The Other You

She’s in bed
it’s 10:00 pm, the series in the background
provided her with comfort noise
it’s odd, she always needs sound
not traffic sounds, but music,
conversation, brightness, light

She’s in shorts, in her room
facing a wall, with a painting
it’s not straight, but her body is too weak
to get up and fix it, yet it’s fucking with her brain

Her legs are exposed
her skin is happy, as the fan blows
chilly breezes across from them
lacing them with a coat of cold

Her legs are crossed, as if they missed one another
those long winter months, kept them covered
hidden from each other

She’s sitting on her bed
back relaxed on the mountain of pillows
that separated her from the wall
she’s sitting, lethargic
yet at peace

She’s enjoying her aloneness
it’s solitude, not loneliness
please don’t confuse
she picked up her wine cup
ornamented with droplets of humidity
she sipped it, licked her lips after she’s done

She’s not paying attention to what’s
playing on television, even though her eyes
are fixated on the screen,

She’s sitting on the bed, legs crossed, body stretched
back straight, fan on, painting in front, eyes on television
but mind somewhere else

Electricity went out!
“That’s great” she sarcastically uttered
she decided to light a cigarette,
she took one out of her crumpled pack
“PHEW, it’s not broken” she sighed in relief

As she sparked her lighter
she saw a shadow, in front of her
she took a short breath
counted to 3, then lit that flame again

With her hand shaking,
she could see the borders of the shadow
with anxiety seeping in, she moved her flame around
she could see her surroundings intact
but that shadow was sitting there, not moving
looking back,

it said nothing, it did not even flinch
after a second or two, she could see it
standing up and coming closer
her hand got numb, the light went off, dropping the lighter
she could feel the shadow against her

it embraced her,
she was stiff with fear,
she managed to grab her phone
she put the light on

Her walls were covered with writings
she squinted her eyes, since her glasses were no where to be found

it was her writing, or writings for that matter


she went on reading and remembering
each and every sentence, every quote
every word,

the writing was lit
it glowed,

the walls were covered from ceiling to floor
all four walls

She wanted to move but couldn’t

the shadow still hugged her, making her motionless

cigarette went out, she noticed there no smoke in the room
the room lit with words

She heard something, she couldn’t make up what it was
it felt like her mind was conversing with her

“you have a world out there
scribble those thoughts on walls
floors, ceilings, engrave them on humans
tattoo them on rebels
voice them across oceans and skies”

She felt as if she was drugged
she was numb, her mind was racing
so were her heartbeats

“who the fuck are you?
who is this?” she asked frantically

Electricity came back

she saw her wine cup was done
a pencil in hand and papers of random scribbles

“Could it be
that the writer in
me has a world
of her own?”

logan by oil Mcavoy



Butterflies you say
they have fled my being
to a lost land
that adventurers seek

Goosebumps, the ones
that ignite your skin
in a series of nervous reactions
have hibernated
hiding away from the coldness
that has taken over

Adrenaline has become an acquired drug
the one you need a prescription for
or nepotism to get your hands on some

Eye glistens, those are now
found in a fairy tale, the one
that once you narrate
starts a series of
“awwws” and melodies
of lovely sighs

Loss of appetite, well
that’s there, but that just
a bodily calling, for fear of
starvation – no longer
linked to euphoria

Rosey cheeks, they now
reminisce over the memories
of warm moments, blushing
torments, that expose the inner
most deepest feelings

Flame inside, it has dimmed
making way for more ideas
new replacements, new habits
new lights, bright delights
in the form of creative juices

Ah nostalgia, what a trip
what a glorious memory,
yet for some messed up reason
when you lay your tender lips on mine
You spontaneously ignite
the serious of previous events
in a split
resulting in an explosion of color
painting my world

agnes cecile

Art by Agnes Cecile


Jittering fingers she’s nervous
“what the fuck is happening?”
This is a first! IT SCARED her
of course it did

it was the first time
she experienced such a feeling, a loss, confusion
and even a bit of nausea

the fucking blinking line why isn’t it moving,
why aren’t her fingers dancing on letters?
Have they become weary
or is it that her brain has become dreary?

