City of Molten Souls

Once upon a time
yes, it starts like this
time was a defining moment
a second of realization
that was stamped in
4 simple words

“Once upon a time”
there came an event
that changed the path one simple person
blinded by the routine that has been injected
in his blue veins

He was addicted to it without knowing
a junkie of life, slowly smoking its daily alarms
tapping the ticking needle,
that merciless needle of time
that stops for nothing and no one
falling in the deep illusions of its mushrooms
embodied in cup after cup of caffeine beans
then suddenly crashing in his bed
with a body full of alcohol
the perfect ending for any life junkie
who has succumb to the seducing moments
of a daily routine

Once upon a time
he woke up in his 4 walled bedroom
where pink floyd greeted him with his colored poster
and a psychedelic vortex poster on the next
welcomed his vision
the heat from the summer sun
melted him, sweat droplets
covered his face,
he ached for the morning breath
but it had failed to satisfy his lungs

the summer sun
was careless
he has never experienced such heat
he sat on the edge of his bed
looking through his book of survival
a book an ex of his gave him
for some reason that has slipped his mind
“she probably knew about this” he pondered

“How to survive the end of the world heat?
A step by step survival strategy”

NOTHING

The heat increased forcing his posters to melt
the colors trailed down the walls like colored
tears on the cheek of white porcelain doll

“Did she know?” the question seems to stick to his thoughts
He rushed to the window at the end of his curved room opened the shutters
“FUCK, the world is melting”
He noticed his neighbors carrying buckets and buckets of melted colors
and throwing them from the balcony
creating waterfalls of rainbows, yet conveying
the agony and suffering of the heat

His body was in a state of wetness
the room is falling apart
in the midst of all this, the thought of her
still lingers, eating up his brain

“Who would ever buy such a book?”
when he felt the floor’s texture morphing to liquid form
he knew that this was not a joke
He rushed across the wobbly stairs
their tiles were melting together
forming a river of white with polka dots

His legs were shaking with fear
“i need to make it outside, before the melting
heat eats up my skin”

His body was slippery with sweat
he could see the door
the view was mirage like
the heat made the vision wavey
you see the heat embodied in the air

As he ran across the falling colors from the balcony
all he could think of was that girl and her book

why was she part of his life? why that book?

He ran down the streets
of melting sidewalks
and red bricks
across the screams that horrified him
across the glass that was overcoming the ground
with its translucent colors

all the melting hues seemed to gather
at the end of the street, in a puddle
his body was slowly taking part of the paint concoction
the screams melted away, the sun was hotter than ever

he felt his last breath leaving his body
he took one last look at the sun, it was as yellow
as an innocent child’s drawing of it

while he was being swept away
he saw a paint brush, a huge one
tearing the sky apart and reaching
for his blue eyes that were on the verge of melting

it touched him, that giant brush was dipping its
smooth end in the red of the melting bricks, the grey of the sidewalks
and and the blue of his eyes

he screamed as his eyes melted away
joining the molten magma of the city

once the brush exited the skies
it made its way on a canvas
his soul was alive, he felt the brush
move his blue eyes across the tabula rasa
he heard a giggle
a familiar one
a feminine soft one
that would always compliment any joke he made

It was her!
the woman behind the brush!

She was painting a new world
Pollocking a new city
with the sun by her side
and the city of screams
and colors
melted
in her hand

Through it all
she melted once before
but has allied with the sun
to create a new
world
for
her
by
her

melting face

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True Love

She always took the road everyone traveled
She perfected every age, with a to do list
she always knew where each step took her
The surprise element that hypnotized her
was dormant in the back of her head

The sidewalks memorized every step
every morning mood
they even complimented her motion
with sun rays and sometimes rain

She once slipped
and fell on a different path
the road was no longer familiar
her senses awakened
heightened

All those lists she had in mind
fell with her,
She stood up
and kept walking
that’s what she did best

But something was missing
her memory was erased
she tried to squeeze her brain
to get a clue…at least
to serve as a  base to start with

Nothing..

