I care not for the future



Drums of war.
Then, the drums of war. Everything is coming on you, on the rest, whether it has been forseen or no one has stopped to think about it. What's blood now but the commonest of the liquids, laid to waste & taken for granted as part of the landscape, the view? What's a life but a tonic, whose effect fades unexpectedly, a tonic which is consumed by the imperviously strong as a formula for eternity, and by the uncontrollably lost as the gates of salvation, both wishing it to fade out since what lies ahead (what actually does not, does never, ain't at all) shines harder?
So go grab a gun & shoot & fight for the false well-being & the status quo that those who are deemed as your fathers brought wrapped in a tiny box of gold. So then slash all flesh in the search for forgiveness & a ticket to grace & the infinite love & drink & food & smiles of one who has supposedly made you.
Pests osmosed into, thus unto each soul on the planet, tore greens & bleus & reds & tunes & motion & ignition & that which cannot be counted as matter.
Oh the Earth trembles.
And I am by the grass, sipping & inhaling, with eyes on the skye. I've hidden horrours in my pockets & sores behind my ears, while keeping nightmares handy. You should know why...
There are dreams of contradiction and ones to contradict.
O so trapped, overwhelmed, disregarded, welcomed, sunk, flown, flowing, dreamt, nightmared, day-slept, numb, so numb, speechless, smiling, attacked, unharmed, torn, born, free...
And I am by the grass, holding onto somebodies, hand in hand with her, hope in mind.


Desde algùn lugar de la ciudad hace un año:
"Compras, despilfarro, corredera...Gente, niños lloriqueando, adultos enfadados...Tráfico, claxonazos, calles vomitantes de tanto tránsito...Pavos de pocos kilos a muchos pesos, comida preparada por los cielos, una en verdad buena cena por los suelos...Tacones, corbatas, ropa nueva...Mensajes imposibles de mandar, llamadas que no llegan, felicitaciones muertas...Lágrimas, abrazos falsos, desencantos...Tiendas vacías, tiendas llenas, hartas tiendas...Romeros, bacalao, ensaladas...Vino, sidra, algo de tequila...Robo a mano armada, robo a casa-habitación, robo de automóvil...Juguetes, dulces, ponche...Borrachos impertinentes, borrachos enojados, borrachos meados...Dormir acompañado, dormir en cama ajena, dormir en una silla o en el suelo mismo...Aquellos a quien amas, aquellos a quien no, aquellos que te valen madre...Aquellos quienes no te entienden, aquellos que apuntan con el dedo cada vez que pueden, aquellos que te ignoran...Uvas perdidas, cenas resueltas, cenas inversas...Demencia senil, palabras chuecas, películas sin terminar...Regalos dados antes de tiempo, regalos pensados, regalos amados...Regalos a tiempo, regalos previos, regalos y al fin regalos...Árboles, adornos verdes, musgo y muérdago...Cierto es, el 24 ha llegado. No se ustedes, pero a mí hasta lo amargo se hace peculiarmente divertido."

Chale...Nada ha cambiado...Podría decir lo que me ocurrió a mi fue algo mejor.


la mer

"The Sea looks for itself and finds itself and shouts and flees."

In a Summer afternoon I spread into the horizon, able to caress the shores where people gather to sip on dreams of infinity. Breath infused waves with the beat of my heart, going to and fro in an eternal dance with the attentive Moon. Fish, monsters, reefs, whales and every single particle swarmed with life lay dormant in the wait of the explosion of percussion and brass. With the wind as accomplice I used each of the clouds as bows to play on strings of blue skies what a Frenchman composed to serve as a companion for the sound of the ocean. On the 23rd day of the infinite month I shrouded my world with the joy of a sea that as vast as it is could fit in my soul. There was nothing to fear inasmuch as time lost itself in the eyes that reflect the shine of the stars. There was nothing to doubt because of the might which drifted madness and sanity into a crack in the floor of the sea until each note had faded. For twenty-three minutes those three sketches brought into existence by a virtuoso man drove me abstracted and lonely, omnipresent and embraced, complete and asunder. For those twenty-three minutes I could finally sense I am green and humid.

Animé et tumultueux...
A paroxysm of water...

'An empty seat to the left and one to the right regarding wherever she might have wished to have sat...'

to the other J

O the essence I wrote about some time ago...

The talks about the thing which matters not and matters most have been told to crash down. The shouts of rebuke cause of this or that have been said to be nawt but two mouths just babbling, yet entertaining they wore. The silence in notes and the one for themselves will turn actually silent. The voice of whatsoeveriwontjudgeyou shakes itself of pride and turns and goes

Ired me,
Heard me,
Wore me,
Huggled me,
Thrusted me,
Affectiont me.

