of the gender, or even better, the one you have exploited in the name of the protection of the gender. It's advantageous when it has to be, but historically oppressive all the other time. But never it's egalitarian. However, it's not the right answer for this year. Then is not a celebration. How are we supposed to celebrate one gender just for the reason of being? If it's social, we should celebrate socially many of any other human group constructions if it's na

Have you dreamed about you? How do you dream? Do you dream? Your questions are killing me at the same time that I'm trying to transform the sleeping time on peace. I'm not up; I'm not sleeping, but your inquiries are just there. It's just casual! I said, at the same time, I'm trying to defend myself from my real thoughts. Would it be possible that I'm taking something from her when I've got you in my nights? What does that mean? You wake me up again. It's the third time in this week you say her name; you're saying upset and naked. I'm allegedly screaming my love for her, everything in my dreams, with the complicity of the night. I deliberately don't remember any detail; I don't know what are you talking about. There's no real explanation on that. It's only in my dreams. I barely remember her, but she's there. I have a solid routine to make everything except thinking, excel filling my thoughts. I'm trying to feed every seco

Y si hay un lugar donde me gustaría perderme no sería en tus ojos, infinitos para recorrer segundo a segundo cada tramo de tu alma, pero también la fuente de tus lágrimas y el espejo de tus tristezas. No sería tampoco en tus labios, oasis eterno e inacabable de dulzura, pero también reflejo de tu sed y del frío que te ataca desde afuera. Me gustaría perderme no en tu infinita piel desnuda, precioso manto de valles y elevadas formas, de deliciosos recovecos y de inesperada perfección. Ahí vive tu frío y tu calor, tu belleza y también se refleja tu emoción. Me gustaría perderme más arriba, más profundo, más real. Entre tu sexta y doceava idea, tal vez antes de la décima. Justo delante de tus planes para los días, pero detrás de tus miedos más profundos. Me gustaría estar donde tú mente juega, donde brillan tus ojos al encender tus ideas, donde se transforman tu fuerza y tu ternura y donde eres precisa, certera, infalible. Ahí vive lo más hermoso de ti, lo que crece y no cambia. Lo que te

He despertado con la misma ansiedad de cada mes.  Atrapado en la misma botella. Estoy cubierto, estoy desnudo, no importa. Conozco ahora la rutina sobrevivir a lo que hay afuera, aunque nunca vaya a salir. No hay diferencia o distancia, cuan grande o pequeño sea el camino. Sigo siendo un momento, una señal, un punto. Le he ganado al tiempo y me muevo despacio. Despertar al alma sería imperdonable, pero hago el suficiente ruido para que sepa que sigo siendo yo. Sólo por hoy en un momento, en un señal en un punto. Sigo siendo yo. Un mono blanco en la nieve