I'm writing again because I need to,
because I want to,
And because there's nothing that belongs to me
that can impede this summer wind concentrated in my veins
to yawn,
There's no one to stop this unbelievable solstice,
this farway shore,
that gently blows...

Labels: Summer Yawn

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I felt the soft travel of a feather over my shoulder. But I felt it after I stop in this village. All my travels finally brought me on to this far away town -you could say in the middle of nowhere- just to remind me that we are precisely that a soft body under the will of every wind on the corner of the world. I also feel that your skin is my pillow, soft as a feather, in which I can rest my head leaving my troubles away. You change my face just by smiling with your eyes, and embracing me with your warm whisper, making me float like a feather fulfilling my destiny just by falling between the sheets.

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Un vuelco de la historia más allá de las esquinas de mi casa me llevó a entender que la senda en realidad se extiende después de la pequeña cerca que rodea mi hogar.
A través del viaje se vio que había otra solución posible, a parte de seguir andando: llegar hasta la puerta de dónde se había partido la primera vez. Cruzar el océano nunca solucionó nada, sólo se reflexionó sobre los fantasmas en el ático y el armario. Esos malditos que habían vivido una rica vida sobre los pasos de su autor. Sin embargo, sí había un arrepentimiento: Nunca debieron desperdiciarse todos aquellos años, pues sólo sirvieron para encontrarse con aquel esqueleto en la esquina de una calle cualquiera en la ciudad de Tokyo.
¡Simplemente era imposible!
¿Para qué huir? ¿Para qué escalar los muros, si de todas maneras habría de hallarse consigo mismo al otro lado del mundo? En algún lugar alguien dijo que la mitad de tu muerte te persigue hasta hallarte. Tiene tu misma cara, tus modales e instintos. Tiene el mismo gusto de ropa. Le gusta la misma música. Es más, pareciera de alguna forma que estudió en la misma escuela y que tus padres la educaron. ¿Pero cómo es posible que uno nunca la vea? Es decir ¿Dónde se oculta todos esos años? Sin embargo, la cuestión es que siempre te halla por mera casualidad. Cuando menos la esperas y la deseas, pero allí está con su semblante trémulo y su sonrisa tonta. Abriendo los brazos para que caigas rendido. De hecho, a veces se presenta en la forma de una mujer. Una de esas amantes perversas y estúpidas que sólo desean tirarte para después jactarse que se acostaron contigo. ¿La venganza? Ponerla ebria y perderla en los recovecos de una ciudad extranjera ¡A ver si encuentra su camino de regreso!
Yo supe de un hombre que no moría, a pesar de intentar el suicidio constantemente.
¡Claro, el hombre tenía 650 años!
¡Qué fastidio! ¡Que aburrimiento! Tantos años y nada de muerte. Me imagino que por eso contrató los servicios de una maestra, quien otro poco muere en el mismo accidente automovilístico con él.
Moraleja:
Cuando no puedas morir, haz lo que tu vecino: Róbasela al más incauto

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While I was dreaming about green and blue, I forgot about the sweet forms of red, yellow, and brown. In a recent picnic in the park this colors reminded me that they are important too. That life doesn't come in a complete circle until they become part of every living thing on this earth. Until we see what is around us, and comprehend that life is green, but also it is black and even grey and white. That red not only is for passion or blood, but it is also dawn and fire, that blue it is not only sea, but is also sky and dreams. And black is beyond day, forming the blankett and bed for brightly stars. Grey become the passion of the sky to cover with his arms all earth and when this reunion happens, all the colors together become a wonderful and beutiful smile in the form of a rainbow.

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Today I was thinking about my father. I was thinking about what he might said in my position. As I grow older I'm getting away from the man I used to be. Indeed I made terrible mistakes, horrible choices. I made things that don't make me proud. I can blame the loneliness, the inexperience, I can blame the youth, but that don't explain me at all.
When I was a child I could used the experiences of other people to make my own decisions, but as I grew older the anxious of living produced a change of view. I decided to get wrong on my own terms. Didn't matter if my mother asked me about this sudden change.
Why?
She used to ask me why.
College days were kind of difficult. Always in movement, didn't matter if I was exhausted, in those days. I just felt the need of stay in perpetual movement. I even traveled to Japan trying to find a way, a path. People over there taught me that positions in life are made only by everyones perspective, every single point of view make life possible. The lesson I remember the most was the one a budist monk taught me: "The most important thing to progress in life is not that you found the right answer, it rather be that you find the right question. In that particular moment this little topic made a noise entrance in my head. I only could understand it several years later. A line in the sand is only drawn for pleasure, but you have to keep in mind the repercusions.
I rebelled, I yawn, I ran, only to find that life is just what we make of it. Decisions make you what you are. Nothing more, nothing less. The right question gives you direction, because it marks the things that trouble you. The solution to any dilema its given by the decisions you make through your journey. And every journey is precious.
All this thinking about my father is because he died long ago, when he was only 23.
What would he say if only he could see what I'd become?
He would be proud or deceived about me?
I can not tell for sure.

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