Sunday, December 16, 2012


Everyone wants a piece of the cake without exception we play in our heads to be perfect in every situation and travel very far into our minds as far as we can.

I love the other way, brought by the changing world, as the sphere where we sit, the ecstasy of a constant present, without yesterday or tomorrow this novelty like the air that differ systematically and the situations that I never expected.

I'm part of that never-ending falling avalanche, of that fierce wave that drags everything we are and we are subjected to.

I am part of an eternal developing language, I like to have everything and lose it too fragile until the end.

The imperfection of the streets, the lack of direction in traffic signs, fast and fleeting.

And I bet myself all the time, I like to exercise and feel being born every minute, which many chrysalides agglutinated one inside the other.

And the effort, hard work, regardless of the outcome, I do it at present, raw, real, alive and current.

I love the other way established by no one, I have no leaders, images, models, my own imperfect way that builds and destroys me.

I prefer the other way which is not planned, that is not taught at school, and I do not foresee that plays hard leaving its mark.

I get along without examining the wild and free, without fear, without prescriptions, no pamphlets that warn.

Everyone wants a piece of the cake, not daring, without energy, no time, we can never bet on the future.

We all put ourselves in deal situations without living them, in express, in a rapid eye movement.

We all want the best without a slightest effort; we all have what we deserve to.

Look around you NOW.

Who are you?

Monday, December 10, 2012


An alarm set in exact date and time for the purpose of alerting us to any specific event, almost deaf sound that we place between clockwise with the clear intention of discipline.
What about that alarm anyone hears echoes in the absolute emptiness uncontrollably lost like thunder breaking heaven’s horizon without being noticed by anyone.

Can you tell me of those speeches that lead nowhere, a platform of outright lies dissuasive looking to invert realities.

You try too hard on refining the mutilating sound that reaches deep into people upsetting and confusing society that scares and dislocate.

You make sure to transcend, to perpetuate your nonsensical reasons; your dazed head seems not to negotiate with your own degenerative ideas and a dose of pathological necrosis.

You're a big fraud, a drunken gypsy comparsa, who move with their own laws and dislocating realities as fighting a guerrilla war.

It is a capital sin today losing objectivity in all forms, but how to ask that in a place where no one has the courage to achieve and maintain strong ideas.

Is a needed armor, iron harder, a revolutionary soul that breaks out of this strongly negative scheme to detached from the deafness.

Here we are as two great natural adverse forces, as cold and warm front forming a large storm of ignorance and lack of faith, faith? An idea of societies culturally erased, an engine that was extinguished forever.

Facing this condition does not work there is no substitute to support this great deficiency that weakens us.

In times where we only demand a precise dose of truth in all circumstances of our lives and our environment.

So what about the alert sound you did not hear in the morning when you needed it most, warning voice that you never heard.


Sunday, December 2, 2012

Common Sense

A body captured by evil, a human possessed by demons that bind him, sink him and make him desperate.

Exorcise it from our point of view the task of bringing out these evil beings that have held a soul and seized the body, is after an analysis of the journey of that person life when we come to such a conclusion.

It is how we know when a string of random and deliberate events dragged the unfortunate person succumbing in the arms of one or hundreds of thousands of paranormal ruthless voices.

Each time it works less this labor of god’s divine favor has increasingly less likely when you look around, when you walk your path and becomes more dense and confusing.

What are the demons that challenge us today? Irresponsibility, hypocrisy, lack of motivation, vanity, inverse values, the idolatry of puppets, excessive hatred, selfishness, each one separate is a large and uncontrollable beast and an animal of epic proportions when they get together.

Exorcise it is a thing of the past now we have to swim against those currents to get out of this endless quotes that we have done with beings who govern us in all orders and thinkable situations.

And it's not a matter of poses it is of salvation that grows like a cactus in this mental desert, rises in its alternative form Picasso style, strange black and white caricature, with no term.

Grunge sordid sound dazed and sedated heart, a lost taste, eyes closed, red sun, the cartography of a lost country.

Human geography lying on the floor, theater of the absurd, prolific horror pantomime.

Exorcise was thing of the past when we were coming slowly, when they still existed and now that we are all here there is no consensus there is no ceasefire to wait a sunrise.

A mural of horror that is growing a very violent protest that ended with common sense.

common sense?

Sunday, November 25, 2012


Abysmally lonely she walks among many empty spaces, never call us, always observes.

With lethargic steps travels in the clear and vast humanity, she is not part of us, we belong to her.

Retracts and hesitates but does not change her ideas suspended flying back from time to time.

It handles very closely, without showing.

I taste its viscosity is inevitable to me, perennial, constant.

I drink it and as an addiction is spreading everywhere in different forms and it is irresistible to me, it is for everyone.

