***

vomitar escarcha
de color
a lo largo del pasillo
que conduce el baño al aula, salón, fabrica
cagar estilo
no soy princesa, soy vagabundo
perdido en el brillo
las luces de neón
y el tintineo que creo
cuando salpico agua dentro de la pileta.
no soy mujer, tampoco hombre
no soy puto, ni mojigata.
Tan solo vine a salpicar el brillo.

Los Escapistas

Te traje
hasta el quinto piso.
nivel rata, gris. automovil. basura. peaton/ porton.
entes juntos pero dispersos, siempre secos. objetos del recuerdo, polvo.
vacio. limpio. siempre limpio, siempre a la venta.
lejano y cercano. hogar del niño y del hombre y la vieja.
escalones que dan al viento, el servicio nunca llego, aun asi aqui albergamos los olvidados,
los escapistas.

Te tuve
tres dias antes. En mis entrañas
con la mirada basta
para confirmar los hechos
algo rapido, quizas errado

Te deje

en cabrón nada.



Got nothing but swing like moves

Walking through the moon
without galactic shoes
no Mr. Jackson moves.
Just, walking.
.
Passing through the rocky desert
I found you
inside an empty vast crater.
Offered me a filthy cup
full of The Undesirable Feeling
I gulped it whole, and was left
with no desire
to walk back to earth
in my terrestrial shoes - pathetic swing like moves.

I was left put
inside the hollow crater, with you.
Numb stares, no words. We inhaled the lunar white dust.

Yo no escribo poesia. Yo tan solo escribo
por que mi voz tiembla, por que no tengo publico.
Por que soy palabra, no accion.
Si notas un juego en la oracion,
no son pretenciones mias. Son solo juegos
para pasar el rato,
para sonar bonito.

Yo no escribo la verdad,
yo tan solo escupo ideas.
Las escupo y las dejo huir.
No soy su dueña,
y tampoco las respaldo.

Yo tan solo escribo palabras
por que es facil,
por que soy cobarde.
Por que son tan solo palabras.

The Virgin In Chains



The Virgin In Chains Is Not Really a Virgin.

My mom tells me she carries those chains realeasing us, is not that the chains control her movement, quite the opposite, its her, holding them, getting us rid from them.
We are the ones who are chained.

But when I look at her
I don't see a fight, I don't see no action.
Just her placid face and the chains.
The artist liked her women easy, obeying
the artist might have been a chauvinistic freak.
Or maybe it is our whole religion the one that is whacked
and the artist simply had to portray her like that.

The Virgin in Chains Is Not Really a Virgin

The Virgin in Chains Is Not Trapped

The Virgin In Chains Decides

To give birth,

give a fuck,

look down,

The Chains of A Virgin are Links

to us, and what's terrestrial.

So, Is she glad to hold them,

or does she want to get rid of them?

Rid Of Us.

I like to hang around with the scumb, because they are not really scumb.

My mom tells me

I cannot mix, blend,

she says some humans are in their divine state,
like worms.

And she believes that herself as I,

that we are queens.

She says the world is my kingdom and that I must decide what to do in it,

In order to gain the positive reaction
a holly action needs to be performed.

Well,  I think

'Mother, I just want to fuck.'

Fuck with the worm, 

Fuck with the dog, 

Fuck with the god.

Give away my flowers

Give away my riches

Give my self, away. 

I don't wanna step on top of the snake

I'd rather dance to it. 

The Virgin In Chains, She Is Not Really a Virgin.

She is just pieces of rock carved together

Take Her When She Comes.

Three - Absent Minded

The boy in that punk show
when I knew he liked me,
it was my ego what gained.
So pretty in the outside,
never gave myself the chance to understand what was going in the inside.
Though I think way back then, I was beggining to comprehend.

Adolescent lust, there is nothing like it.
A virginal body is feeling for the very first time, fire.
As we play to press our lips against eachother,
and learn how to heat up the temperature of our bodies
I am also learning that my mind
IS SO FUCKED UP,
and it can play evil schemes just as well.
Guess some girls do need to play it slow.
Things I will never explain.
Things you might know,
things may be forgiven.

Your sexy attitude remains, always posing and looking soooooo hot.
You are a cool game
which I can't ever follow.

two- a philosopher

balls bounce back and forth,

this time I'm a dame with full self-control
restrained because the timing is totally off.
momentary pointless encounters of nothingness
a good chat, good will
FULL MEnTAL desire.
wit can do so much for a girl's illussions
which can make a girl wanna go far
laughs can make a clit shiver
space and time will fuck us up.

a philosopher can fuck as well as he can doubt

space and time can be modified
we need to take a chance.

