como me MOBY con MOBY

ldecoaç

la primera experiencia

la más alucinante

la más plena

los preámbulos

avanzaban

movidos

por una fuerza

misteriosa

las largas filas

la ansiedad

las ganas de bailar

de moverse

y todo al fin

conspira

y bailas

ahora

al ritmo

frenético

del Rock and Roll

de lo electro

del post punk

miles de recuerdos

y sinestesias

vienen y van

se diluyen

y reaparecen

cada nota

cada acorde

cada paso de baile

te trae y te lleva

te eleva y te sumerge

why does my heart

feel so bad?
¿this is my world?

somos hechos de estrellas

esa es la realidad trascendente

y en la apoteosis

todo se termina

sólo para continuar

de diferente forma

ahora bailas

y bailas más

aún

como me moví con MOBY

como nos movimos todos

hasta el agotamiento

inmersos

en nuestra

propia danza

comunicándonos

sin palabras

hasta el despunte

del alba

y con todas

las substancias

haciendo mella

afectando la conciencia

al amanecer era domingo

en la estación del portal norte

estaba sentado

con los auriculares puestos

sonaba "Sunday Morning"

y nunca antes lo habia escuchado así

era y no era yo

era y no era Nico la que cantaba:

"Watch out

the world's behind you

There´s always someone around

who will call

it's nothing at all"

...cuando desperté

era medio día...

PD:

y para rematar dos temitas especialmente dedicados a este loko: Whole Lotta Love y Walking To The Wild Side.... se puede pedir más?

Happiness

.

What ever happened to the pain?

And all the stuff that made us great?

We grew up, got too busy.

I couldn’t write those angry things.

What ever happened to the shades of black?

Sweet negativity and the verbal attacks.

We fell in love, got it right.

Nothing to bitch about or reason to fight:

The hole that happiness makes,

you never notice it right away.

Inside the comforts of the home,

in the back yard we bury the bones.

So together to be so alone.

Dream of lovers in far off places,

staring at the attractive strangers,

perfect silence comes between us,

"Oh what I said, I didn’t mean it!":

The hole that happiness makes,

you never notice it right away.

Love of your life,

feel it fade as you get older.

Only complaints and the ice on her shoulder,

easily mistaken for a wonderful day,

you never notice it right away:

The hole that happiness makes,

you never notice it right away.

.

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.

Ataraxia

.

By

María Maizkurrena

Ya no seré feliz.

Tal vez no importa.

Hay tantas otras cosas en el mundo.

Jorge Luis Borges

Ya no seré feliz.

Tal vez no importa.

No le importa a la luz que llena el ancho

teatro de los seres.

No le importa

al pájaro que cruza la mañana.

No le importa a la luna que agoniza

sobre el frío claror del día nuevo.

No le importa a este campo de las sombras

ni al río que se va como un tren ciego

persiguiendo el sonido de la vida

a las crueles fosas azuladas.

No le importa tampoco a mi vecina

que canturrea y fuma en la ventana

ni a la ciudad que apaga sus farolas.

Si no te importa a ti, tal vez yo aprenda

la misma indiferencia de la luz.

De la luz sin dolor y sin memoria.

.