El humo de su cigarrillo se extiende infinitamente. Hace bucles eternos. Llena el espacio. Desplaza materia a su paso. El humo de su cigarrillo es en parte su aliento. Es en parte su voz. Es en parte una entidad que susurra mi nombre.


I am sick - sick of love, sick of her and you, sick in the throat, sick cause I ain't seeen you.
One a many puff of smoke rising to the white ceiling, while I hear she is the sun and moon and stars.
I shall count the hours cause there is nothing else to do, you understand.
There is no bike, no rant, just me wishing to hear a bird passs by.
I write and pretend to be I am where I am.
Whisper her name to the crickets and they will sing you back a lullaby.
The world is yours and you are hers alright.
Cursing the rain which drove you mad on a Sunday night.


Domingo 8 de enero del 2012

Llegué a la esquina de Reforma y Río Tíber esta mañana después de una larga caminata. Me senté, coloqué mi botella de agua y mi copia de La Vida en Llamas de Carlos Pellicer sobre la banca que escogí, debo decir, sin razón particular alguna. Tomé un cigarro de mi bolsillo, el cual cayó al piso ante mi distracción por ver al hombre que andaba en bicicleta disfrazado de alebrije. Me agaché para recogerlo y ahí estaba la hoja que contra toda naturaleza mía decidí tomar. Ésta decía:

y que todo hombre y mujer posibles y que todo hombre y mujer imposibles rieguen la tierra y puedan sentir como sube el vapor de agua en un día de verano, mientras el pasto crece impasiblemente lento, tan lento que es eterno su ascender al cielo, donde habitan cada uno de los seres pasados y futuros, quienes miran con curiosidad la simpleza del andar errante de cada uno de los seres que habitan la tierra, andar errante de tres pasos a la izquierda, dos a la derecha, cinco hacia atrás, mas casi ninguno hacia delante ya que la visión terrenal, imperfecta y arrogante, no descifra que el aparente muro que se cierne sobre el hombre es solo un espejismo colocado por el leve reflejo del cielo sobre la tierra, y ay de aquellos hombres que ufanamente caigan en la vacuidad de tal reflejo, y ay de aquellos hombres quienes osen atravesarlo porque la soledad será la niebla que nublará su vista, y odiarán tal niebla, y la maldecirán, harán pociones para contrarrestarla, tratarán de llamar a sus hermanos, mas será en vano, y al final, entendiendo que todo artilugio en su contra es irrelevante, la abrazarán y morirán sonrientes, encontrándose a sí mismos, pero estarán solos, y el vacío que ha invadido el corazón de cada ser en la tierra crecerá hasta consumirlos, y a pesar de que sus nombres serán reconocidos por el resto del mundo, todo hombre y mujer posibles, y todo hombre y mujer imposibles andarán tratando de sentir como el vapor de agua se desprende del pasto eterno y les llena el alma de sueños de sal y de arena y de sangre y de sudor y de lágrimas y de lava y de agua de mar, a la par que el creador sonríe mientras cavila en el motivo por el cual le ha dado el aliento de la vida a un manojo de figuras de barro quienes habitan una roca en un lejano rincón del universo mientras yo rezo por sus almas y anhelo la redención y la sumisión y que todo ser que habita en aquel rincón del universo se abra a mí y yo me abra a ellos

Llevé la hoja a mi casa y la coloqué debajo de mi almohada. Siento un deseo ardiente de dormir con ella entre mis brazos y soñar que la leo una y otra vez. No me atrevo ya que mi miedo es más grande que mi curiosidad. También quisiera arrugarla y tirarla por el balcón para que mañana el viento se la lleve lejos.


Of a bottle of wine...

I am not Joel Rojas. A waste of chemicals under the tag of happiness has taken over the mind, the thoughts and the hands God granted me on a summer day. The music in the distance is a mere beat. My heart dances, my body dances, my hope dances, while the walls turn red, while the expectation for a morning in which I could discover what I am meant for grows gargantuan. I have no control over these words. I have no control over when the sun sets. I have no control over when the earth will tremble at each of my steps. I, as infinite as a single person can be, sit by the arms of je ne se pas, c'est la vie, carpe diem, and the like, to have chats of the taste of red wine. I see the world through my dirty glasses, through the eyes of a drunken man. These keys are soft, this world seems soft, this slight feeling of nude joy feels soft. Hot Chip, hot drinks, hot words, hot plans, hot winter, hot sex, hot love. I wonder. I wonder how much of my self has gone on a boat. The music next to me is the beat of my heart. I am nothing without music. Music is nothing without me. Why? You know what? I know I am more than a pile of salt, yet... yet that is exactly how I feel. If the rain, I would melt, and who would I fool? You are the soul for which my soul has become a pure pile of salt awaiting to become a sea which can give you comfort on a day like this...

I am sold for the whims of a woman who owns me in a most despicable way. Do not misunderstand me: it is just that I have found a woman who rocks my world...

Funny, isn't it?


