Shame

Shame is the new found pain. Shame is laying naked in the middle of the road, broken doll, blood still running down my legs. Exposed, I can't even breath, digging lines in my flesh, I arrived to my house and something was different, everything was in its place but slightly different. And then I smelled him. He who holds my heart in his hand came here. To my reign of blood, guts, limbs and pain. He found his path here and came in, doors unlocked because he is king of everything I own. But this place is not for him. The filthiness of it must have shocked him, dirt sticking to his feet, walls covered in shit, no light inside of this hell where I dwell in the night, after shedding my fake skin and howl to the gods in a million empty halls. I can't breath right now, my fingers numb, tears running down my face, as I know he will, disgusted, turn around and go. I damn my name and my trembling I cannot control, as I follow his trace inside this house, room after room, hoping to find a sign, some lost flower, a curl of his hair, a hidden letter that eases my mind. Nothing I found, just an angry warning that fills this stupid damaged creature with shame and pain. I've become too reckless, too careless. This house that once laid hidden behind a thicker veil than night, know figures in some scavengers maps, exposed to tourists and curious men. And now, horror horror, he has found the secret name of the beast that guides him here, where he walked and roamed wall after wall, this unworthy whore exposed, this broken damaged girl exposed, this wild animal scared of being tamed exposed, the rape and the murder exposed, a thousand secrets and images exposed. And must of all, my love for him exposed. I run out of the house. I cry. Blame me, curse me, punish me, for fear and shame now have closed their tight grip on me. I turn into wolf and into the woods I run, looking for him, to come close to his warmth I long for so much, to wait until his glaze meets my eyes and tells me everything is fine. That I can breath again. oh shame, shame, shame, please go away.

Boy with a knife on his hands

I don't want to go to sleep, every night I close my eyes takes me one step away from you. Just a moment. A chance. Usually you start by forgetting the eye color. Then it's the shape of hands. Height. Sound of your voice. You end up being a blur...
Blue grey, dirty eye color, different from the green blue of your brother, slender hands, surprisingly strong, white slim fingers. Slightly taller than me, but you are always crouching, the effect of being a tall thin boy, geeky, almost overwhelmed by yourself, shy, sort of always hiding. Crooked one sided smile, a psychopath smile I said.
Just grow up. Charming boy I met under a red blooded moon, go beyond the spell and grow up. While I write these words I know you will never be the man that he might have turn into, but that it's lost now. Who you will become?
Glass shattered. The tiger, the elephant and the wolf are gathered around me, wondering to which crazy god I'm howling to.
I just close my eyes.

Sea tales, sad stories

I met a blue grey eyed boy next to the sea. Thin and fragile in appearance, skin so white you would've thought he was a ghost. First time I saw him we thought we knew each other, but then maybe it was just a premonition of things to happen. He came one morning, sun just coming up, took my hand and took me deep into the sea, show me castles under the water, and caught light with his fingers and made a ring with it for me. He made me laugh and when the pain came he hold me tight. He touched my back and told me stories of phoenix and dragon, their long battles, love and hate. And we looked into each other eyes, amber playing on a grey ocean, blue and auburn melting. And he took my hand and I saw his. And then, alas, the horror. The sign. And then we were doomed. And blood came up to my mouth and pain like a lighting stroke my nerves, wanting to kill, murder and destroy. But I just closed my eyes and cried. And we stayed there, one second captured into eternity by the beating in unison of our hearts.

Sleeping in the devil´s bed

I thought of you when you were gone, I thought of you when you weren´t there.
I thought of you before I met you.

I miss you, I wish I´ve had the opportunity to learn how to live with you. It´s sad I know you so well and I´ve never seen you during daylight...

I don´t know if I can see you again.
I can see your hands.
I can remember your scent.
I have your body printed in my hands.

But I don´t want to.
Because now I belong to you. I am woman, sex, sweat, tears, rage, love, blood, honey, eyes, all stretched out in your bed.

And it is full of thorns.



