domingo, julio 29, 2007

La resistencia

Resistirse a la clausura del cuerpo, del tacto,

de la gentil simetría de la carne

y sus tribulaciones

entregarse a la perenne vecindad de las cosas

a la existencia más pura de los nombres posibles

amorosa, ávidamente

como se entregan las moscas al cadáver

y depositan sus blancos huevecillos

en la bocaza abierta

y rígida

que nos produce espanto

zambullirse de pronto, como un ciego,

en un mar de incomprensible y vasta claridad

y quedarse muy quieto

muy quieto

muy callado

y escucharse decir

o imaginar


que el numen es posible

el amor, todavía, la verdad,

la improbable belleza

y esperar un segundo

y ahora sí

como un último gesto



de esta existencia plena

abrir los ojos

lunes, julio 09, 2007


I am in the kitchen of this lonely house, and I have been seating in this chair for a while, without saying anything, just as I saw the dead, dull body of my grand father in the morgue, long time a go. Now, I have had good moments by thinking about the human beings, and how we are, some times, just like a piece of dog shit.

Besides the guy I pretend to be, nobody is here, maybe just a couple of empty cans of beer in the floor, some flies, and my cat around me.

I have to say that this morning, I woke up in a sea of my own urine. And I had an erection that I didn’t care of hiding anymore.

But al that is about a remote past. And now I would like to talk about the present or even the future, the glorious future of us.

Look at me for a second:

I am the man that, almost always, smells like a rotten water, I am the man that said to his parents all the crap he could say when he had the chance, I am the man that enjoy touching himself twice at day.

And now, this single morning, I am judging some aspects of life. I am hearing the voices that talk inside my head.

―Oh God! oh god! Where are we going?―, I hear in my mind, and I tremble with fear for a moment.

―Somewhere, somewhere, my little son―, I hear, and everything is set straight well again.

As I said you, this morning I have been thinking about our future. This morning, while I submerged myself in that kind of deep, useless thoughts, the drops of water was falling in the zinc and producing a slow, consistent and sad sound.





And I thought, suddenly, for a reason nobody knows, if it wasn’t the same kind of sound god could hear before he creates everything.