Spaceship

Now I have some peace to write turns to be more than necessary to thank. Driving one part of my life to an end is always chaotic. However, it is more than required to stop and appreciate: for the thesis submission, but also for the good and the bad in this period I decided to stay in Germany (and I'm sure it will be longer and happier). I’ll try to be chronologically precise, I will omit a lot, for sure. Thanks for the endless support I always had from my family. Something unconditional is never imagined until you understand love. It’s what I received, and it’s what I feel, doesn’t matter how hard life can be. Laura, Pablo and Lo are the fundamental structure of the soul. They're always my thoughts and my greatest inspiration. My wings to fly are also made from my second family. My friends in the land of hard work and broken dreams that sometimes Mexico is. Thanks to Iván, Alan and Pablo for been there and hold. For discussing and imagining and for believing, above all for b

I was hugging you. And then it was all ok, And then you were talking to me, And then you were smiling. And then the world was not important, And then I saw you again and again, And then I was hugging you. And then... It was a dream. And then it was about you again. 

Just close your eyes! She said the first time: just close your eyes and think what  you can be thankful! She said smiling. No more questions! With those blue eyes I liked so much. And I was holding her hand, in the middle of a family dinner I needed so much. My first thought was being thankful about holding her hand. I never told her about my first thought. And like now I just closed my eyes. There's no more American thing than thanksgiving, for sure. It's not religious but it has a special spirit and it's just American. Since that night, and almost ten years later, I write to her to tell what I saw when I closed my eyes since the last time. Always this day. It's been an awesome time, I said to her this morning, it's really fantastic now. It's a total experience to thank. I am in the place where I am doing what I like to do. For me it is the same, summer  or winter, for now it's amazing. It is priceless. It's freedom. I am thankful first of all that

Quién eres? Pregunta la computadora, Cómo si tu nombre pudiera definirlo todo. Como si siete letras explicaran el universo. Cómo si tu foto pudiera hacer la belleza brotar.  Quién eres es como explicar las nubes en dos palabras.  Es como entender la tormenta sólo por el viento. Quién eres como si el universo tuviera una sola teoría para existir. Es como si el futuro tuviera una sola ruta que seguir. Qué le digo entonces? Eres mis más profundos anhelos. Eres mi sonrisa cuando pronuncio tu nombre. Eres la sorpresa que no puedo ocultar cuando hablan de ti? Eres mis motivos para ser mejor? Eres mi sueño de familia? Eres mi canto de las mañanas? Eres mi emoción cada vez que leo tu nombre? Eres mi miedo también! Eres mi soledad que odio tanto! Eres mis más perversas inseguridades. Eres uno de mis más grandes errores. Eres alma, eres vida, eres admiración. Eres una tragedia en ti misma Eres mi coraje por no haber decidido diferente. Eres toda mi admiración. Eres la bendición de saber que cual

La muerte rondaba Vierzigmannstraße  con una prisa inusitada!  Es que se le habían perdido un par de locos   con quienes tenía una cita acordada.  Uno registrado en no sé dónde,  la otra extraviada en aeropuertos,  la próxima vez que los tuviera juntos  se los iba a llevar con los muertos. La flaca había acordado una cita con ambos,  a uno le dijo que de traducir ya no era tiempo,  con la otra tuvo que pelear como Rambo. La huesuda no entendía entonces  por qué el error en la dirección,  les preguntó en todos los idiomas  y hasta los describió en una canción. Ahora la flaca espera paciente el momento de encontrarlos,  si no es para pagar el impuesto del radio,  alguna forma tendrá para llevarlos... ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// La flaca la encontró frente a un espejo Y se sorprendió por su belleza, ahora vendrás conmigo, le dijo Se acabó tu tiempo princesa. He venido a buscarte, a ti preciosa rusita.  Tú qué eres de una belleza inigualable, Será mome

Nunca he escrito de ti. He escrito para tu cumpleaños y he escrito para lo que pienso de ti, he escrito para animarte, he escrito por ti, pero es difícil decir cosas lindas sobre lo lindo porque parece a veces demasiado, pero hoy SI es un buen día para poner en palabras lo que puede ser.  Es difícil explicar lo extraordinario sin caer en banalidades, pero pocas palabras te describen tanto como intensidad. De la buena y de la que se desborda en tanto. Aún recuerdo lo sorprendente que puedes llegar a ser en el momento en que uno te ve por primera vez. El shock es increíble,  eres radiante en ti misma, pero después escucharte hace la vida mejor.  No me malinterpretes, eres preciosa, y hoy más que puedes celebrar tu llegada a este mundo. En esos ojos hay brillos que inundan el alma, esa piel tuya es un gran misterio que te lleva a tomar riesgos que nunca pensaste tomar, tienes la forma perfecta de todos mis sueños prohibidos y el regalo de esa boca transmite sensaciones que de verdad roban

Having hope in Google translator... Она была сделана из снов, она была изготовлена ​​из пороха и соли. У нее были звезды в ее глазах, у нее была нежность в ее голосе. Она жила с сердцем в руке, с будущим в ее ногах. Она работала больше, чем кто-либо, жил больше, чем кто-либо, она сделала это реальностью. Она, несмотря на все, реально. Она кровоточит, она плачет, смеется, она женщина. Она ходит так сильно, что небо трясется, луна светит, солнце поднимается. Она летит с ее улыбкой, и она строит мосты с молитвой. Она истинна сама по себе, она - все, что говорит песня. Она - музыка, и это мечты, она - молитва. Она порядок, есть надежда и будущее. Она твое сердце.

When you’re not  around you’re all around. It’s torturous living in the world you live everywhere. It’s the new present mixed with the most unrealistic dreams. It is crazy you don’t exist anymore. You’re there. In the poni tail, you are there in someone else’s thin legs. You’re not there when the faces turn down. You live all around my space and not a centimetre feels like you.  I have been disturbed by your perfume in another body. It smells like memories of you. It’s the fastest way you walk taking my attention. It’s not you at the end of the path. It’s the illusion of your apparition. It’s the ghost of you all around. 

Despacio míreme a los ojos Despacio hágame reír  Despacio hagamos travesuras  Despacio no deje de sonreír. Despacio cuénteme su historia  Despacio tóqueme la piel Despacio planeemos aventuras  Despacio con sus ojos de miel. Despacio cuénteme un cuento  Despacio busquemos la casualidad  Despacio míreme en las noches Despacio que tengo miedo a la oscuridad.  Despacio ilumine mis mañanas  Despacio tomemos el sol  Despacio la crema por tu espalda  Despacio en cualquier rincón. Despacio sentir un beso Despacio quiero nueve mil más  Despacio ver La Luz de tus ojos Despacio quedarse a disfrutar  Despacio pasemos la noche Despacio apaguemos el celular Despacio encendamos fuego en el alma Despacio los dos para disfrutar. Despacio cada pedazo de tu cuerpo Despacio tu alma también  Despacio mientras me miras intenso  Despacio en mis manos se siente tu ser Despacio tóqueme el cabello  Despacio cuídeme el corazón  Despacio que parecemos ajenos  Despacio a la hora del amor.  Despacio encontremos ter

Me gustaría extender el alma, llorar contigo. Me gustaría no tenerte tan lejos, apapachar tu nombre. Me gustaría tomar tu mano y beber de tu tristeza.  Me gustaría ahora regalarte libertad.  Me gustaría ahora extender mi alma, cobijar tus sueños.  Me gustaría ahora verte llorar, purificar tus anhelos.  Me gustaría ahora abrir caminos, no estar tan lejos. Me gustaría ahora escuchar tus sollozos al amanecer.  Me gustaría ahora abrazarte fuerte, me gustaría verte simular tu fuerza. Me gustaría ahora escuchar tus lamentos, curar tus heridas.  Me gustaría ahora tenerte en mi pecho, sentirte dormida.  Me gustaría hacer que tu dolor se vaya al amanecer.  Y por ahora todo nos duele.  Y por ahora el insomnio te invade.  Y por ahora tus heridas siguen sangrando. Y por ahora ser fuerte es un asunto marginal.  Y por ahora no oímos. Y por ahora caminamos sobre piedras. Y por ahora lloramos hacia adentro. Y por ahora sólo las estrellas nos pueden cobijar

I've heard about a basic problem in the human brain. The centres of pain and pleasure are so close one to the other. We feel pain and we feel pleasure in the same way that we make  an over-interpretation of both. They're so close that they almost feel like the same.  The fatalist would argue that there's no difference between both and that the pleasure is only the reduction at minimum of everyday's pain. On the other side, it is also arguable that the feeling of pleasure is the feeling of something else, pleasure can be silence, but also can be anxiety or the lack of it. Even the relative experience can drive us to a complete lack of definition of what can pleasure be or not pain or gain. I'm not writing to reconnect everyone's brain, I'm thinking just about the design. It is sometimes nice to listen "spank me" in the right moments, or seeing the expressions of pleasure when you pull here or when you push there. It's absolutely amazing the feel

Y encontré al mundo. Había perdido el camino de recordar lo que hacía y encontré una historia. Buscaba en mi pasado lo que me pudiera llevar más cerca de ti y he encontrado un presente lleno de anécdotas increíbles y momentos inolvidables. Te busqué justo en el día después que te fuiste. Debías estar en aquella sonrisa y debías de vivir en otros labios. Fue tal mi empeño que también pensé que estarías ahí en la proyección futura de la imagen que tenías cuando te fuiste. Tu luz se debía de encontrar en otros ojos y esa fuerza debía de haber aparecido en otro corazón. Nada de eso fue real porque la realidad se siente mucho mejor. Te busqué en mis horas en terapia, en los momentos en el hospital. Te eché de menos en tantos cuerpos que me hice adicto a las sensaciones de placer que podía provocar en ellos. Te busqué en tantas camas que no recuerdo dónde dormíamos noche a noche. No existe una copia idéntica de tu alma, pero existen muchas almas que se acercan un poco a tu identidad. E

I’m sick, perhaps. I’m mad, for sure.  After those eyes nothing can be indifferent.  I’m glad, no doubt.  I’m lost, just sometimes.  And there’s nothing more than your majesty.  And then everything happens.  And then it’s time feeling each other.  And then it’s the best way to get to know us. And the next morning is all gone.  And when the sun comes we are one and no more.  And when the life is back we’re just ourselves.  And then, the sun brings the idea of you.  And then, we find each other in another universe again.  And then, we are not there anymore.  It’s just the idea.  It’s just another night. 

Once upon a time appeared the most precious girl. Just there, smiling at the corridor. And she was perfect, absolutely beautiful. With no contest in the known land. With every shape refined by her perfect nature. With everything else polished by time. She had in the eyes the fire of thousands of dragons, she has in the smile the refinement of purity. She has in the heart the perfect storm day and night. However, she shined. Like the sun is shining in clear mornings, like that strange jewel, it is found in the darkness of the earth. And it was not by nature. She shined by the decision to be shining. She shaped the world by her choice to do it, and she became the best by the way she does, in the willingness of being her. It was in her nature to be absolutely spectacular, it was her choice to be the best. Congratulations to the best one ever. It is over now.

Corazón inanimado, piérdete. Encontrarás en la soledad tu valor  Corazón detente. Dejarás de sentir la insoportable urgencia de vivir. Corazón inanimado, púdrete. Deja que se mueran tus heridas lentamente. Corazón por favor termina este dolor. Nadie merece tanto sufrir en medio de la nada. Y entonces habrás visto el infierno. Y en los finales encontrarás inicios. Y en la podredumbre encontrarás tu valía. Y en la inanición tu hambre de vida. Y en la parálisis anhelarás el mundo. Y perdido sabrás que sólo buscabas un camino nuevo para recorrer.  Pero corazón es ahora, que lo único que no perdona el tiempo es a sí mismo.

It's the worst decision you're going to make, you said before kissing. You've planned this all day, don't you? I've heard. Why did you take so much? I remember. What do you want of this? It's common too. There are sweet answers, there are hard words. There are hands in hands and souls into souls. There's always a thought before kissing, there's always an idea in one second and no more. We are just friends, and it will happen just one time, you said thousands of occasions. Is it because I already love you, one of the sweetest. It is finally what you wanted, and so many questions after that. It is just a hug, and it is so cold for not doing it. It is because you are so special, for sure. It is a great view of Paris, don't you think. You got something in your eyes, the tricky one. And it is just the mezcal, a good reason too. All is poetry before sublimation. It's the moment the eyes are found in each other, All are the essay

