Now that I have to go, we have to go.
Some things end, while others don't end.
The origin awaits us, from there we come.
We are exhausted by waiting for a whisper that screams to see us inhabit.
I find it uncomfortable to think of ourselves as comfortable in the inability to speak with the body. With a body that is no longer a body. With a bug With an existence that murmurs slowly, against and lost.
I'm calling you for the day you don't come.
The cold is from losing me and the perspiration comes with me.
Something beats between so much noise. There is insecticidal life.
Braving the day, we lack time.
The force of a species that is in charge of creating itself is choking.
Abruptly, the fire ignites the fingers and silences the heart. Breathing cannot be supported, it is something else that matters to us now.
The memory of a sound calms the movement. Trembling we make the world tremble. There is fear within this ability to do and destroy. The cycle is getting faster.
A fork ignites the form of extravagance and mortifies everyday life.
Without feeling everyday.
The attachment, the land, the house, the savannah, the dependency, the rootedness, the animal, the whisper and being far away.
One thing needs the other.
I speak of the mechanical experience of being alive. From the gesture of a manual that lubricates my hands and brings me closer to the concrete facts. to minute activity. To feign precision and obviousness.
The sense resembles the organic.
Tomorrow we will find ourselves in the incoherence of not knowing where to drink water from.
May the two beings that live in us meet, absorb and form a new species.
The courtyard it contains awaits that time of day.
A bird that flutters and flutters speaks. Always looking for parallels. We want something to say more than what it says.
Fantasizing about the possibility of not getting tired sitting down. In the literality of specifying things that nobody cares about and demanding that there be space for what nobody wants to do.
The fallen leaf breaks in half and falls down the gutter.
The skin changes. We must accept that we live in a moment where there is nothing that does not change.
To inhabit a body you have to put life into it. And to think what life is today. What objects represent us.
There is a fine line that differentiates us.
The wear and tear of the sun makes us intolerable to its rays. That moment is approaching.
It is complex to think about existence.
Established terms that we will never understand: happiness, love and time.
There are moisture stains that remind us of things we are looking for.
Irritability like the sound of disenchantment, coiled and pointed, immortalizes the
history and resounds with violence.
Walking with bags on a steep street. Shake easily while a few words interrupt the scene.
The poetics of staying closed attracts the courage to force a gate.
Pointy and bent, the legs droop while the iron chair functions as a mattress.
dance or think Break to dance.
There is a matter that we try to silence. It is the imprudence of not understanding and wanting to experience everything.
At the moment, I am rooted.
The coldness of a light warms the street and introduces a lost turn that seeks to locate itself.
Keys are an important object.
A roar with a red bow tries to come out of a gray and abandoned throat. in there
A bathroom without romance shows the allure of the unknown. I hurry up so I don't forget.
It's time to go back.
Going through a contemporaneity crossed by a history crossed by a
memory pierced by an object.