A Posteriori.

Hoy me puse a pensar en las personas que alguna vez formaron parte de mi vida y que ahora no son más que fantasmas de relaciones amorosas, de amistad y de en medio. Los motivos fueron varios, quizás ellos así lo quisieron, quizás la falta de tiempo y los rumbos diferentes que tomamos no permitió seguir cosechando aquel lazo o por que yo así lo quise. Cual fuera el motivo, los recuerdo cuando es necesario, mas ya no lloro su ausencia. Y cuando me vuelvo a encontrar con alguno de estos, no intento hacer que regresen a mi vida, así como en los libros, donde una pagina no se repite dos veces en la historia, jugaron su rol y ya.
Sin embargo no siempre fue así, hubieron decenas de fantasmitas que intente reincorporar a mi vida, muchas veces no lo lograba y cuando si, el vinculo no volvía a ser el mismo, terminaba amargado y frustrado. Ya no, ahora entiendo mejor y solo trato de disfrutar del momento, cada vez que nos volvemos a encontrar.
Cosas Emzamizadas entonces viene a ser una película sobre fantasmas que se perdieron en mí ayer. ¿Por qué escribo esto? Porqué siempre que camino sobre veredas nuevas, este blog se vuelve una atadura al pasado. Un nuevo blog esta en camino, sobre mí presente y cuando necesite agregar a algún nuevo fantasma o recordar a alguien, volveré a este.

La vida es dura, uno no cambia, solo "suprime y madura"; evita simbolismos que le son perjudiciales y selecciona nuevos (nótese que dije EVITA). Entonces maduramos al aceptar en nosotros "X concepto" sobre" X tema" y aprender a vivir dentro de este. Pero son tantas las definiciones que hemos visto flotar sobre nuestros ojos desde muy temprana edad, sobre tantos temas, que la elección no viene fácil, es como andar buscando las hojas adecuadas para colgar en las ramitas de nuestro arbolito de vida. Aún mas difícil, es lograr que ninguna de éstas se contradigan para así poder afirmar que uno está bajo una existencia válida.
Yo aun me contradigo, pero ya no tanto como antes, tengo ordenado lo esencial y me alegro. El día de hoy estoy comprimido, resignado, enamorado, en paz conmigo mismo, trazándome metas mesurables y abriéndole la puerta a un "desgaste apacible". Increíble, como este último, termina proporcionándote aquella felicidad continua, que siempre estuviste buscando.


Pronto mi nuevo blog. Ojala sea de mi agrado, ojala sea de su agrado, ojala sea de tu agrado.

Arreglando lo interno.

La falta de nuevas entradas en el blog, se debe a que últimamente ya no dispongo del tiempo suficiente como para seguir publicando cosas semanalmente.

Hace ya, un tiempo, mi manuscrito salió de indecopi. Si todo va bien, dentro de poco saldrá de alguna editorial sonriendo. Veremos.

Mi blog = Hiatus Indefinido.

Monochrome me, sitting on a bench.
Willing to sacrifice dreams in thy heart.

My stinking book of dirt, i am handing it to you.
A difference that says all i need here, is you.

Titulos y Subtitulos

Cannibals

Clouds are knitted in every stare,
protecting the sun from a very limited us.
Limited in time, feelings and understanding,
gathered fortune, that eventually disarms.

Am i still ticking on the clock?
While past years of wonderfully glued bruises comes flashing at me,
a coming autumn hands me a bubble made of some years later.
And i find no better dream in there.
Well, you never know what time might be eating today.

Feelings scattered in a brown cinnamon sea,
makes blind layers of dreamed matters.
While voices as faces of tumbling composure,
carves another smell on the skin.
You burrow in my thinking.
Would i recognize myself in any of those labeled memories?

While opaque truths understand what i need from life,
a pride that hangs on statical love,
throws me a hand grenade that should have been for you.
Will i be seized as a tomorrow,
or put in a bag of yesterdays?

Amicable New Dream

Responsability comes as nonsense, issue of future tenses.
With no cozy place to go, you go down into the ocean floor,
only to find out you can still survive in the vile of the nothing.

Then you see a sharp colored daisy, a reflecting image from up there on the shore,
inviting you into a new dream. You ask for the stairs.
Afraid, maimed, you eat from those nails,
knowing it wont be easy to clean the skin before things get there.
Soaked in alcohol you climb those burning stairs.
Burning on the way, brightly, figuring things out.
Lust for modifications.
Dangling in between recoveries and relapses, you finally get to burn under a new sun.
And it all goes well for a change.

Now anchored in chewable candy shores, found carrying no past into a new home.
In new clothes, you are introduced as the new owner.
Oh how shy, how unclever, how out of place, you turn out to be, you begin to consider shredding yourself again, til ashes become the you that remains.

A pair of lips stops your selftackling, drifting life from the usual path,
turning piss into a shimmering river of measurable goals to pursue,
beautifully ornamented by a preserved daisy, words are turned into something more,
than actions with liquid centers of consequences.
An amicable new dream feeding inside.

Casi.

Harness Me.

In a pond of becauses i start spelling an easy juxtaposition of words,
thickening inside the brittle dream your mind is.
Must the hand be blindly given to any of your images?
You let me scrape for mud i will never find.
You chuckle at my judgemental thoughts and i suddenly feel all so contaminated.
Full of a fear that resembles love, hanging my autonomy in you,
i rush into myself, thinking an apology is what you need.
As i give you a half full answer,
in between all the abuse, all the woe,
you finish spelling kind words unfolding me twice.

A sunset-colored attitude of kindness,
drags a sincere experience of light.
To be polite, friendship merges in love.
Harness you, harness me.

Lo concreto en el amor.

A Stirfried Sentence

A mortifying purple on the skin, an ivory seal of actions.
What comes and goes. Its not what you ask from me, ever.
The alleviation of sunburns in rotten subtance,
remembrance of the so much, i still have to speak.
The marks that silences me.
Write in me, they say.

In words, where i am my best, i ask too much.
An exchange of bizarre writings for few minutes of hope on open days,
the picture i see sometimes too often, she says.

Fingers fetching the same pattern love once did.
The myself in yourself carved, that i sometimes see.
Reading missing starts in warm days that you concoct,
pushing clever broadcasts of a fixeable future.
Today, you moderate this feeble mind.

Inside the human you,
i am asked to find the adequate crack, belief, chance to make things grow.
But i am not smart enough.
Made of unclear whispers,
broken spines and rearrenged vines.
The unwanted perplexity you sometimes read,
whenever i reach a consummated point.

What am i then?
But a sentence.
An accumulation of words.
And not, much more.