It’s like I’ve been gone for so long in an unhappier, less calm self: 20 de abril de 2015
It’s like I’ve been gone for so long in an unhappier, less calm self, a self more rigid with uncertainty. He necesitado hacer esto por tanto tiempo. Everything’s flushed down the toilet, there’s sparkles in mine eyes. I feel real emotion waving out of the movie on my laptop screen and caressing my face. Fingers through dark hair, pulsing colors, budding tulips, skin. Mental breakdowns, lonely spinning planets, tears drip crystals onto cushiony green.
Go to the park with colored fine-tipped markers, and choose your colors depending on mood. (I only choose green when I do that thing.) Everything is heavier now, so go sit in the sun and breathe in golden hues and sparkly brights.
Being high makes you feel uncomfortable, and the way you deal with being uncomfortable shows you much about yourself: your personal compulsions, your creative urges, your strengths and weaknesses, your demonic inner impulses, the dual faces hidden in the yin yang at your core. If you can figure out how to feel comfortable being uncomfortable, how to move through it with confidence and amusement, you’ve got it all figured out, man.
Acabo de fumar flores, casi un cigarrillo entero, en el pasto cruzando la calle de un edificio que tiene el nombre en letras mayúsculas: PODER JUDICIAL DE LA PROVINCIA DE CÓRDOBA, y hay un policía parado en frente al lado de la puerta de un auto. Estoy atrás de un árbol, mis pies tienen sol y mi cabeza sombra. A veces el viento mueve todo, yo también tengo que agarrar el pasto por una mente atiborrada. Despistada, soy. ¿Está bien dicho?
Fumé con un amigo y después por toda la noche mi boca fue un desierto, agua hizo nada, ni una reacción. No tengo ninguna idea de qué estoy haciendo y voy a dejarlo así, no intento cambiar mi opinión por razones que no son importantes. Suéltaloooooo. Necesito pensar en español, mirarme las pupilas en el espejo en el baño, tocar el pasto, respirar el sol, practicar buena postura, y crear algo cada día. ¡Es todo!
Half-finished thoughts, half-finished sentences. There are so many things to think, does it ever crowd your head so that silence is always filled with a buzzing sound in your ears? Keep reading, keep doing what you’re doing, make a new friend even if it makes you anxious, even if you have nothing to say, people enjoy your company. Chapstick, zippered pockets, a night owl with sinking eyes, thinking of doing so many things and not doing a single one. Spanish poetry as too abstract for my inexperienced mind, running, writing, not thinking of the consequences…
Last night I told him I can’t sleep when he’s touching me. I can’t sleep as a spoon. I can’t sleep when someone is hugging me and caressing me slowly, whispering in my ear, firmly pressing soft hands into the curve of my waist. I can’t do it, I don’t want it, I don’t want you, I’m not sorry.