Thursday, 11 November 2010


...I would see a pool of roses...
...swim in a crystal-blue ocean.
Feel the water drops gently splash against my visage;
as I'd see them evaporating into perfume.
Combing my hair;
stroking me to sleep;
feeding me the finest, exotic fruit with wine.
Carrying me down Chichen Itza's stairway;
singing the peace in the oceans waves.
Eating a feast at noon over the thinnest sand;
behind the enormity of the Mayan past.
I would smile a real smile.
"Oh, what a horrible day it would be."
I say;
as I open my eyes
immerse in the water full bucket.
I rest my head over the nearest rock;
hoping my heads weight will cease.
It doesn't.
it's inside the thoughts;
increasing when I unsuccessfully try to forget;
and reach for that horrible beach;
terrible breeze;
stenching smell of the ocean-drops perfume;
disguisting smile!
Real smile, I mean.
Fake, lie, misleading, mischievous...
A number of adjectives that come to my mind;
as I hold my head under water, again, in that bucket.
What a waste of life that image would be;
a slaughter.
"Slice those feelings;
stick that image into that damn bucket!"
"Slaughter! It's a slaughter!
To smile? he...
You can grin;
but no such thing as a smile!"
Yeah, I know..
Ego sum umbra

Saturday, 06 November 2010

A draft.( Thank you mineira for making me cry, I still hate you)

I find it funny the great variety of different ways that we can analyse the stars.I think a lot about sociology, how we can study the human race as a mass, or as an individual.But we can also analyse objects: erasers, lamps, light, images, history, books...And it's all co-related. It all sums up, you see. We are no more than a colectivity of objects.We are objects ourselves.
But back to stars:
They're interesting, the stars.
Normally when I look up into the sky at night, especially in those dark nights, with little ambient light, I do like to see stars. I find one and look at it.
I see the light of that star not always in the same way I first found it.
It kind of changes its way of shining into different colours. It doesnt always seem the same. But it only changes when you really take a good look at it for more than just a couple of seconds. You can't just glance at it, I mean, I hate seeing them as just one more star.
Each star is unique, they're not just one more in a mass, they're there not to amuse me, they're there because they are themselves and have a star life. They are as important as we all are. So I find it important to take a good look at one star to actually see it.
It changes, as I said, everything changes, but it changes following itself, it doesnt become a giant elephant, or a big speaker, it changes colour. Its lightrays change, but it's always itself. I believe that if it didnt change, it wouldn't be as amusing as it is. Things that dont change are boring. People that dont change are boring.
I also find it interesting to hear other people observing the stars.
But I got to say that I dont enjoy hearing other people say that they like this star more than that one because either it's bigger, or its brighter, redder, closer, etc..
I dont know...
I just think I can't judge something for the way I am limited to see it. It's not the image that's important anyway... Why is the image of what we currently see our judgement? (maybe I just found out the foundation of religion)
If I see one star brighter, it means that it's brighter TO ME, where I AM. Now that's me and I. How come our judgement is based on howand where WE live? That same star may possibily be brighter than the others in another point of the vast universe we live in, in another point of view, another perspective. Just because I see one brighter than another from where I am doesn't mean that it's better, or more important. Who regulates our importance? Need, maybe, but not image!
I guess we have to learn that OUR perspective is not the only one... what are we in the middle of the universe? nothing? No! We are ourselves. What is our perspective worth for? It's worth for ourselves, and not for existance itself damnit... Everything is equally important, if we didnt NEED anything, we wouldnt VALUE anything more than anything else. You can find the equal importance in different perspectives.
At the end of me observing the skies and a star in particular, I end up looking at the stars in colectivity. I guess that's the most beautiful part for me.
After I've analysed some stars in particular, some caracteristics without any type of comparision unless comparing them to myself, I look to the junction of stars. I look at the black mass scape between/betwixt the most visible stars from where I am, and wish to see the other stars and their infinite wisdom and distance. I look at the superlative heavenly light that brightens the night. How it seems that the stars, all unique betwixt/between themselves, work together and for each other to produce that peaceful infinity, man that light does make me feel. But I realize that I am not to be seen as different as them, for I too live and work for them, in a human way of existing.
I admit that I kind of feel the automatic desire of crying when I see that unity.
Cry tears of happiness - being able to presence and observe that magnitude of unmeasurable science, the liberty that each star gives each other of existing, the lack of competition between/betwixt each other as if a comune where they act together, beacause THEY know that their magnitude wouldn't exist if they were alone, if they competed and acted individually, if they didnt have each other's rareness to rely on and confidencially acquire.
But I also feel the desire of crying tears of hope - that one day the colony where we live in could all learn from the stars these unisversal acts against prejudice, narcissism, egosim, lust, greed and distrust. And not learn from the acts against something, but also learn their practices in favor of subsistence, being, life, and evolution. Union, union;
Union - I guess this is the word written throughout the skies.
For me..
...and maybe for that girl besides me that somehow makes me look inside myself...
I guess both teardrops slide down my cheeks and hit the ground at the same time. I dont think I could content myself with watching.. Maybe that's why I got up from that garden, dryed my humid eyes and face, and went back to the party I was in Saturday after laying 10 minutes under this knowledge I've been showed to. I went back and played with my band, screaming out what I feel, what the members in my band feel, with all our thrust, in colectivity, and ready to bring that colectivity and knowledge to those 30 homo sapiens sapiens in front of me, to those thousands of insects, trillions of bacterias and plants and to that small world I wish to get to know better.
The most interesting part is that these apprenticeships can be remarked everywhere, in anthills, in a florest, in a pyramid, everywhere. Maybe in ourselves aswell. Im pretty sure in ouselves aswell.
Sorry about the long email, Im just kind of impressed with the universe.
I feel kind of small now.
Sorry about the bad english aswell.
When are you comin back?
You ok?
Love, Pax, Skrik and Stars

