Saint Giving's Day ( De como los indios celebramos.)

Nunca he visto un pavo caminando por ahí.

Y de la necesidad, nació Guavate.

Maze.

I’ve been gone.
Into the most uncomfortable positions,
Screwed in with nails.
Breathing isn’t quintessential anymore.
Carbon Monoxide paradise.
A chest filled by bricks, cobblestone lungs,
Narrow corridors of capillary roads.
Spatial in-congruence that slides,
That swifts so gently.
Pointing out the obvious remark.

I’ve been gone.
Have been trying to come back for so long.
Pressure, altitudes and steep falls.
Rouged-out cheeks, clacking hips.
Pulsations that rise towards the tip,
Of a throbbing head that yells at itself.
Ever resting, a thread of unwinding road.
A fickle piece of woodchip, a touch.

I’ve been gone.
Still intertwined with all.
Inescapable symmetry that calls,
Yet I’ve been gone and haven’t answered.
Some day I will pick up.
But I’ve been gone and have lost that,
That which I’ve been looking for.

Barbie Barbarie.

Barbie Barbarie

Barbie rabiosa.

Entre la selva, con una lanza.

Casi desnuda, desenplasticada.

Adora la luna y se da a la caza.

Se ha cortado las greñas para el camuflaje.

Se ha limpiado el culo con hojas de yagrumo.

Y ha fumado tanto que a veces come humo.

Come carne cruda para desayuno.

Barbie es shaman de su tribu y come hongos.

Habla con los dioses de la grama.

Le gusta dormir con diferentes mujeres.

Dependiendo de la semana.

No conoce las bodas ni las corvetas.

no es ni esposa ni modelo ni princesa.

no se afeita los sobacos ni come mayonesa.

Nunca tocará un bicho plastiquito con su lengua.

Barbie Barbarian (a literall translation)

Rabid Barbie.

Between the jungle, lance in hand.

Almost naked, unplasticized.

Worships the moon and hunts the land.

Her hair she cut as camouflage.

Her ass has been whipped with dispensed leaves.

And she has smoked to the extent she eats smoke.

Eats raw meat for breakfast.

Barbie is her tribe’s shaman and eats fungus.

Talks to the gods of the grass.

She likes to sleep with different women.

Depending on the week.

She knows nothing about weddings and corvettes.

Not a wife not a model or princess.

No shaving of her arm pits no eating mayonnaise.

Never will a plastic dickling be touched by her tongue.

Clouds: an on-going tale. (2)

Continuation (from October 12th post).






At headquarters:


Anyhow, the time-card has been punched as if this person is awake doing their job, guiding clouds towards the wind. Picking out which form each unique one will become. Yet they remain there, unmoved. Maybe they just went in a really long coffee break.



Cloud runners are always unpredictable, they are said to possess the highest creativity level permitted, this makes them dangerous but exciting to predict. Cloud-runners and Fractalians are the only ones permitted, if everyone was like them, there would be chaos. Well that’s what I’ve come to believe. If this world was run like clouds, nothing would ever get done.



I always thought clouds could be controlled by a bot-program. Will anyone really notice if they are a series of repeating patterns? People have more important things to do than look at the sky, we make sure of that. It’s our job.



The construction of everyday live has been our pride and joy ever since the conglomerate converged into one. We have designed every detail with our most talented and innovative personnel. Reality has never looked better. Even I surprise myself of our low error counts. Some days pass by without one single error! Those are our holidays.
Today was not one of those days. Since the Cloud-running department seems to have instituted a coup.



The sky surrogate was up and running as soon as we noticed the mishap; I only hope the damage is minimal.



Maybe someone noticed, maybe someone had time to breathe and look up. This someone will be put on notice. If there is a someone like this someone, we’ll make sure to get them busier. But that isn't my job, the memo is circulating around already, someone will get punished for the mistake, someone will work overtime without pay. That’s how it works. Slavery was a great idea; I still cringe when I hear the emancipation proclamation. I would have been good colleagues with Aristotle. Some people are just born to be leaders and others born to be whipped.


