.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.

Sep 28, 2007

The Trip Series: Harmonically Sabotaged

... They were traveling in the same subway, but they didn't know each other. They were close, very close. Their thoughts crossed the line at the same time, but they didn't notice that. Thinking, with a lost look, so close and so far away...

HIS:
Everything explodes. All is shredded and reconstructed again. I lose neurons, I lose sweat, I lose my memory, the sense, and I give up to the new owner that takes my body.

HERS:
Everything fits. All is joined but always could be disarmed again. Or wear down. I constantly look for harmony, and when I find it I almost don’t enjoy it because I am afraid of lose it. Me, and just me, floating in my balanced place. The warm liquid remember me another life, and it is mixed with my owns.

HIS:
Everything explodes. Again and again I become in other and that gives me more credits. I win joy, I win laughs around me, I win crying (cries), sensations, and this occasion transients surrender to me.

HERS:
Everything fits. I found the style and that brings me peace, although I am worried about the moment when I have no more credits. Me, and someone else that when we are together the equilibrium is sustained. The fresh air makes me travel, and it is mixed with my breath.

HIS:
How can they live so monotonously? Sometimes they seem desirous to do what I do. ¿How can I live so dizzily? Sometimes I wish the pacific calm in their quiet souls.

HERS:
How can they live so agitated? Sometimes their faces ask for a rope to land on earth. ¿How can I live so calmed? Sometimes my face makes evident that I need a shake.

HIS:
¿To born or to die? ¿To give or to receive? I intend to be someone but they sabotage me. My own doubts keep me in the stamped limit. All of us want to be other for a while. Nonconformism and desire of improvement can keep us alive. Or sabotaged.

HERS:
¿To live or to survive? ¿To pass or to endure? In spite of sabotage I am someone. I frighten the doubts and I move away from the limit. o. Although all of us want to be another, I choose one side. Nonconformism and desire of improvement can keep us dead. Or harmonics.

Sep 19, 2007

The Trip Series: Massive

A big mob. People, bodies, legs, arms. They push me away. I try to get away from them but the human mob drags me, and I can’t change the course. I have always moved against the stream. And now I am severely punished. I found my little hole. Concealed, dirty, but mine. And I become tangled.

A big minority. Those who are not singled out. Those who do everything all right. Those who give the example. Those who outstand. Those who deserve to be different and adored. Those who enjoy their condition without moving from their places. Those who are free, without conviction.

I want to cry like a baby. To leave this sick shell. To leave this world that doesn’t understand me. But I can’t.

A big mob. Ideals, advertisements, policies, societies. They carry me. I try to scream but they cover my mouth and nobody understands what I say. I have always been different. And now I receive my scold. I go down to the basement looking for pleasure, psychedelic lights and indulgence. But I only find a line of orthopedic beds.

A big minority. Those who don’t single out. Those who don’t think if that is good or bad. Those who don’t look for examples. Those who outstand but don’t boast about it. Those who feel equal to others. Those who open their arms without disgust. Those who give freedom, and those who don’t condemn.

I want to go up and leave this hell. I want to see the sun again. I want to be part of the world again. But it’s too late.

Sep 10, 2007

The Trip Series: Painted

I paint. My life. Yours. Everyone’s life. Hope... the last thing which is lost. Losing, winning, ¿who decides it? In my world, I do. In everyone’s world, anybody except me. But now, I am in my world, and all my senses are amplified and leave the awful place where I am. And they travel with me to the most amazing landscapes. I can create whatever I want. I forget about people. If I draw a river, I hear it flowing by my side. If the sun appears on my paper, it burns my skin. If there are birds, they know me. If there is blood, it is in the shape of a tear. The earth may part into, and still I don’t fall.

I paint. My life. Yours. Everyone’s life. Anguish... the first thing that disappears. Pencils give their colored bodies as to remain in eternity. Today the suffer is extinguished, and everything makes sense. My world and everyone’s world get together, and all my senses become alive, and they are transformed inside me. And I can throw up emotion, and create more life. If I draw fast, time accelerates. If I draw softly, the breeze caresses me. If I draw strong, death wipes out. If I draw slowly, time stops. The earth may break in two, and someone will fall, but not me.

I paint. My life. Yours. Everyone’s life. Oblation... to that who could appreciate it, or simply for me. And if somebody deprives me off the paper, I will paint on a tablecloth, the table, on the floor or walls. And if somebody takes the pencils from me, I will use my own saliva, the oldest wine, or even the trace of a furrower stone. And if somebody deprives me off my hands, I will use my feet or mouth. And if somebody covers my eyes, I will paint by memory. The earth can explode, and I will paint in the moon.

Sep 1, 2007

The Trip Series: Amniotic

Always the same way home. Always the same people. Always the same thoughts. For how much longer? Is late in the night, but darkness doesn’t scare me anymore. I am one of them. The sound of the metallic wheels devouring the railways goes unnoticed. I throw a coin in his case, and he begins to play his music for me. I find an empty seat and I sit, like I would sit at my favorite couch at home. I lean my head against the window, and my eyes get lost. I am submerged in the tunnel, but I travel at a different speed. The amniotic fluid begins to cover my body. Lights dim slowly and fade into darkness. My eyelids close. Time... I lose the sense of time. I wish this trip would never end. My home is so close and yet so far away.

Always the same way home. Always the same people. Always the same thoughts. Why do I not react? My destiny is almost invariable. The fluid covers my body. I open my mouth letting it fill my lungs, but I do not die; I am even more alive. My arms relax. I float... I had the opportunity in my hands, but I always played other people’s game. Today I want to use my own rules, but it is too late in the night, and the darkness doesn’t scare me anymore. So I sleep in the most beautiful liquid that has ever caressed me.

Always the same movements. Always the same arguments. Always the same thoughts. Will I ever wake up? When the day begins, and the sun shines giving life to the dirtiest and most dead places in the city, I know that it is one more day where I will not see the flowers grow, or my children play. The usual strangers will be the most important thing of the day, although inside of me it will always be about my family. Some day I would like it to be about me. Laughs, shouts, talk about sex and sports. I resist... it will be over soon. Everything is a dense farce. I try to be happy, but it is too late. And the night is coming.

Always the same movements. Always the same arguments. Always the same thoughts. Will it be different sometime? Bills pass through my hands. Luxury cars pass through my eyes. I will never accomplish my big dream, but I cannot complain. I have the hope that my children will live a better life, and do every thing I could not do. I see them dedicating their triumphs to me. I smile... Suddenly a hand moves my leg and I open my eyes. It is an old woman with only one arm that can barely stammer some words. There is always someone in worse condition than us. The train pulls up at my station. I give her my last coin, and I go home.