E.M. Cioran

"El mundo no es más que un pretexto para la poesía"

"Soy poeta por todos los versos que no he escrito"

Más grises

"It has never been my object to record my dreams, just the determination to realize them"

5 días de abril

"Quien no tiene alas, no debe tenderse sobre abismos"

Fue

Quiero despertar cuando viajar en el tiempo sea posible.

Desvarío

Son terribles mis fantasias de que llegas, tocas mi puerta, me abrazas y me besas la frente; no sé hasta que punto es bueno soñar tanto despierta, mientras miro al techo como tonta. Culpo a luna de zoé que me hace pecar de ingenua y creer que existe una posibilidad, pequeña eso sí, de que menciones mi nombre y vuelvas a mis brazos.

Resumen del mes

Confieso, no quería que acabara este mes, y es que comenzo tan magnífico; visitas a mi madre, música adictiva y a la vez terapéutica, 3 peliculas, 2 libros, visitas de mi padre, y la deliciosa comida de mi delimusa. Ya llego su final, un poco de desencanto, pero el soundtrack de septiembre se quedara pegado a mi por buen rato, porque estoy enferma y no hay cura, el virus se llama The New Raemon.

Mi jaula de almohadas

Millennium

“What she had realised was that love was that moment when your heart was about to burst.”

Finally

“Optimist: Day-dreamer more elegantly spelled”

Mark Twain

kissmysoul

As a cloud

Blue

my b-day.

Today is my birthday, and I will sing.

Light

The windows of my soul I throw wide open to the sun.

Christopher McCandless

Two years he walks the earth. No phone, no pool, no pets, no cigarettes. Ultimate freedom. An extremist. An aesthetic voyager whose home is the road. Escaped from Atlanta. Thou shalt not return, 'cause "the West is the best." And now after two rambling years comes the final and greatest adventure. The climactic battle to kill the false being within and victoriously conclude the spiritual pilgrimage. Ten days and nights of freight trains and hitchhiking bring him to the Great White North. No longer to be poisoned by civilization he flees, and walks alone upon the land to become lost in the wild.

Alexander Supertramp
May 1992

childhood.

"There is a garden in every childhood, an enchanted place where colors are brighter, the air softer, and the morning more fragant than ever again."

weird days.

I just laid around in my bed, looking at the ceiling, and i smiled because it was a nice kind of quiet.

simplicity.

Simplicity is indeed often the sign of truth and a criterion of beauty.

green day.

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