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  1. The meaning of space

    domingo, 13 de abril de 2014

    Alienating oneself, creating isolation with borders, is not only about solitude, is not about hiding either. Is about finding portals that interlock the external world and the internal without any pathological implications to it. The feeling of being segregated makes you so self aware of the outside, you can only think of it. Makes you feel like you understand it, all the external things. Makes you feel like you’re compressing yourself into a particle that defies the external. Makes you feel space. The internal becomes the infinite route to the external. And time merges with space. The dimensions become blurry. When dripping out of borders, we coalesce.

    Self portrait by Claude Cahun 
    Self portrait by Francesca Woodman 
    By Tim Walker


  2. No estoy, 
    Está la soledad
    Y el sonido creado por la percusión
    De su gotereo constante
    Una perturbadora música,
    Recordatorio de los intérvalos vacíos
    Que con cada uno de tus pasos no se llenan
    Porque no me alcanzas
    Me tocas
    Pero tocas un alma
    Mi cuerpo fue tomado por la luz
    Y las ventanas fueron la transición a la dimensión


    Soy un espectro
    Como vez un reflejo
    Somos iguales
    Nadie nos alcanza


  3. A contemporary poem for the river daughter

    sábado, 4 de agosto de 2012

    Guided by the ringing bells
    in her voice
    and the ghost
    of her singing,
    winding along the river
    I came to see
    the daughter of
    flowing waters

    Enthralled and seized
    by the shinning silver,
    couldn’t I tell
    if I watched the moon
    or her hair

    Kissed with unfathomable beauty
    the cascading smile
    made the waters obey
    River daughter but
    mother of life
    who whispered into the wind
    enchanted light

    Her eyes told me
    secrets of the forest
    I understood ancient mysteries
    only to forget them
    for her gaze
    assaulted my memory

    A hazy dream
    lays in my head
    pieces of her voice
    I can only see
    the river daughter
    is now but just mist

    However one secret
    can I remember

    The one
    that her clear glow
    magically engraved

    The one she told me
    not to utter
    for it's hers only
    to give away

    - CCC

  4. Symphony

    lunes, 16 de julio de 2012

    the strings in her back
    played unheard songs
    at distance,
    and up close
    only vibrations some could hear

    she told the doctor
    “there’s nothing wrong,
    my back just has rhythm”
    after the doctor told her
    “you need to sit up straight”



  5. So many mindless orphans of life running around crowds. One sided freaks, everywhere, worried about nothing. Discombobulated debaters of worn out arguments.

    People who don't remember where they've been are bound to make a fool out of themselves.

  6. The Arrival

    sábado, 14 de julio de 2012

    While succumbed in her slumber
    She hears the squeak of the gate
    Then tosses and turns on her shoulder
    Slowly opens her eyes and focuss her gaze

    Pauses on the night stand a dark figure
    the “tink” and the “tumb” of falling gold
    then closes her eyes fast to not look eager
    faking her sleep while her arm lolled

    The figure kept moving around the room
    under the blanket a smile had set loose
    looking at the silhouette that in the dark loomed
    eyes half open, to look awake she refused

    At last the silhouette approaches the bed
    she convinces herself to be profoundly at rest
    he folds down the sheets and kisses her head
    wraps her in his arms warmer than a nest

    No more fear, let’s go to bed
    Dad is home, keep on at rest
    She told this to herself as she laid her weary head
    Starlight, moonlight, black veil at best


    I made this poem on Father's Day. And if you are ever wondering, yes, it's base on my childhood. It was a really nice feeling knowing my dad got home. I feel like this poem has a kid story kind of vibe. It's simple, it rhymes, is short, so I guess is something someone could read to their kids. I tried to remember all my genuine thoughts of the moment my dad got home so it could translate to something transparent and innocent.

  7. The boat tosses side to side
    I sit on the end of the row
    Suddenly it collapses to the right
    I fall directly into the glass

    The screams wake me up

    The curtains rise up
    A tempestuous wind enters the room
    Choking in my bed I lay
    The doors shake

    An earthquake
    The curtains are flying
    I can see the doorknobs shaking,
    shining in the night

    Nightmares are so different now