Wednesday, 22 September 2010

. K-K-K-K-K-K

Under thy restrains;
a river still flew.
Again and again;
against drift you grew.
Critique selfish whip;
and into an ocean of doubt:
"Am I what you are?
or is my reason just shouts?!"
But by one example;
it changes these roots.
The heft of one act;
an orchestra's flute.

Now you feel the warmth in you.
Friendly hands - i feel them too.
And my tears breach me to mild;
'cause I saw your naive smile.
Thank you.

Wednesday, 04 August 2010


I wish my little lie wouldn't go away....
My short buddy...

dont go away shortstop...
stay, smile and think with me my future biologist!


Saturday, 31 July 2010

Dear Far-far-away Kingdom. (Querido abuelo..)

I don’t want to step out of the blue again;
and dig into that void. 
Not knowing the legend this could’ve been; 
the distance it tastes like cyanide.  

As we slid our fingertips away 
when we let go of our hands forever. 
The colors slowly faded away 
from that picture that we would’ve made.

And the flowers died;
the petals have fallen 
straight down to the floor.  

The roses I gave my granny;
they used to shine; 
they don’t shine no more  

Because its been 5 years we hugged goodbye;
that we shed our tears; 
and waved our hands in the sky.  

And looked away;
yeah we looked away.
But I didn’t see my fate.

But I saw a pigeon in my room;
the bird it tried to fly. 
It desperately smacked the window pane;
the poor bird saw the damn blue sky  

Outside, in the trees; 
outside of its nest; 
outside with the doves; 
outside in my head.  

Once more I seem to be missing out on some lives I could’ve had.
Once more I wish I either had no home 
or no heart that felt the memories;
or the lack of them.  

We’re always a fucking half-a-world apart.

The beach has now been washed out
‘t was the oceans vast length.  
My journey lacks your footsteps. 
Nothing is left to compare against.  

Bed stories telling tales; 
of giant monumental acts. 
If only I could tell those stories…

Wednesday, 07 July 2010

Changing Anarchy's Name (Sonnet alla speranza)

The past, tis thy deuce.
A greatness that gyves thy wings;
thy tongue, thy speech strings.
but thy creation - unloose.

Methods, symbols, history.
A hymn that sinks into customs.
An anthem that hums;
acts without reliability.

Thy fists painted on thy flags;
a contrivance sold to brag.

Thy fists should raise thy flags with hearts held as real wealth.

Oh, Oh! where is thy despair?
thy empathy? light thy flair!

Creeks flow to fill the pond, they're not the lough itself.

Saturday, 03 July 2010

Juizo de Lástima

Inversión de principios;
no llego al armisticio.

Pouring el vino de jarras sin fondo
en minas vaciadas.