I'll drown my beliefs
To have your babies
I'll dress like your niece
And wash your swollen feet

Just don't leave
Don't leave

I'm not living
I'm just killing time
Your tiny hands
Your crazy kitten smile

Just don't leave
Don't leave

And true love waits
In haunted attics
And true love lives
On lollipops and crisps

Just don't leave
Don't leave

Just don't leave
Don't leave

Radiohead, true love waits
(with help from Daniel Lanois)

Boring. Deeply bored. Caught between my own idleness and the futility of wasted lives. Far away from the city. Not enough sun. Just heat. Hot, hot, hot, hot. I want an empty afternoon, with just myself to look at, long hours under the sun, dazed in a comfortable bed made of booze and drugs. Here I am just trapped, jumpy, not resting, just, a thorn on his side. I don´t care if I´m an addict or a tramp, a rebel or a child. I just thought that by running away from the city I was going to arrive to this idyllic scenario, dark beaches, cold beer, easygoingness. Not a hint of that. Just admonition and reproach. Oh please, please, please, let me get what I want this time.
I was supposed to come here to get back my will to live. Stupid, the spark that gets you to wake up everyday lies within me and I´ve obviously lost it too long ago with no hope of getting it back.
So, if I can´t find love, if I can´t be loved, what it is the use of these long hours hooked to the needle? What is the use of those endless conversations with this or that physician? What is the point of anything?
Just die, die, die. Oh, please, love me or just let me get what I want this time.

फ्रॉम hell

Die. But first kill them all. All the cunts. bastards.
My life was worthless, at least my death should count as something. If I can take one of them with me, it will be worth it.

Creepy.

memories, ideas.

taste of some long forgotten flavor, like a snake coil up my tongue.
your prizes, your pats in the back to each other, your secret meetings, your comfort life.

me in the center, crazy, my legs covered in blood, my scar stricken body.
Each mark it´s a letter, if you put them all together you can read my name is pain and my blood is revenge.

So they are all cunts,
That is the final argument.
no, no, seriously.
3 in the morning, you are awake.
What comes to your mind?
Should I finish that degree, should I tell him something about the way he drinks, should I be more in touch with my parents, did he like the birthday present I gave him? He loves me? My parents love me? Am I a disappointment for them? Do I hate my life?
yeah yeah yeah that same old bullshit.
I´ve been trying to kill myself twice this week, without success, (someone arriving sooner than he should have.
And you know what? Today is his birthday and I get him the most amazing gifts and he was like: oh, this is very nice.
When did all started to go wrong?



s

Nothing is safe

Una noche. Te hablé. Te dije que te necesitaba. Me ignoraste.
Ahora ya acabó. Ya no habrá miradas, ni sonrisas cómplices. No habrá libros y películas.
Simplemente no habrá nada.
Los maldigo a los dos. Por negarme lo que ustedes mismos ansían.
A plague o' both the houses!

Líneas

Estas páginas. Estas líneas. que se puede decir. Sólo existe mi locura, antes privada ahora pública. Pues si. Locura. Drama, dolor, pasión, desesperación, muerte, vida, todos los clichés cursis y anodinos de una existencia patética.

You really think I don´t remember?

