Catastrophe into Art

No planeaba que al llegar la primera noche del año me sentaría a escribir esta carta más bien esporádica que sin embargo es una de las cartas que escribo en uno de los momentos de mayor lucidez en mi vida. Pero aquí me encuentro, cerrando la cortina morada que cubre mi cama. Sí, la cortina que ha sido confidente de todas nuestras conversaciones y tonterías de después de las once, la que guarda los cuentos que contamos y es testigo de los planes que no se concretaron. Pero tan pronto como abrí una nueva hoja en mi diario, supe que esta carta no sería fácil de escribir Me he mentido a mi misma. No sé si es la esperanza de que cambies, o cuál otro disparate impulsa esta falta a mi integridad. Pero lo hice, y tal vez me cansé.  Así que me senté, me coloqué una manta en los hombros, y asumí la aflicción que me acongoja. ¿Desde cuándo? Ahora que empiezo a ser completamente honesta conmigo, creo que desde hace dos inviernos. Hoy ya no me excuso más, porque mis justificaciones son la mayor des

Empty dock, clouds, and rocks. Sunlight, water, and sky. An atmosphere ever wet & the smell of salt everywhere. A balanced palette of colors; blue, yellow, red, black, and white. Winter arrived, never this warm. Not the warmth in your skin, an impossibility with gelid mist. The sky reflected in the sea at peace. Is just the wind, the ocean, and you; you alone with your thoughts, and memories from back home. Home is where you stand and where you stood yesterday; maybe it is something in your heart available where the sun shines. Used to be lost, somehow found in the unknown.

I grew to hate every newspaper header. I set them on fire, burning flames, ashes. Humanity, where did it go? Do you mind stepping in? I wonder what kind of puppets are we. If I am the promise of tomorrow Where do I stand today? What does this convey? I want to destroy my crystal sphere, fear. Tear. Veer. Clear the gear. Done with words and formalities, those cannot stop fatalities. How does one modify the course of History? You can resist, but the crowd will shape the journey.

Writing isn’t what is inside the envelope that a mail carrier holds it starts in the very soil where the subject stands; way back when the earth nourished the plants that fed our ancestors                                                                                                a seedling,                                                                                           raining,                                                                             harvesting,                                                                preparing,                                                                                 adding,                                                                                      mixing,                                                                                                       losing,    finding,                                             delivering,                                            interpreting. Used to think of writing a

I really don't. And I hate to even have the thought, but I just can't keep going on. Love shouldn't drain me out,  yet it's been a heavy load. Damn, I should let it all out. It's not like my heart is breaking and it's precisely what's got me thinking. Have I lost all my hope? Or am I growing out of love? Saying something won't be enough for me to not give up on us. Words without actions are duff and it is useless to cuss. Of course you'd say I don't curse and I'd turn fierce and hoarse "You don't know me, never did" Saying this is it, I quit. We've been through so much Breaking up to make it up Holding on without clutch Interluding til together curl up I'm afraid I'm done waiting. Utter devotion is fading. Exhausted of always pretending that I'm shining every day. Distance is the biggest liability I know better than a wasted speech. Don't ask me to wait for stability 'cause it's incredibly out of reac

From the other side of the Atlantic, nine thousand eighty kilometers away, I open my eyes and I look at the ever-grey sky. I am exhausted, my soul hurts, the disconsolate ache of today. I struggle to cope with the pain that breaks me from the inside, unable to keep scrolling down the news that never fail to horrify. Damned headers, promoting the way she died. She did not die, it was a femicide. My mouth is shut in solidarity, the knot grows in my throat; I disappeared for a day, but ten women in México won’t make it back home. Lives, aspirations, dreams, plans; everything abruptly cut. How to modify the course of History? Attempts to figure out my place in this big world and how to start to clean up this mess. I saw the suffering, I experienced the pain. But I believed in resistance, I believed in change. I was brought here on a mission: Education is a force to unite nations for peace and it’s ironic that this stirs in my heart urges for chaos &