Wednesday, August 15

algo blanco de fondo

Pues resulta que me quedo un poco aquí hablando sola. Eso que te sientas un rato a matar el tiempo o a que el tiempo te mate, y casi sin darte cuenta se te han pasado tres horas.
Tengo que correr y nadar, las dos cosas.
Me voy unos días al pukkelpop; allá voy con mi mochila llena de sueños, sin cámara, sin bikini y sin aletas.

Que salten las puertas de sus quicios. Quiero un mundo en el que la vagina esté representada por un rudo y honesto tajo, un mundo que sienta por los huesos y los contornos, los crudos colores primarios; un mundo que sienta miedo y respeto por sus orígenes animales. (h.miller).

Sunday, August 12

vertebrae by vertebrae

Estamos orgullosos de ti Calamity.

Wednesday, August 8

mi corza buen amigo


Hoy no diré nada. Me pican los ojos
. .

Saturday, August 4


Somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near.

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands.