viernes, 15 de julio de 2016



I feel fucking strange
but I don't know how,
but I don't know why.
I feel like
but I don't know what.

I feel like if ideas were coming to my mind
but they don't.

I feel like writing
but I cannot.

I feel like meditating,
I need it indeed,
but I cannot.

I feel like writing my dreams
asking my self why
I would like to fight with teenagers,
because I saw a fight yesterday.

I also feel like finding S. again,
to see her naked as I did,
to hear her saying that she likes my burnt eyebrow,
which is my dermatitis that doesn't stop.

I cannot hear my mind,
but I don't want to neither.

I just wrote that the ideas
that we don't write disappear,
even if we dream
that we are going to write them
or that we are actually doing it.

I wrote that in a detoxification center
for generalized anxiety syndrome,
people suffer and then relax.

I wrote that people carefully write
their death before going to commit suicide.

I don't get why I don't get anything
about all of this
when the guy with generalized anxiety
is just me.

The guy that needs to suffer
is me.

The guy that tries to go to sleep
but he can´t
because he is shaking
without feelings.

This is it.
Feelings are thoughts,
while ideas are just me.

It is indeed solitude,
people that I miss.

I just miss someone
which with whom I can be.

Be myself
but at the same time,
simply be.
Because I don't want to be fighting all the time,
to maintain a relationship
that doesn't mean that much in here.

I am not a poet,
even if the rhythm
lays on it.

Depends on how you read it
and maybe you can hear
the sound of the rhythms
or just thoughts
that are singing
inside my brain and my soul,
trying to escape,
to go somewhere,
to appear there,
where the meaning stays.

Not here for sure,
because from here they escape,
which is my mind
where they don't compose,
where they cannot get shape,
where they don't let me live,
where they don't let me life,
where I cannot shower ,
or even exercise.
And I am afraid of meditating
for losing them.

They trapped the trapper
from within the prison of slavery.
We are slaves of thought that have trapped us,
when we though that they are trapped by us
in the prison of our minds.

But the truth,
the solution
is way easier,
which is to release,
to be free.

Free your thoughts,
free yourself,
free everything
and your mind will be
grateful for being here,
from being there,
from being wherever they were,
from being wherever they are,
from being wherever they have to be,
from being wherever they had.

Where do you want to feel?
What do you what to see?
Isn't it the solution of anything?
The solution of everything?
Or the solution of nothing?
Because we fail and we get trapped again and again.

It is normal that people cry for love,
that people commit suicide for love,
because for love our solitude,
our loneliness is suppose to disappear definitely,
for ever, and ever, and ever, and ever,
until we feel lonely again.

Because love is not bad,
but it can be so.
Because when someone cheat someone
is condemning them
to the painful experience of solitude again,
of rejection from the paradise of comfort and safety,
of that place that means
that your life will be great,
from there to go on
and so on.

But indeed,
is not.

Because painful experiences lay over there,
where we don't know.

Where we cannot see them,
or expect them,
but they wait and wait,
they wait for us,
for the moment to come.

And they may kill us,
or they may leave us,
choking with sorrow and woe.

we were where we were,
and we are not safe anymore.
This is the sound of pain.

Because everything else
can be an illusion,
and obsession,
a torture of our mind
crying for a confession.

A confession impossible to recognize
because our deepest pains are worse
than the worst of our confessions,
because ourselves will cheat us again
and again,
and we are inevitably condemn,
and condemn,
condemn to sorrow and pain,
condemn to experience the loneliness again,
no matter the love,
the moments,
no matter the sex.

Loneliness is chasing us
and will chase us again.

It will come and say,
here or there,
“you never escaped,
it was just me,
taking a rest.”

Loneliness is there,
you want it or not.
Just take a break,
look inside
and dare to say
that you are safe.

We are not.

I am sorry to point
that we lay in the middle.
We are lost.

It is a perennial delay
where the time will never come
and for much that we wait
the salvation will be far from there,
far from the now,
far from ourselves.

The salvation doesn't lie within,
not within our souls,
neither outside,
salvation is only our creation,
to survive and to live in the best that we can.

But living is impossible in the order of life,
whose goal is to die.

The only possible solution
is looking for suicide.

I am not seriously speaking,
even though,
it would be truth.

Because melodrama is a joke
that doesn't want to be sure.

So we keep the final before the final
just for the audience that prefers the happiness and the hope.

We don't have it here,
but I will point it so.

Just breathe in silence and listen to the Om.