17.6.26

450464

It was her second time on earth: They put her on the desert, first in the form of a fox, but she failed because she remembered her mission; this time, her memory was erased... Despite that, she could feel it rare times in her heart.

Some say that her light soul living in a solid form was a burden, and so she felt most of her life: emotions were so hard on her it would rip her skin or put her on a catatonic state, so she had to resurrect many times inside her body; but ultimately she liked a challenge, and made it the impulse of her life.

She would live almost her entire life in her own world, studying how to correctly live and stop living, so she walked lands never stepped on before, navigated seas made not only of water, searching for that unfixed place that contained it all, that no-place that the heart was longing for, that felt like home. 

She eventually arrived to that point, but she couldn't notice until people started to walk by and turn their head to her. She felt like a mannequin in a window that suddenly people viewed as alive, and therefore she conceived herself alive; that's when she realized that that no-place was the border of the universe in these dimensions shared by humans where she should have plugged herself in, and so she did, with it's movement and all, whatever that could mean at that point. Her self was half living here and the other half living there, so go figure: she was like the lock to the other side, her dissolution was infinite, her love was pure, and what she reflected back to people was object of adoration; in fact, she would sometimes take the form of a picture, a statue, a simple rock, a diamond, a tree, a crystal sphere, some sort of technological demi-god... Sometimes she would be called Aleph, sometimes 無, and sometimes people would just make some gesture with their hands. She no longer knew what she looked like, but her heart was fixed to that no-place as if it was her nature or mission, and going away would just feel bad.

Watching so many faces and since she was like an amalgam of what she perceived, she felt like a human, too, and became more human than any other foreigner before, the day she carelessly gifted her heart to a person who passed by that looked lonely. Nobody warned her that, with the person's movements, the line that connects her heart to herself would hurt so bad; the pain was so strong that the only way to endure it was to trick her brain to think it was her original mission.

Everybody passed by and made some respectful gesture to her, as if they were just adoring an object, not a sentient being. It seemed as if her surface was more and more reflective every time, and nobody could see the impotence on her face, bathed on tears all day, every day. Nobody asked, nobody cared, everyone just passed by, made half a gesture in an incredible hurry, and mumbled some kind of wish. The velocity they did all that grew exponentially higher, while she saw how the owner of her heart was stuck there, low, in front of her, knowing that all that was her fault.

The time came when people passed so fast she no longer could discern any person or thing... The owner of her heart dried there, and she could only see that image for the rest of her life.

One day, the crystal sphere broke. She took only the dry body of her lover in her arms after shaking her old heart, which she didn't need anymore, off his arms, then silently walked to the other side, closing the gap behind her, leaving humans without that role, which they couldn't remember anyway.

That night, a binary star system was discovered. The worker put a number to it, uploaded the data, shut down the machines, turned off the lights and left the building. He walked home, unknowingly passing by the place where she used to be. He felt weird, but who doesn't?

16.6.26

Glifted - Under and in

 

I remember everything...

 

 

 

 

Or so my brain makes me feel. 

14.6.26

La vida es toda sólo una despedida.

"Es temprano", y era tarde,

el poder circulaba (en) la sangre,

la emoción traspasaba la carne

y las almas con sed y con hambre.

 

"Es temprano, son las nueve",

la coraza cubierta de nieve,

hay que hacer y ser lo que se debe,

ni el viento más fuerte los mueve.

 

Y en el fondo, en la esquina,

bajo la etiqueta de mezquina

una sombra desnuda y en ruina,

casi densa como la neblina,

 

fue abusada, castigada,

hasta profundamente amada,

su identidad dura y forzada

la mandaba a ser abandonada.

 

Y su cuerpo aniquilado

y por las cicatrices marcado,

la guerra no ganó, ha superado,

yace libre y sonriente a su lado.

 

Desconecte, hace frente,

eso es obra sólo de un valiente

que defiende con uñas y dientes

que de muerto se está más presente.

10.6.26

The final walk is the first run.

"My suggestion is to run", replied the device. It's been 6 hours, it no longer tries to spit out overly elaborate answers. It was my last resort, the antidepressants aren't working and my psychologist is a piece of some sofisticated nanomaterial I read about on science magazines 10 years ago; what's more, it's trained on just a couple of experimental therapies... Just seeing it puts me in a dark mood.

The weather looks rather likeable from the window, so I put on some comfortable clothes and give it a try.

