Writing is not cathartic, even though its feeling of release is present; it is not enlightening, however, it provokes critical thinking; it is not, above all, entertaining, nonetheless it transports you. I write in order to rationalize interiority, to catch emic experiences with a net. Everything, however, revolves and remains inside.

Monday, January 22, 2007

Come back to your body with a full, heavy inhalation. Fill up your lungs with air, start to feel Life germinating inside of you, nurturing you. Begin to move your fingertips and toes, slowly. Slowly. Nobody is rushing you. With another deep inhale, extend your arms behind your head, and stretch your spine. As you exhale, relax. Your eyes remain close, confronting utter voidness.

This is, ultimately, all you have left. Not love, not abundance, not absence, not even ourselves. At the end of the day, all we have is our breath, the air that visits, pullulates, and leaves us after a passing moment.

Stay like this for a few moments: controlling nothing, wanting nothing, needing nothing.

Wednesday, January 03, 2007

Mi hermano muerto: Todo lo que hiciste, lo hiciste por necesidad.

La sociedad es idiota: Siempre estuvimos y estaremos mejor, pero nunca estamos mejor.

Lo abandona la inocencia: Herir y sanar vale más que no conocer el dolor nunca.

Su estilo de vida es una cuestión de actitud: Tenés todo para morirte fuerte.

Vuelve, vuelve: Perdón por la culpa, es que te tengo siempre presente.

Nadie te da nada: Nacimos para robar y obedecer, para probar y merecer.

Voy demasiado rápido, demasiado a trasmano de todo. Y ahora, ¿qué hacer?
Ya no quedan disfraces.

If it speaks to you...