Incomplete by Alanis Morissette

One day I'll find relief
I'll be arrived
And I'll be friend to my friends who know how to be friends
One day I'll be at peace
I'll be enlightened and I'll be married with children and maybe adopt
One day I will be healed
I will gather my wounds forge the end of tragic comedy

I have been running so sweaty my whole life
Urgent for a finish line
And I have been missing the rapture this whole time of being forever incomplete

One day my mind will retreat
And I'll know God
And I'll be constantly one with her night dusk and day
One day I'll be secure
Like the women I see on their thirtieth anniversaries

I have been running so sweaty my whole life
Urgent for a finish line
And I have been missing the rapture this whole time of being forever incomplete

Ever unfolding
Ever expanding
Ever adventurous
And torturous
And never done

One day I will speak freely
I'll be less afraid
And measured outside of my poems and lyrics and art
One day I will be faith-filled
I'll be trusting and spacious authentic and grounded and home

I have been running so sweaty my whole life
Urgent for a finish line
And I have been missing the rapture this whole time of being forever incomplete

once upon a time

when i had hiccups

i was turned upside down

i saw movies

i stayed over

i saw countries

i cooked

i slept

i dreamed

i woke up

productive love

love doesn't just vanish into space

if it is felt

it produces something

even if not said

even if not expressed in any way

if it is felt

it connects

it wishes well

it protects

fantasyland

where there are great coincidences
and all the freaking stars align
and everything happens exactly as one would wish it to

where dreams don't crash and break into unintelligible pieces
where good people get what they deserve
and bad things only happen to bastards

where therapists don't exist
and life is just simple

acceso

hoy hasta las memorias se sienten tan lejos
hay días en los que el desarraigo se hace el protagonista
y el corazón se queda en pelotas
y el estómago se pone a dar patadas voladoras
y a la garganta la molesta un nudito constante
y a la voz se le oye un quiebre leve pero presente
solo porque hay conversaciones
cafés
caminatas
que no pueden hacerse por la distancia

realismo mágico

las cajas de cartón corrugado se erigen
vacías conforman una estructura a la que entro y salgo cada día
que me cubre cuando llueve
y me esconde cuando lloro

duermo allí sobre mi cama compuesta por un montón de rollos de bubble wrap
uno al lado de otro
y pegados con cinta adhesiva ancha de color marrón

otros rollos de bubble wrap (a los que me tienta irles explotando bolita a bolita)
esperan a que los use de sábana cuando entra el friito de navidad

mis cosas están clasificadas
etiquetadas
agrupadas

mis libros
mi ropa
mis recuerdos de algun viaje o alguna exhibición

mi laptop
mis artefactos electrónicos
mis efectos personales

todos esperan
a que termine esta otra transición
entre otros tiempos y los que vienen
grandes, lejos

todos esperan
el próximo
gran
viaje

formas platónicas

una esfera perfecta
un sobrio cuadrado
un ángulo rectángulo

la concisa finitud de un punto en el espacio

o una afinidad intelectual...
o el simple disfrute de una sonrisa.

palmita

boca | beso | sonrisa

figuras 1 | 2

figuras 3 | 4

knowhow

strategic
tactical
persevering
thoughts of beauty

persistent
continuous
wishful
images of days to come

tiny tragedy

a little girl that loved
learned not to

imprint

my skin is witness
my skin is testimony
my skin is hope

foresight

the only link we have with the future is our imagination

terapia para dominicanos

"Yo sé qué horror se vive en esta isla, la violencia que ha generado la injusticia y la soberbia, el racismo y la pasividad con que reaccionamos al infierno, pero lo que nos hace falta es una gran terapia que nos muestre cuán hermosos y buenos somos y de todo lo que nos hemos perdido por no ser más solidarios, trabajadores e inteligentes. Y estas tres palabras son precisamente con las que describiría a los dominicanos de la diáspora, quienes a mi entender son parte de esta terapia necesaria, porque gracias a la distancia han aprendido a ser otra cosa y esta cosa es digna."

Rita Indiana Hernández
Fragmento de la entrevista que le hiciera Carmen Imbert Brugal para Mujer Unica (agosto 2009)

visita

Te acercas y te paseas con una coreografía sinuosa

A veces me rozan tus tentáculos que parecen flotar en la líquida atmósfera que traes

¿Te quedas o te vas, soledad?

monologue | monólogo

here no news will arrive

there won't be no casual comments that I will hear by mistake

here

there won't be any shadows other than those I project myself

nor any traces left by accident that I could run into

here there are no memories attached to anything

here there are no threads hanging to no cracks

no coincidences

no misplacing

here pretexts won't appear everywhere

here there won't even be anyone who could understand

that here

if i remember you

it's because i decide to

...