Total blank

With courage in her gut
churning, she felt the magic
of innovation starting from her toes
to her eyes, they started to gleam

She took the first step forward
in the foreign land, it was full of monsters
full of blood thirsty, personality crushing
mythical creatures, that wanted a piece of her

The gleam in her eyes, the brightness that is
was her weapon, since they gave a sneak peek
to the turmoiled soil she had suppressed for so long

The ray of light, burnt all those who attacked
little did she know, she had such powers

As she walked, the road changed from a smooth sidewalk
to a vertical mountain, so beautiful, but yet so deadly
the rocks fooled her by their sturdy-ness, but she always
had a balance, that was..again..suppressed

She slowly calculated every step now, it no longer became a routine
She felt she was being born again, as the oxygen levels declined
the breaths she took increased, filling her lungs
with new air

As the weather got colder, the wind grew stronger
and blew off her cover, the jacket that warmed her
the scarf that held her together
But she felt something else was also being blown

Her love for words, the way they understood her
the way they leak from her fingertips onto a blank paper
Time was being lost, so was her time for words
her love affair with words, poetry, books,
That passionate lustful escape
that gave the world a taste of her identity
that scraping, scratching desire that scratched
her comfort zone, slowly, breaking that bubble

Her true love, those words that listen
that dance with her mood, that strum her heart
that are the causes of every joyful and miserable tear

Her true love, her words

She refused to let go, of those, she closed her eyes
as she stood on top of that mountain
she let out a scream, asking time
to extend itself
giving her more time to spend with her words
her lovely sadistic words that embrace and disappear
at will

When she finished, she felt her body
as goosebumps covered her body
she felt something else
She lifted her shirt…

Time did her a favor, it used her body as a canvas
to engrave its love
nothing is more beautiful than pale white
naked skin
engraved with the pulchritude of
words
her true
love

words on skin

Can this be ?

Can this be
all that cocktail of events
can they merge in a beautiful
martini cup
homogeneously?
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
liquids
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
one

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
tapping
one more round of that cocktail
let’s discover this self
that I still am
oblivious
to

woman back

Masterpiece

He entered that desired chamber of old sculptures

Ancient paintings holding mysterious stories

It gave him a rush, a natural adrenaline injection

To feast his eyes on the historical beauties

that have been preserved through time
that hold a certain connection between their creator
and the viewer
Fucking hell, what a link!

He marveled at each painting
trying to fabricate a story for each one
satisfying his own little fantasy
in his mind

He paused at each one
he looked at the voluptuous women
he squinted to see their eyes, where they were looking
“was she the artist’s lover?”
“look at how detailed her features are?”
“was it due to countless hours of love making
pondering, that the artist has beautifully portrayed it as such?”
“was she his fantasy, a lover that he never found, but would have loved to create?”

He glided on that smooth floor,
time travelling from one era to the other
from one painting to another sculpture
He has found his haven, he felt liberated
from that social strains that have killed
every sense of creativity he had left

but hey!! He has found the flame
that sparked the powder line, leading to his brain
exploding with hibernating thoughts, stories
ideas that he has never had the chance to discover, to awaken
FUCK never had the chance to even share

What a deadly thing, this society!

As he was sewing his own story of each art piece
he saw her
standing there, engulfed by Van Gough’s starry night (image 1)
She was part of it, camouflaged by the swirly brush strokes
She was the night, beautiful serene, and yet so mysterious

As she moved to the next art piece,
his vision followed her, her motion created music
BUT WAIT.. she’s changing she’s no longer dark colored
with brush strokes
Her hue is altering, her serenity is fading
Her scent even changed, he could smell the humid salty
beach, she stood in front of the “Great wave off Kanagawa(image 2)

She is now in that wave, curving with energy
dancing with the wind, crashing with gravity

He sensed her wild side, he could imagine her
waking up from that starry slumber and dancing
into nature’s most vicious yet gorgeous features
she is the sea…

After she soaked in that masterpiece
she took moved to the next with his vision attached
to her presence, he doesn’t know her
but this attraction.. that my dear friends
is a true form of art that no brush can recreate

Moving from that untamed wave
she kissed the shores of the next sculpture
Auguste Rodin’s “the kiss”  (image 3)
he felt the flaming aura
radiate from her to the statue, all the way to him

