.__As I turn off my eyes__.

I turned off my eyes and I tried to turn off my life just for a while. I started to feel the deep, and the deep was endless. I found my thoughts were the persistance of my memory, and even when I tried to forget, I was emerged into the sickness of analisis. My eyes shut the doors of the world and the world cought me from the inside, and it complained about everytime I said no to the world. I didn´t understood I was saying no to myself.

At least I knew I wasn´t death yet, perphaps I was there for some reason. Could I hear my beats and my breath by turning off my eyes? As they were walking with me, the wind whispered words of power, and the sea spoke out loud the tales about those women who stood at the shore waiting for the answears to come. And the sand was pushing me with the tide and the sun was pulling me to the other side of the globe.

When I turned off my eyes I knew I needed to come out with that step and blend myself with the landscape I was crossing by. But it was not necessarily a landscape, it was the discourse written by the world to the ones who took some time to have a look at it. Soon, I felt I ought to abandoned my seat and that I was made to be part of that poem.

Then I climbed up the mauntain where the cementary was waving goodbye to the orange moon. The breeze was melted at the touch of my neck and the warmth came with the seaguls at the end of the day. Death was speaking everywhere and life was defending herself with all kinds of metaphors. Some dancers were showing the strenght of their bodies, the music was everywhere hiding the silence of the corps, and the children were laughing as they run through the veins of the world.

How can I enjoy, and how can I protest, how can I love, how can I live and die, everything in the same head, in the same brain, with the same heart and the same body, the whole thing in the very same sunset, at the very same moment, while I stop seeing, while I feel and live...

...in the midst of the month of death...


...and the eyes turned on the words
that belong to the other side of their vision.


M.R.

Today

I'm saddish
I can't understand one thing
I miss you
I don't seem to get what's going on in my own country
I'm uneasy
I want a bottle of red wine
I like rain very much
I know I don't know where to go next
I read the newspaper and
I wish I didn't
I hate flowers
I'm not an activist
I sang completely out of tune
I think a little
I know you don't expect anything from me
I can't learn Euskera
I talked to my cat
I drank way too much coffee
I'm sick of the post-modernist speech
I want to dream
I skipped my French class
I really really hate war
I saw one pretty butterfly
I believe you

L.R.

At Last

The fan went on a on… from one side to the other, flying papers and drawings posted in the wall of her white little office. She was staring at the paper trying to read, but sentences didn’t even have sense any more. She was thinking of something (someone?) else. Waiting, as she had been doing for the last months…Each time steps were heard down the aisle, she looked anxiously to the door, hoping…I don’t know what she could possibly be waiting for… if she always knew it wouldn’t arrive…(happen?) She knew, and pretended of course, some kind of silly-holy miracle would change their paths. At the end of the day it seems like nothing happened at all, that no one changed, that no one even tried. The sun was fading in the sky once again and her heart was biting soooo hard, tainted with an unbearable melancholy, when all of a sudden, she realized It was over. It was over!! (what she was unconsciously waiting for)

She grinned. Closed her book and went out… freeing herself,
at last!!!

(And of course, something happened…lots of things happened and more are yet to come...)

C.