aqui no van a llegar noticias

no habrán comentarios al aire hechos por nadie que oiré por error

aqui

no habrán sombras más que las que yo misma proyecto

ni rastros dejados por accidente con los que tropezaré

aqui no hay memorias adheridas a nada

aqui no hay ninguna hilacha que se aferre a ninguna hendidura

ninguna coincidencia

ninguna traspapelación

aqui no aparecerán pretextos por donde quiera

aqui ni siquiera habrán quienes entiendan

que aqui

si te recuerdo

es porque lo decido

cupcake

what happened?

while juggling with daily distractions
I conciliate a sense of loss with my lack of direction

I think this story has officially entered the realm of tragedies

'Quisiera Saber' por Pedro Guerra

Del sol sólo sé que es de luz y fuego
del mar que al final se convierte en hielo
no puedo entender la guerra y las cruces

Del pan sólo sé que lo amasa el trigo
y sé que en el bosque hay un ciervo herido
quisiera saber cuándo no se sufre

Yo sé que la luna no da la cara
y sé que el presente ayer fue mañana
yo sé que que al final solo quedan huesos
y se que en los ojos vive el misterio
quisiera saber cuándo no se sufre
cuándo no se sufre

De Dios sólo sé que ha llegado tarde
y sé que el papel si lo prendes arde
no puedo entender la ciudad sin luces

Yo sé que la lluvia lo moja todo
y sé que no hay vida en un cuerpo solo
quisiera saber cuándo no se sufre

Yo sé que la luna no da la cara
y sé que el presente ayer fue mañana
yo sé que que al final solo quedan huesos
y se que en los ojos vive el misterio
quisiera saber cuándo no se sufre
cuándo no se sufre

Yo sé que el invierno es un árbol muerto
y sé que la vida es un algo incierto
quisiera saber cuándo no se sufre
cuándo no se sufre

I come from there by Mahmoud Darwish

I come from there and I have memories

Born as mortals are, I have a mother

And a house with many windows,

I have brothers, friends,

And a prison cell with a cold window.

Mine is the wave, snatched by sea-gulls,

I have my own view,

And an extra blade of grass.

Mine is the moon at the far edge of the words,

And the bounty of birds,

And the immortal olive tree.

I walked this land before the swords

Turned its living body into a laden table.

I come from there. I render the sky unto her mother

When the sky weeps for her mother.

And I weep to make myself known

To a returning cloud.

I learnt all the words worthy of the court of blood

So that I could break the rule.

I learnt all the words and broke them up

To make a single word: Home

séver la

las escalas no importan

todo se invierte

de alante o atrás

o de atrás a más atrás

todo se corrompe

en estos momentos de breves estabilidades

de torpes espejismos de continuidad

aún lo único que quede sea la anestecia de la costumbre

o lo cotidiano

al final (al principio y al medio también)

todo se rompe

todo se va

function

i battle my own demons

in my rooms i concede them each a dance

no more guests needed

them

and me

we complete the necessary crowd

semblance

Golden Calf | Damien Hirst | 2008

sold at Sotheby's in London for the GBP equivalent of twenty two million dollars

amor es

una cadena

una secuencia de piezas que se conectan unas a través de otras

una serie interminable

un circuito abierto de sentimientos perdidos

un exceso

un acto

un salto

de unos y otros

de unos a otros

que se rosan

y se unen

y se rompen

es una serie interminable de corazones en fila

que se esperan

cada uno al que le sigue

tarde de infortunio

Una tarde, vinieron tres pequeñas criaturas enviadas por el infortunio y acamparon junto a mi corazón. Allí, decidieron cortarlo de manera irregular en esa misma cantidad de partes.  Cada criatura decidió llevarse su latente tercio a los confines lejanos de la dimensión que habitan. Lejos una de otra, las partes no logran conciliar sentimientos sencillos como de costumbre y se cansan de emitir latidos que se pierden a la merced de las criaturas, quienes distraídas, no recuerdan regresarlas a mi pecho.

wish 1

autismo

primeramente voluntario

solo miro dentro

y dentro quiero algunas cosas

las quiero hoy a esta hora

y solo hoy a esta hora, por hoy, importa

hoy, a esta hora, quiero algunas cosas

y en este idioma es en el que digo

y en este idioma es en el que siento

que sólo esas cosas importan

por hoy, por ahora

 

scenarios

one is a construction of back-turning-time alter realities

full of

small and simple possibilities

small and simple dreams of what should (ve) be(en)

small and simple 

small and simple, I say to myself

where are you? I ask

well, i could ask... i mean

I mean

I mean, I miss

one of my parts

So yeah, there's one in which I don't

in which I am whole 

three years ago

no less

no more

the three-years-ago-version-of-me scenario

is the one where i restart stories

and re-arrange chapters 

but then 

i guess the last and best one is the jump into madness

with some of my things

oceans and continents breached

and i decide for the craziest idea

and i choose between the happy|happier and

unlikeliest

absurdest

impossiblest

happiest of all 

endings

Open Eyes

-1-

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.

