Un cambio!

Voy a quitar los relatos y los pedazos de la novela que estoy planteando, más que nada porque prefiero publicarlos cuando los tenga releidos, corregidos y más desarrollados.
Espero que no os importe! Ya iré subiendo otras cosicas.

Un abrazo!

Shiny Happy People! (PD #1)

Where to begin with?

It's been years since I sit down to write whatever pops in my head. I don't know if I'm still able to listen to that voice within that embraces you softly and makes your fingers move fast, jumping from letter to letter to create the whole piece of you that's dripping in that very moment.
I don't know... but still it worths the try.

Music has been with me since I was bron there in 1989. They tell me it was a freaking hot August but I can't recall... anyway, ever since I was a child my father and my older and single brother has taught me how to appreciate the emotions and the feelings that music awakes in you. From classic to the 70's rock, stepping through the metal zone and ending in developing my own musical taste. Eclectic. That's what I am.
I've neveer been good at choices. Ever.
Everytime a choice stood in front of my nose, I ran away, the same rusty and old words my tongue seemed to have memorized and spat mechanically: "I don't know."

Can you taste the irony? Can you see it above and below? Sure I do. But that wasn't what I wanted to express here. I was craving for an ear. For a listener. A true one. No one ever came, not in the way I was expecting. I'm not talking about sadness here, jut wanted to point that everytime it seems life is smiling at me, the smile turns out to be a grin, charged with apathy and malice. Far from home, in the same country but far still. I ended up here because of a girl, and now that girl has just dumped me. But I'm OK. It's not that what I regret. What I can't stand is that feeling crawling from every inch of my body. That scream that wants to break free in a explosion of anger and hatred. Do I deserve this? Sure life is long and I'm just 22, but there are many of my friends who already have a PhD. There are other which are wroking and have goals in life. I had a goal once. I wanted to become the greatest (laughs) translator of all time. English-Japanese-French, that was about to be my sword, and my sheath, love. I have neither one. What do I have then?
I have my mind, I have experiences, I have plenty of words to fuse in my brind. Yet the backdoor of my mind is darkness. There's a sign down there which says "Warning". I've always ignored that.

Right now I'm treating other people (friends) problems when I should be trying to solve mine. But I've always been this way. Innocent and stupid if you have to put an adjective to it.
It's not luck what I want (which would be sweet) It is love, it is love to myself, confidence. I feel like running away to some faraway place to never return. That would be crazy. That would be wise. That would never happen, not now. I'm tied and bound to this land, to this city I hate so much sometimes that I wanna go to the highest skycraper and yell at everyone " WHY DON'T YOU FUCKING DIE?" That are the times when I'm blue. When I'm green, or gold or any other colour, I'm just drifint across this huge world full of shadows and grey tones. I don't want to sound depressing, I give you as a gift that apathy stalking me everywhere I go. I don't want it. I just want to be at ease. Feel that what I do is the rightful thing to do not because it's expected from me but because I want to be it that way. But I don't find the words to express it clearly. I guess they're hard to came up with. Let's go get'em! It's just that... that it seems that everything I want to do or I'm doing is just another cliché. Something I don't want in my life.

What do I want?
I want selfrecognition, I want to change, no, to swap my mood, my personality.
I want love in my life
I want to be a man. To be mature.
I want kids. I want to be happy. I want to travel the world.
I want to see so many things that I know it's impossible to reach out for it. I want to feel right when doing what I have to do. I want to believe in this society and in this world. I want to believe more in myself. I can't.
I lack everything. Of course I have love, which is important for me, but not the love I want. I want someone to worship. I've got so much love to give but it looks like nobody wants nor has the recipe for it. Nobody wants to hold it.

Nothing like wake up stiff in the morning feeling as if hell's been scorching your throat and numb because of the headache. Oh, and you have to add the sweet noise of the lawnmowner and the relentless humbling of the cell phone. Fuck You Helena, I don't give a shit about your problems nor your damn keys. You can stick them into whatever hole of your sick body you preffer. (You'll have to excuse for that!)
Oh, I forgot, I'm sick again! Yeeha! And walking at a worrying pace. Go-go-going down!
Hope that a nice cup of coffee psychs me up a little, otherwise my face is gonna be worthy of laughs and prances.

Fuel

Our lighter has run out of gas,

the fire stone won't work anymore

and the soothing hands that lit it up

will get lost inside the smoke.

Sometimes it's better to explode

and burn  every cornerstone down

don't you emember how it was

to grab the match and turn me on?

 

Then you thought this bet was safe

that fate would never stood a chance

the heartbeats kept rising and rising

but you forgot about the belt

Sick and tired of fuel and fire

of dreams, of words; of you.

I don't want to lose more fuel,

looks like you ate it all up.

Sometimes it's better to explode

and burn  every cornerstone down

don't you emember how it was

to grab the match and turn me on?

I don't want to lose more fuel,

looks like you ate it all up, 

my sweetheart

Seagull Dumpster

Crawiling through the air
as the accordion weeps
while the xilophone consoles the sea
This salt stained weaves of nostalgia
crumble against the faraway sound
of a trumpet's loneliness
And all the days
that passed away embrace rebirth
as if they've never tasted
this shade of life
And so they wonder what flavour
has the scene we've played.