Hang on / Hang. Gone

hey girl, if you are so fearless, take your heart off your head.

I met this P.E teacher, she was a young beautiful and argentinian. Zarpada. She tried to teach me the facts of love, or rather, the facts of control and male domination. She was a brilliant fearless bitch. Her instinct was on, her game was cocky but effective. I listened and decided to hold a restraint over myself. My impulse. Maybe play some chess, so I'd know how to turn heads and maybe break constrains. Don't mind about regrets. And primarly, since we are females, preserving the virginal image that is so very much required.

I was stunned. I had never heard a girl talk the way she did. And trust me, I've talked and overheard plenty of girls. It was this incredible disregard for moral and feelings. For her it was a matter of who was in control. And being a P.E teacher it is no surprise she'd have a competitive nature. I really don't think people were actually fooled, but I am certain they allowed her to play her games without giving her the scarlet letter.
And I have never been able. Not really.

I've been tamed. I've always acted upon the promise of love
and good feelings.
I guess I haven't really lost,
I've been dumped,
been forgotten, neglected, taken for granted.
But there is no loss in that, it is a game in which we all gain.

I was determined to learn a little from her schemes, act upon lust
and forget love, it would come, if it was to come.
And I guess I have been quite keen to it.
My aim isn't to be as her,
for I will never have a competitive nature,
I will never care about being demure and respected
if you wanna call me a bitch, I might as well deserve it.
And I will never be as cold.
I just wanna gain sexual expirience
become a sex god,
keep healthy and joyful. That is pretty much all.

mouth to mouth. heart to heart.
"You are such a nice girl." Fuck You. 
I wanna fuck you up, real hard.  
The marks I asked you to leave in my body, they will only last a few days.
The lies you've told me will remain as truth for as long as my memory will cherish them.

Take some time.

Patience. Everything will be all right.
To be wanted. Fuck love. Give me passion.
I want to make him come. Come again, you and your light preassured twitching.
How is it that he's got no impulse to chase?
It is a game I want to play, but lately everybody is too modern to give a fuck, give a dime. Take some time.

She is the desperate message. The clear response of a chained virgen.
What are these chains for? Am I constrained? Attached to what?
To the promise of wellness and order. I am hectic and spontaneous.
If I want I take. And I will be taken. Why should never matter.
The lack of action is the disease.
Still, I don't act. I only write. I only think. I only wish.
And I care about the why, and specially about how.
I hope upon a smooth approach.

Thing is, I am fragile.
Too much thrubbing gives me pain.
An unloving farewell leaves me astonished.
I am gonna cut your cock off. Or maybe just kiss it. But I need your attention.
And I don't want to beg.

Don't tell me I can look for you, rather you look for me.

She Must Persist

and to be given life means just the same as to being hold back from it.

inside a glass shell she sleeps. lids open, eyes wide shut. count til ten
ten years isn't long enough. a second is the same as eternity.
but its actually been like 3 years... or 22?
She keeps forgetting her age. As it meant something. Her real age is a secret only her soul keeps.
and the knowledge of life and matter, it is between life and matter.

inside that shell she doesnt find comfort. Her ass feels numb and her heart is sore.
"'The vanity in them." Yes. She finds them disgusting. And yes, she can relate.
cause she couldnt think of anyone as vain as her.
So she stays in that shell. Eyes open, lids shut. Mouth open, words out.

The words she speaks can (and certainly do) destroy worlds she hold so precious.
words out, guns blaze. Rip my heart out.
The thoughts she keeps, create hells she cant brake out from.
So she speaks loud, but her voice is weak and it quivers. So the hell remains inside the shell,
yet parts come out to contaminate.
Concepts are her virus, but she must still go on, and learn more techniques.
We fight cause we want peace, she must persist. and spread the disease.

i let the time pass me by

disposable.

expendable.

caught up in past encounters

letting time pass me by

the recolection of faces leaves a sour taste
Engorged. Filthy. Animal.
Fuck my instinct. Fuck eternal love.

Got no trophy. No pursuit.
...... ..... ..... ..... .... ..... (Shit!)
Was it an adventure?
Time passes me by carving judgement upon the memories
the memories of summer and hollidays past
of a sweet november.
The lack of events post a certain action
a certain drive. a certain lust.

The cowardy promise of a forgotten friendship leaves me wondering:

Was it an adventure?

