TODOS

TODOS los islámicos son terroristas.

TODOS los chinos comen perros.

TODOS los italianos son mafiosos. 

TODOS los argentinos son pedantes.

TODOS los estadounidenses son soberbios.

TODOS los colombianos son narcos.

TODOS los franceses huelen mal.

TODOS los mexicanos son holgazanes.

TODOS los alemanes son nazis.

TODOS los indígenas son salvajes.

 Dichoso todo aquel que pueda conocer a las personas del mundo,  

LIBRE DE ESTEREOTIPOS.

Raro

Llamar "raro" a lo diferente es el primer síntoma de xenofobia. 

(Acuérdense de Donald y Adolf cada vez que usen esa palabra).

 

oh yeah...

Obras malas. Obras buenas.

Quien puede encontrar excusas para obrar mal, tiene la misma creatividad para hallar oportunidades de obrar bien.

La Música

La música es una misteriosa sustancia que produce satisfacción sin dar alegría, alivia sin combatir la tortura, que te hace creer que sigues vivo aunque estés muerto.
Blanco y negro cohabitan en ella, el agua y el aceite se mezclan en ella. Porque la música es el "testigo mudo" que que aunque perdamos el juicio nos hará sentir llibres. El arte en todas sus formas, no tiene que curar ni consolar nada; su mera presencia y complicidad bastan.

-MÚSICA TESTIGO: Two Weeks, FKA Twigs-

Vos pensás que podés

vos creés que podés venir así
comer a mi mesa
soñar en mi habitación
y amarme un rato no más?

pensás que podés vivir mi rutina
cocinar mi comida
hacerme la vida más sencilla
y yo, como si nada, te olvide después de irte?

creés que tenés derecho a escaparte
sin dar razones, sin sufrir pesares?
que yo espere al tiempo que crezca
y ya adulto este, borre el mundo de ilusiones que me regalaste sin vos incluido?

creés que soy tu tosquedad y el producto de tu cabeza,
que mi alma es un mito teatral como en las telenovelas?
que soy igual de férrea y vos, rebosante de derecho?

de veras pensás que no existo,
que el ignorarme me hará desaparecer?
y yo, que tu indiferencia de a poco difuminará en mí tu rítmica ausencia?

creés que podés enseñarme,
ayudarme a subir esa escalera hasta el final?
curarme con tu saliva y luego ensuciarme con la arena
bajo un techo de estrellas y llevarme a la cima?
y mostrarme una luz que alumbra más que las esferas
y ver el valor oculto que en mí desconocía
y que recibiendo tanto de golpe me alcance eso para el resto de mi vida?

pensás que por lo lejos no te veo?

que vos y "no vos" son lo mismo?

que después de probarte, cualquier hombre puede fácilmente reemplazarte?

qué poco te querés...

-MUSICA TESTIGO: Disappearing One, Chris Cornell- 

When the day comes (Kocham Cię)

I guess you're afraid of being loved
or you're very used to it
You failed to think I was going to let you down like someone did to you before
You failed to think I could beat the actual woman you've been in love with
I know how to love
That's why I know how to let go
Don't know why you treat me as a stalker
it's clear I write in silence
and your own curiosity took you here, not me

I can't be mad at you
even when that would help me a lot to move on
For some reason I bear your existence in my heart
Unlike you, I don't fear you
I get you
I have all the words you have missed
and sometimes, I speak for you
like one who dresses up a doll the way one thinks it fits better
but your thoughts are so far away from me
I just make them up like a role game

I know you won't get back to me soon
you may never do it
To walk away is the easiest way out, I know
it's always hard to face what you just quitted
I'd like you to get the strength to come back someday though 
and say 'goodbye', just that

Still I'm full of love, 
sometimes, full of peace too

My soul is strongly mild

You have to know something
if there was somebody you shouldn't have run away from,
that was me
I continue to open myself to you
you find safer to block me


I have the whole life to forget you
and I guess I will someday begin to...
I will stop writing about our very short story 
all of a sudden, when the day comes

My name is Gina
I forgot to mention the day we met...
that I am a person
not a collectible experience out of a trip.


Kocham Cię. Dobre życie.

How this road ends up

It sucks when you feel that the person you love doesn't need you
that the one you want doesn't miss you
that he/she can live so well without you
the evidence that whether you exist or not, it's so of no importance
while you bear his/her existence engraved on your head
having been mentally tattooed
thinking about h/h day and night, 24/7
and every time you recall it
you know that this loved one must be thinking about any other thing except you
and your thoughts about h/h and h/h thoughts about you, might never happen to meet
you try to recreate this person in dreams, in words, in songs, in activities, in other people
and all you get is to remain with a big empty space
'cause none of these things won't bring h/h back
you stop doing all that makes you feel even further away from h/h
as if you could get any closer by avoiding to move in the opposite way
it's meaningless
you will continue to be far, even if you walk toward h/h
you can't retain the liquid in your hands
you can't either catch the wind or attemp to make the free becomes a slave 

can you change yesterday?
you must go through the agonizing and harasser present tense
having your own mind hired as a full-time executioner
 
'say goodbye, don´t follow'
if you can't even be your own
don't expect somebody to be yours

sooner than later you will be getting into a new trouble again
that thing we use to call 'to fall in love'
no need to rush there
you already know how this road ends up

...broken.

Plan B

Mon amour, avec toi, il est nécessaire d'avoir un plan B
Parfois tu es le plus adorable, parfois tu es mauvais
Je ne sais pas si je devrais vraiment croire que je te manque
parce qu'il semble que tu vis tres bien sans moi

Oh mon Dieu, créateur de l'amour
Que vais-je faire avec toi?
Est-ce beaucoup demander?
rendre une femme heureuse?

Je ne sais plus quoi penser
Je ne sais pas quoi attendre
Je ne sais pas qui tu es

Je suis sûre de ce que je cherche
Mais je ne suis pas sûre de si je veux le trouver hors de toi

Another 'Him'

Since he disappeared, I've been thinking unconsciously how much I wish to find another "Him", yet a better version, without his complications.
Yesterday, I saw a man walking by the street, a foreigner, taller than him and not as handsome, but the guy reminded me a lot of the man I want, even in the way of walking. I was behind and suddenly felt I had a sort of magnet inside; I started to follow him. He was walking very fast but there was something on him I wanted to continue watching.
And so I did, I kept walking after him and as I was doing this, I was staring at him like there was nothing and no one around. He had piercings like him, shaved on the upper part of the head and with dreadlocks hanging from the nape, blonde haired, deep blue eyes, with a very Nordic aspect just like him. He was smoking like a chimney, in the same rhythm as he does, breathing out the smoke to breathe in again immediately afterwards.
I started to project my feelings on this unknown person.
Such is the desire of having him back, of him speaking to me, of him looking for me at least to say 'Hi', that I couldn't stop walking after this guy.
My heartbeat began to accelerate, I started to get worked up, I was breathing heavily and then I began to sob in the middle of the street.

It was then when I stopped and kept myself from continuing following him. I watched the guy getting away from me until he finally got missed among the crowd.

I felt sad. He wasn't the man I want, it was only what I wanted to see. 

 "Put a million miles under your heels and you're still behind him"
(Chris Cornell)

The Professional

I forgot what your yes and noes dress like

but i can tell your i don't knows wear a black hat

I was just discharged from a rehab

and here you are! my current crack

//I'm the professional// 

I'm the professional guesser

I'm the previous, rarely the last

I'm the 'it's ok' lover

I'll be soon left in the past

I don't know what your 'yes' and 'noes' taste like

but your silence has been my food day and night

you thought you knew me enough to love me then, now

you think you know me enough to turn me down

//I'm the professional//  

I'm the professional waiter

never the even, always the odd

i'm a large blank gap

for your summer's filler word

I don't know what your fears look like

but I guess they and I     must be alike

since you treat me in the same way

what makes you move and run away?

 

I'm the professional also-ran

always the shame, never the pride

settled for the second place

btw(hy?), it's not allowed to cry  

I´m the professional walker
I was asked to leave the show before my act began

Once again, 

I must walk away 

tragedy opium

smells like loss again
and what do we do now?
with this colorful popular fair?
with this huge world of illusions squashing us?
let's travel to run away from things
it's the easiest way out
the stupidest
let's go jogging every evening
until a bad breathing causes muscles ache
and the real pain is deviated
let's get a puppy
to fill the blank gaps
to get some unconditional tenderness and delivery
from somebody

no matter how hard I try to believe
men like you make women tougher and tougher
like me

A second of paradise

I continue to believe

Even for a second of paradise is worth a whole life of devoted faith

I will never regret handing myself over

I will never stop going where the hearts take me

I am not afraid of showing off later failures
I can not deny my essence

I could walk on fire

And I would be consumed immediately

Yet this would be still alive

Photo on the computer

I touch the cold screen that draws you instantly  
It is as dirty as your real face would be if I touched it now
I do not try hard, my fingers can easily imagine the textures
Your warm, young and soft skin
The thin layer of your hair
Your thick beard hanging from your chin
I can see your eyes closing as I lower my hand all the way down to your lips
Then, the smoky breath coming out of your mouth
Passing through my fingers to break free forever

I stare at you and you at me like we used to
Long minutes
As if I discovered something different second after second

Nothing but a photo
Everything since you were gone

Witness music: Station by Lapsley.