You'll be there I reckon,
ĕ ͦͥͣ֒Ῐ◙²


Now my mind must go on holiday, torn from its hook.
I see the smoke from a revolver, will I get hit? I hardly care.
When I'm bombed, I stretch like bubblegum, and look too long straight at the morning sun.
Love there are flowers along the avenue, all things perfectly in place.
Because you're fire...
There is the door which I have just gone through, and the holiday in the form of a road which lies ahead. There is the beginning of the day and the incessant beauty, which paves the way for my eyes of haughty. There is the no longer needed caution that could have been sewn and harvested when the succinct fear of what exists around took shape into a pair of hands. There is the sulphur from above and the grins in the dark, both whispering enticements, both awaiting blind horses.
I stretch till the night stops being an obstacle, and stretch through the day while I step on each to cobble, so each one remembers my name just in case a bomb splits my mind and my body into a shower of atoms.
There is the door that I have just left and the long road ahead that follows the skies regardless of the weather. There is a fire afar, illuminating the sunset whilst the sun and the stars fight each other off to be able to hang on to the path I have chosen to follow.


I seen the demons, but they didn't make a sound. They tried to reach me, but I lay upon the ground. I seen the people, but they didn't make a sound. They tried to reach me, but I gave the runaround. I reached for feelings, but they didn't make a sound. They tried to reach me, but I lay upon the ground.
Daydream, I fell asleep beneath the flowers.
On a patch of wet grass I lie to observe the shapes that wind and perspective form up to attempt to mesmerise those who rest and dare look upwards. A cop-out to anything and everything, the whole set that surrounds me releases its lure and breaks me down into sleep. It is me who is real, so I dream of the rest to have overwhelming control of where is up and where is down. I can notice a river of dank waters drifting sounds of distress and laments of gone zest. I can tell a black figure rowing to and fro in a boat carrying folk which appear blue and blurry. In spite of the peculiar landscape, I alleviate myself and take a deep breath. No demons, no people, no feelings, just ease.

from a great height

The fall of rain on an autumn face, evicting, depicting the shapes of people looking for a warm, dry place to have some coffee and a chat or two. The street is paved with water, like a river to an ocean full of tempestuous freedom, which gives birth to the sun every morning or so. It's not one who's moving, but the Earth spinning round, bringing sheep-like revolts in the form of clouds to bring down rain drops on the face of a man who still looks at the stars.



The mind [bundle of thoughts] you have tried to contact is (dis)sorrily enough out of reach [O the heart bespeaks without regard] Orbiting Earth with eyes wide open is a peculiar, mesmerising experience, thus the upsetting tone which attempts to tell you this all comprehension deal is pointless. It is superbviously evident that you make no sense of this message ['nless you happen to be a whale or a similar being] So...Please do not go any further into these scraps, for you foolossaddeningloriouslyingly await for a heaven which is not yours...

I've jumped into the river...

& saw nothing. This means my mind was busy drowning itself in out-of-control thoughts which derive from & turn into what went on the week before the one in which I have begun to rewrite in this blog of ours [BS the TS] I need not my eyes to see in water [Echo shall we use Hunny Bunny?] I have not jumped to behold. Just to stop stuttering so I could sting by staring & she starts stinging back. I am bodily clumsy. However, the sea is so vast a clumsy whale ought to survive. Innards on fire, you understand.
Ps.1 There's a pwd sprout in my heart as well.
Ps.2 There river is not a river but the sea.
Ps.3 I love the essence in my bed.



Bamboo canoe into the sacred mud. He came from the south, where Zend is pure and leprosy is not. He crawled, dizzy and soaked in blood, to the circle, once fire now ashes, devoured by blaze, profaned by jungle.
Men honour such god no more.
The man slept on and on where he had to. Strange woodsmen had spied upon his resting covered in leaves.

Dreamt of dreaming. Imposing such dream as a man. The project ate his soul. Wished nothing but sleep.
Chaos everywhere at first. Till the amphitheatre rose. Anatomy lessons begetting anxiety, magic teaching looking for intelligence. Only one could be redeemed to participate in the Universe.

Unable to expect from passivity. Obliterated all but individual. So alike his creator. Marvelled by his pupil progression. Nonetheless, catastrophe arose.
Emerged from dream that had been not. Clear insomnia had disheartened him. Tears full of angst because of non-useful visions. Realised how tiresome incoherent-matter modelling can be.

Purified himself. A beating heart was dreamt for a whole fortnight. Little by little, hair, organs and bones were envisioned but, as in gnostic cosmogonies, Adam couldn't wake.
About to shatter his work, devoted himself to that horse, tiger and tempest being who would awaken the son, then send him down the river and be glorified by a voice.

The dreamt awoke.