I start to walk in the hope that my energy calls for some running, and after two kilometers I realize there are no people around. Also strange is that I haven't seen any bird or insect on my way. 

I enter a store to try to find a signal of some living creature, but there's no one around... At that point the dark mood starts to filter in, but I fight back. The running water in the bathroom, the flashing lights of the security cameras, the faint and distorted noise from a radio I couldn't find in my view... They aren't helping. I look around and realize that all the words and numbers on the products, tags and screens are in what seems to be an alien language, completely far from what any human symbol could resemble.

I run out of the store. "I could now stand depression, but not psychosis, please... Is it the next step? Is it? The next step of what?"

Outside is already night, only one street light remains, and against it a moth keeps trying... I feel joy just from the piercing sound of it's body against it, despite of it's sad nature. Then the sound stops. The moth doesn't fall down, it gets stuck into the light, and some rare mycelium-looking structure kind of absorbs it slowly, while the light fades with it. I feel no fear, sadness or joy, I just stand there, perplexed, amused.

When the light completely fades, my eyes trick me into some symbols in front of me, floating there, that read: "Told you".

A poem?

Little did I know 

that the source was transferable

that time was unmeasurable 

that language was magical 

 

Little did I know

that my role was unplayable

my love was unlimited

emotions desirable


Little did I know

that the line was distortable

the ground was unbreakable

space-time was permeable

 

Little did I know 

that my face was invisible

my name was forgettable

my voice was available

 

Little did I know 

that my mind was illogical

my body mechanical

my life was incredible

 

Little did I know

that the world was unstoppable

my thoughts were dystopian

my words were predictable

 

Little did I know

that the trip was one minute long 

the sun died some years ago

the south was the second north 


Little did I know

that all concepts were changeable

all meaning recyclable

this poem unfinish'd-

5.6.26

Untitled

I was looking for a bird in the sky. My eyes traced lines for my attention. My mind was in a playful mood. The flashes of light were entertaining. Behind me was my water home, waiting for my fall. Your voice from far moving my raft, in funny ways sometimes. I'm never bored, I'm never alone.

 

--

This tiny text was written in 2017, just a little bit before the voice in my mind (which lived in me for 9 years) ceased. I feel that this sprout from the overwhelming emotions the voice caused me that last year when it's origins were revealing themselves in talks and observations, and writing this felt at the same time like a release, a comforting hold, some freedom and resignation, both out of and into it.. This was undoubtedly helpful and felt pretty honest and warm, expressing both my vulnerability and psychotic state. I later erased it to mark my release from any link to that past, but now something reminded me of it and I put it up again. It's funny how I remembered word by word, but not the title; hmm... It was probably just "Untitled".

4.6.26

El arte de ser.

La penumbra marcada como zona de guerra, ¿contra quién o qué? Ni en la penumbra escapo, ni en el limbo pertenezco, ni en la claridad soy (¡y mucho menos!).

--

Acá se tiene que ser más listo que el lenguaje, que cuando queramos estar lo más cerca o lo más lejos, estemos las dos cosas al mismo tiempo: recorrer el mundo entero para llegar al punto más lejano de uno mismo, justo detrás de uno, y ahí, con suerte, encontrar ocurrido un choque, "repulsión" en su sentido puro, y al punto negativo que nos separa decirle: "Estas son las palabras para desaparecerte, para colarme con el otro, afinar sus circuitos, calibrar sus conductos para que me alcancen, para que sean míos y los míos suyos". 

En ese punto de más sabe (sin saber que sabe o no sabe cosas) ese vacío que el que los conductos de uno se vuelvan del otro no es más que una positiva (e inocente) expresión de algo que ocurre sólo negativamente: no es que se modifiquen ciertos llamados conductos, ni que se sumen dos seres, esas opciones requerirían una energía que no existe en el universo, la única vía es que solamente dejen de existir en su separación. Sólo en ese ejercicio el vacío desaparece, porque en realidad nunca existió, sólo era una especie de artefacto para poder movernos, ingenuamente, de nuestra eternidad.

Al vacío se lo pides y te lo otorga sin más, sin juicio, sin titubear. Es el premio por haberle dado una efímera existencia con tu observación y una eterna potencialidad convirtiéndote a través de él en tu observador, guardián, salvador, impulso, energía, real fuente de vida, que no está sólo arriba, ni sólo detrás, sino en cualquier lugar donde puedas verte en tu inmaterialidad.