Dejáme perderme, por favor. *
Seldom, ofter, random, one day, many days you can never open that box of shit that makes you sad.
Thousand days, hundred days, ten days, ten seconds, then nothing.
All the time you look at the box.
All the time you’re locked in.
In your head.
In your body.
In your home.
In your car.
All you cant stop thinking of.
The shitty rusty black, full of oxide black box that holds all my being.
How to disallow myself from the grief that invades me: the swift moment I considered myself relieved of all my pains, stagger, shock and blunt punch at the kidneys. Stun hit. I’m no longer a victim because I haven’t felt alive for a long time, and during the fearless moment you’re dead everything seems to be fine just because you look down from those cellophane clear light blue skies. I’m not in heaven either, I just float in that wide grey area between consciousness and whatever’s beyond the limits of life itself. I can gather some thoughts from back then. Some, few, important, beautiful, hurtful ones.
Just when I thought I had forgotten you, I took you out of my little black box, moments coming back, and that figure of your smile instantaneously grew into a big flubbering form hovering around me like a cloud, nowhere to be found at, all around me. …
And I just remembered I asked you to wear black. Not because you’d look ugly in any colour, it would have been rather impossible; It’s just that whenever you wore black I was obliged to look at your eyes and your- once again, smile, and at your face, and you had to see mine, and you didn’t believe my eyes when I looked at you that way. You never saw me look at anyone else that way, that psychotic way, that never-ending manner, that exhausted hopefullness I always carried around took the veins out of my eyes and once and for a moment, my eyes were allowed to glow. Only as a reflection of yours. And I wanted your eyes, I wanted your smile. I was unable to make it happen. And now I’m the one left out. And there’s no smiles, and I don’t raise my eyes because I can’t see no-ones’s eyes.
And the big guy’s moustache. And the black-brown white mixture of your furs, the sound of your barks.
In a mixture of “I-misses”. All brought into one.
And a starship, oh yeah, the starship. That boat I rode to catch you. The vessel that lead me to hell. The means to get somewhere that left me lost in ether and ready to be dried out at the sun for some unearthy reason. …
And the disguise, my cloak and everything I promised it would make me look beautiful only for you. I didn’t get that either, partially because some day I thought you could like me the way I am, that sweaty, sad, fat, hurting piece of nothing I sink two feet into every day, that monster I wish I could avoid and now I throw my hands out on the air wishing for help.
And now I’m without it all. I just keep my conveniences in a box, and randomly, some days open it up for no reason, and it stirs all the shit in my head. All the crap I had left behind, belongings or not. Everything about it makes me sad, but nowadays it’s too difficult to feel happy about something anyways.
That’s life when you’re always a nickel below the buck you really need to get home.
And that’s the reason why I must never open that box again. Foghats seem to come out of it. Or maybe it’s just me blindfolded for some sickly alluring way.
* La foto es Rosario, y no, no tiene nada que ver con nadie. Es simplemente un lugar en el que me perdería. Tomado en el museo de arte- silo de Rosario, mirador del último piso. Entre el río y la ciudad. La tomé yo durante un mal día.
No lei lo que pusiste, bahh si la primera parte... posteo ahora y sigo leyendo.
Hacé lo que hago yo... y como dice Maru de LAmístika: ..."Volvé a los años que te hacían querer, contá las cosas que no te hagan bien, fumá descalzo, regalá tu amor...". lalalalalal (8)
A veces es bueno volver a los orígenes, recordar quien era uno, repararse, tocar fondo, tomar envión y salir a la superficie renovado y "limpio de impurezas" que el otro nos suele cargar en las espaldas cuando no puede cargar con la propia.
y te hurto mi propio post para ponerlo en el mio porque me gusto jajajaja.
pero primero voy a ver si pongo algo para mi mamucha.
TE QUIERO CHE. DON'T FORGET IT!!!
SaB, mejor conocida como zorra, cakie, pitufina, etc etc etc.
PD: No es que no sepa donde van... pero me pudre teclear para poner los acentos.
1 | SaB October 15th, 2006 at 2:46 am