For two years enlightened about infinity and flame.
Dreadful déjà vu's.
Set the son was now. Beuseded to what shall become. Already handy to departure. The dreamer inflicted oblivion, so child could think of himself as man.

Victory and peace blurred by tedium. Before the rock image daydreamt of his unreal offspring worshiping by the circular ruins.
Pale the Universe and sound.
The absent kid fed on such perception.
Never ending ecstasy.

Told about a man in a northern temple who could tread upon fire.
Fire knew the son was a phantom.
Became tormented. Imagined the humiliation of knowing you are nothing but the projection of a human dream. Feared the simulacrum could be discovered. Various signs stopped his thought.
Cloud as lift as bird.
Sky as pink as leopard flesh.
Smoke rusting all night.
Beast panicking and fleeing.

What had been was once more.
Fire sanctuary destroyed by fire. Desired water but realised the blaze was to crown oldness. Concentric flames. Walked through the shreds. Caressed. Heatless. Finally resolved about it. Relief. Terror. Humiliation.
A simple daydream.



Deity going like lost shit I just found rawness so damn fond of asymmetry wielding harsh causes bearing quirky acts and consequences .
Schizoid feeling like a homeless hanging around the dwelling I did not choose to linger about holes within grey matter that dies and dries itself.
Sceptical abiding so strained suggest I be in rabidity quite swallowed by departure undergoing racking she avoids any try or hue and cry.
It is her relinquishment vexes vexatious vexations.
Envy the unlimited verve.
Hate the heretic jargon.
Feed on devil squares.


Amphetamines on cascade keep me from falling down the well. The bunny rabbit calls me home, but the space where my bed's been laid, where I occasionally rest, has got a greater voice. I own no potion to enlarge doors or country houses, nor to make them small. I just possess a straight sense of reality, with upright perceptions and a clear difference between good and evil. I take walks to mitigate the need to flee the fields and everything and everyone in them. Fields of redemption and boredom, of numbness and simple grins, of familiarity and idealisation. Truly, fields of gold.

minus blindfold

the hiatus
in all extent and shape

which makes me disobey

Indulging, indulging
In the ego that drives,
Reducing, reducing
The self to arrogance,
prowess never felt so cosy.

Whining, whining
About bonds which make you human,
Lying, lying
To the self who vanishes,
Prowess never so witty.

Ravaging, ravaging
Ignorance and wisdom,
Devoting, devoting
Oneself to false beliefs,
Prowess obscuring common sense.

Analysing, analysing
With an absent mind,
Over praising, over praising
Without any recess,
Prowess at bare hand.

Sodomising, sodomising
Soul, self, death & desire,
Sodomising, sodomising
How one sees one,
Prowess never got so much consciousness.

I idolise myself.

The mask ain't who he ain't,
But the five-hundred-year repression heir,
He ain't the saviour,
But who was to show their discomfort and rage,
It ain't about Cuauhtémoc or Quetzalcoatl,
But 'bout how we've forgotten their children and them.

Images and voices to discredit,
God, poverty and pain,
Citizens spoon-fed nothing but unreality,
And the need of owning and greed,
While the phoney rule,
And who we are decays.

The toxic metropolis remains great and reining,
Seeing itself as the Universe,
All brother and sister blinded by a seven-head dragon,
Who murders, rapes, gags and disobeys,
Anarchy and rebellion are on sale now,
To keep snake or eagle at sleep.

No system able to resolve,
Chaos and blood brought by the system,
We outta wash off, oblige, sacrifice,
Neutralise, overcome, demesmerise,
The mask ain't who we ain't,
But the chosen to awake.

And liberty.

I have myself renascent,
Flowing ditties everywhere,
Dreams upon this life.

I am not state-of-the-art,
Common ain't a blessing,
Speech which tries to outstand.

Circles into spheres,
Hypocritically innocuous.

Oaths, and thoughts, and theorems,
Poison for the mind as well,
Taken to despise.

Fallacies obliterated,
'Bout to get to a kind of peace,
Caught not in my eye.

I dwell upon prolixities,
Embracing simplicity,
Reveries of zilch.

Circles into spheres.

A pipe embraces nothing,
Non-existing nothingness,
Sight's subjective,
Mind might as well,
Therefore, I be sightless,
Hence, I be dead,
Anopsia's too etch,
Existence has ebbed,
Euphemisms of god,
Freely sway and be outburst,
A lord as a thesis,
Ditto each gap,
Behold of abstractions,
Begotten by all.

The pipe cloyed with nothing,
Palpable non-existence,
Thoughts are ethereal,
Ergo, I be unreal,
Dreamt environment,
Diversions are real,
God and I wander,
In our unproven essence,
Drunk ship of void,
Unemancipated by reason,
How real reality is,
If none might truly be.

Existence shrouding non-existence with a cold membrane.


Life is about odd & glorious moments.