Stories of a dismembered life

Look around you. Understand what is happening. Wake up from deep reverie, stop unfolding through a thought that tirelessly spits. Stop everything, at once. Go back to the womb, to that safe place, and from there connect with the calm that the flesh will prevail. Help each other. The only way to save ourselves is through example. The awakened, awakens the rest. He wraps it with his mantle of presence and elevates the world to the place of paradise.

Time to wake up

Melting into the earth, from time to time, doesn"t hurt anyone.
The field that I water blooms in abundance when I drink the juice that my teeth extract.

Acquired psychedelia

When the personality fragments in two, and both parties fight for the taking of power and control of the body, a fight without origin is unleashed. Inside your body a battle is unleashed where one of the parties must die. Which of the two?
The material reality has created both in the external world and in the internal polarity. The extremes, the opposites. There you are too. One plus one equals three. The three is you? Elevated over a sea, you must let one of your parts kill the other, at least for a day, an instant, a sigh. A single moment when you become one again.
One plus one equals one.

Someone had to die

More than once I have found myself tearing apart my ideas, wanting to understand by blows what all this was. The maturity of time brought with it one of the greatest teachings of life. After endless days and moments of looking out of a closet for whatever it was I was looking for, I understood. I completely understood how to return home, I stopped looking at the absurd and found myself in the eyes of others, in the intensity of that fire that betrays you. I was able to go back inside. I stopped running because there was never anywhere to go. All life turning in circles to return to the axis that produces the movement. Stairs inward I walked day after day, until I set my being on the edge of the dissolution of change.

Dreamcatcher

Woman"s body, naked before absolute chaos. I am reborn from a pain that purifies, whose purpose is to set me free.
But do not confuse freedom with the pleasure of the gods. Here there are agonies, laughter, tears. Here is everything.
Now I understand why everyone remains numb and manipulated. It is much easier to lead an existence in which you are told what to do. Being free hurts, but it tastes like glory.

Freedom tastes like glory to me

I feel guilty for the tranquility with which my body rests while at other ends of the same world there are people who cry blood. In the intimacy of my night, with my eyes closed, my hand on my chest and squeezing the sheets, I whisper to the essence of my soul, which is the same as the essence of those souls that cry, who will never be alone. I accompany with a faint song of an unknown language, almost tearing my voice and producing sounds that only emerge from this genuine moment, my pain.
The pain repeats itself in my prayers and songs, and not because I want to, but because it is there and I live it.
Sometimes I connect with sadness.

Blood sorrow

The souls that rise leave little pieces stuck to the earth. From these remains memories are born that long to be devoured, chewed and spit out on fertile soil. Remove the earth, name, affirming that all those men and women who are no longer there existed. In his death is your death too. Those who cry are crying your wars. If you see them out there, it"s because they"ve always been there. Don"t look away from the pain. Stick your fingers into the chest and be true to your instinct. The memory is fragile, the fragrances are fleeting, the pain, however... It remains. Avoiding it, building your entire life around not wanting to see it, is all it does is keep things happening for you to pay attention to. When you feel your pain, you are closer to someone else"s pain. Empathy appears when you go through, in your reality, everything. Opening the way to feel.

Rubble flowers

The greatest illusion built by man snatches my life. Inexorable, overwhelming, it passes through my body and leaves a trail of death around me. I constantly fall under the inexhaustible, unstoppable, unshakable and cunning numbing whisper. Like doors that open and close without the existence of my individual desire, I give myself up in a dance of which I do not remember the beginning and I am not even able to glimpse if it has an end. And there we are all, dancers of life that we wanted to miss. Over and over again, like birdsong, we sing, day after day, hour after hour, until we get lost and for a single moment that is always now, savoring the warmth of intangible eternity, which always resists thought.

Eaten away by time

Life itself has led me to realize, slowly, with the passing of time, to recognize the possibilities and own their realization. I am the key to the doors that I am.  

I am the key

Absorbed, sunk in the digitality of a consuming moment, I no longer have a name, I don"t have sex, I am nothing more than what my eyes see in front of me, and I don"t feel my body. Delivered to the desolating cry of anxiety that cries out space for existence. I no longer see time, but I am the time that cries out. 

No fucking time 

If I could go back in time, to the moment where obsessions did not allow them to sink their feet into dreams, I would kiss the foreheads of abandoned children, I would give them the love they were not given and I would wrap the illusion in wild bird feathers, so that With the first rays of the sun, they will fly into the wide sky.

The broken kids

Through the meandering lines that escape from me and return to me, in each exhalation, I am the only witness of my existence. The smoke is the faithful reflection of a sacred act of meditation. With it I furrow time, approaching no time, through it I return to the hidden places that are hidden from my lucid gaze. Asleep, knowledge escapes from my magnifying glass, but the symbolic remains behind.
In the air, like glass birds, flutter the thoughts and desires of a better life, eagerly waiting to collide face to face with my face, just around the corner.

Trails of a past

For years and tirelessly trying to get rid of parts that I rejected. Under a black cloak I was sweeping darkness, not knowing that they would climb invisibly into my mouth. Drowning was necessary to finally breathe in the total integration of what I am. The paths that open up are the wild expression of a being that is shipwrecked in the deepest night, knowing the compass of his own destiny.

Shadow dwellers

Every man has experienced the miseries of a love that abandons him, abandoning himself in the reflection.
Every man dragged himself in silence, walked through stormy rivers and found himself lost, but he found himself.
Certain nights I habitually inhabit black caves where crying becomes a lullaby, where the song of birds shakes me knowing I am crazy from a messy time. When dawn comes and I witness the mourning that your absence gives me, I am aware that the death I cry for is seeing my own death and finding the void in future projections that no longer exist.
Now I walk through doors in solitude, paths that have been built just for me. In my mouth I keep laughter and screams that belong to an illusion

Please dont go

I have nothing left to give but the presence of a soul brimming with life. Ayyyy if everyone could see the magic of this moment, if only they could feel all this that I feel inside and that gushes out of my eyes, my mouth, my hands, my sex, they would be for a second the abundant incarnation of the mixture abstract that attracts silence. Stillness dwells in the movement of my hands, in my smile, tears, but in silence... If only they could sit on my legs, get into my skin and just breathe me, they would be all that at some point they have wanted to be, now

Owner of the gold

I was born from the ink that my hands spill. I have seen myself transfigure being, alchemist of my personality.
I have shaped reality from absolute freedom
I am divine gift