Una anatomía del tacto
o que se desliza por su espalda
lo que no llega a sus nervios
desconoce
los ensueños que se desenvuelven
ajenos a la percepción.
Cuando volví a ver atrás
– para saber que sucedía –
ya todo había pasado
y mi gozo no pudo ser mayor:
el mundo vivía sin mi
era libre y nadie ni nada
sabía mi nombre.
I, the dream of a god,
an outcome of invisible hands
at once performance and spectator
this precise instant
this internal precipice
a newfound religion
whose scriptures are written
in every one thing
where the god and the dream are the same
the cloud and the rock are inseparable
the sweet motion of transience
coursing over the stream of eternal action
I, alone and united,
one more spoke of divinity
one more billow of infinity.
Be. Let whatever happens, come to pass.
To be: embraced by a field of happening.
There is nothing imperfect, even contradiction
and desire – let it all come.
Allow motes of dust to float
the heaviest pain to sink
there is nothing at all that does not belong –
let anger and irritation play their part
but release them and go on.
Close your eyes and dig deep.
Study the phenomenology of thoughts
the strange ocean of being
overpowering pain, elusive pleasures
Be. Embrace the field of happening.
Twilight and morning are now irresistible
they hang above like motherless children
there is no reason to believe in one or the other
all the insects swarm this local abyss
fortunate, for us, all minutes randomly orbit an hour
anywhere is home, or else, unfettered lives would not be possible
reentering again a field of silences
morning or night or true or false
were all excluded
an intimate void
more or less… yours.
What need is there for Nietzsche’s euphoria in language, for his excess in possibility and contradiction, for his telling of unnecessary things? What do we actually need but a secure income and a full stomach in this modern world, perhaps a fancy car and the latest gadget, but beyond that, is it not completely irrelevant to look for more? So, in the context of the 21stcentury, where life is just life, when you are rich or poor, possessor or possessed, what urgency is there to plummet into the depths of the unknown? There seems to be lacking an insistence to forge other realities, to strain the last fiber of consciousness in order to erupt a newer self, a deeper “I”. Isn’t Zarathustra saying that we are not only living (a passive image of passing time) but that in fact while we live we are creating…
The question remains latently hidden inside our hearts, while we stroll in a “comfort-zone” age… what is yet to be born?
La tengo en frente,
la abrazo con fuerza
es innegable que la tengo en mis manos.
Estoy solo en mi amor por ella
esta cosa desconocida
que solo yo conozco en mi delirio.
Lo que siento…
se escapa como la mariposa
que percibió un sonido extraño.
En la calle de al frente o cualquier otra,
un asfalto cualquiera – con este dedo
la penetro y la calle se empieza a derretir;
porque solo puedo amar aquello que se descompone
conmigo.
Y respirar – lo hago en trueque:
un respiro por cada gramo de mi ser
que se vuelve ceniza invisible.
Hoy me di cuenta que soy un hombre,
en proporción a la velocidad
de mi desaparecer.
There is no place to start
a beginning point
an igniting flame.
There is a Rorschach blot
a streaming dream of structure
a finite accomplishment;
surrounded by infinite reach.
If you start from this,
then anything is possible.
My chest can suddenly burst open,
and twigs may grow.
Impossibility is an illusion.
A repeated illustration
of what’s real;
keeps infinity from shining forth.
I couldn’t lie
or distort the truth
when I tell you that seven seagulls
– not six or eight – I counted,
took flight in the direction of the moon
and that the water was slightly offering an insult
with its restlessness and simple undulations
I suddenly felt as at the bottom of a gap
a precipice that links two different lands
behind me everything that is
before me everything that could be
I was inside the great hole that separates the two
and it didn’t seem fair to build a bridge
sauntering from fact to possibility;
to cross this gap
I felt
requires the courage of a climb –
to create a new fact
demands a start from the lowest point
to climb up again in rags
to emerge from the deep
after the torture of darkness has engaged with us…
only then can the gap be closed!
Following are some of famous painters’ art works in the Old National Gallery (Alte Nationalgalerie) in Berlin, Germany. The works in this museum are mostly Classical, Romantic with a tad of Impressionist and Modern Art.
You will find a limited amount of paintings by Delacroix, Goya, