cry

The silent tears under the shadow,

little by little I am losing my vision,

I transform myself in a stubborn stone, deaf and neglected.

I trust the pain; I have pleasure in the mishap of a desperate love,

victim and hangman of an illusion, because that’s what it is.

my hands are cold.

YES, I like pictures of hands.

green day.

someday

comiendome el sol.

Oh!

There is pleasure in the pathless woods,

There is a rapture on the lonely shore,

There is society, where none intrudes,

By the deep sea, and music in its roar:

I love not man the less, but Nature more,

From these our interviews, in which I steal

From all I may be, or have been before,

To mingle with the Universe, and feel

What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.

-Lord Byron

Love

“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.”

Neil Gaiman.

Morpheus dice

Beyond, outside my Dreamworld there is infinite dust, infinite dark. And the Dreamworld is infinite although it is bounded on every side. The way to the center is a slow spiral. One passes the houses of mystery and secrets... old way stations on the frontiers of nightmare. From there one charts a course nightward until one reaches the Gates of Horn and Ivory. I carved them myself, when the world was younger, and order was needed. I hasten to the Gates.

Tronco.

The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the eyes of others only a
green thing that stands in the way. Some see Nature all ridicule and
deformity, and some scarce see Nature at all. But to the eyes of the
man of imagination, Nature is Imagination itself.

William Blake, 1799, The Letters

a lack of color

Judy And The Dream Of Horses

Walking the street from morning to night
With a star upon your shoulder lighting up the path that you walk
With a parrot on your shoulder, saying everything when you talk
If you're ever feeling blue
Then write another song about your dream of horses
Write a song about your dream of horses...

hope.

OPE Was but a timid friend;
She sat without the grated den,
Watching how my fate would tend,
Even as selfish-hearted men.




She was cruel in her fear;
Through the bars one dreary day,
I looked out to see her there,
And she turned her face away!




Like a false guard, false watch keeping,
Still, in strife, she whispered peace;
She would sing while I was weeping;
If I listened, she would cease.




False she was, and unrelenting;
When my last joys strewed the ground,
Even Sorrow saw, repenting,
Those sad relics scattered round;




Hope, whose whisper would have given
Balm to all my frenzied pain,
Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven,
Went, and ne'er returned again!




Emily Brontë

green

Are you green and growing or ripe and rotting?

sandman

8 palabras.

1. tragaluz
2. ambivalente
3. cósmico
4. nido
5. pandora
6. murmullo
7. atónito
8. menguante
   

La Noyée.

Tu t'en vas à la dérive
Sur la rivière du souvenir
Et moi, courant sur la rive,
Je te crie de revenir
Mais, lentement, tu t'éloignes
Et dans ta course éperdue,
Peu à peu, je te regagne
Un peu du terrain perdu.

De temps en temps, tu t'enfonces
Dans le liquide mouvant
Ou bien, frôlant quelques ronces,
Tu hésites et tu m'attends
En te cachant la figure
Dans ta robe retroussée,
De peur que ne te défigurent
Et la honte et les regrets.

Tu n'es plus qu'une pauvre épave,
Chienne crevée au fil de l'eau
Mais je reste ton esclave
Et plonge dans le ruisseau
Quand le souvenir s'arrête
Et l'océan de l'oubli,
Brisant nos cœurs et nos têtes,
A jamais, nous réunit.

credenciales.

No sé, hay algo extraño en mi ultimamente, no siento la necesidad de llamar a nadie, ni que me llamen, aunque mi celular nunca suena, casi siempre espero una llámada que nunca llega, hoy no, hoy estoy feliz con mi coraza, en mi mundo; tal vez mañana no.


"No temas. A poca gente quiero de verdad, y de muy pocos tengo un buen concepto. Cuanto más conozco el mundo más me desagrada, y el tiempo me confirma mi creencia en la inconsistencia del carácter humano y en lo poco que uno se puede fiar de las apariencias de bondad o inteligencia".

gotitas.

siento y no siento.

En el túnel del recelo, siento y no siento, lloro en papel

Vestiré mi coraza, una vez más.