It is announced, after a long time it’s already known, the news you were already the expected. I got only 24 hours, it’s the message for me, it’s just for one day. In the first two moments, I would run to you, to see your eyes, to feel your skin, to kiss your soul. To ask for the forgiveness of the last wishes. I would be convincing enough to make you flight with me. Even if you’re fearful, it’s all about a day and no more. It’s just one wish, and that’s it. I would take the train, enjoy the fantasy of moving fast and far over the steel. Feeling modernity and progress, like the good times. Holding your hand, I would take the first plane to Paris, to see the tower, to feel the city. Just far away, just for a moment, just not my town. It’s time to see from the sky the magic of all my good times.  In the 11 hours flying to Mexico, I would write all the poetry about your eyes, the sensations provoked by your lips, the endless softness of one touch. It will be time for stories,

I think of you. Every time. I've already counted. That's not news, not for me, neither for you. It's a recurrent thought in my mind, and it's a bright part of my day. But have you thought how I do that? I will tell you how it's always in confusing terms. And don't misunderstand me, it's not confession or confusion about my feelings. It is sometimes that thinking of you is like a typo. I think on reverse all time. And all is mixed in my head. The simple construction of you can be mixed. You can be yuo. And trying to correct it can also be a miscake. The one you eat but also the one you fail. Thinking about your heart could bring me to the earth. Can blow me away from the head, can bring me just to death. Same letter or sound combination, an entirely new frontier. For my feelings, There are no borders. Except when it is broader. And there's no limit when you are timid. Long enough to write and make some order. Because if you think

You should be poetry, the most epic poem of all times. Your metric should be the light of your eyes. Your rhyming should be the beats of your heart. You should be poetry in every breath, Should be poetry in every second. You should be the heritage of all the words together. You should be poetry of beauty, The most perfect poetry of delicacy. You should be poetry of inexplicable feelings, You should be the poetry of immense flavours. You should be the poetry of courage, the poetry of passion and temper. You should be the poetry of strength, The verses of the epic fight for living. You should be the poetry of delicacy The most prohibited verse should describe your beauty. The most ineffable words should describe your hips. In your lips live the music of the poem,  and in the softness of your hands live the chants of harmonious paradise. You should be the poetry of inexplicable words, You should be the endless inspiration of brightness. The world has transformed you in poetry. The life c

When I know you read, I smile. Because I know you read. When I know you read, I think about you Because I know you read. When I know you read I see your pictures, I miss your smile. When I know you read, I want you to come, I need you back. When I know you read, I ask what you think if you like. When I know you read I think how much of you do I like. When I know you read I'm not sure if it's you. When I know you read I do ask, is it you?  It's my wish come true

There's dust that fly 10 thousand kilometres,  there's another one that stays under your bed.  There's dust that never leaves the room.  There's dust next to the death, there's dust with blood.  There's dust in the oversights but there's dust in self-neglecting.  There's dust in the miserable corners of life. There's dust in the unplayable instruments.  There's dust before falling in pieces.  There's dust in the silence and there's dust in the forgetfulness.  There's dust in everything that's about to die.  There's dust in the broken hearts,  there's dust in the grief,  there's dust in the sadness.  Because it's what dust is made of. It is just sadness. 

The earthquake broke my heart. It was just on the right side, where my pride for my city lives.  The place I love, I lived, and I miss. It is broken for being far away, for not being there to help. To move the dust, to cooperate in something. My heart is broken because I want to hug my family and friends, organise something and be there. My heart is broken for seeing the misery in the disaster and the pillage in the chaos. My heart is broken because coming back won't be the same, some buildings won't be there, and the dust will be in the heart of everyone. The grief will be shared but not lived. My heart is broken because of the injustice for the children in the school and the thousands of stories under the rubble. My heart is, however, full of hope. The generosity is as immense as the size of the city. The pride for the people helping, the donations, all the aid for the unknown, and the possibility to sing, above all to sing. Canta México, canta y no llores. 

Nos vamos haciendo viejos,  Nos vamos haciendo feos. Por más que cuidemos del cuerpo. Nos vamos haciendo así. Convertirse en algo feo nos acerca a nosotros mismos. Nos deforma un poco la frente, Nos saca pelos en todas partes, Nos muestra las huellas de los accidentes. No obstante, vamos ganando otros lujos,  Vamos haciendo otras gracias. Aprendemos a llorar o a reír, pero nos vamos haciendo feos. Encontramos en nuestras manos el tiempo. Pasan por nuestra frente las huellas de nuestros pensamientos. Nuestros ojos ven más nublado que antes,  Nuestra alma aprecia más el sol. He visto el pasar del tiempo en tanta gente Todo mundo se va haciendo feo. Todo mundo adquiere un matiz distinto,  No necesariamente algo mejor. El chiste es envejecer con gracia?  Creo que no es así.  La gracia nos quita lo feos, seguro.  Pero la gracia nos hace dejar de ver.  Hemos de perder el sentido de la vista con el tiempo  Hemos de ganar otros 20 sentidos más.

