THEY CALL IT "Siempre"

Light. Bed, Cinsero, cuaderno.
Ambulance, police, people shouting. Blood.
Angel y palabras, recently past. Pastel de elegidos.
After that line, everything has changed. Alarm, words... and alert.
People, Good byes, Beloved people, visiting you.
They will cry, they´ll feel they´re dreaming.
You would feel the same. As well.
Todo bien.

Static.

People come, beloved people, and they will remind you where you come from.
Is not the time. Is not the season, please not now.
People come to stay longer,
Is strange that you forget that they are people,
because it becomes a person.

Words.
Action.
Vulnerability.
"Looking forward to it"
Numbers. Lips and doubts. Still.
DO NOT
touch your hair, head, Mind.
Move along, feel a lot.

Caress. and sober
How come we vanished together into another world
for five fucking seconds, minutes, years (whatever)
in the pizza place?
How come Im still here. In nowhere.
How come I went to the park today and sat there.
Trying to draw my destiny. And all I could get in my drawing pad was a bird.
"Hmm. Interesting"
Words.
Actions.

Tonight. I danced. A lot.
I felt my body, I´ve followed the movements.
"Good music never dies" - I said.
"Good art never dies" - I thought.
"Life is a drug" - I felt.
And I left...

"On my way home: Drunk, drunk people, walking in circles. am I drunk?
A little bit. (I love how she pronounces those single words)
Lets go back to the point. Im not drunk enough, which is good. I am aware.
I often think. "I dont belong here" Una vida entre comillas.
And how the hell Can I say a Life between quotation marks? OH. just like that.

Feelings, feelings in different languages, why not.
Deaf Language.
Where you can´t even hear. but feel. Where you cant even see. but feel.
Food. Money. Places.. and what to drink.
Decisions.
Should I stay or should I go? -The clash.
There is something about words.
There is something about what to do.
Is because I can see so many options.
Is because I know, I feel what I SHOULD do.
Ziggy. Startdust.

Who am I?
Eine erteista Mex ci cawna!
(- people say whilst im drawing on the tube)
Who am I? Again.
Dont look back.
Life is my canvas.
My canvas is not my life.
It is every single fucking moment I build.
Is the light I saw in your hair/eyes/shapes..
after/before we passed by the most expensive hotel in the world
Is the eyes I see on people. Is my invented breakfast.
Is the contrast between the old and the modern.
Is the hidden places I randomly find.

Art is not a square. Art Is Mark.
but who is Mark?
Mark Is an old guy
He is an addict.
He takes drugs every single day.
Md, wed, cok, ziggys, work, "fast"
but he is still all right.
We are the same. All is one.
He told me something:
Im even happier when I dont take drugs. But I just do it.
I just listen.
He has a son, an old love.
He has wrinkles, and he always gets me a bar of chocolate.
He feels confident with me.
And I listen.
Every single word.
(even the words I can´t get it.)

What are you doing Rox?
Im writting. Oh Ok.


Then. I must finish soon, Im falling asleep.
Conclusion?
A friend of mine told me.
Life is like riding a bike.
If you ever stop your bike, then. you would fall.
Bike and life is for being in movement.
sometimes slow. Sometimes fast.
sometimes is a down hill.
sometimes you are riding your bike and you have an accident.
Sometimes no one care.
Sometimes someone does.
And then

Your life Change again.
Dont dismount