Pink What?

Luna Llena

La última del año y por un par de años.

Quién diría?; el sietemesino no le atinó.

Tristeza desde lo más recóndito,

sabiduría desde lo alto.

El eclipse nunca llegó,

o más bien cada uno lo vio por su lado.

Se me ocurren puras nostalgias, seguidas de acontecimientos de lo que no fue, ni será.

Lo que he escrito... tú lo lees?

Lo has leído, o alguna vez lo leerás?

Si me preguntan a mi en este momento diría: "lo dudo mucho".

Solita la vida misma; nos enseña siempre y simultaneamente,

cómo ser un poquito más hijos de puta,

mientras aprendemos a amar al prójimo como a nosotros mismos.

Hay una puerta en forma de pirámide,

y a un loco le fue encargada su llave.

:x

Vuelo

Nothing I could ever say, write or sing
Could put me out of todays misery

it is, what we hope for
it is what we cherish for; dream on
what will bring to us, the joyed innocence
at the last breath we shall borrow

the day we die
the day we live forever.

The day sorrow endured
the day we stayed in hell

vanitism
retrospect of a future life
mistaken
forsaken
and then forgotten.

Was it worth it?, some might ask
Not, if worth considered asking, shall I reply

Burn, rot and perish
inconceivable creep of alien nature
lunatic on Mondays
husband on Sunday night

god forbid, children
god forbid.

Arte: Sergio Garval

The Movement of the Triangle

"The life of the spirit may be fairly represented in diagram as a large acute-angled triangle divided horizontally into unequal parts with the narrowest segment uppermost. The lower the segment the greater it is in breadth, depth, and area.

The whole triangle is moving slowly, almost invisibly forwards and upwards. Where the apex was today the second segment is tomorrow; what today can be understood only by the apex and to the rest of the triangle is an incomprehensible gibberish, forms tomorrow the true thought and feeling of the second segment.

At the apex of the top segment stands often one man, and only one. His joyful vision cloaks a vast sorrow. Even those who are nearest to him in sympathy do not understand him. Angrily they abuse him as charlatan or madman. So in his lifetime stood Beethoven, solitary and insulted."

Wassily Kandinsky