It was a moan, it was her breathing.  It was the end of innocence.  It was not only the curiosity of the time,  it was the hidden feeling behind.  It was just a kiss, why not?  It was just the fifth bottle of champagne.  The good times need the best liquor.  It was then just a try.  Just her hand in her hand,  it was just a witness surprised.  It was just a moment to stop,  it was just a time to look at the eyes.  It was then the next song,  it was a weird time.  It was another kiss in the eyes.  It was dancing together,  it was falling behind.  It was just another kiss, then another one. It was that electric feeling,  knowing that something is going to end bad.  It was just the delicacy of the moment,  it was just a time.  It was not passionate or wild,  it was curiosity and discovery chance.  It was touching here and there,  it was a new thing to try.  It was her hand a frequent visitor of her breast,  it was the lips

The world is stained, we've made like that. We stain things all the time, our clothes are stained in regular ways, and we build things for specifically staining. We've found patterns for staining! Squared or horizontal or vertical or diamond shaped. Even the no pattern stains have a pattern. We stain in natural or complicated ways. We combine them to create other stains!!! We know yellow and blue stains get green and blue and red stains are purple. We take instruments to stain from nature, or we made ourselves. We produce materials to be easily stained, and we had the great ideas of making other ones that are stainless!!! We make stains over the old ones. We "renovate" or entirely transform the stain, and stains with lights and shadows are secured in the most famous museums in the world. We've made a science of staining, and we attribute mental powers to the ways or patterns we stain. If you get more orange, you get more hungry, if it is bluer there's more pe

One day I will see you one day I will talk to you again one day I will not be shy, I promise. One day I will tell you all the curiosity I have about you. One day I will ask you about your past. One day I will sing for you, just Mexican songs, just in Spanish. One day I will play the piano again. One day I will invite you a coffee just to see your eyes, to enjoy your face. One day I will cook something delicious. One day I will surprise you with one never ending story. One day I will make you cry. One day I will drive you to the mountains. One day I will feel your heart. One day you will be my autumn. One day I will make you smile. One day I will find you. One day I will meet you. One day in the morning and then never again.

Disappear, evaporate. You gotta go because it's in my best interest, to my mental health.  The dog you won should go away from my bed. I confess it's sleeping all nights next to me because I feel safe. Your pictures of perfection should be burned, no more astonishing descriptions, your poetry should hide. Your secrets will be mine, your confessions don't matter anymore. The blindness will help me with the blondness, and all the other things I remember about you will dissipate.  My memories of your skin will be the hardest part. Touching perfection is a lifetime experience. The captivating eyes should look in another way. I always had reserves about the way you look, but your clear eyes will always inspire me tenderness. The worst will be your words. The ones I always wanted to believe as honest. They should go too. It's a joke from now. We lost the most valuable thing between us, sincerity. We could think different or be totally opposite, but we were si

The life of minimum effort should be the hardest. At the end you have to make the effort and you have to pretend you are not making it. My dad always says that the one who doesn't want to work is the one who works double. In the middle there's a sea of convenience and confusion between the pretentious simplicity and the extraordinary job. In the end there is nothing. I don't really understand it. Why not just giving the best? All the time, in all the ways.  The life of maximum effort is even worse. You make the effort and you end up really convinced it's not the best you can do, and it never will be. Here the exhaustion is the limit. The satisfaction never comes and at least you accumulate frustration and experience. There's also a big problem of confusion between the expectations and the result. And job never ends. In the end there's something but not satisfying enough. Why not just giving the necessary?  But sometimes both points reach. The results can be magn

Hay cuatro días especiales en los que quiero estar en México, cuatro más que todos los demás. En ellos viven la inmensidad, la alegría, la ternura de lo que yo soy. Sólo cuatro por ahora porque son los que me dan más trabajo para el corazón.  El de hoy es el de alguien que me enseñó a querer en la inmensidad. Porque contigo siempre había algo por lo que contar para ser querido y siempre ha habido que querer para no dejar de contar, repetir que te quiero más que todas las hojas del mundo aún me hace llorar.  Y es que hoy, 237 días después de empezar el año fue el día que viniste al mundo.  No importa que el Vesubio haya hecho erupción hace casi 2 mil años o que sea el día de la independencia de Uruguay. Hoy también salió el Sputnik 19 hacia Venus o Bielorrusia se volvió un país independiente (oh ironía). Hoy es el día del peluquero en Argentina y nada de eso abarca lo mucho que te quiero. Nada de eso es más importante que el hecho de que hayas llegado al mundo. De ti aprendí de lo bueno