She wants to scribble and doodle
even paint a mural but why have her ideas abandoned her?
Could it be that her heart is empty?
Could it be that her spirit is slowly fading
into this so called routine
that they glorify so ideally?

what is happening,
her colors have darkened
and her eyes are dim,
lifeless indeed this is horrific

I am sorry but this does seem grim

Her nails are chipping
and her skin is aching
her brain is screaming,
yearning for a meaning

the loud noise in her head pertains to her,
she only hears it but she looks around,
seeking conformity
she wants to see if anyone else,
is listening

Could it be that those injections of “busy”
have sedated her wild spirit?
Could it be sucking her blood
deriving the color within?

Could it be that she’s overdosing on “busy”?
Slowly enjoying the things momentarily
before she’s gone completely

As I was ending this entry she looked at me,
got closer she lay her hand on mine
pale white cold skin, long boney fingers
“please don’t let me go”
she said as she locked her blue eyes on mine

I startled and confused asked
“Who are you?”
She smirked using her last joule of energy
“Your inspiration”

woman stare

Whales in the Sky

It started with a cloudy morn
the wind was playing with the shutters
it was asking them to open
but they refused, they were
pulled back and forth
tapping on the window sills

She curled and hugged her own pillow
the one the never left side
through lovers and breakups
she loves that pillow

With indie music in the background
her sleep was never peaceful
she twitches, her dreams are too real
to a point where she really lives
them, in her own reality, she talks
she behaves..but
with her eyes closed

The sun peeked in
wanting to soak some of that golden hue
that nestled in her hair
The sun wanted to steal some of that
aura, that energy that harnessed in her body
so that it could warm up the day

She let go of that pillow,
the only medium of connection
between her dreams and the real world

She stretches, eyes open
body stretched, skin hugging her bones
silhouetting that internal structure of hers
count her ribs, rest your hands on her pelvic bones
ahh, those gates that protect her femininity

Her toes, stretched, pointing her body
like a pin, ready to spin into the day
She got up, got dressed
opened the window
she saw whales in the sky
big while weightless whales, swimming across her railing
across her vision

but she’s awake

She shunned the idea, shook her head
in disbelief followed by a “no way” smile

She started walking
the pavement where her steps lay
floated, carrying her higher that
her fellow commuters,

every time she stepped on a tile
it lifted, she still could not fathom what’s happening
with whales in the sky, lifted tiles
she rubbed her eyes,
opened them as wide as she could
to reaffirm the fact, that she’s awake

She got to work, her lifted tiles carried her through the window
she stepped into her office, and noticed
that her chair is different, it’s not like her fellow friends
they all had squared seats, she had a circular one

“It can’t get weirder, I’ll just go with it
it’s the morning”

When she stirred her coffee, the sugar particles
glittered and shimmered the steam
her coffee cup was different, she tried it
she made it in the same way she always did
but this time it was golden

“What’s going on?”

When she stood up
noticing, she’s not in a labeled box
like everyone else, she carried herself
to the terrace, not giving a fuck about those elevated tiles
on the contrary she embraced them, she danced her way through
coffee cup in hand, glitter behind her

She stood on the ledge,
lighting her cigarette, looking at the whales in the sky
being higher than everyone else
she lost her balance, looking down

She slipped and fell, there is no defying gravity
she’s falling, heart beating, fear igniting
She’s getting closer to the pavement
wind against her face, and fear in her expressions

She heard a thud
she was lying face down
on her floor
in her room
…. “What?”

She frantically stood up
opened the window
there were
whales in the sky

She rubbed her eyes again
pinched herself

Is she awake
or is she still
floating in
a surreal cycle of dreams?

