At the gates of demise
there’s a rush or a delay,
and a consequent celebration,
for we can finally let go
or continue to hold on
to an ever-evolving dream.

Millimetric-plans aren’t always perfect.

No matter how careful,
nor how well played the execution,
things have a tendency to sway
and to lean on the unexpected,
the unnoticeable threat
that suddenly emerges,
but that was always there,
lurking, waiting, hiding.

In the aftermath only self-deceit
and menial consolation.
Mercyful self-patting on the back
trying to integrate the experience
acquired for future considerations;
but, sometimes so shattering,
the petty realization
that we rush to forget
or postpone to reflect,
strikes again from beneath,
coexisting with the so vast
ignored failures.

Patterns of repetition aren’t always endless.

At the crumbling edge,
where neither hope
nor will would suffice,
there’s a rushful delay
in the midst of the consecration,
oxymoron and paradox of fate,
for the distortion of time
is only a matter of perception,

just like the outcome,
continuous fruit of our deeds,
blooming or shrinking
in the ever-evolving stream,
of the things we desire
and of those unexpected.

In the end, what there applies
is how to play the game
without worrying about prize or consolation,
even at the gates of demise:
there can emerge new revelations.

Hay una verdad incómoda
insinuada en la falsa sonrisa
interpuesta en una relación de Poder.

Dominancias y humillaciones,
o gestos sub expuestos
en la justificación del engaño.

Igualmente hipócrita es la percepción
que, como la maquillada expresión,
en su sesgo ignora la molesta inconveniencia
para no abandonar la seguridad de la mentira.

Persistencia y Voluntad,
pilares alguna vez alcanzables con esfuerzo
reducidos ahora a clichés para señalar una virtud:

Es más fácil continuar con la farsa,
haciendo responsable a un tercero,
que darse cuenta quién es maestro
y quién esclavo en un espejo,
o en una proyectada relación de poder.

Petroglyphic figure manifested on the foam,
what does it mean?
Strange figure with deformed proportions,
sensual but not arousing;
voluptuous but not staggering.

And yet sacralizing and defouled,
like the dancing rites of the satyrs,
now stained in blood-like ink,
for otherwise these vague shapes
will also not last.

Disdain for memories so fray,
lost in the maze, kindling pyres,
looking for excuses to celebrate.

Biased measuer, time split in equidistnat date,
but still advancing and still decaying,
in an endless spiral where then was now and now is late.

Not a coincidence but a miraculous synchronicity;
restless beings emerge from the burial mound.
No longer an ordeal, but a hedonistic blasphemy
where we either no longer live or there is nothing left to die.

Double-headed shape or figure,
yet another bifurcated plasmation.
In the yearning for Unity we retreat to unconsciousness,
even at the depths of drunkenness.

The night before the haunt
was supposed to be filled
with pure joy or sheer terror,
but not a deep depression,
hopeless burden against all odds.

Arms extended reach out
trying to make a difference
or not to be dragged
on the sweeping of the tide,
but succumbing due to deep pressure.

Perhaps rain or wind,
or beasts howling in despair;
dreams of butch scavengers
feasting on the trade
of a mutilated corpse.

Things are not okay,
feeling echoes of a vacuum swirl.
The fog drips and stains
with the liquid twist
of its cold caress

and the clock ticks
as the time wanes
underneath the rough judgement,
a degradating stench of foul air
on the night before the haunt.

Poco a poco he viajado
recuperando los poderes
dispersados por el mundo
y fragmentados por la suerte.

Con esfuerzo reintegrados,
incrementados los efectos,
se reducen las cadenas
de la pasión y los afectos.

Brillará ritual de magia
por voluntad de viejo antaño:
insinuando las palabras
conseguirá los resultados.

Afrontando la tragedia
indiferente al resultado,
transformando el espacio
sin proyectarse en el tiempo.

Poco a poco he leído,
recopilando los saberes
que antes fueron perdidos
y hoy míos hasta la muerte.

Con paciencia aprendidos
y revelados los secretos
ocultados en las rimas,
sonoridades y decretos.

Arderá el pan y el agua
y brotarán nuevas monedas
del caldero de la mente
que brindarán nuevas ideas.

Sorbo a sorbo he probado,
nuevas recetas cocinado.
Variedad de los sabores
secundaria ante lo sano.

Con deleite devorados
los libros y las patatas
luego de haber andado
y largo tramo deambulado.

Y mucho será ganado
si se conservan los poderes
sin perderlos en el mundo,
ni arruinarlos con la mente.

Deep inside something wants to emerge,
now paralized, partly incomprehended
and stuck half-way in the corridor
where Form and Representations meet.

There, the Unknown gets yanked of its essence,
and forced to fit cruel spaces is deeply pushed,
now crushed and deformed to a vague resemblance
of what it could have been, without remorse or patience.

But being aware of such crime, the unmanifested yields,
retreating to the no-place of safety;
and now another formless shadow lurks and waits,
preys into the conscious thoughts, so lure and tempting.

From far outside something starts to immerse,
in a fast collapse, mostly anticipated
when the expanding shadow froze the deed
and the repressed action succumbed to fantasy.

In delightful deceit
a brightful star bursts out coronas
while in between
the Vacuum implodes in no-mass.

And so the dance continues,
of the self-assembling facts
that collide with inner obstacles
so that they twist and swirl at last.

Son unas cosas las que digo
y otras tantas las que hago,
teniendo ansiedad inmunda,
siendo juzgado loco y vago.

Inmensidad de la tardanza,
ingenuidad en el rezago:
ausente fantasía es el
tremendo precio que ya pago.

Hay disonancia cognitiva
cuando su esencia es el engaño
y la Razón se manifiesta
para subestimar el daño.

Es disonancia cognitiva
el ser ejemplo del rebaño:
mediocridad justificada,
estancamientos de antaño.

Lo que empezó como gotera
ahora un profundo lago,
donde se han ahogado sueños
causando otro cruel estrago.

Mostrando pocos resultados,
confrontado el triste mago
desliza tres palabras, como
facienda eris: Nos-Imago.

La disonancia cognitiva
es nebuloso gris empaño,
de una imagen divina
que precipita lo aledaño.

En disonancia cognitiva
se distorsiona el tamaño
y se perpetua la mentira,
reviviendo un muerto año.

Y se cierra otro círculo
con un vicioso empalago
al maquillar falso reflejo
y aspirar a un halago.

Son tantas cosas las que digo,
y otras cosas las que hago:
cuando persisten mis errores
es porque otra vez la cago.

Freezing and uninspired:
a phrasing end non spared.
Payed ticket resting, forgotten,
paved attack at a roasting afar, ego settin’
boundaries and walls so delicate
a band o’ Rus endow illness, Odal Cat.

Imagination and constraints:
a Magi, not an Aenead, ace on stairy ants,
lingering to the promise and purpose
along a ring: “eateth prim sand” — pure pose
while forgetting to chill, laugh, rejoice;
a whale forgot oating, touch Illya, ough! — our joy, ace.