Can they caress the sunset
with their frozen lies?
Or will the eager footsteps
of night come first?
Scubadiving with your seagull sin
towards the bottom
of this sunken chest.

Come and join my eyes
in this poor devil march
upon your naked looks and getaways
There goes the closure of all warmth
grab those crabs
and grip these eyelids

Sense the old smell
carved in this bassline,
flood your lungs with flute's stings.
False true lovers steal this grin.

So come, cry and join me in.

Blueberry Life Rhapsody

I can't stand that feeling
when I wake up in the morning,
or in the dead of the night
A lonesome wolf sleeping over
always too afraid to hear stuff
godforsaken by the whole pack
pretending not to mind that, so
Why should I put my feet on the floor
when all the things are lukewarm and so cold,
just don't know what I know and you know
now that's the stressful sound somehow
cause I ain't leaving my nest
to idly fly away high,
through this dim landscape painted with tears,
some blood and my lust;
where is that love I was promised long ago,
I'm eager to know
Underneath my veins?
No, I don't think so.
Or maybe... can be?
This thirst for thrills
that I feel up this hill
I can barely hold with my fists...
I know man,this must be it!
Smothering softly this pain
within with the pillow I made
from the skin of all those poor lips I had to kiss,
but in this world there's no place
either for cravens nor dead,
I wanted you to call me home,
playing the trumpets when you got close to me
perceive how the surrounding sky
falls down to the earth,
trying to trample the cornerstone of our love,
where hides the hideous murderer
of lambs of gold, he's grown so old,
I fold my arms and sit close to the bonfire
but I can't see shit cause it's expired
from the alibis weaved and donned down my spine.
Remember the bodies
of all those phoney sluts and pimps
trying to escape and run away, fly, high, oh my...
from this puddle of piss
dripping from the pipes while the sun dies
out in the horizon he hides
from the main stream of conciousness
which comes full of despair and pain
I should've given away
long ago to the first vagabond, hobo, bum,
reflection of my inner most
people who's always been in the way,
they put us away, wipe our tears far,
far away from this scene.
Cause life can't be a parody
for dreams are what they're meant to be,
I try to see it more like a rhapsody
of irony, hypocrisy and courtesy.
So c'mon girl, don't tell me you can't see
through the smokescreen
floating
in thin air,
feeding bones to them
So "what the hell means this life?" you ask me,
haven't you realized
we're just puzzle pieces to remain,
lost mementos of the poetry
of the sensitive and stark reality.

Universal Tracklines

I wish I could tear your light apart
and drink from the shades left in your eyes.
We can go off late to pick up the parts of the plane
because crashes mean good news to me.

She jumps around as the bell tolls louder
in this secret evening show
when desire cries out for freedom/to be free
sorry but that's something I can't deny.

Just in time to catch the last train
chasing up the sun and siping down lies
I'm sure we can shake the night away
if we lay naked on the trackline.

But now there's grass in my fingers
sure you had the chance to chew me off
and now no one can save you from
the sudders left to come.
Those you can't ignore.

Get straight into my room,
the bed can be our private world
Pull the blankets and sneak in
I want to dream this life the way within.

Drifting across the spacial bay.

When September shows on #2

Whispers the wind has given away
lacking tenacity,
with no distrust,
along with voices
wandering across paths to forget
homesick though far from sorrow

With no time to react,
I can tell that life flies
then I hope your picture reaches me,
just to turn back instead
That's when it burst to pieces
and in the daybreak of my madness
I get lost in your strokes.

It's too late; she lies before me,
dark jet her hair
pit-black her glance.
She spreads her hands and lands on me
graceful, cold/frozen; kaleidoscope to discover.
Sweet poisoned balm I'd drink until death.

Now,
her voice is but a rumour,
the thread interweaving my fate
undressing the treads
that lead me here.
Fierce trail of desires
that I left far beyond:
Yet one yearning: scorch me with your lips,
wrap me up in your skin
look at me as the thief with tail wind,
a thief in his lookout
that in ecstasis divests you from your faith
with a roar

Dazzling shadow from the past
you were the nightfall of my love

Cuando llegue Septiembre

Susurros que el viento se deja robar
ya sin tesón,
sin ningún recelo,
junto a voces
que andan por senderos a olvidar
con nostalgia
aunque lejos del pesar.
Sin poder reaccionar,
veo que la vida vuela
pido que tu imagen vuelva, vuele y de la vuelta.
Es entonces cuando estalla en mil pedazos
y en la madrugada de mi locura,
me pierdo en tus trazos.

Ya es tarde; ella yace ante mi,
azabache su pelo,
noche sin estrellas su mirar.
Extiende sus manos y se posa en mí,
grácil, fría; adalid por descubrir.
Dulce bálsamo envenenado que bebería hasta morir.

Ahora,
su voz no es más que un rumor,
un hilo que entreteje mi destino,
desnudando los andares
que me han traido hasta aquí.
Fiero rastro de ilusiones 
que ha tiempo dejé atrás;
Y un anhelo: abrásame con tus labios
y arrópame con tu piel
mírame como a un ladrón,
un ladrón en tu atalaya
con el viento a su favor
que extasiado te despoja de tu fe
con un clamor.

Bella sombra del ayer,
mi crepúsculo de amor.