I hurt. hurt. hurt.hurt.
Recuerdo precisamente todo lo que trato de olvidar. Recuerdo ese estúpido cuento del vampiro dedicado a esa puta. Recuerdo el marco del espejo roto. Recuerdo mi puerta cerrada. Recuerdo los gritos. ¿Y porque recuerdo esta puta infancia? Que me desgarra , esos días, meses años, ¿dónde están los otros recuerdos? ¿Porqué ella quiso morir después de tenerme? ¿Porqué el no hizo nada? ¿Porque se fue con otra? Recuerdo mirar por la ventana de mi colegio cuando el pasaba y así yo sabía que ya casi era hora de salir, recuerdo las quesadillas de sábado por la mañana, recuerdo el incendio, el miedo, verla a ella caminando por la calle despeinada, sosteniendo su bolsa y a Negrita. Recuerdo el mickey mouse que llegó de un viaje a EUA, recuerdo el sillón café con pajaros. Recuerdo las mañanas de teatro serendipity y matinés de cineteca. Recuerdo la semana en el hospital recibiendo inyecciones. Recuerdo la tomografía. Recuerdo el techo de la enfermería de la guardería. Ni el tiempo ha sido misericordioso conmigo, se supone que debería haber ido cubriendo con un velo las memorias, curando, cómo decía aquel cuento de mi infancia. Y, ¿entonces porque recuerdo ahora la cadena dorada con la cruz sobre el pecho con camisa abierta? si por algún error de juicio del hijo de puta guionista que lleva esta historia había logrado nublarla lo suficiente para pensarla una pesadilla, ¿porqué me hace recordarla ahora? Cómo si estuviera probándome, demostrando que puedo soportar todo. ¿Porque regresan? Se van y regresan. Me niego a ser ella. A estar rota y abusada, me niego a ser ese aborto/violación/abandono que se convirtió en su vida. Me niego a ser víctima de mi propia historia predestinada antes de saber lo que hacía. No soy. pero lo soy. Estoy aquí sentada y estoy llorando, apretando los dientes, tratando de contenerme, de detener la rabia, el dolor, la ira. Tratando de no ser yo, aquella, la que es cruel y destruye y mata. Sentada escribiendo unas líneas que nadie lee para tratar de salvarme, de pasar una noche más. Una noche más en donde no haya fantasmas, ni recuerdos, ni esperanza. ¿Qué trato de probar? Las imágenes, las palabras, ¿acaso me pertenecen? ¿o como la sangre de ella son la herencia que el me está dando?
Entonces, ¿existo yo? Sólo soy una sombra, un fantasma, una fantasía que cobra forma tangible para destruir y dañar. Un monstruo. Sentada en su esquina a lo largo de los días, fingiendo un trabajo, una personalidad, unos amigos, teniendo los ojos cerrados, para abrirlos cuando es la hora de la sangre. La hora que llama. Ese vicio, todos los vicios, sólo tratan de dominar a la bestia, pero podemos verla, por momentos ni ella puede ocultar lo que yace detrás de sus ojos. Dormida, camina y habla y nos explica los misterios de la criatura que lucha por salir. Y sin embargo, es tan anodina. Aburre. Tan mediocre. Veo mis memorias, mis emociones, mi cabeza, son tan aburridas, comunes, vulgares. Y es martes. Y espero que esta no sea mi última noche.
Llena de tanta ira. De recuerdos...
i'VE SEEN iT ALL

I've seen it all, I have seen the trees,
I've seen the willow leaves dancing in the breeze
I've seen a friend killed by a friend,
And lives that were over before they were spent.
I've seen what I was - I know what I'll be
I've seen it all - there is no more to see!

You haven't seen elephants, kings or Peru!
I'm happy to say I had better to do
What about China? Have you seen the Great Wall?
All walls are great, if the roof doesn't fall!

And the man you will marry?
The home you will share?
To be honest, I really don't care...

You've never been to Niagara Falls?
I have seen water, its water, that's all...
The Eiffel Tower, the Empire State?
My pulse was as high on my very first date!
Your grandson's hand as he plays with your hair?
To be honest, I really don't care...

I've seen it all, I've seen the dark
I've seen the brightness in one little spark.
I've seen what I chose and I've seen what I need,
And that is enough, to want more would be greed.
I've seen what I was and I know what I'll be
I've seen it all - there is no more to see!

You've seen it all and all you have seen
You can always review on your own little screen
The light and the dark, the big and the small
Just keep in mind - you need no more at all
You've seen what you were and know what you'll be
You've seen it all - there is no more to see!

Selma songs Björk

¿Consecuencias? ¿Quieres saber de consecuencias?
Ustedes no son nada, no viven nada, no se manchan, nada les toca.
¿Consecuencias? Yo estoy viviendo las consecuencias, mi vida es el día a día resultado de ellas.
Bastardos cobardes.

