We Deliver

I find very peculiar the vicious act of happiness done by clowns, the sleaze that load their maddening smiles when they look and entertains either close relatives or large forums acts.

 Strangely I think they are the most sincere figuration on these virtual and absent days. Ecstatically they enjoy their childhood  regressions with jeers and laughs celebrated by committed purchased applause.

Their painted multicolored outfits and painted faces resemble those exaggerated physical extents of mental constructions canceled by the human reality, violent and sudden exploding to the outside as exoskeletons surprising the observer in which is always a child that cries frightened or one other adult that with gets disappointed and leaves.

Unusually they stand with their huge shoes that hinder the correct walking and they used to kick and destroy everything around them, It seems that in their volatile and broken routine with no symmetry  or coordination the shoes are only thing that bring them down to earth, to this catastrophic world were smiles are less frequent every day.

I was silenced by the raw image behind the dressing rooms and tents, beyond the trucks without shoes,  giant clothes off, it was gray, serene half makeup on face, his red nose was fallen between several empty bottles on the asphalt. Like a disgraced priest that failed to emancipate these inanimate beings, robotic and emotionless people.

He rested his head and closed his eyes.

Entregamos

Me resulta muy peculiar el vicioso acto de felicidad de los payasos, el morbo que cargan sus sonrisas enloquecidas cuando miran y entretiene ya sea en íntimos actos familiares o grandes foros. Extrañamente pienso que son las figuraciones mas sinceras por estos días virtuales y ausente. Disfrutan con éxtasis sus regresiones infantiles entre mofas y carcajadas comprometidas en aplausos comprados.

Sus rostros pintados de multicolor, esos atuendos exagerados asemejan extensiones físicas de  construcciones mentales canceladas, que estallan violentas y repentinas al exterior cual exoesqueletos sorprendiendo al observador siempre algún niño llora espantado y uno que otro adulto se desilusiona y se marcha.

Inusualmente se destacan por sus inmensos zapatos que les dificultan el correcto caminar y utilizan para patear y destrozar todo a su alrededor, Tal parece que a su volátil y rota rutina fuera de simetría o coordinación solo estos los atan al suelo de este mundo catastrófico en el cual solo se sonríe en cada vez mas cortos ratos.

Me silencio la cruda imagen detrás de camerinos y carpas, mas allá de los camiones de carga sin los zapatos, ni los atuendos agigantados, gris, sereno a maquillaje medio gastado su nariz roja rodaba entre varias botellas vacías en el cemento. Cual sacerdote fracasado en su intento de emancipación de gente inanimada, carentes, y robotizadas.

Recostó su cabeza y cerro los ojos.

Metastasized gravity

Gravity lost its shafts axis, you are inanimate, suspended as you never knew, no lights or signs to guide you, any path.

For the first time you feel fear as the child's first cry you expanded to  an unknown motion which is not arrange, without habit patterns or explanations.

Phrases emerge, no one saves, no options, like a wall dividing in Berlin, criteria and nowhere land to stand over.

Your attitude is your terminal illness, your punisher, no deadlines, no middle terms, and there are no chances in your way of seeing things and others.

A pile of corroded metal, a lot abandoned without registration, your atomized eyes, very light, absent, estranged .

Reverse, repulsive and wrong, a tree without roots, an empty stage.

Heart encrypted filled with dilemmas detonate in each language move, germinated in an indefinitely union.

Dull, heartless excuse, feel the sweet taste of free fall, halfway.

Stationary, metastasis of gravity, ex-star, outside the organization and the ritual.

Oh, there is a crude circus, brutal, a Roman circus.

Oh ,  there is a lost storm.

Metastasis de la Gravedad

La gravedad perdió sus ejes, estas inanimado, suspendido, como nunca supiste, ni señales  tampoco luces que guíen mucho menos un camino.

Por vez primera sientes el miedo como el niño en su primer grito expandes una moción desconocida cual lo desconocido no acomodas, sin hábito, patrones o explicaciones.

Surgen las frases, nadie te salva, no hay opciones, como un muro de Berlín dividiendo criterios y territorio no tienes donde pararte.

Tu actitud es tu enfermedad terminal, tu Verdugo sin plazos, sin términos medios, ya no existen posibilidades entre tu forma de ver las cosas y los demás.

Una pila de metales corroídos, lote abandonado sin registro, tus ojos atomizados, muy ligeros, ausentes, distanciado.

Reverso, repulsivo e incorrecto, un árbol sin raíces, un escenario vacío.

Corazón encriptado en dilemas detonan en cada movida de lengua un gremio germinado en tiempo indefinido.

Color mate, excusa cruel, sentiste el dulce sabor de la caída libre, mitad del trayecto.

Inmóvil, metástasis de la gravedad, ex-astro, fuera de la organización y del rito.

Ah, y un circo crudo, brutal, un circo Romano.

Oh, tormenta perdida.