-2-

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.

-3-

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

-4-

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.

-5-

-Hello?

-Again

-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

-Ok

 -6-

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.

-Sorry!

-It doesn’t matter (lie)

-Traffic…

-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…

 -7-

Apartment. Loneliness. Voice.

-What if I don’t sleep?

 -8-

-Hello?

-Lena…

-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…

-9-

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

Impatience.

-Next!

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.

 

Notes.

 

-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

 

Notes.

 

-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. 

-10- 

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.

carols

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

defenses

mind is on it

heart joins accordingly

health will reinstall itself

strength will win the battles

the virtual

and the corporeal ones

anger management

deep breaths

in the name of saneness

patience

to the rescue from absurdity

tolerance with a limit

for reason's sake

'cause

what would there be left

otherwise?

canvas

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

ultra

supra

mega

morales

es algo sencillo

simple

mio

y ya

memory

parallel to the everyday

a constant slideshow 

of past afternoons 

of rainy windows elsewhere

of a well being now floating directionless

of smells

of a small kitchen

of a sense of belonging

of little pains 

of big questions

a constant movie

playing in the background of my thoughts

of instants 

long

short

important

now lost

last resort

when all that is left

is a vague hope 

that words will curate memory and imagination

when metaphors are the only passage

to sense 

to acceptance

when love and beauty

retreat into disbelief 

yes...

poetry is the last resort

ships

with all they brought

and all I kept inside them

friend-ship

companion-ship

sink

traces

like little crumbs

all around

i find traces of loves

each trying

infinitely 

to make sense individually

to whisper to me in ultrasound

the bignesses they once used to be part of

and I hear them

in their oblivious longing

and I cry a little

for each one

regalo

como regás el agua a las plantas

al amor,  regalo 

la orden de las haditas i

la orden de las haditas ii

longing

asi de bueno

Una tarde que caminemos lado a lado, me dirás que siempre te ha gustado el olor del agua salada que se le adhiere a las brisas de marzo.  Esa misma tarde, decidiremos ir a ver una película al cine y pensarás, como cada vez que hagamos salidas nocturnas, que no te hace falta más nada en la vida.

Yo pensaré en cosas parecidas y me secaré discretamente una lágrima que se escabuirá de mi ojo izquierdo durante la película.  

El vino en casa nos pondrá a desear como los primeros días y así nos iremos a esperar la madrugada sin dormir. Para ese entonces ya no pensaremos en esas cosas como privilegios y comodamente nos aburriremos y nos reiremos juntos otro día cualquiera.

nostalgy

for the things I've lost
for the things that never were
for outdated dreams that linger like friendly ghosts
small
harmless

for the details now erased
for the closeness now gone

for another me
that was and is no more

música al rescate

otro piano... pero no solo
este sube a la mañana de categoría
Keane pregunta si alguien puede encontralos en casa

sonidos e ideas sintetizados llegan a mi isla

y me (con)mueven
y me calman.

obrera

conserva

cuadernito 1

cuadernito 2

cuadernito 3

until they say me

"I must go on; I can't go on; I must go on; I must say words as long as there are words, I must say them until they find me, until they say me..."

Samuel Beckett, The Unnameable

i don't know how

hoy suena el de sarah
pero este piano lo que hace es traerte cerca

piano suena

suenan los acordes de fito
me recuerdan que no quiero perderte

late el lado izquierdo de mi pecho
fuerte
unas tres veces

porque me doy cuenta, ves
de que ya llegué al punto en el que pudieras herirme
eso si quisieras...

(qué rápido)

sentidos

lo anticipado y lo intensamente acumulado
una
cien sensaciones
el placer de lo simple
la felicidad impresa en los detalles

fueron sentidos

el tacto (destreza y suavidad: tus manos)
el olfato (la cálida esencia de tu piel)
el común (tantas cosas)
el oído (aún se suspiran en mi oído tus palabras)
y el gusto (cada uno de los matices de tus sabores)

fueron los sentidos
involucrados

y juntos
queremos, soñamos
antes y después de esos, nuestros días
(días a recordarse, a repetirse para siempre)
mi zu,
en un mismo sentido

.

to all the small things
to the simple treats of ordinary days
to all the just-cooked-meals
to the smell of fresh afternoons outside
to the warmth of familial simplicity
to the right of belonging
to the promise embedded in life
so many
so innocent
are forced to say goodbye