My job today, like every Wednesday is to create the monthly layout for the stock market. Dow goes up! GE goes down! Gold will be the ¨hot buy¨ for the first week of May. Simultaneously we are creating an underground cavern complex near Washington state, filled with the precious metal. A lucky archeologist will find it; he will die in a freak accident in a dig in Oaxaca in 2 years, 3 months and 17 days at exactly 9:57 a.m. eastern time. He will have no heirs. A monument will be created in his name at the base of the gold mine. Nobody will care or remember. The Boston Red Sox will win the world series that day and 298 fights will happen between New York and Boston fans during 11:07 p.m. to 5:46 a.m. Most of them will occur on Manhattan.



This is how we make our special associates rich. We raise gold, we create gold for them, play along in the game. They subsidy our ventures. My business is perfection. It’s every detail, constant control, every second is planned ahead. Always plan ahead, that’s the company’s motto.

Clouds: an on-going tale. (1)

She wrote.

Time is a series of binary codes, digit by digit, small pulses of energy that construct information. Time was measured in gold in 1944. Time is money. Time is what has passed and what will. Time is never enough. Time is an illusion. You are an illusion. We all are.

The world will end up without oxygen and nothing will ever rust again. Perhaps one day we will miss the rusty edges of a kitchen cabinet. Someday we may even miss tetanus.

I see the edges rust with glee. The microscopic war between molecules, I wonder what side I am on. I suggest we start embracing mosquitoes as a sign that there is still blood circulating in our vessels. There are explosions everywhere; we are the aftermath of an explosion… the most special kind of debris. I want to know if you’ve ever felt something burst inside you. But I refrain, you must have had an orgasm at your age, well it’s expected of you. I hope you have.

Prefer not to ask, in fear of an unexpected response; I turn my cheek towards the saints. Statues clothed in every color available to the eye to catch. And the beautiful sound of those 4 amazing seconds in a song.

Candlesticks burn away the sadness of mourners, yet the sun still shines. Electromagnetic fields make the sky look blue and clouds that once surf the wind are now static. They stopped progressing on into the next latitudes; they are no longer unicorns that transform into hats or elephants or any-thing reflected upon ever-changing nimbus. Somebody forgot to run the program. I wonder why.

Maybe she slept in or he’s late because of a doctor’s appointment that he clumsily forgot to call-in.

“Jajajaaa jum…”- laughing out quietly. “It must be the wind”. The day is still amazingly beautiful looking at it from this hill. I smile alone and listen.

TODAY

TODAY. The only day that has ever existed, since it’s now and only now exists; we battle entropy. Or should we decide to run its course? Today I will drink more water, to not be taken by its current, to avoid the accident of drowning in my existence. The glass is half fool, half empty, half-and-half, half drunk. Today is the only reason to be alive. Today is God. God is today. Today is everything and nothing and all that has passed and will pass, but it doesn’t matter, because that which will or has passed, is not today. Today has five letters, the only letters you need to write the book of a thousand truths. The only sounds you’ll need to spew from the pressure of your lips and your tongue, the only explosion of sound you’ll need to create to communicate everything there is, and was and will be. Today I will think twice or not think at all. Living in the grey area is quite chaotic; my thoughts fight their way into little anxious balls of digested information. This little contraptions are like mind mines, waiting for an out-of-place thought to make them go KAPOW! And bombard some minute space inside me. Today, I will not push forward my death date. Today I will appreciate today for being today and not what could have been today or what it should. Today I will stop believing there was anything else possible BUT today. Today is the best day of our lives.

Mere patterns.

After witnessing the beauty of patterns, I too, am left without words.

What can I say greater than what can be watched, observed with these humble eyes. I believe now, we all resonate. We all resonate, we all breathe at once. We all resonate and this is how we should stand. Resonating. The vibrancy of existence. If God exists… it is in the form of a scream. A scream heard to none. A scream that ignited the symphony that plays today. A scream, the scream of creation, the birth cry of the universe. We are mere waves. We all resonate and we forget it. We all resonate and yet we pursue to find a new beat, another drum, a change of rhythm. Music is our birth mother. Music creates and destroys us. Music is vibration, waves, resonance. We all resonate. Today, almost certain that we are all immersed in a cosmic symphony, I find myself and my thoughts so weak, so nothing, simply unworthy. Our selfishness, our desires, our human emotions. So small, so insignificant. We all resonate. That is our answer and it cannot be encountered in any book or class, any mind that dares to call itself genius. If we don’t comprehend THIS, our simplest truths… we are nothing but mere particles that vibrate without knowing the frequency of our reality.