Interlude b

The sun came crawling up the wall and through the window,
Reached my eyes, lit the old house I was dreaming of,
Shone upon the books resting next to my bed,
Books of verse and prose and science and hope,
His countless fingers touched the back of my head,
His swift voice made for my ears and said, Welcome home.


Interlude a

She has given us a sip of hope.
She knocks on our window,
She encourages us to come up,
To feast on cotton candy,
While the song her words are,
Makes us grin,
Our dreams claim their place,
So we slumber,
So she slumbers,
Then we start over the morning after,
When she knocks on our window,
The wind whispers, Good morning,
We get to our feet,
And so on.



In spite of the rain, the mud, the solace,
Of how lost you feel, in mud, in solace,
Her name is the harbour to make for tonight.

The assorted path


How sunny can an autumn morning be? I wasn’t planning to get up for another hour, yet this burning sunlight won’t let me catch the slightest sleep. What is it I got to do today? Bank, picking up the suit at the tailor’s, checking up the pre-orders for the Chinese manufacturers, perhaps having a coffee at that new place Pierce talks about much. Dinner at my parents’ isn’t an option. Not today. Not in the mood for my dad babbling about how stupid of me it was to crash the bike. Cold water. Bullshit to whatever they say: cold showers are for mental people. No shaving. How I hate this guy’s voice! It’s like he got trapped in a water tank and had to deliver news to the world through a cardboard pipe while the batteries of his voice are running low, the bastard. Hadn’t noticed the lawn was in such good shape. Carlos is always complaining the cold has come early and has begun to dry up the grass. Why do I ever listen to him if his voice is so bothersome? Apricot Boulevard, then the Roxy street, then 42nd St. I thought they had already finished. Those public works never heal, do they? It’s as if they’ve re-opened the whole thing and done it again all together. Move it, can’t you see? Gee… Some people aren’t meant to go out their houses, but they won’t listen. Closed?! How come?! I… Fuck… I would have noticed... Teller told me, Come on Monday to pick it up. Keep moving. Underneath this burly tree, This is where she brought me, This is where she bound me, Nobody found me. Good morning, how do you do today? Awfully fine, mister. Is Tino around? I’m afraid he’s left for his mother’s town. She is terribly ill and, between you and me, I don’t believe there is much to do about the poor lady, if you know what I mean. Thought she had already passed. Either way, I brought a suit for repair last week, and Tino said it would be ready today. What colour? I assume he didn’t give you a receipt. Nope. Blue. Navy blue. Hold on. I really thought she had. You sure he said Monday. A hundred. He must’ve misplaced it. Can’t figure where he could have put it since the man is peculiar about where to place things in his business. Alright… When is he coming back? I’m afraid I couldn’t say due to his mother’s condition. Right. Thanks anyway. Drop by next Wednesday; I’m sure I’ll have news about your suit. Ok, good day. Likewise, sir. I could swear she had a seizure earlier this year. Well, people are always breaking down.


Rosewood St. Turn left at Persimmon. Three blocks he told me. Turn right at Oak. Hmm. That is odd. Goddamn… Duplicate and triplicate. One more time. I love you, but enough is enough. Lewis’, that’s what he said. Welcome to our new café. Thanks. We have a wide variety of imported coffees, and... You have Wi-Fi access' right? Yes, it`s open, so you won’t need a password. Ok. I’ll take that table, and would you get me a large latté, doppio, and a house sandwich, please. Right away. Bet he mentioned this opened a couple of months ago. Hmm, Duke Ellington. Where did I leave that cd Isra gave me last Xmas? Coltrane is a good name for a boy. I don’t know what in heavens she is talking about when she says he wouldn’t like it. It’s different. It’s not like it is his father’s name, for Christ's sake. I’m not gonna name a dog Coltrane. So. Where is it? Where the fuck is it? Had the mail yesterday. Maybe if… I had the mail yesterday. Perhaps… Nah, I’m not that stupid! Could he? But I got it late at night. So… I forwarded it to Pierce. It gotta be there. Where the fuck is it? Here’s your coffee, some sugar and some cinnamon. The sandwich will be ready in a jiff. Great. 555-3825… The number you have tried to reach is out of service. Please… This can’t be. I knew I shouldn’t have taken the week off. Could you hurry up with the sandwich, please. I feel like thrashing this… Listen. Listen to Duke. Ok. Dear Mr Sanders, I seem to have misplaced the e-mail you sent me regarding the pre-orders for our Chinese manufacturers you have me asked to review. Would it be possible for you to send the pre-orders once more? My reply will be in your inbox this afternoon without delay. Thanks in advance. Regards, Joe Jennings. Aw, fuck. I won’t see the end of it this Friday. How long does it take to make a goddamn sandwich? Pop. Guess what, son? The bike just came in. Hope you can come to check it this afternoon after work. Luv. Wait… Wait a fucking minute.


