Un soplo de aire fresco en estos momentos de delirio por la ansidad de alcanzar a lo que tu corazón se somete a una cuestión de confianza una dualidad parlamentaria o una mayoría que se aleja al otro lado de la verja… Si está en una encrucijada si aún el poso reposa o si han... Leer más →

ALMA DESPAREJADA ESPANTAPÁJROS CORPORAL YELMO MENTAL CORAZÓN LINEAL. UN DESEO… TU PRESENCIA UNA PASIÓN… TU ESENCIA UN ANHELO… TU ALMA UNA PRETENSIÓN… TU CORAZÓN UN LUGAR… EL SOSIEGO UN TIEMPO… EL REQUERIDO UN ESPACIO… EL ADAPTADO UN SENDERO… A TU LADO. UN… UNA… ¡TÚ! O.

Una brisa enmascaradaMe rodeo con palabrasUn aire cálidoMe envolvió en su derroteroNoches acumulativas de palabrasUn tornado efusivoMe posicionó en un lugar concretoEn un momento predispuestoDonde los argumentos retrocedieronY las presencias se interpusieron. Desaparecieron las caretasSatisfacciendo las miradasLa estrechez entre los cuerposEl enjuague de las manosLa textura de los labiosLa delicadeza de las cariciasEl reconfortate círculo... Leer más →

Si escrudiñas su fisonomíaObservarás su fiereza intactaTras su mirada felinaConstatarás su alma selvática.Su belleza impertérritaRegia su alma explosivaBajo el resguardado del apalancamiento sileciosoAguardando el momentáneo de su apogeo cadencioso. Ni sumisaNi apagadaNi perdida… … Únicamente esperandoQue la vidaLe otorgue su graciaGuiándole por la senda antojadizaSatisfaciendo su esencia corsariaEmpadronando su presencia océano de pasión y algarabía.... Leer más →

Si escrudiñas su fisonomíaObservarás su fiereza intactaTras su mirada selváticaConstatarás su alma felinaSu belleza impertérritaRegia su alma explosivaBajo el resguardado del silecioDe su momentáneo apalancamiento. Ni sumisaNi apagadaNi perdida… … Únicamente esperandoQue la vidaLe otorgue su graciaLa guía de la sendaQue satisfaga su esenciaEmpadronando su presencia. O.

Adaptación de la letra musical de Galt MacDermot, Gerome Ragni y James Rado.

I have often wondered about Odysseus’ last words to Penelope before he left for Troy. How would the ultimate hero say farewell, how to explain the necessity to leave? It may be easier to use the excuse of duty than to explain the powerful attraction of the other side of the world, calling his name.…

Our knowledge is stored in memory, classified, at least partially interpreted and ready to be used to predict future outcomes. But how do we know that there is something we don’t know, that something is missing? I know the basics of how a car engine works, but I ignore the details. I am aware of…

I think about those writers today. Not about their characters, but as the voice-over, the narrator recounting the inexorable succession of events. I wonder if the narrator suffers more anguish than the characters. If he knows what is going to happen, if he feels he cannot feel as his characters do. If deep down he…

(continues from here; begins here) To come here in the mornings to sit before this Rothkian void. A filled void that contains everything. The narrator wonders, do I care? But there is nothing to care about or not, there is nothing to feel. That seems to belong to another reality. Here is everything that is.…

Caratula de la versión de "Mañana" por Aitor S y Lola Ramos

Versión del tema de Mikel Erentxun "Mañana", interpretado por Aitor S y Lola Ramos

As we ride towards the sunset, I ask myself whether the end will ever come, whether the sunset is a place, a real place. An end to the rainbow. A place to rest, to die.  This thought makes me stop. The others look back at me, no words. I am not ready, I say. Ed smiles, the hint of a smile, understanding, maybe. They ride on. I sit on my horse for a few seconds, while time stands still and my thoughts are frozen. Or melted, maybe. Then the air comes back into my lungs and something within me urge

And who am I? This question fills me with a kind of emptiness, as if highlighting what’s missing, rather than what’s present. The void. The nothingness that accompanies the lack of answers. The void has been with me since my early childhood, draining energy, will, and light. I tried to escape from it, to bury it, to deny it, to exorcise it, to ignore it, to overcome it with determination. It did not matter. It just laid there, oblivious to all my efforts, looking at me with an empty gaze. At f

It’s funny how we think we have read something in a book, in a blog, something that touches us, and when we go back to read it again it’s just not there. Maybe there are some words that vaguely resemble what we remembered, but the clear idea we had in our minds is not there, not like that. It was projected by our unconscious. He (She) knows better, doesn’t he? An idea had been floating on my mind for the last few months, like a green smoke coming out of an imaginary cigarette. Persistent, movin

Am I unique? Am I not repeating the pattern of so many human beings before me? Haven’t I been ‘me’ before, in another one? Am I the first of my kind? Don’t I make the same mistakes as that who was like me? Won’t another come later who will be like ‘me’, with my same fears, my failures and my few moments of light? He will be me… ‘again’. Are we really unique, a being that has not yet existed? I wonder if a previous ‘me’ discovered what I have discovered. If he climbed out of the well. If he lis

I always liked this character, Charon, whose job is to take the souls of dead people to ‘the other side’. He has a small boat, which he rows across the Styx, the river that separates both worlds. I saw this picture at El Prado museum when I was a kid and I was deeply impressed. My aunt told me the story of Charon and his boat. Something about this myth has stayed with me ever since. The water, of course, is the common symbol for the unconscious, and the classical separation between life (at leas

The music of Philip Glass makes me feel at home. Apparently flat but deeply mysterious. The nuances of repetition. Change in no change. Peaceful and yet disquiet. A tension of opposites. Quiet and yet so loud. An inbetweenness. I often dream of windows through which I get ‘to the other side’, usually some sort of back room, corridor or house that represents my unconscious. Back and forth, in and out. A window is a powerful symbol. Like an eye, it enables us to see what is outside. Without a win

A few months ago, I had a dream in which I visited an old chapel. Two priests were arguing in a low voice and at some point, the high priest mentioned a sacred book that was somehow very dear to me. He went into a room in the back, and I followed him. There he showed me the original book. It actually looked quite new and tiny. In each page, letters started large at the top and disappeared towards the bottom of the page. There was nothing there to be read, the book that I held in such high regard

As I passed by the flat of one of my neighbours, I remembered that someone died alone there a few years ago and took weeks to be found. Months later, a young couple moved in. Now their toddler’s toys were spread in front of their door, illustrating our inevitable cycle of life and death with indifferent simplicity. It reminded me of the apparent absurdity of our world, as if the certainty of death of the individual would remove the purpose of its existence. But are we in this life to fulfil our