Vena abiertas en cambio de un cumbre
a ultranza.
Tiempo por dinero;

desechas culturas por winged atrocities.

Hormiguero humano inscrito en la miseria;
movido a combustivo humano.
Precio a la vida;
vida sin aprecio.

Monte Carnal frente al atracón;
Potosí, Ouro Preto, Zacatecas, Guanajuato.
Lloren sus rojas lágrimas por odio;
por repudio.
Por desvío de moralidad;
quemada ingenuidad.

Whispers rattle the aural drums to the former submission.

Cadena inglesa:
leche tomado de vaca ajena.
Cárcere occidental:

leche tomado de vaca ajena.
Vaca desmembrada y forzadamente desnutrida.

Euforia dorada; ciclo de lágrimas.
Sed plateada; sed por lágrimas.
Estupro diamantino; sacrificio deshonrado.

Cuanto más codicazo por la envidia, mayor es la angustia, el embargo, que el lujo trae consigo, para las colonias hincadas.

¿Que cortes penales, hoy, desvisten las oficinas fluentes de archivos, por lo pasado?
¿Cuales supremos tribunales u.n.ales pelan la balanza tradicionalmente desfavorable?
Sufocantes cascas milenares incendian inocentes corazones con llamas eregidas por tabaco, azúcar y café.

Balanza esa que pesa con denso sangre sobre la laga sin roña.

Agota el heredograma ancestral;
Toda la cadencia sufre la plaga inacapable del fames impuesta.

Generaciones talladas por inmensurable tortura étnica.

Pintas el fardo humanista en los cilindros inconcebiblemente oscuros.
Limpias las manos, te pones las de Jara que amputaste.
Borras de los textbooks tu vergüenza, cual no penas.
Inciertas el enriquecedor tapaojos blanco sobre las estatuitas.

La verdad, Saramago, es que solamente veo en las tinieblas.

Solamente en lo frío y húmedo;
…e Escucho durante el pasar del tren por los trillos sueltos, o el tocar de la sirena.
Solamente hablo en la sordina;
… e Degusto el agua inacabable del mar.

La verdad es, Huxley,

que solamente siento lo humano en las islas más lluviosas y oscuras que sitúan atrás de los outdoors tóxicos que publican tu soma.

Tu, puñal oxidado del contacto con vientres.
Tu, opressor de bailes; destruidor de histórias olvidadas dentre los arroyos rojos que subministram mi casa.
Tu, maldito divisor, que aprovecha de su fuerza para sacarles el pan a las madres.
Tu, fardo blanco, orador internacional de pecados, juez divino, en papel.
imán que reprime el muelle social de su movimiento revolutivo!
Tu, mercenario, malabarista accionista, en busca por espaciarías de damnación.
Tu, destituidor de moralidad, destituidor de valores, psicópata mórbido.

Tu, psicópata mórbido...

Contra ti, se levantan y sacuden tus huellas del vultus y cadáver.
Perdieron el himen, pero son no ambidextros.

El gallo que ahora cantará más bravo, no cantará igual al predecesor.

¿Que es un gallo sin su gallinero?
¿Un tiro sin la pólvora?

Un tiro al primero hombre que demarco su territorio.
Una demostración al que acepto el primero.
Una desobediencia a los discípulos de ambos.

Un tiro, una desobediencia, una palabra;

Un gesto.

Friday, 02 July 2010

Tear out my cerebrum to be examined

Smearing oil on the perfect combination that embraces our flesh.
A disregard;
an insult;
giving your back to the product of an impeccable natural selection.
Restraining a consideration about the real you – a living fusion.
Even though I try to look away from the routine on which I am convulsively and repeatedly convicted to,
catwalks are filled with inner mirrors on the streets, in establishments, in the implied external vision of the world and I see myself just as I see the crowd –


...into legs, into arms, into breasts, into hands, into thighs, into hair, into style.


...into muscles, into fame, into height, into gossip, into fashion, into ignorance.
Into oil.

I will no be of oil. I will not be a product of oil. I will not be or become a stagnant brick
a splash of bind that seizes gullible self respect. I am only fictile to myself – and it is I who learns to be fictile upon another view.
I see figurines, statues, statuettes, puppets and minions, with inner esteem intensively slaved by a whip of consciousness, be reflected on a wall before me.

Image. Image. Image. Image. Image. Image.
We need imagination.