Close one eye, don't believe it! Close the other, won't believe it!  Try with the glasses on you  It is just impossible.  Should be dreaming  Just wake up.  It is always a dream. Should be drunk Just stop. No more beer to drink. It is there afterwards.  Who took that picture of my dreams? Who pictured in that exact way?  No details can be closer. Give it a second chance. It is just paranoid.  Make a question  Got the answer.  In the end, you realise it's impossible  In the end, you get to know it's just photoshop 

It's time to see the shades, it's time to cover all of the shadows. The rebellion of her has begun. It was planned for  18 years, and she got her moment. There's no more time. The crash will be inevitable at least for the ones who see the darkness. Although it is still incomprehensible. I have grown up singing to her, writing to her. I have felt in love with her great brightness, and I've acquired unique skills to reproduce her beauty. I've been in so many parts of the world just astonished by her beauty. And now, why is this happening? It is not enough the rebellion of her every 28 days? Is it not enough her darkness and the loneliness of her renewed face. It is never enough for her. She's doing her best every time to shine in the west, and all she wants is 2 minutes of shadow. It is the biggest act of treason, it is the greatest call of love. She needs not to reflect anymore. She wants all the light for her. And she began a rebellion, a small change every tim

Desperté abrazado a mi chaqueta, desperté con un lío mental. He dormido todas las noches desde que te fuiste abrazado a ella, mientras me doy cuenta que tu olor hace días se terminó por evaporar.  Si la vida fuera suficiente para atraparte ahí, mantenerte en mis sueños día y noche y llevarte siempre en el aroma de un trozo de tela que pudiera cortar. Es que además tenía la proporción perfecta de lo que has sido hasta ahora. No he encontrado otra cosa que pueda representar mejor esta situación. Ochenta por ciento no me gusta, es más, no sólo no me gusta, estoy totalmente seguro que me desagrada en su totalidad.  No encuentro magia en el olor de cigarrillos olvidados que ahora transpiro en mi pijama, nunca me ha gustado fumar. No hay nada que menos me guste que historias atrapadas en objetos, como parte de viñetas, muero por todos los ínfimos detalles, muero por cada pieza de curiosidad, pero sabía que tuyo no era el momento y habría que esperar.  No me gusta la vista arrugada de mi chaq

He pasado demasiado tiempo pensándolo. Tal vez ha sido la última idea complicada que ha vivido en mi cabeza. Tal vez es demasiado para algo que no se debe hablar. No te culpo ni menos me culpo a mí, pero me mata lo que no se debe hablar.  Quisiera no haber sentido lo que no se puede hablar. Quisiera no pensarlo los sábados por la tarde. Recordar tus ojos, sentir tus labios, encontrar la delicia en algo que nunca pensé podría pasar. Quisiera no tener que preguntar qué sentido tenía hacerlo y qué ha pasado por tu cabeza después. Quisiera no conocer qué has sentido tú.  Pero de pronto llegan cosas más arriesgadas a mi mente. De esas tampoco se puede hablar. Has pensado en repetirlo? Yo lo pensé la mañana después, hay días en que no se puede olvidar. Incluso encontré una forma: podemos fingir un accidente, podemos si quieres, no hablar. Para que hacer que pase estaremos ocupados, pero quién sabe, vale la pena intentar.  Qué pasaría después tampoco debemos hablar. Sólo quisiera que pase de

If you were half the beautiful woman you think you are. If you were not a bunch of emptiness and fashion clothes. If you understand the magic behind the blue eyes. If you were able to feel your passion, to connect your pain. If you were trusting more in your heart and less in your dress. If you were able to be the brilliant person you pretend to be.  You wouldn't be yourself, for sure. You could find more amazing stuff about you I remember you had... 