La gloria descalza

Estar discutiendo todo el día, sin sentido real de conversación. Sólo palabras vacías en las que nos engolosinamos para escucharnos a nosotros mismo sin percatarnos realmente de la existencia del otro. Corazones cerrados, mentes egoístas altamente calificadas para este mundo de contratos y sonrisas, pero negadas para el estado de la belleza, la vida de los pequeños detalles, el espacio donde dos seres se ven, se tocan y por tan sólo una mínima fracción de tiempo, un segundo, un instante, están juntos.
Por eso nosostros estamos solos, porque no sabemos estar con otro. No queremos estar con otro. Nos autosaboteamos, hacemos patéticamente trampa en nuestras propias vidas, culpando siempre a los demás, al enemigo invisible, sean los padres, el trabajo, los estudios, sean las ansias mismas de estar vivos y no atrevernos a estarlo, culpando a todo y todos de nuestras bajezas y dudas, ruines al manchar la memoria del otro, escapando siempre de aquello que nos vuelve vulnerables, de todo aquello que puede tocarnos y hacernos sentir algo más profundo que una percepción superficial de los sentidos.
Sentada, puedo escuchar la hierba, sentir la tierra mojada. Cierro los ojos y juraría que lo que acaricia mis mejillas y juega con mi cabello es una suave brisa en un campo lejos de todo, fuera de mí. aislado, donde no existe el tú, el yo, el monstruo que somos nosotros.
Un fantasma juguetea sobre el agua, deleitado en la huella casi imperceptible que dejan sus pisadas, pequeñas gotas de rocío no percibidas por nadie más que un pequeño animal cubierto de abundante pelo que observa oculto entre la oscuridad, sus ojos brillantes, su pelaje azul gris, capturando la luz de los astros con el arco de su lomo.
Qué miedo la duda, que miedo la incertidumbre de los días por venir, la pereza, el mundo que gira demasiado rápido, sin concretar, sin definir, sin centrarse en un solo llamado, una sola lucha.
No claridad, juegos, mentiras, desastres emocionales.
Antifaces sobre los rostros y emociones castradas, condenadas al secreto, al disimulo, a la hipocresía de no poder vernos y hablar con la verdad. No permitirnos abrir los brazos y dejar que en ellos anide el calor de otro cuerpo, otra vida.
Demasiado cobardes para asumir la respnsabilidad de nosotros mismos, nos negamos a dejar entrar a cualquier otro ser que venga a perturbar lo que llamamos nuetsro espacio, un concepto falaz en el que nos regodeamos para disculpar nuestro miedo. Que nuestra pequeñas y absurdas vidas sean tocadas por otro ser.
Me equivoqué.
Cometí un error.
Otro.
Dos, tres, cuatro.
¿Puede que mi vida sólo esté basada en errores?
¿Puede ser que esté basando toda mi existencia en la fragilidad del espacio entre las alas de una mariposa?
¿Soy culpable de todo lo que me acusan?
¿Soy culpable?

Perdón.

Alguien, busco, necesito, olvido, me fastidia, perdón, yo no puedo perdonarme a mí misma, demasiado lejos de la orilla para poder regresar, sólo quiero un lugar donde sentarme, sentir la bria y esperar a que la expiación llegue a mi, porque he estado demasiando tiempo en el borde del vacío y ya no puedo sacudirme este peso, esta muerte.

por favor, perdón.

Me niego a que sea este cuerpo, este instante, estas palabras lo que me defina. Esta intensidad, estas emociones no son todo yo.

Soy algo más que esta sangre hirviendo, estos huesos hechos polvo, estos órganos putrefactos. también soy músculos, luz, ojos, pelo, vida.
¿Todavía estoy viva?
Este corazón que late dentro de mi pecho ¿es mío? ¿sus latidos me pertenecen?

Last days

Today someone mentioned your name. Good grief. It hurt. I miss you and can´t bear to believe that I won´t see you again.
I hate her. She is weak and I am scared I might turn into her one day (or has it already happened).
I don´t want to see him. He is the sum of the life that didn´t happen. He talks and talks but never listens and I am too tired now to sit there pretending I care.
I am happy I am saying goodbye to him. I wish for a happy ending and I want someone that is running away from who knows what.
I don´t want to loose my job for a reason I can´t grasp. Am I being too hysterical? Should I be sympathizing?
I want to quit the project. Does it have a future? I don´t fit there. Am I fooling myself? Am I self-destructing me?
I don´t want to keep cutting myself. I wish I could stop.
I wish I had atonenment. That I could be forgiven. That my imperfections didn´t make so hideous.
I want to sleep.

This too shall pass

Herida es más inteligente.
O interesante.
Everybody knew Bagheera, and nobody cared to cross his path; for he was as cunning as Tabaqui, as bold as the wild buffalo, and as reckless as the wounded elephant. But he had a voice as soft as wild honey dripping from a tree, and a skin softer than down.
And I still hurt.
For every minute I´ve spend laying in the dark next to you, I hurt.
For every time I´ve turn myself into a joke for you.
For every scar that runs down my body.
For every time I remember you. For how I grind my teeth every time I hear your name.
Because I can´t feel worthy.
Because I am atonement.
I hurt.
I am pain.
I´ve repeated to myself those words so many times that now I actually believe them.
Because I am not pure.
I´ve been cruel.
Mean.
I´ve hurt others. Tears, flesh, blood. Their wounds and scars are the silent witnesses of my doing. Of my footpints in the dark.
And now all the ghosts of my sins come back and hunt me in the night.
But I can´t close my eyes yet. Not good enough for life, too rotten for hell, so I am trapped in this limbo.
But I will live to see one more day.
Because my name is pain and my blood is revenge.