2 galaxy heads

Can this be ?

Can this be
all that cocktail of events
can they merge in a beautiful
martini cup
The dense ingredients and the light
how could they possibly create such pretty hues?
They are shaken once, twice, three times to ensure
the fact that the weightless ones tangoed
with the more heavy dark ones?

I stood there
pondering at my reflection
watching as cocktail pours itself
to fill me up with intoxicating
Watching as my skin color changes
thickens and as my appearance ages

I do not have wrinkles
nor do I have creases
but as the cocktail of life
pours itself endlessly into me
I can observe the changes

I have the same eyes, the ones I used to
marvel at boys with, but now they marvel
at literature, at music, at the beauty of men
the same eyes that used to converse with passion
now they converse with logic and a bit of insanity

I see my reflection in front of me
in comparison to the old version
in my mind’s eye
I see the innocence slowly being
drowned away, slowly changing
to rationale

I see that my silhouette is slowly
being sculpted by the toxicity
of life’s cocktail

As it slowly fills me
I can feel my sobriety fading
being replaced by a different

I am not sure if they call it intoxication
because I am fully aware, I am aware

I am aware of the touches that play on my spine
I am aware of the kisses that I plant on lips
I am aware of the tears that glide down my cheeks
salting my sweet cheeks
I am aware of the naked moments that strip
all sense of bashfulness
I am aware of the smiles and laughter
and ignite the darkness of the night
I am aware of the spontaneity that pushes
me to dare myself

I am aware of that one more drink
that will push me off the edge
I am aware of this body that I have now
I am aware of what I can inflict
and how I inflict
I am aware of the person I am
I am aware that I no longer reflect
my old identity
I am aware that I surprise you
with my unexpected behavior
I am aware of the now

I am aware that I am in control
and I am independent
I am aware that I earned it

That cocktail is slowly eroding my naivety
My body is changing, curving with every
swirl that drink makes
My reputation is forming
My being is slowly being
set in stone, it just needs a bit more
one more round of that cocktail
let’s discover this self
that I still am

woman back


You had that skin
it thickened with time
it was soft at birth
spurring jealousy
among the elderly

It was pale and naive
Attracting them with such ease
it was aching to be touched
it was luring them with no stop
ever abrupt

It had goosebumps
from a smile and warmth
from hugs, it was traced with nerves
that ignited from the slightest touch

It carried you through tanned summers
and cold winters, it protected you
from acid rain and coated your heart
with a thin layer of nerves, naive nerves .. again

The clock ticked
You were still being elevated
through the strata of life
thorns piercing your skin
experiences clawing at it
love sadistically enjoying it
and your skin, it slowly adapting
the way nature intended it to

slowly morphing from its birth state
slowly aging beautifully
forming creases of stories
slowly thickening
slowly filtering the real
from the fairytales

You realize your slowly shedding
that phase of innocence, purity
your skin is slowly
morphing, beautifying
the scratching claws
are literally removing pieces of your flesh
uncovering the glow within
that you so stupidly hid
for fear of social acceptation

You’re reaching the surface
scratched, tattooed,
pierced, scarred, and sometimes
even pulled down

You’re floating
exposing the most beautiful
parts of you
You’re floating to the surface
with naked

float 2

You Are

You’re high aren’t you?
On those sleepless nights
driven by curiosity,
by this urging sense of
uncovering the dark blanket
of the night

You’re shaking aren’t you?
From the exhaustion that is slowly
munching up every last joule of energy
your body has clasped on to till now

You’re crashing aren’t you?
From that reckless behavior
that has put your mind to sleep
and gave way to your psychotic self
to creep

You’re wobbling, aren’t you?
Losing balance from the “normal”
losing control of the weight that has kept you standing
on your two feet till now

You’re smiling aren’t you?
With squinty eyes, absorbing
the third world chaos as it unravels
deeper issues, layer by layer

