DARK<>AYES

Reading about someone else's dreams makes you want to dig out your dream residues from the night before, see if they somehow make a story worth telling. Most of the time I dont remember my dreams..its only the past week and last night that the events have been significant enough for me to recall them after waking up.
I sleep a lot, I like sleeping. But it seems that this over sleeping I have going on right now is obstructing my brain from remembering what happened during those dark hours.
Last night I was in Berlin,apparently, climbing a very steep hill. There were two paths for this hill, but me and Irene Rodriguez (to whom I haven't spoken in the 4 years that its been since we left school) decided to ride our bikes up the steep side. It was complicated, and we ended up carrying our bikes, I assume so anyway because they were gone half way through the climbing.. we managed to get to the top, we looked at the view, which seemed to be the landscapes of Cartago, in a summer afernoon. As it tends to be. It wasnt that clear, but now trying to remember thats the feeling I get from the images in my head. We laughed, proud of ourselves when suddenly, outisde my room the noise of feet rushing down the stairs woke me up, I think the fire alarm went off again, but maybe that was another day..

FMP

INSPIREI CHON. lles.
Isnt it beautiful?

PERICOS ►PERICOS

JUEVEI

Y si, ese dia se termino todo. Hasta ahi llegaron las promesas que habia envuelto en petalos rojos mas bien se volvieron pesadas, lentas, como que las habia embarrado de crema de rosas y con eso se las pego en la frente. Nada especial, nada terrible..pero dentro del caleidoscopio que son nuestros iris, todo se veia como hondo, lejos. Y entonces, di, lloro.

HOYS

Reminds me of that sweet presence, that comforts deep inside like a warm kiss. Like the memories of that summer that you never lived yet it feels so real, so nostalgic.

HOY ES DOMINGO 7.

Mi pecho es hondo, profundo. Cada suspiro se sale por los huecos que dejó lo que me carcomió el Corazón. La vida me tapa la boca con sus lujos inesperados y a la vez, como pago, me arrebata lo que me quedaba de espíritu. Talvez es la edad asentandose o mas bien escurriendoseme por los ojos. Talvez es el pecho, que alguna vez vacío, se llena de toxinas adictivas, de esas toxinas que caramelizan la sangre. Mi infusion venia con alcohol, tabaco seco, un poco de risa y muchas ideas voladas, ideas de jupa floja. Yo creo que ya sé como remendarla, pero él se me llevo el desatornillador.