I've been looking for something to write, Nothing makes sense. I'm trying to order my thoughts, Nothing makes sense. I'm trying to find the ashes of old love. Nothing makes sense. There's no point in the pictures, the beauty is not becoming an inspiration. The days are wasted in endless rounds of alcohol. The vaccination for a way is gone. Then what I'm doing? No sense you answer wisely as usual. Time is being wasted on no ideas. Time is part of the no sense. The answers I'm searching are lost. They are kilometres from my house. The richest get richer, The problem of not having enough is there. Explain the thousands of thoughts of your head. You said with optimism. You will find the same approaches to nothing. Sleeping in the country of hard work. Every day, every time. Nothing makes sense right now.

I had the most erotic dream in years. It was about you. Of course an Eastern European. But it's a secret. It's mine, and now it's yours. It's just between us. I woke up in wet sheets and dizzy mornings just with the feeling that you provoked all of that. With the necessity of dreaming for one more second. Just with this new sensation of needing you. I was crazy in your universe thinking of how much I wanted to kiss those lips. How crazy I am that smile. But also how much I wanted to squeeze your ass. How much I wanted you just for me. Your eyes are the preciousness never reached by the almonds, your face it's a poem just made by itself. It's the first time I dream of you. It's the second time I'm writing about you. 72 hours later the idea, I'm still perturbed. I can remember every detail from that symphony that meant making love to you.  Because it felt like that, just like the love I needed not to be real. But how could I talk to you ab

No quiero ni pensar en que tengo que escribir esto, pero la cerveza lo hace más sencillo. Tengo que confesarte que he pensado por lo menos 13 días en cómo despedirme y aún me sigo negando a la posibilidad de que sea real.  No te puedes despedir de alguien como tú en la vida. Simplemente no se puede. No es un recurso poético ni un artilugio del español, pero me niego a encontrar la forma de despedirme.  Cuando alguien toca tu alma no hay forma de decir adiós. No hay forma de que te vayas una vez que estás tan adentro. No existe forma de borrarlo, y aún así sé que mañana tendremos 9 horas de diferencia y que tu día será mi noche y mis mañanas vivirán sólo en tus sueños, por ahora. Pero no estoy más que agradecido. Por haber mandado ese mensaje en el messenger de facebook y por tener curiosidad de alguien de Sinaloa. Serán tan buenas como en México? Será guapa? Podré salir con ella? Fue mejor que todo eso junto. La autenticidad y la sinceridad no se compran en la tienda, menos se encuentr

I would like to begin this speech making some clarifications. I am not a native English speaker, and therefore I will talk a little bit slow to try to be clear.  The last time I conducted a  speech in English, talking about the content of my thesis, in the end, I saw such confused expressions on the faces of my colleagues that I would like to blame not my topic but my English. I would want to talk about the importance of the nonlinear approaches for the forecast of time series data because it is now my everyday topic, but I remembered those faces and I realised that an audience like this deserves a speech more fundamental.  That's why I am here to pick a word about three basic concepts that I think we should remember today: gratitude, probability and future. Maybe it is about the language or the culture, but one most familiar words in Spanish is " Gracias ". And today we are closing one of the steps in our professional lives, and I think it is

Aún recuerdo perfectamente la primera vez que te vi. Saliste disparada como cohete. Saliste corriendo de una habitación que pronto harías tuya a fuerza de armarios y fotografías, conquistabas con la simpatía de quién no quiere conquistar. Yo pensé que eras alguien más, tan solo eras tú misma.  No entendía muchas cosas de ti no por un asunto de lenguaje, también por una forma de vivir. Una bola de pelos mal pintados tan desordenada no tenía pies ni cabeza. No tenía sentido, no había más que hacer. Sin embargo, verte crecer ha sido fantástico! Hoy te acercas más a la esencia de ti misma con menos elementos de afuera. Has sido la pequeña gota de luz de un mundo que a veces desaparece entre la niebla y la nieve.  Cuándo cambiaste? Aún no lo tengo claro. Tal vez fue la primera vez que volviste de casa o cuando tomaste la decisión de no volver, pero cambiaste. Dejaste la ilusión por la madurez y esa inocencia se convirtió en un rasgo que asusta por la mal entendida astucia que escondes detrá