Confío en el instinto, me parte, me huye

Una ilusión intangible... ¿Cómo orientar los pedazos de mi corazón?

La cama está deshecha, se rompio el espejo.

Y las miradas juzgan sin saber, nunca sé bien.

Josefa Assenza

oh naturaleza.

Luego escribo.

pajaros y cantos.

Safe.

This is winter, this is night, small love
A sort of black horsehair,
A rough, dumb country stuff
Steeled with the sheen
Of what green stars can make it to our gate.
I hold you in my arm.
It is very late.
The dull bells tongue the hour.
The mirror floats us at one candle power.

This is the fluid in which we meet each other,
This haloey radiance that seems to breathe
And lets our shadows wither
Only to blow
Them huge again, violent giants on the wall.
One match scratch makes you real.
At first the candle will not bloom at all ---
It snuffs its bud to almost nothing, to a dull blue dud.

I hold my breath until you creak to life,
Balled hedgehog,
Small and cross. The yellow knife
Grows tall. You clutch your bars.
My singing makes you roar.
I rock you like a boat
Across the Indian carpet, the cold floor,
While the brass man
Kneels, back bent as best he can

Hefting his white pillar with the light
That keeps the sky at bay,
The sack of black! It is everywhere, tight, tight!
He is all yours, the little brassy Atlas
Poor heirloom, all you have
At his heels a pile of five brass cannonballs,
No child, no wife.
Five balls! Five bright brass balls!
To juggle with, my love when the sky falls.

By Candlelight-Sylvia Plath

el sueño.

Si el sueño fuera (como dicen) una
tregua, un puro reposo de la mente,
¿por qué, si te despiertan bruscamente,
sientes que te han robado una fortuna?

¿Por qué es tan triste madrugar? La hora
nos despoja de un don inconcebible,
tan íntimo que sólo es traducible
en un sopor que la vigilia dora

de sueños, que bien pueden ser reflejos
truncos de los tesoros de la sombra,
de un orbe intemporal que no se nombra

y que el día deforma en sus espejos.
¿Quién serás esta noche en el oscuro
sueño, del otro lado de su muro?

Jorge Luis Borges

tiempo al tiempo.

Hace frío, llueve, me encanta ver la lluvia desde la ventana, me gustaría mojarme, pero
estoy con gripe. La lluvia tiene un efecto tranquilizador, y el olor, no lo puedo describir.

"The best thing one cand do when it's
raining is to let it rain"


Las fotos son de mi lámpara-reloj, la acabo de desempolvar, estaba guardada
en una cajeta desde la mudanza anterior, que fue en navidad.

Canciones de Cuna.

Es cierto, muchas veces siento que estoy encerrada en un cuerpo que no es mio; cada vez me acuerdo más de experiencias que tuve de niña, como si fuera ayer, perfectamente, imágenes claras, olores, voces. Todo esto sucede porque he vuelto al lugar donde viví cuando era niña, he vuelto al estilo de vida con el que fui criada; pero no es lo mismo, ahora soy una mujer y no una niña, ahora las cosas son distintas, y el pueblo no es igual. Aún así, me gusta mucho.

libros.

Me gustaría tener cerca una tienda de libros de segunda mano, sería lo mejor, pero por ahora
estoy lejos de eso, asi que tendre que conformarme con lo caro que son los nuevos, o los que me presten.

bed.

una flor

no lejos de la noche
mi cuerpo mudo
se abre
a la delicada urgencia del rocío

A.Pizarnik.

Clap If you believe in fairies

Disfrutar cada momento, cada nuevo sentimiento experimentado. Tengo ganas de hacerle caso a mi corazón, sentir las mariposas en la panza, flotar y vivir el presente.
Porque tengo una sonrisa pegada, media tonta, pero no me arrepiento.

Pijamas.

Sweet Dreams

"Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things
which escape those who dream only by night"
Edgar Allan Poe.

Scissorhands.

You see, before he came down here, it never snowed. And afterwards, it did. If he weren't up there now... I don't think it would be snowing. Sometimes you can still catch me dancing in it.

imagenes screencap heaven