Thursday, May 28, 2009

Open Eyes


Open eyes. Dark space. No place. Silence and in-gravity. A-temporality and no limits. Sporadic lights in arbitrary intervals. Indistinct flashes.

The body. The action of floating. Anesthetic feeling. Glance to the void. Consciousness of being alone.

 Head and feet as the only reference of up and down. Right hand. Left hand. Back. A voice. Emission of a sound. Possibility of speech and sound.

Closed eyes. For one second or a century. Impossibility of determining that.

 Open yes. Feeling of being pulled by a force. Need of keeping balance. Feet. Contact with a surface under them.

 Light. One and coming from a door. Need of going through it.  One step. A walk. Before and after the blink-lapse: a new reference of time.

 The door: a possibility.


Pause. Hesitation. Fear? Impossibility of distinguishing between one feeling and the other. Heart beats. Increase of intensity and frequency.

 Calm. Closeness to the moment of going through the door. New agitation. Light. Left foot. Opposite side of the door. Right foot. Last step.


Descent. Speed. Vertigo. Ground. Imminence. Panic. Waking up.


Air. Profound aspiration. Profuse sweating. Loneliness. Search. Switch. Light. Tears. Face. Residual anguish. Relief. Relief? Being awake. Awake and alone.

Mirror. Bed. Window. Doors. Sheets. Humidity. Sound. Television. Static. Button. Off.

 Bare feet. Fridge. Water.




-What time is it?

-No idea. That dream again.

-It’s 3 in the morning…

-I didn’t want to wake you up, but every time the feeling is more real. Sometimes I think I won’t cross the door

-Go to sleep. You will cross. Maybe you won’t even have to decide again. Just think of a naked woman and you won’t have any troubles with Morpheus.

-I don’t appreciate your insensibility

-It is not insensibility, I am tired and sleepy. Listen, let’s talk at noon, we eat something and you tell me all about it



Watch. 1:00 pm. Coffee place. People. Small round tables. Waiting. Watch. 1:01 pm. Waiting. 1:03 pm. Only 3 minutes? Feeling of having waited for longer.

Salt shaker. Rice grains. Memory. Mom, why is there rice in the salt? So that it doesn’t turn into a mass and it can go through the little holes.


-It doesn’t matter (lie)


-Ok, ok

-So(now sitting down), tell me, why do you think that next time you won’t cross the door?

-Not only I hesitated, this time I felt fear

-Yes, but you crossed, right?

-I have told you already that I am almost sure that if I don’t cross then I stay there and I don’t come back. I won’t see you again, I would just stay floating…

-Hey listen, don’t go crazy, in one way or the other you would wake up. You were the one who assumed that the door is the only link to reality and that the fall is a way to reborn… no? or re-incarnate… or, what was it?

-Yeah yeah, that

-Well, the point is that I have told you many times that all that you control. The door, the “in-gravity”… all that

-I hate when you do that little gesture as if quotation  marks…

-Yeah yeah, I know. By the way, the only thing that worries you is that you won’t see me again? My God! That’s funny… me?

-It was an example. It is not the “only” thing that worries me

-See how useful the manual quotation marks are?

-You’re incapable of understanding an irony

-Of course I am, the thing is that they make me laugh. Do we order? I’m hungry…


Apartment. Loneliness. Voice.

-What if I don’t sleep?




-Tell me

- You busy?

-Sort of, but tell me

-What if I don’t sleep?

-Pills again? Where do you get all that?

-No, no… no pills. What if I can stay awake forever. You said I control everything.

-Yes, Claudio, but only inside the dream…


Sneeze. Impossibility of containing it. Possible allergy. Dusty couch. Small TV. Video tape. infomercial about schizophrenia. Teenagers. Stupid conversation. Fucked up waiting lounge.



Small hallways. Office. Dusty couch (another one). Notes. Of what?

-So… still the recurrent dreams

-THE recurrent dream. It’s the same one.

-Yes… in this dream, are you naked?

Stupid question.


-mmm… I don’t know

-You don’t know?

-Doctor, I’ve already told you that is consciousness of being, not necessarily physically being. In the dream I have consciousness of my eyes and I see through them but it’s only that, I haven’t touched them or seen them from outside.




-So, you don’t feel naked


Bother. Right conclusion.


-Well no, though I could equally be physically naked, but no, I don’t feel it




-So, you’re floating?

-You can say so, yes

-And… there’s a door..

-Yes, but only at one point

-And you go out…

-Or in… that’s relative

-So you’re out

-No! I don’t know! It’s not in or out!


Notes. Notes. Notes. Pause. Notes.

Notepad. Floor. Red hand. Abrupt exit. 


Little stone. Window. Lena. Her face. Some calm.

-Claudio, you can knock, don’t you think?

-Come down

-Ok, I’ coming


Waiting. Impatience.


-Tell me… and give me one (sitting on the front door)

-Lena, I can’t stand this

-What? (exhaling smoke into the air)

-I think that I will fall asleep any time now

-How long have you gone on like this?

-I lost track

-So go to sleep

-Lena, I won’t cross

-Claudio, I think that you decided that and that’s why you’re afraid

-No, I know I won’t cross

Lena’s eyes. Glance. Lena’s hand. Claudio’s hair. In his hand, the softness of the hair.  In Claudio, the feeling of complete wellbeing. A kiss. Cheek. Another kiss. Lips.

-Claudio, don’t be afraid, I always have this same dream every night… and in the end I always cross the door.

Monday, May 18, 2009


my heart hums

i let it
i let it sing a little

of joys
of confidence

my mind makes short hymns
brief compositions for promise
for precious things

not far gone
not idealized
not imagined

but tactually here

by my side

Thursday, May 14, 2009


mind is on it
heart joins accordingly

health will reinstall itself
strength will win the battles

the virtual
and the corporeal ones

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

anger management

deep breaths
in the name of saneness
to the rescue from absurdity
tolerance with a limit
for reason's sake

what would there be left

Friday, May 01, 2009

sobre la mesa

mis cartas, una colección confusa 
de secuencias numéricas y símbolos medievales
un juego legendario
en el que no quiero
no puedo
sacar tantas cuentas

una vida con leves inclinaciones hedonistas
como la de todos
no tiene que dar explicaciones

es algo sencillo
y ya