Here it is, I’m sorry for having you wait. The bike. The bike should be in my garage, completely screwed. I crashed against that tree last week after Camille’s. Is everything alright? Yes, thanks. Dad, what are you talking about?! He’s pulling my leg. Is it ok if I leave my stuff here while I… No worry, I’ll keep an eye on it. I’m not here, this isn’t happening, Strobe lights and blown speakers, Fireworks and Hurricanes. Refreshing. Rough. The bike I bought on eBay got here this morning, sleepyhead. You still in bed? Please come today and I’ll let you ride it. I don’t… I don’t get it. Tasty. But… It was home. It is home. No… Could you wrap it to go? How much is it? Twenty dollars, sir. Thanks. This is sickening. He could have gone home. But, why… Odd. Thanks. Have a good afternoon. Let’s see. Shit. Where are my mother’s messages? Where is Sara’s? July 25th. You gotta be… Now, move a little to the left. Go fast or you’ll lose it. Are you out of your mind? Oh my god, it’s so hot, Oh my god, it’s so low, Oh my god, I’m so messed up, I don’t know which way to go. Green. Don’t mess my holiday. Don’t mess my holiday. Ok. Go. This has gotta solve it. Open I tell you. What the hell? I… Ian came yesterday to see it. He gave me an estimate, he said it would be three hundred dollars, he said he could take it as soon as this coming Thursday. I’m calling him. Hold on. Nope. I picked it up and threw it to the couch. Here. July 25th… The Oslo murderer charges on Zapatero. Demonstrations continue in Tahrir Square. Iran blames the US and Israel for scientist’s death. Gaddafi’s forces capture Katrun. This is hilarious, you know that? It’s like when I woke up in the middle of the night, ran downstairs to open my Christmas presents, but the tree was gone. There was only an empty space in the right corner of the room. Someone burgled the house! Mom! Dad! The tree is gone! The presents are gone! What?! Someone came in and took our things! Joseph, stay where you are! I was on the floor, kneeling, crying. Stay in your room! Are you ok, Joe? Dad! Stay in your room, I’m fucking telling you! Joe, are you ok? Yeah… Why are you crying? The presents… What? The presents! They took our presents. So my dad came downstairs with a baseball bat in his right hand and a torch in the left. Are you in the living room? Yeah. I heard his steps and his breathing, completely syncopated. Joe? Are you alright? No! They took our tree and presents. They’ve ruined Christmas! Joe… We’re in the middle of the summer. No! Last night we had turkey and… Joe, come here. Think about it. Concentrate. Didn’t you have two bowls of cereal because you spilt half the first on your brother? Didn’t we have a good laugh? I had been dreaming. I could have sworn I had seen my presents gleaming under the tree.


How can it be? Dreams are made of bits of reality, so they feel real, someone once told me. But, wouldn’t it be that I couldn’t be thinking of this if I were actually dreaming? Oh god… Could you tell me what date it is today? No way have I dreamt four months. Dreams are made of bits of reality. Sara. She’s real. The sunny afternoon. The coffee and the cigarettes. I was there. Her reflection in the bistro dark window. Autumn leaves. Trees paying courtesy to our steps, shedding leaves, shedding light, bending in the wind. We strolled as if we danced, and we danced as if we strolled. Your company makes me feel alive. Smile. Staring at the floor. Smile, once again. This is… an… elcome to anot… Killing me softly w… War thrives in Libya as General Gaddafi and his forces have taken the city of Katrun. International NGO’s keep calling on world leaders to take any sort of action to prevent a massacre. The Security Council of th… Miles Davis play Blue Haze. July 25th. Is everything ok? You don’t pray. You don’t go pray. In madness no one listens. And even if this isn’t madness, do not think someone would get up and show how much of a macabre prank this is. Sara. Answer. Answer, please. No. Oh, Sara. Sara, would you tell me if you are there? Woul... The weirdest thing has happened. Is it? Tell me. I have discovered time travel. Have you not? Indeed. Now, I can see dinosaurs. Do you want to come along? Dreams are made of bits of reality. How can you know this is not a dream? Because I can tell when dinosaur skin is real and when not. Sure you don’t want to see dinosaurs? Nope. Can we travel to October 17th? Why so? I need to see she is real.


Hello? Is everything alright? I think so. Why are you asking? Just curious. What are you doing? I just woke up. It’s nine o’clock. Are you on medication? I mean, that shit sometimes makes you sleepy. I… I just had a hard morning, that’s all. I haven’t been able to think clearly all day long. Listen, your mum says you outta come and help me with the bike. Is i… Fuck! Son? Is everything alright? Joseph? Cut it out, Joseph! Joseph?! Luke said you can’t read shit. The present story takes place on a rainy day, nowhere in particular since the city where it occurs can be mistaken for any other due to the intrisic and regular characteristics of any given city nowadays. The person we shall now talk about has neither an odd, nor a rare characteristic that could make you turn around… No no no no no no no no no… no no no! Shut the fuck up! Sara, where are you? It is so quiet… Why don’t I hear voices? Why doesn’t anyone tell me to burn my house down? Don’t answer the phone… Don’t answer the phone… It… It was so normal, so normal when you got out of bed this morning. Shut thefuck up! Just go upstairs, just go upstairs… Everything will be the same tomorrow morning. Just get in bed. Just do. Quiet. Quiet… What are you doing here? I came to comfort you from your dreams. Isn’t that what you wanted? Yes…