Such sordid alarm sound, slips through the roof, the parks, And everyday life out the streets.

Is placed in every solitary prayer, transient as litter in the huge pond, as withered as wailing wall.

Does not belong to the dark or bright, is a unique form not looking for anyone, No person finds her.

Her giant eyes are fixed, fired as an infinite crystal obelisk splitting the sky.

Her horizon never ends, also her emptiness, her intricate mode that comes perpetual in many wings shaped by millions of them, making it more discreet and dominical.

Is honestly lonely, unitary, sudden and soft.

I remain static as you, as a mold bronze saturated, like many breathless images, breathless from thousands of torrents of adrenaline, disturbed as killer blood.

I feel really cadaveric without reasons, fully submerged between capsized ships.

when we leave as deads without gravestones, creating the city undoing a solitary bust.

That frozen we turn to you.

Sunday, November 18, 2012

Just Sitting

           A marked lack of interest, doubts as currents without channel opening space in the everyday poverty, the almost total ignorance and indulgence.

Maybe one day our general perception will be one or the most hardened enemy as unknown metal machine as warrior convinced of the work.

The reality that concern us invading and inviting the change.

The nakedness with which we are born and immediately we reject, dismissing a condition that belong to us.

Then where we go when we undertake the rampant break without stopping as changing planes and surfaces at different densities degenerating in time and space.

So where we are now?

To finally give in taking a deep sip and pause, realize that being out of ourselves as ancient souls who lost their decay material bodies right through the unmistakable ability of ignorance.

This satirical armor that we set to fall apart from everybody and everything, has become a profound meditation used from moment to moment, we assume it as a fancy dress.

So one day sitting somewhere you say goodbye to those modest benches amazed for all the marvels growing around as if you are already gone without movement, absent from every sound.

Time passes and our bodies as modest accommodations are the only protecting shield that supports us from a massive hit, we call life.

Severe widespread ignorance has become a modern disease is proscribed by the more particular one and acute attacks hard with blindness, and paralysis of the tongue and all the strings that are tied to it.

Precisely in the absence it stands as fencing dagger giving a perfect lunge.

Do not want a trophy; we are not behind a new knowledge to change the order of things, we are identified with all the trivial things.

So where we are now?

Here we are just sitting.

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

A broken compass

A pirate alone in the sweltering sun on an island, a pirate isolated in his politics of fear, a pirate laden with gold and silver helplessly with it, one more disheveled than ever pirate.

One sober pirate with thousands of empty bottles at his feet, a soul of the sea coming ashore, a thief turned hero, a murderer merciless praying to God.

A Marine throwing away his badges, a hero lost into his mental war, a good citizen fallen into a swamp of evil beasts, master turned slave.
A sinking ship before sailing, a skull flag underneath a garish sun, an infernal plot approaching to the coast, a mob of animals chasing each other, sodomizing, abusing, getting drunk.

A broken compass at the bottom of the ocean, unknown a skeleton on the shore of the beach, dyed red sand, sharp stones by the dawn.

From executioner to captive from porting the hood to fall into a bottomless dungeon.

A lonely pirate hanged in the Execution Dock on the Thames and although many others are also hanged he seams to be alone, motionless than the others, dirty clothes washed in blood, rats at the foot of the wood pole that holds him, as people are looking.

Who’s the bastard in front?

A cold breeze passes accompanied by a smooth drizzle, salty breeze fully loaded of death, and wants to tell who was this stigmatized character that took the furious sea as his king, a boat set on fire as home and no one as his family.

Multiple times maimed, tattooed infinitely, sun and salt labeled, immune to hunger and addicted to alcohol, a face very tired, saltpeter, and scars.
A lonely pirate hanged rises  among many others into a forest of fright.

A pirate.

Sunday, November 11, 2012

City Echoes

So many inanimate figures makes me tired, are repeated very symmetrical too close in appearance discourages me, The Bossa Nova pitiful in the distance provides more density to the moment.

That voice sweet and heartbreaking, these tones sensual and sad sounds of São Paulo, born in those favelas that rise and drop like dead flowers, dead flowers.

This city of precise inequality, of this vast heterogeneous streets and expressways, absorbs me making me part of the visceral graffiti, of its untold stories of the others.

The city Vertigo distorts my steps I cannot straighten myself as the more aligned the streets are, I escape into the subway and break a vein of the great city as I run to the outside limits of this big heart of asphalt and cement.

In the distance I find a momentary lapse out this dark echo that controls me, I wash my face with cold water looking to clear my mind and my eyes in an effort of releasing as much information of glass and steel as I can.

Unequal periphery devoid of infrastructure, cemetery of eternal peace among many bullets and no food, plantation dead stuffed in heroin.

