pachitaz

They walked down the street togheter under the autumn sun, at the corner they said good bye and kissed each other cheek, then they took their own direction, on his way and with the sun falling behind his hat, he lookd back at the corner, she did not.    

Hemingway used to say that people should write drunk and edit sober, what he meant was live drunk and reflect sober. I´m drunk and lost between the time and space as we should always be, my friends are at my side and I spend the night along with them while I smile and drop words over the table but I don´t really know what is happening, I´ve never known, but is only in this moment when I remember it, now it feels horribly necessary to know. The smoke of this cigarette hits me in the face almost as hard as the glance of the woman I used to love. Small tears run down my cheeks, for my luck no one see them, if they noticed those li

La novela es muy dispersa, el ensayo es muy evidente, el cuento sería lo ideal.   La cuidad cerró la pestañas algunos minutos pasado medianoche, y los mismos imbéciles de siempre decidimos destrozar la armonía del silencio con nuestros infames alaridos. Salimos con destino pero sin rumbo por donde el marco de la vida nos permitió poner el pie, como siempre perdidos en las frías calles con brillo de plata que nos cuidan de cualquier mal, y obviamente cantando para remediar los corazones rotos y recuperar el tiempo malgastado. Todos mentimos, todos decimos que salimos por distintas razones pero la verdad, todo

Nunca espere encontrarte entre tantos senderos que se cruzan, que se cortan unos a otros en una jungla de cemento y árboles que se pierden en el tiempo y la niebla, pero ahí estaba una tu y ahí estuve un yo que se siguieron los pasos a traves del laberinto. Nunca sabre quien partió con el sutil juego de las migas de pan, pero ahí estabamos los dos siguiendo la pista de nuestras sombras, cazando las recompensas de nuestras historias. Un dia inesperado nos cruzamos en un sendero al que solo se puede entrar una vez y lo sabíamos, y tuviste miedo, y tuve miedo y tuvimos miedo juntos, pero entramos juntos a ese lugar

your piercing silence stabs my head the eyes that I loved are closed forever now our moments are flowing in the paper but my literature needs more words so I write yours like if they were mine to fill the blank parts of my soul that is the destiny of the broken poets

the drop of the forgotten childness falls in our heads and rumble in our horizons, the mistery rises over the mist and the lie corrupt the sight, devour our eyes and tear our ears. The blood stirs and rase any idea that could emerge just like the the sea, blood scapes from my body by a sore and falls into a cup that a lie grotesquely drinks. suddenly I wake up, and I'm alone, naked and lost, there's no more distance, no more time, and the universe is at the center of my back, in that place where I can't touch it. but it's also infront of me, I see it with the border of my eyebut when I focus at it the image disapears. The universe is in the

In the ivory castle the lights announce the dawn although night never comes, the echo of the glint resonates from the foundations to the towers and floods all the rooms of the place. In the ivory castle the windows are so high that they can only reflect them self, and the sun seems to be just a ordinary ornament against the omnipresence of the pure ivory. all the clocks duly sound every hour although time has decided not to keep running, here everything shines and dazzle who see from very near, but that is not a problem because no one never enter here,in the castle there are no diseases or old age, no one cry for the sins and liberty is the n

I could forget you without wanting it or trying it, but all this memories of you will transform into little grains of sand that will begin to fill every single hole sparse in my burn body, those holes that cry, imploring an assassin that could finish with the pain that you caused me with your blazing fire.  Maybe I forget and you will die, or maybe you will fall in a deep and dense pit disappearing, leaving no sign of what you ever were. But, what does it matter the wound, if the scar is already starting to heal? Stunning stars born, shine, dazzle, and they finally die,  a star is no more eternal than a worm, and the color of a heart can be  

Some people from very far away lands talk about ancient histories, ancient histories that describes something incredible, a fantastic event too spectacular to be understood by common people. At any time the Stardust Mist could appear. What would you say if I told you that the sellers lie more than the magicians? Would you like to see an impossible jump? Do you think that magic only is in the stage? life still has a lot to show, you are a homeless poor boy that lonely wanders through the paths of the night, trying to find sense in the past way or maybe the one ahead. Your hands are so empty that they seem to have lost what they never had, you

the derailed heart of the man loved her until the edge of sanity            he started to write a song for her he really loved her...                 every moment he spented with her, helped him to make the song more beautiful                                    every laugh and every smile became a whole sound but in a expected day the woman turned around and walked away                                                         the poor man was left alone he never ended the song for her, but unfortunately the requiem the man wrote for the dead of their love was incredibly beatiful