I don’t wanna think in the party that the microbia I’ve been in contact with lately and are currently stopped by stress are preparing for me… for when I lower my guard…
I’ll leave a little hat and some party poppers ready for the occasion.
You see black when you close your eyes
you see stars if you close them tight
if you don´t open them ever again…
probably is because you died
1- Don’t be glad to see the person
2- Don’t leave aside your loads and free your hands and arms
3- Don’t untie your thick jacket
Don’t allow your hearts to communicate through echoes across your chests.
After the supreme boredom at MASTER IN CAPACITY OF DATA LOG IN ADVERSE CONDITIONS TO CONCENTRATE BY A STATE OF EXTREME STRESS CAUSED BY INTRA AND EXTRACELLULAR ACUTE AGONY AND BOREDOM, and next to fading not finding more superlative words to lengthen the title of master (which is what they did with the subjects, shame they didn’t know then how to fill them), I began to wonder why architects do not take into account what will be a building destined to while designing it.
I find that window up there very nice, but not that much if they have to paint the glasses brown. Nor do I feel practical a reception glass turning into a mirror during the day (what happens in rehab Vilanova). And college classrooms with echo and reverb… I find it hard to believe with the amount of years Architecture grade lasts… I guess they have enough time to forget some on the way.
These days* I’ve seen that it was very long since I was so so so much bored. What is the time you have been more bored to death? Or what is the last time you have been ultimately bored?
*I wrote this in 2008, during my Master’s Degree. I had already forgotten how the hell … it was.
I need to keep believing,
ignore the adult wisdom,
become an exception.
I need to keep thinking that I can carve caves in a mountain of clouds,
sculpt bare-handed my own labyrinth, just tearing off pieces of mist.
I need to keep imagining entering this cotton palace.
Sometimes lock myself inside, where the light comes from everything and everywhere, and have a big breath.
Others play extreme chasing games sure that all is padded for your falls, and play hide and seek just covering yourself with fog and digging softness to find.
Just when I thought no one visited you, since your relatives are long perished and you are falling apart and collapsing in a last miserable attempt for attention or maybe to recruit believers, I find that there are who promise you so that you promise too.
So you do not belong only to me, nor are your sole visits from who grooms you, trim your hair and fill your holes spread by decay, you also belong to those who come to you for help, even if you only portray the reminder of a brief time lapse, one example among millions of life’s expiring date in the form of a sepulchre. You exist, resist and stay, maybe for longer than those cremated or disappeared, but not forever.
You are just one of many, but mine. Life and fortuity made us meet, as they could have made meet others, but so it is, and I want you. Si el roce hace el cariño mi hollar te hará encariñar.
Some say you’ll give me protection and there is who suggests I use my visits for something else. I am satisfied with your gifts; there was long time the streets did not offer me its treasures.