I would be worried, sad, bitter.  If you were another piece of words.  I would be desperate in the middle of loneliness. Craziest paragraphs would be the centre of my anxiety. If you were another piece of words. I would build the perfect world in one line. Give it to you in a paper. I would find a thousand of ways of solving problems  Put each one next to your nice hair. If you were another piece of words I would not ask you to believe,  To take the risk of what you feel,  to embrace the  best moments of your life. I would be desperate finding the wrongs I would be crazy counting the lies. If you were another piece of words. I would test now my new theory,  Write you six stories, three arrangements, two rhymes. After the word line 76 you would begin to vanish. At the 100th line for sure you would be gone. If you were another piece of words, You could open a new post, Be the secret reason for someone to read Find a new lover or maybe ten,  I wouldn't tell you how well they fuck, I w

The perfect length it's always a mini skirt. It should be a universal measure in every circumstance. Doesn't matter what the size is, it's not important what is the fit. It's always perfect. It just begins in the middle of nowhere, just in the middle because there's always an end. It's just in the middle to hide the rest, it's just the middle to show the beginning. The general indifference of this canvas can be produced industrially, but it will produce unique results. You never know what is covering the mini skirt without the adventurous spirit of the explorer. Under the mini-skirt, there are lines, colours, ink, silk. Can be complemented by high heels, or bold knees. Below can be the smoothest surface ever felt or crisscrossed labyrinth closer to the infinite. Above the mini skirt, there is everything. Suprise and magic, punishment or reward. Probably altogether. It hides the constant darkness and the endless contrasts. It's a surface cannot be measur

Walk there, open  your eyes it's just the darkness. There's no other recognisable thing in the air. It is just the shadows. Run there, no matter how fast, There's no way to escape, It's  always something following you. It's just the shade. You learned to run to escape from the shades. You became the best friend of the shadows. It's what you are comfortable with It's what you are afraid of. And one night you will discover so slowly you are consumed by your darkness That you're the best friend of shades That you need the shadows You're shading, you're shadows. You don't want to move faster than light, You need the obscurity all times when there's something to hide.

I woke up thirsty, repentant, grief. My lips are so dry from you I needed poetry in my life I feel I have lost my soul. I woke up needy, sorry and with thousands of regrets. I shouldn't let you go through the night Then after there's only life to forget It's not true that hard work is so rewarding It's a wave concentrating all the stress. No matter how complicated it's the program No more data to regress Nothing is distracting me from my thoughts. Nothing is entertaining enough. Nothing is feeding me in the soul. I'm thirsty of your eyes, I'm hungry on the floor I woke up in the darkness, feeling that horrible  thirst, I'm dying for you in the mornings I'm looking for you in the sun I needed to read some poetry, I wanted to feel it in you I need the water living in your eyes I need the fountains hiding from the world And for now, everything looks dryer in the world This morning I'm thirsty Last night you were finally gone.

Qué vas a hacer cuando me vaya? Preguntaste acertada en el teléfono una tarde en que no pude entender esa pregunta de tus ojos. Ahora me persigue como un fantasma que allana las noches junto a ti y que duerme en el espacio que queda entre nosotros. Qué hacer cuando te vayas va agrandando ese pequeño hueco entre tu cintura y mi vientre aunque mis brazos te sujetan cada noche por más tiempo. Qué hacer cuando te vayas en los momentos en los que no quiero dejarte ir. Ahora la pregunta me tortura tanto que necesito mi idioma para encontrar la respuesta en palabras que de otra forma no podría pronunciar. Ya me pesan las mañanas de no verte. Extraño tu figura des alineada, tus pijamas anti sexys, tu cabello en la cara que deja escapar tu sonrisa, pero que esconde esos ojos claros. Extraño ahora mismo tus sonidos extraños, besar tu hombro, recorrer la curva de tu espalda y buscar tu mano para saber que ya amaneció, casi como lo hacía mi padre cuando tenía que despertarme muy temprano en esas m

I'm convinced! I do not like blondes. I didn't like before, and I'm more convinced than ever. It's a serious affirmation. I don't like to see people in colour. A woman cannot be reduced just like that. I don't like blondes because I don't want to see that in a woman. I like women, I loved amazing women, but not because of their hair colour. They are fantastic because of what they are, what they show or maybe what they do not. Not a colour of the skin or hair. A complete idea of a woman cannot be that simple.  It is true, I agree that a someone that can commit treason with her hair can betray everything else, but who cares about if they do, who cares about the colour or the shape if there's a fantastic woman in front of me. I don't like blondies because I don't like the rest of the stereotype. And it works for many people on both sides. Blondies act like blondes, and the rest of the world hopes they act like blondes. There's no surprise