Cracks in the pavement
And lightning bolt in the sky,
Hence the skies might as well
Seem cracked on this night
Of walks in the rain
Looking down on my feet
Which try to avoid such cracks.


o °

Yet to, yet to, yet to
Go to the Moon I could dare,
I ain't my 2nd chance blown,
Overglide dry seas I might.
Shoes filthy of dusty smiles,
Dream up, dream up all night,
Without oxygen to the Moon sail,
Just the sound of 12 chants about whales.
There's no need to come back...



I am too cynical or ironic not to survive...



Fog in thE past and mist in thE futurE. Such is thE path to bE acknowlEdgEd if onE is to succEEd. Running is not prEcisEly moving, whilE standing still ain't a sound option to avoid any sort of dangEr. Gliding...It is such gErund what I havE EmbracEd and what spoonfEEds my hopEs and fEar. Among trEEs of liquid lEavEs or flippEr in flippEr with a purplE whalE, in thin air or a dEEp bluE sEa, fusing with brEEze or a warm currEnt, gliding could fEEl as night and day. MEmoriEs in a picnic baskEt nExt to sandwichEs and a handful of coffEE, prEsEnt to bE improvisEd at thE thought of such momEnt, and EvEnts to comE awaitEd with nothing but thinking of happinEss, awkwardnEss, compatibility, silly idEas, honEsty galorE and plain trusting. I carry smilEs in my EyEs, hEr kiss EvErywhErE and my hEart in thE pockEt. I am hErE for thE taking...YEt it is only shE who can rEach and hold mE.

It is in hEr sEa whErE I havE takEn a divE, thEn EncountErEd the warmEst watEr.



Glasses once more...The autumn on my face...Rain on the floor...Coffee to go...Movies on the run...An uncertainty on asleep or awake...No music at all...The pics being soon on the wall...Her scent in the quilt...The smile on my face...The calls that won't come...The hugs that I got...Her kiss on the lift...My friend with long hair...My friend from the lair...The soothing silence...The chat in the cab...The walk in the cold...My place in the universe...The first kiss this morning...The pink panther show...Tulips in my heart...
You see, I planned on writing something sour...
I couldn't though...
You know what I mean.


Sorry for the inconveniences the 'omission' of this entry might have caused to any of you whether 'ghost' or 'material' readers. The happening of an awaited event made not possible for a pile of piled-up letters in the shape of words thus sentences thus propositions to appear in this thought-dyslexic blog. Yet repentance is not since the smile on my face due to the puerrrcance & mostly the huachimingance of the day embraces the absence of these lines of mine & makes me think of an existence not as unfitting as I sometimes believe it to be.



Nowhere means, "a destiny, destination, place or location which is unspecific due to the unpredictable causality which deviates the course of any given path since there is no thing specifically written regarding the mercurially uncertain future [no matter how hard some knuckleheads insist that all possible future is already carved in stone, thus cannot be changed]"
So then, nowhere does not mean 'without somewhere' but 'with an improbable amount of somewheres without knowing which is the one to go.'
I can comfortably say,
"I am going nowhere."



And I cannot stop wondering if there are more than two people who read this blog...


So Earth seems like a blur...Today, and not just today, I have had the sensation of being in a dream. Not only talking about the very moment at which I happen to have such sensation [moment that is going and coming every single second of a day] but also referring to the awkwardly fresh sensation of having been living in a dream my whole life. I wish not to begin talking about the paradox, pipe dream or whatsoever-you-may-want-to-call-it regarding whether it is I who dreams of myself or I am a fragment of somebody else's perturbed mind, for I could really write about it at length and there might not be enough coherence around to make sense of it. However, such point forces me to acknowledge that, possibly, none of those occurrences I hold dear could have a palpable counterpart in reality.
I know there are one too many essays, novels, tales, songs, movies and metaphysical propositions about such matter, and that my text above may be terribly obvious enough, yet there is barely something else now that occupies my mind...Except music, which is the one thing I reckon escapes any twisted perception and is firmly established in my reality.


Marvin's lullaby

Now the world has gone to bed
Darkness won't engulf my head
I can see by infra-red
How I hate the night

Now I lay me down to sleep
Try to count electric sheep
Sweet dream wishes you can keep
How I hate the night

(from 'Life, the Universe and Everything'
Douglas Adams, 1982)


Alfredo ii

To the land of planes on a bus full of people with ruptured hopes and a wish to depart to forget the long-lasting horrour. I saved a piece of dream so there is a tad of pep to feed on when I set myself up. I shat in my past and perspective was never to be the same. You see, the chosen one is who captures love and leaves none to whom came to a broken home. Son chosen by the impervious afinity of being thought as the last child to be conceived and the colour of his skin. Hence the unawareness of the search for a future mother drapped in white...So, my home was broken, my wish to stay as well. The illicit brother acting as a peevish response my father gave to himself at the news of my mother's pregnancy says it all: I was not meant to come into this world. Unwanted and never seriously taken, with an awful pet name and the lack of respect which arose in my family, I faced the desert in spite of the grey perspective. I have survived the sand, yet you should not dare say I have succeeded. There are planes crossing the skies and I hope I could understand how they do not crash into the stars. I do not believe you understand how much I cannot understand about the universe. The unnatural tremble in my voices reflects it so, don't you see? Anger about the time I have spent lying on the ground looking for answers I will not understand. I wish I could burn them to the ground. My memories not my parents, though once I was taped saying that. I cannot remember it. The eyes of the adults were never the ones from the past. So I thought of overreactions. So I thought of prejudice. So I thought of leaving...My peers threw rubbish at me. Rubbish I found at times funny, I have got to admit. Yet I could hardly fit in the chats and I did suffer. Twenty and something of years in front of a screen seeking the door into the tunnel. I was given a room in a house which my rival, my brother bought thinking of the future. A future without me. However, he gave me home and work. He showed me around and I could finally run into love. Years then, years now, facing a wall and waiting for a change. Then Raúl sent word of his fate. I offered myself to go after him. I did despite all the tears. I laughed at the sight of them, thus departed. And I have survived the desert.