Her blue colors, morphed to the only imaginable
colors of passion in that statue, she’s wild, oh he saw it
and he saw how she has changed from that spontaneous
natural state to love, loving that statue, living the love
seeing the love and of course FEELING IT

His heart is beating, he felt that nostalgic feeling
of actually finding her, it is her
the setting was perfect, she’s a beautiful masterpiece
changing from one painting to the other
and he found himself, sewing her presence
into his own fabricated artistic fantasy

He walked towards her,
heart beating
adrenaline infused
realizing that this isn’t his fantasy
it’s reality
but as got closer
he lost her
in the chaos of Pablo Picasso’s “Guernica” (image 4)
he lost her in the dull colors
of instability
“she dove back into the turmoil within,” he thought
He went to the painting,
he wanted to find her pull her out
and place her
with him in Gustav’s Klimt’s “the kiss” (image 5)
a colorful masterpiece
where he found his lips on hers

Yet he wondered
what artful piece would she be
if she were
to be
herself
a compilation of all the classics?

(Starry Night) 
STARRY NIGHT

(image 2)

the great wave

(image 3)

AUGUSTE RODINS KISS

(image 4)

guernica

(image 5)

the flowery kiss

Surface

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
confidence

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
are
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
YES
YOU
ARE

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
background
“Money”

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
personifying

smudge

Glitch

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
but
in which
world?

*Glitch*

It's Glitch Art / Photography

It’s Glitch Art / Photography

Jumble of Nothings

It didn’t bother them
that it’s raining,
What did though was the fact
of their wet pants sticking to them
in cold loving passion

Damn wet jeans

They scurried over water puddles
they jumped in a few in drunken frenzy
Fuck, and we have water scarcity!

He hugged her, her wet hair stung his face like
jelly fish tentacles, he didn’t care
she laughed loudly, her breath smells
like her favorite drink,
It’s becoming her scent,
She couldn’t care less

They balanced each other,
they snuck glances at the sky
where droplets of rain landed
stinging kisses on their faces

Why is this so romantic?

Blah, Traffic, yelling
dirty splashed water from speedy cars
Obscenities, over flowing sewers
it does feel like home

Where chaos warms you
instability comforts you
and that careless feeling
secures you

No they are not insane,
their mental capacities will
threat those in asylums,
shake them in their straight jackets
since what you dub as insane
is completely standard
for them

Damn right
So let them
Walk in the
stinging rain,
wet dirty jeans
small bottles of
alcohol find warmth in their
jackets
and in their bodies

It does look like it’s a scene from a movie
what movie?
My mental one?
or the one you’re weaving right now?

It’s called dirty glamour,
Messy thoughts,
unbalanced steps
butterflies in their wallets
They bump into friends
whose smile is as big as theirs

They too are wet, the rain is merciless
They hug
They too have found a loophole to warmth
They giggled at the shared mini alcohol
bottle secret nestling in their jackets

With butterflies in their wallets
crooked damp cigarettes in their hands
They danced to their own tune
They walked down the street
that wet one, with cars
traffic
noise
flooding sewers
yelling
and honking

You sat there in your car
miserable and stuck in traffic
your eyes followed them
your heart wondered
and vicariously enjoyed their smiles
while you sat there
warm and roofed
surrounded
by your jumble
of nothings

dry
and
simply
plastic

Wet Cigarette

FRAME

Don’t constrict your vision
to what you can confine within your hands,
it might hurt, it is risky, you will grow some balls
but widen that freaking frame,
your portrait will be much more colourful
you will have a story
whose series of events
are not in YOUR control

Don’t be scared
Keep it in the back of your head
the cocktail of events
will stab you, kiss you
hug you, dump you
but, think about it
why would you confine
that frame to your
so called “comfort zone”
constricted vision

Widen that frame,
involve people
involve ass holes
involve lovers
involve beauty
involve ugliness
involve strangers
involve pets
involve family

Widen
that
frame

Let the events paint
your masterpiece
some blotches will be messy
some corners will have details
some parts will speak to many
others will be precise

but
take my word
for it
widen
that
Frame

perspective