The only things that remain 

are the objects that were at sight

a black canvas hat, a black t-shirt layered over a yellow long sleeve, the dirt in his hand, a broken tight, returned belt, kitchen table filled with smushed brownie left overs and gifts of weed, a lonely bed in which i was left waiting, a book by J.D Salinger, watercolors, joint, take out chinesse food with extra hot sauce, glove compartment, grey billabong thermal top...(List goes on)
Objects given to good will or maybe
to some other girl that casually passed by. (Yeah, that silly girl got my hat. )

So what are we running away from?
Why must we press upon adventure?

You got to live a little, seek a little,
and let your poor heart out to dry.
That's the story of, that's the glory of NOW.
until time rolls by a little

and all that is left is your corpse buried

to feed some littles

that's the story of, that's the glory of NONE.

Forget your awarness of a pathetic being breathing inside of you
Forget the knowledge that everybody around you is crap
and Fuck this desire to let time pass you by.

I Find MySelf

  ...................................in the image of a body 

laying naked in ignorance with crossed arms and closed eyes.

I used to run away ...

and I thought I was gonna run away with You

I'd run away with you

By My Side

But Im just like you: Disposable, exchangeable.

A fool rushed in who desires to feel
but ends up number
day by day.

.... she's just a stupid bitch.

(Yes. I am referring to self)

the ethereal crow

A black bird appeared to me, it seemed to be a crow. Its feathers were so black that as the moonlight hit on them you could see them sparkle white. The bird was big and the touch of his wings with the cool night breeze emitted a beautiful sound. This continuous movement completed a wonderful sad song.

At the moment I couldnt understand the meaning, it caught me by surprise. I just saw this animal reflection in awe. I like crows in the same way I like animals that ought to be respected and feared. Snakes, bears, wolfs and jellyfish. The crow is just the same. My crow was ethereal.

That night as I went to bed my heart pounded hard in a steady pace. I was fearfull, mainly because I didnt understand the origin of this fear. I said to myself -"Fuck it. You've just heard a beutiful song, and you've just seen a bird. And what a bird!" The night is filled with magic.

A few days had to pass in order to comprehend that this crow was mine. It was not chance. It was not luck. What seemed to be a sporadic delight was actually a warning.

Watch out, silly girl, you ought to be a woman. Feed me, for I am you and I can see you are lacking. Time can fade your body away but the spirit remains. Care girl. Grow girl. You ought to be a woman. Feed me or else. 

Its words to me are now so clear. A crow is a dangerous animal. Feed him wrong, and he'll start poking your eyes. One by one, bit by peak. He will rip away all the flesh, eagerly, forcefully, and it will take long. And it will hurt.

Beautiful bird. Try to hear his song, try to understand. Once you know you ought to be exactly what you believe, you'll find communion with him. And both will fly! You can be his song and the warning can evolve into something deep and lovely. Soul is what they call it. But be careful. One single slip can be so meaningful, one single slip can become habit. Fall down once and you might stay down. Be nothing but raw meat.

For me it was too late. I saw him and I heard that awful warning but my brain is too thick to really get things. I knew all along I was doing wrong. Sleeping late, feeling depressed and tired of my friends, chores. Life, ugh. I can easily get lost in a day dream.

He was getting hungry. Hungry for knowledge, for adventure, for love, hungry for a purpose. Oh he was so patient! He, he would follow me through my day dreams! In wistful loving pace he would follow me!

Oh and Time! Oh it is so fast! Faster than me, faster than my crow time is! So when time took this sudden long leap we were left so far behind. Oh and he didn't like that. On that terrible moment he knew he had been loving somebody with a weak lame body. Oh but he was so furious! So he screamed his song in hurtful tone and he plunged his beak, hard! Straight into my  chest and the flesh was ripped and the blood was draining and my eyes were full of "I'm so sorry"s.

And he was sorry too. And I swear I know this because he stopped and he cried and from that moment he never again sang any song. Just tears and strange crowish howls.
I still had a chance, to do something. Let him take me on flight. But I don't know, I just didn't. I was even weaker without that piece of flesh and that enormous amount of blood gone it was harder for me. So I didn't.

And I was so afraid I no longer had any daydreams just this regret and this "I'm so sorry"s. And he got really hungry and bored and frustrated of my lame body. And time that nasty creature was way passed us, mocking us! So my crow he couldn't hold it any longer. So I have this beautiful bird peaking hurtfully day by day into my vain sin. Oh I tell you it hurts.

And I don't know how much longer I'll be able to take it. Time is so far I bet it can't even recall us. I am out of flesh and so so sorry. But you, you are still young! Oh I'm telling you now, you must understand this. You must make music with your crow because if you just stand there. I mean really it is only but natural to move.