Poverty of spirit, frozen samba, scraping colors, smile full of tears, story of a gol shot the gates of hell.

I take my way back and immerse myself again into your gray veins, return my debate with fashion, cosmopolitan trends, this light rhetoric and the evil trapped.

I feel your bite starkly and deep; when we dance so close you carry over the death of love.

And I'm still in love with you, even off the ground and on my knees; I'm still in love with you.

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

Imaginary lives

Sitting again under the Brooklyn Bridge as I do from time to time, I observed a repeated image, a dejavu of death falling from the sky like a cloud of crows attending a macabre festival, as a lost idea.

And I no longer know how many of them have fall, between my spontaneous visits to the periphery of the river below this iconic mole, this radical connection that breaks the urban space through the boroughs, as they free fall as gliders without engine losing pressure in a vertiginous approach to water.

I can’t stop looking at the situation this time, this one in particular catches my attention more than the last, perplexity invades me, might be the suit I saw coming down, might be that although the distance I saw details of his face, might be that in this occasion and for the first time I stopped and try to analyze who could that person be.

Was this guy a successful man that had it all just few seconds ago and even this none of that represent a meaning in what was life, imaginary life full of luxuries and benefits, with a beautiful family and loving parents.

Or was this a transient spectrum, a homeless that could not carry on more misery, and with a confused mind could not kept coherent ideas and lost his way home.

Why he followed the path of the previous ones, as if it were a plan designed as a cult for gravity forces.

I see the Coast Guard approaching in an efficient and fast way, trying to preserve the body but it's too late, there was him rescued as a puppet resting in a dark corner of the theater, as a straw man in a burning cornfield.

As the lights of the boat are fading away, I turn my head up and watch the area.
And I wonder, why in such strange intervals they turn that way, challenging fear, are these evolved beings.

Who they are and where they go.

Friday, November 2, 2012

Smoke and mirrors curtain

Making decisions is always an interesting exercise, puts us in a position of personal reflection and self-evaluation, is to require explanations ourselves, is to confront and self-introspection.

To Take these same decisions becomes almost an impossible task, when we are in the middle of a smoke and mirrors curtain, in the center of a storm of social confusion, into the root of a buried tree.

When violence is focused as a solution to the differences in criteria, when there is no justice, when institutions do not work and life is based on the power of an individual.

The curtain gets bigger and blurry, its surface extends everywhere puts you against a wall repeated in fragments confusing your ability to understand what is happening around.

When you hear those voices that tell you not to do things right, that the effort is not worthy, that pursuing your ideas and express them is not an option.

When everyone escapes, when everyone goes to another place, when those who remain are lethargic and turn their backs to the sea, when those ones that stay don’t know where to go or who to talk with.

When a group walks segregated, when there is no collective construction, when we are not associated and as chaotic herds we are trying to advance.

Where is the line that separates, where the culture is, where are the approaches that seek for communion and balance between us.

Where all norms are based, what would be the direction to follow, how we determined the power of us.

It's hard when the curtain and all the confusion that brings is our creation, is a giant Frankenstein that escaped from our hands, an indomitable storm, a savage animal that is chasing us constantly making us captives.

We are slaves of our own ideas, absurd decisions; we are isolated on a distant island.

A surreal space.

A smoke and mirrors curtain.

Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Instantaneous Times

 Today's man look at himself in a broken mirror, wants to find simple answers to all that goes around, have lost the ability to surprise, research and create in every sense of the word.
What sets ideals in our lives are no marks carved by learning and experiences but trademarks and logos, our vision is mutilated by the excess of mass production products that fill the sections of all the places where we go making even the simple task of choosing among them a stifling dilemma.
a person is not important but what wears from this or that designer the cost of clothing, cars and all the material things that possess.
We have no conversations personally but text messages, we don’t go around our cities but we search on the web, we know people in a virtual and distant way.

So I've decided to take a lost road in these instant times:
I buy second hand things no matter if the brand is cheap as long as I like it.
I feel comfortable with the basic.
I meet and speak personally with friends around my place.
I have no TV.
I use the web to find and keep in touch with my relative in the distance mainly.
I try to keep my mind fresh and my view focus in every detail that happens around me.
Whenever I can I escape to an outdoor area and take a walk.

These practices make me understand how far we are from ourselves, how wide the fiction that cover us is and how these conditions keeps us away from any reality even the fundamental ones.

The reality of our experiences were never instantaneous and less isolated unlike each one place in us a contribution that at the end build who we are, and our ability to walk and live with our environment, although we are every day more citizens of the world in a global context, we must know ourselves deeply and sincere to achieve a thought which we have departed from, So that way we again feel real emotions, have smiles, look and recognize each other.

I encourage you to live and walk in a different way to avoid these instantaneous and secular effects.