You’re clumsy aren’t you?
Bumping into fixtures,
jousting with those thoughts versus
reality, giving glimpses of both
blurring the actual state of being

You’re loving this, aren’t you?
The guilty pleasure of enjoying the
simple sins, those
that sprinkle life with a bit more
that the mediocre stuff
The problems, the instability,
the mental disorders, the horrible
reality checks, the downfalls,
the intoxicated laughter, the messed up
attempts of having a relationship
the harshness of listening to hurtful advice
the fact that your roof is leaking and your walls
emit frozen chills

You’re awake now, you’re tired
You’re pumped up with adrenaline,
You’re wobbling,
God knows in what state you’re in

But when you let your thoughts on paper
or screen for this case, you slowly realize
that each line you write
unedited, un-proofread
Each line, lined meticulously
is projected from that brain, that’s quiet
that’s observant

is a little realization about who
You’re wobbling, your lungs are filled with smoke
You’re functioning on 4 hours of sleep

You’re a scribbled mess
and those words have no mercy
telling you that

Adara Sánchez Anguiano. Ilustración para la Revista Plástica.

Adara Sánchez Anguiano. Ilustración para la Revista Plástica.

Grey Matter

It was a national holiday yesterday
So you can imagine the morning
It was ghost-like yet serene
All those nine to five-rs or sixe-rs
lay in bed, absorbing the warmth
that they so slightly enjoy on a Monday morn

The psychological satisfaction of sinning
on a Monday morning is rewarding enough
to fulfill that wish of curling oneself
under the thin sheets of slumber

All those cars that pack themselves
on narrow streets, lay resting
on the sides, sharing the same pleasure
as those people in bed

One can actually hear the morning
filtered from the honking, the roaring
the morning mumbles, the scorning faces
the robotic movements, the raging screams
One can actually hear the morning
in a city that is fast asleep

The clouds slowly drifted across
the sun rays shielding their heating powers
“There’s a storm coming” they said
and people listened to nature
to it’s silent communication
through it’s connection to humans

The white clouds slowly made space
for their dreary counterparts
they disappeared as the darkness
overshadowed the innocent illusion of spring

Chills, kissed my skin, softly
like that of a bashful lover,
emitting trails of goosebumps
to relay the message to my body
that nature has turned its cold shoulder

I rested my elbows on the balcony
from where nature conversed
with me about the coming
of rain

One single drop landed on my hand
It only takes that first one, for you to utter
“Oh it’s raining”
That cold minuscule drop to meet
your skin, that moment of beautiful
encounter between humans and nature

I lingered, I wanted more
As I patiently waited I feasted my eyes
on the cubed view, the dust was slowly
sliding off the walls, making space for rain
to trail down, shedding the accumulated dirt

The dreary weather crept it, giving those
shiny billboards the justice of being bright
One word stood out, in white, with an evergreen

As I lingered on my balcony
enjoying the rain as it hailed beautifully
complimenting the music I had in the background
The view transformed from an old street in the city
to a future-sque industrial view with a wet effect

That word kept flashing on the huge ginormous billboard
sucking the power of the darkness, showing its complete control
on the world below it and as we know it

“Money, take what’s yours back”
I can’t recall the company, but
It was literally the driving force
that triggered such a pathetic image about humanity

That flashing image, subconsciously engraving
that word in your head, hypnotizing you
to spontaneously birth this crave for it
Slowly, effacing the meaning of
genuine living

Slowly invading your innocent thinking
with this dirty lust for the green
not any green, but synthesized, paper thin
green, stamped with the supposedly
archaic ruins of the country

“Money” “Money” “Money”
Ripping off your clothes
Dressing you in suits
Placing you behind a desk
in a cookie cutter society

Forgetting the simple
beautiful fact
of a raindrop on your skin
that washes away
that grey suit matter

that you are slowly



It’s this odd feeling
of euphoria, every time
that drink dances on your lips

It’s this comfort that settles in your body
and you embrace it, wholeheartedly
Your eyes haze, you become lethargic
but that type that makes you float
You’re floating

Your mind is racing, it’s weaving
the moments into a beautiful quilt of
“I don’t remember’s” & “when did that happen’s”
Your mind fools you
giving you the illusion that you were aware
How evil!