Siberian cactus

You're looking a blurry image, waiting for a train that does not pass, you feel like a cactus in Siberia, a soul out of his body, the truth that nobody believes.

You do not fit, you anesthesia, your strength is not extraordinary, barely move your eyes, you do not care of the present time, do not know the date, all roads will lead you to the same place.

Making no questions at all, you know quite little about what happens around, away from most things that are so many, because they are always there and repeating to yourself you will make it if you could.

The initiative made you a bad play and it's not your friend anymore, luck is a religion whose god is a foreigner to you, believed that these people talked to you and you do not understand them, standing in front of the TV waiting for the Prime Time.

You stay in a quietness intolerant tied to a mental cloudiness as dragged by two radicals crashing waves, harmonious chaos.

Auto marginalized, voluntary exiled throwing screams to a stationary satellite that does not rotate in any direction, swearing to change.

Sounds like a crime, self-rejected as a treaty of disadvantages sequenced a torment created, very artificial.

Now you realize that the sun would not go down to warm, the doors remain closed, social outcast, a root that has grown in opposite direction.

And every time fear assaults you smile by this load of ignorance you are carrying, that you can not do anything submerged in the swamp of a violent confusion.

And if they ever realized that do not laugh for joy but fear and that those smiles are ironically and sad as coming from a clown.

Limited by you so stoic, by giant steps that walk backward, there is a cup and aroma, no linen pillow, some flashing lights of the evening, calm very calm and you go back to immobility.

As your twisted silhouette backwards.

Cactus en Siberia

Estas mirando una imagen borrosa, esperando un tren que no pasa, te sientes como un cactus en Siberia, un alma fuera de su cuerpo, la verdad que nadie cree.

No encajas, eres anestesia, tu fuerza no es descomunal, mueves los ojos apenas, la actualidad te da igual, no sabes la fecha, todas las vías te llevan al mismo lugar.

No preguntas nada, sabes muy poco lo que sucede, alejada de la mayoría de las cosas por que son tantas, por que están hay y siempre te repites que si pudieras las harías.

La iniciativa te jugo mal y ya no es tu amiga, la suerte es una religión cuyo dios te es ajeno, estas convencida que la gente te habla y no los entiendes, estas de pie y frente al TV esperando por el Prime Time.

Permaneces en una quietud intolerante atada a una gran nubosidad mental que te arrastra como dos radicales olas que chocan entre si, armónico caos.

Auto marginada, exiliada voluntaria que lanza aullidos a un satélite inmóvil que no gira en ninguna dirección, jurando cambiar.

Suena como un crimen que te desechaste a ti misma, como un tratado de desventajas secuenciadas, un martirio creado muy artificial.

Ahora te diste cuenta que el sol no bajaría para calentar, que las puertas permanecen clausuradas, eres un forcé social, una raíz en dirección opuesta.

Y cada vez que te asalta el miedo sonríes por la carga de tanta ignorancia que llevas contigo, por que otra cosa no puedes hacer sumergida en el pantano del desconocimiento.

Y si se dieran cuenta que ríes por miedo y no de alegría que las carcajadas son irónicas y tristes las del payaso del fracaso.

Limitada por ti misma de manera estoica en retroceso a pasos gigantes, hay una tasa y su aroma, una almohada sin sabanas, algunos destellos de luz vespertina, calma mucha calma y regresas a la inmovilidad.

Como tu silueta torcida de revés. 

One-eyed Reflection

Who knew that the changes would be so many from that trip did by a giant revolutionary who still lies in the Caribbean, and as from the boat that brought you in 1510, imposing your shadow, has reached a distorted legacy of emancipation as ballast caring your actions.

How ironic was a stone root, fire, and heat as human tears faded the unbearable sound meanness and misery of a failed global system contribution.

And I tend to think the height of the basic instincts, the satirical who counterweight knowing so much as studying your story but not what the meaning represent to us, by carrying garbage upholstered head in a world that kills for sex without shame, but not for the purposes of any cause less common.

So he took a personal rein centuries after from a line of what could be your tree, and plays his way to discover in the eyes of helpless children in the faces of hunger in the souls lack of faith, unprotected in a Caribbean skies a boardwalk covered only by your shadow, and the gentle breeze that sometimes seems to come out of your mouth as savior echoes.

In his own way just like you gave his soul for the unfortunate souls, traveled from the Old to the New World to save them and free them from oppression, the shame and deception subjected the most absolute poverty and most damaging of all mental poverty.

And so in your honor the horror was established under your careless imposing statue, among garbage, human waste and infants depressed by drugs, he traveled in time, use and abuse of the few innocent that resided on those confused small ones and the needs that were more prevalent and forced them to fall into prostitution in everyway.

But he would not die as you in new lands giving his soul until his last breath, he would not talk about Christ among homeless and disgraced ones so did an abortive escape by abandoning you trough the back door.

Then from Wesolowski to Montesino .

Jozef Wesolowski wanted to be Fray Antón Montesino.