I look down only few times, without hearing any reasons, I keep my arms outstretched, in balance, like a bird looking for flight I shake my fingers, I’m looking to stay up (skimming clouds) the sun will not hurt me like before, I brought my fall glasses, but I hope not to use them like I’m supposed to.

I removed all nets, without any protection I force myself to complete the trip, and if I fail (cuz there is no science in this) I’d rather not face the disappointment of consolation, it’s better collapse than wait for favours .

I’d lie if I say I am not afraid, but I hope that you get (there) on time, I would not feel more doubt or fear of falling, if I know that you are waiting under, if I know you are there, just on time to catch me.

found in Morpheme of introspective echoes 2009

I’ve asked myself a thousand times why I write.

Who really has the time to read my notes?

I guess (and it is only a vague idea) that oneself writes because you don’t have someone to talk to, because there are not ears that give you enough time, that words by themselves are worth, so, you end up writing out of loneliness, isolation, I gather that is the last strategy of the soul to cling to the language of human communication, yes, I suppose you write with the hope that at some point and somehow someone else will listen.

But does it really happen?

Who wants to read us when they don’t take the time to listen?

And even more, who wants to read what we feel, versus cute and sugary comments? Perhaps it is that these are easy to digest and ours require that hard act called thinking, which is increasingly the more simple and the more automatic, the better.

I suppose one writes because he is stubborn, because is a fool, a fool that keeps a lot of hope, because you want to end the Friday night (and all others) in the arms of someone, because you keep the hope that at some point they remember us, and remember that we are here, waiting, waiting and writing.

found in Morpheme of introspective echoes 2009

What’s in the act of falling, that we unconsciously delete?

The stumbling block of a second and the eve of the impact, focus our forces there, tiled in the tightening of the eyelids, when we lose the balance on the rope and we rushed to the error, as unmistakable signs of loneliness, we fall over, headfirst, nose-dive, we fall.

Right now, gravity is not the best thing that has happened, though I wonder if I really prefer to miss the spectacle of the slow process of collapse, the fall of the fall, his resemblance to the flight and the crash of their reality.

Do you dream when you fall?

Or is it repentance that filters through our pores, clinging to seek, to sustain our faith in salvation, intending to say hold on, the clueless never failing  to provide us a hand, not all is lost, no, we are not alone … although being on the edge it’s difficult to get into debate, I feel my feet dancing in the blue, and far off my arms from yours, will we fall, headfirst, nose-dive, we fall.

found in Prótesis para mutilaciones del alma, Eugenesis editorial 2005

Your lips are honey metal
sweetness and cold.

found in Prótesis para mutilaciones del alma, Eugenesis editorial 2005