You sew more patches into that quilt of yours
you sew squares of fabricated reality
into your factual events

This feeling progresses
with every sip, with every sunrise you witness
this feeling of transparency with your own self
smelling like the night, the dingy night
you enjoy the swinging of your imbalanced body
the swinging of your mind
Between that tangible happenings
and the invisible thoughts that felt so real!

As you sat there your mind
pushed you on that swing
whose stillness you enjoyed
it pushed you to oscillate between
the real and those dreams
Your awake
confused and lost in between two worlds

It’s a feeling of uncertainty
that thin line that separated your reality
from those private jumbles in your head
has been blurred, washed down by every sip
you ingest, burned by every drag you inhale
Slowly and surely, that line that once played
crucial role in mankind’s existence is fading
leaving you swinging back and forth
confusing the hell out of your world

You are lost
“Welcome you are in limbo”

Remember that quilt?
The one who’s real patches are stitched
to those unrealistic ones?
You find yourself
covered with your very own colorful patchwork
You have a hazy connection with reality
That line that was once there
well, it’s gone now
You have incorporated the real with the unreal
a dense homogeneous mixture,
Mysteriously scary!
Your days, have become a fictional
comic strip,
You are the lead character
you bump into your real moments, then
it hits you
“I dreamt that”
your state of turmoil confusion
signifies that glitch, that
“ezzt” noise!
you hear it and you feel it
Is that you teleporting between two worlds?
are you swinging from side to side
letting the winds of reality play with your hair
on one
and the waves of doubt clench to your soul
on the other?

The glitching persists
You’re awake
in which


It's Glitch Art / Photography

It’s Glitch Art / Photography


Once there was this soul
that wandered aimlessly

that soul, was a product
of easy living and naive breathing
walking through paths less traveled
taking advice from the here and there

that soul, was a conclusion
of the picture perfect being
striving to complete the straight A
attitude it has always maintained

That soul always clung to passer-bys
for fear of being a lonely wanderer
that soul needed the comfort of another

Until one day, there was this hammer
that was hitting that bubble surrounding this
body-less aura, that hammer
redundantly kept hitting that fragile cover
as the cracks crept from all angles, it eventually broke

The soul was released from confinement
it was left to wander and wonder
it was alone, escaped that comfort of its own inflicted
cover bubble

It left that space like incense smoke
swirling with the wind, creating art out of nothing
generating amusement as it left that burning stick
with a beautiful scent, leaving behind the ashes
of the cold fragrant stick, wilting

Now what?

As it curled and swirled
it expanded its horizons to a bigger bubble
a bubble of no boundaries
It escalated to the euphoric highs of freedom
and it sometimes deterioted to the lingering feelings that
once reminded it of that silly fragile bubble, it once called home

As it weightlessly flew through that bigger horizon
it stumbled on lost body, wandering the face of the earth
it felt familiar, the soul looked closely, that body was empty
broken burnt, effaced from all things that reflected its true beauty
to the outer world

As that body inhaled a breath of fresh air
the soul entered it with no thoughts
the soul fell in love with it
that feeling of love at first sight
driving the soul to insanely and spontaneously
become one with that body
the soul nestled beautifully
and slowly realized that this is home

The body, glowed it felt alive again
It has found sanctuary within itself again

It felt beautiful all on its own
It felt powerful

It was just the antidote
to those empty lifeless eyes
it felt like all  it needed

was breath of fresh air

to revive that once wild spirit
to give light to the world it had
hidden behind those eyes
that rib cage
and that damn thick skin

and the soul, oh the soul

it felt more at home
than ever
it has found its