So Long.... And Farewell

Look at that tiny me dancing in my head
I’m off to see myself off
Look at those little demons shunning me now
I’m up to see myself up

Chivo Expiatorio

Toda esa ira contenida, que es tuya y a la vez es mía, el punto de unión, la coincidencia y el momento de la caída. Me viene en gana tatuar tu rostro en un árbol de sal y convertirlo en una imagen perpetua hasta que la lluvia se lo lleve sin dejar indicios de su existencia pasada pero con plena consciencia de la misma. Excusas. Es eso. Buscar reflejarme en vos. La identificación. Encontrar un par para dejar de ser impar. Deshacerme de las consecuencias, otra excusa. Negar ese árbol, esa sal… otra excusa. Imperfectas todas, pero suficientes.

Orillas

maldito, maldito, maldito, porque sos como el agua que fluye en su propio curso sin volver atrás y sin mirar lo que queda después de tu paso. y me ves acá, fumando un cigarrillo que no recuerdo haber encendido, que no sé si sabe a la victoria de haber mojado mis pies en tus orillas o me deja un sabor agrio a vicio.

Big Wheel

I was thinking maybe we should stop this re-liaison-ship. You see, I feel you are not as inclined as I am, but when I tell you this you’ll start hurrying something back like 'HeyyesIam!' and I’ll go 'of course you do, don’t you? but it doesn’t show,' which is quite typical of me, always disbelieving but wanting deep inside; only a mere expression of my quirky self-consciousness. To this last comment you will undoubtedly respond that 'there are different ways of showing how you feel about someone else,' and, in turn, I will push my wit to muffle your throat by sighing 'and you choose to apply none.' Of course you’ll be mad after that one last comment and I’ll start displaying my arguments on how maybe all this showing or withholding or craving or sympathising or coping and so on is somehow culturally bound; because you-were-not-raised-to-break-the-spatial-personal-ghetto. And when the debate is at its highest temperature I will pause, I will flinch and I’ll mutter my pain out by trying to convince you that all this philosophising will not and cannot lead us anywhere we can both (or I) feel at ease. That’s why I was thinking maybe we should stop this re-liaison-ship. You see...

Cease

This is the song I chose to drown you. When I push play your voice will vanish into thin air... into hot thin air. And I will close my eyes and you will also be gone with the hot and thin. This is the most poetic way of negating your existence I could come up with, but you know poetry was never on my side, nor words, for that matter. You will be gone. So please, don’t interrupt me while I’m hoping.

Como la Primera Vez

Mirame. Pero mirame con ganas.
No me mires para matar el tiempo. Mirame bien.
Es probable que yo ya no te mire como antes.
Pero vos mirame igual.
Mirame con los ojos. Mirame con las manos.
No me mires con la mente y a lo lejos.
Mirame como si fuera la primera vez que me mirás.

·..·::·..·

- I’ve been trying.
- Where’s that leading you?
- I don’t know.
- So what’s the point of going on with it?
- Not to...
- Feel...
- Yes.
- Is it getting any better?
- I don’t know. I’m working on convincing myself it does.

Taking Chances

Right now what I fear the most is that there’s nothing to cling to, nobody to see through. I fear my eyes have gone dry, that your voice is just an excuse, that my mind has gone blank. I fear that sorrow is my invention and mine to bear alone, that the creation is so beautifully aching that I’m beginning to lose myself. I fear that remorse is just a game, that I’m playing against myself, that believing is dependent on truth, and truth is an idiolect. And I’m afraid to tell you that you owe me my simplicity, that you gambled my skin and tissue, that you lost your bet.

I Do

Yes! A thousand times, yes! However much I say so it will always make you flee. We are both acquainted with the true possibility of making a grandest joy, but you must admit you feel deeply hurt, your ego has been dented and I might be to blame, and that is something which will not allow you to retrace your steps.
I do. Or don’t I? Have I not shown it and made it overtly clear more than once for as long as my memory allows? You still allow yourself to indulge in your pride, and I still allow myself to make an outright fool of what I am. But I believe I am deserving of the better part of you. And I believe your game will last as long as I consent.

Battle of Wits

I don’t talk back, I don’t make my needs and wants clear enough, which is why they don’t get met; it dawns on me I’m afraid of losing, not the battle, but the soldier, the opponent that should take part of my own army who has now become a clear enemy. I try an undercover attack, always defending myself, never really an overt attack. Attacking is dangerous, for the enemy – or companion soldier over the trenches – might end up dead and that would mean the battle is lost.

Convictions

I’m not convinced my job is vocation
I’m not convinced my house is a home
I’m not convinced my joy is a virtue
Yet my greatest conviction is raw

Deshoras

Intangible. Abstracto. Irreal. Concepto imaginario. Se nos va por entre los dedos y se nos pierde en la distancia. Siempre se va. Se deshace como si lo atacaran los gusanos 2 metros bajo tierra. Y aun así nos empuja, nos absorbe, nos digiere y nos vomita. Y esos que se creen Chronos, que encima se dan el lujo de hacerlo avanzar más rápido. O los otros, que nos lo convierten en un purgatorio eterno. Intento detener el mío para salir de la rueda de interrogatorio, dejar de contestar los por qué, cómo, dónde y sin saber ya quién. En el intervalo descubro que ya no recuerdo casi qué se siente y empiezo a extrañar el sabor de extrañar.

One Step Backwards

From time to time I speak my mind
I wear my heart on my sleeve
And I let out the stupidest connections in my head
This time I write to disentangle
To unravel the things I think I need to figure out
I speak my mind, I dare say, because not many can
I choose words or, rather, they choose me
They generally find me when I’m wrong
Or when there something potentially describable as wrong
This time I try to untangle you
Perhaps the you that’s in my head
And I jump, maybe in a hurry,
To conclusions that might hold true
I fiddle with the possibility
That that half day forward
May be a functional creation
A need that keeps me going
But that going will never stop
Because forward will always be a step ahead of me

let myself

Tonight I’m going to have a glass of wine... maybe two. Then I’m going to let myself let myself, and I’m going to allow you to get into my thoughts for a while. Then I’m going to turn you out, for you are just a thought.
Tonight I’m going to imagine I’m a conqueror. I’m going to prepare my army and get hold of my ammunition. I’m going to shoot you right between the eyes unless you surrender and promise to be mine.
Tonight I’m going to show you all my rage. I’m going to let myself take over your mortal coil and clinch a deal with your mind. I’m going to take another glass of wine and toast with you. 'To you, my dear'.

Battle with Her (the Sun)

Once in a blue moon I like someone enough to make them mine
The last blue moon lost my name and forgot my face
The one before that drained my colour and there was just blue
The previous one stole my voice and forced me to shout
The first one, in turn, decided to lie