My blood is my revenge I

I ache.
I hurt.
I am pain.
Omnipresente, todopoderosa.

Cierra los ojos,
lay down,
deja que tu cuerpo flote a la deriva y olvida los puertos en los que pensabas atracar.

And let me embrace you.

slish, slash

Todos lo dicen:
nadie pensó que llegaría a los treinta. ¿y ahora?

mejor hubiera sido no haber llegado.

cada día me duele demasiado.

es una pena ser tan torpe en la cocina. pasan muchos accidentes.

Where is my love?

Where is my love
Where is my love
Horses galloping
Bring him to me

Where is my love
Where is my love
Horses running free
Carrying you and me
Where is my love
Where is my love
Safe and warm
So close to me
In my arms
Finally

There is my love
There is my love
Horses galloping
Bringing him to me

Where is my love
Where is your love

una noche larga de lunes en el que se mezclan la fantasía, la belleza, el romance, la inseguridad, el miedo.

Como siempre, nunca me alcanza para más de dos líneas, pero la idea es que pueda regresar a estas letras en algún momento y tal vez entonces recordar lo que era estar vivo. Porque yo si creo en los milagros.

I used to be on an endless run
Believed in miracles 'cuz I'm one
I've been blessed with the power to survive
After all these years I'm still alive

I'm out here kickin with the band
I am no longer a solitary man
Everyday my time runs out
Live like a fool, that's what i was about

Oh I belive in miracles
I believe in a better world for me and you
Oh Oh I believe in miracles
I believe in a better world for me and you

Tattooed your name on my arm
I always said my girl's a good luck charm
If she can find a reason to forgive
Then i can find a reason to live

I used to be on an endless run
Believed in miracles 'cuz I'm one
I've been blessed with the power to survive
After all these years I'm still alive

Oh I belive in miracles
I believe in a better world for me and you
Oh Oh I believe in miracles
I believe in a better world for me and you

I close my eyes and think how it might be
the future's here today
it's not too late, it's not too late oh

I belive in miracles
I believe in a better world for me and you
Oh I believe in miracles
I believe in a better world for me and you

(versión pearl jam, porque yo estaba ahi y la cantaba con los ojos cerrados)

y así es que algún día...

19.2.08

¿Porque esta desolación?
Este murmullo ronco, amargo, estas piernas que se doblan, esta boca seca.
Este dolor, esta sangre, estas vísceras.
¿Porque abrir los ojos?
Dormir, dormir, estar acostado con los ojos abiertos comiéndose el techo, el aire que entra cortante, el entumecimiento de los miembros.

Añorar lo nunca visto, extrañar, escupir en el recuerdo, maldecir la memoria, dejar que el cerebro supure mierda, cubriéndolo todo, ahogandolo todo.

En el centro, la reina condenada recorre con la mirada aburrida su reino desierto.

randomly

So, it´s almost over.
In my mind I saw myself writing a little bit everyday, something witty, something cool.
Obviously, my desire to do it didn´t match my strenght. To be awake for 24 hours without sleeping. To suck it up and forget where I come from and be capable to actually smile to those I despise but should praise.

But I still have my secret.

my dark terrible secret.
a plague o´ both your houses.

close your eyes and go back. retrace your steps. go out where you came from. don´t turn your back to the beast. don´t make eye contact. don´t make noise.

kneel to the one
who is our lord.

deception and chaos.

just get out, now.

wine maybe?

does this qualifies as a new day?

should i have a drink?

have i mentioned how being a frigid bitch might affect your capacity for leadership?

have i mentioned how being an overweight ass living under the shadow of your relatives interferes with your ability to make wise deccisions?

when you work 16 hours a day and still you get e-mails at four in the morning you are not able to answer right away, you develop big dark round circles under your eyes.

when you feel like a fat over stressed single hitting thirties woman, you should have a drink.

when you spent 13 hours in front of a computer in a plastic chair your back gets deformed. it hurts.

when you review info again and again because your boss keeps making mistakes, you start dreaming about him. you develop a nervous tic.

when you consider stop shaving your legs and getting out of the house in track-suits you know you have an issue.

maybe i should get another drink.