Pulsar

By Martín Pinot

Y uno podría imaginarse dos habitaciones continuas completamente diferentes, en una la gente sonríe y camina y el sol esta en el lado correcto y si, hay hojas que caen de los árboles que se ven bien y lo hacen a un ritmo perfecto y se puede casi escuchar en el aire la melodía deliciosa del agua fresca caer. Es muy curioso pues en la otra habitación que ahora parece vacía, sucedió algo de las mismas proporciones hace solo un instante. Es cierto, también hay una puerta y el ojo de la cerradura ofrece al mismo tiempo una mirada al pasado y al futuro. La incertidumbre reside pues, en el donde de la llave, mas aun la sensación casi irreprochable de que tal llave no existe, por tanto tampoco el que hubiere dos habitaciones, es solo una, lo que sucede entonces es que la luz se enciende y se apaga demasiado rápido, esperemos que por lo menos continúe así un rato mas.

To start smiling

By

Martin Pinot Picabia

How poor could be the life of someone that hardly can find a single expectation, there is not something like people needs hope to keep trying when the only single thing needed to get up every morning is figure out that you are alone and already dead like all other tedious people out there, walking in the crowd, drinking in a full off bar, reading in a public library, how lonely could you feel yourself when you are not alone?, how empty seems to be the world when you got nothing to do with your almost void potential, from there precisely is where you can realize what is the difference between happy and real people, those happy persons you see everywhere are so pity to me, wandering around building flawed lives from nothing but a pitiful hope, expectation, prospect or something with a big name, they also put their entire devotion in banal concepts like wealth, mercy, health, love..., when the only real matter they got is an infinite sadness just like normal unhappy real people. What to do then with this long short life that some unconscious give to us?...

Just breathe and wait for one person that agree with you to stop talking, thinking, rambling and finally stop breathing without shame but with a smile.

Even Me

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By
Martin Pinot Picabia

Sometimes people needs
An extra supply of fate
Is not it?

Is an escape
An easy way to blow up
Fatality or some kind of
Outrageous meeting with life
I do not know, it is more
Like a lucid perfect dream
Made of great but almost
Silly expectations taken from
Someone else’s delusions,

It is all fake at last, but…
Nearly embraceable by me

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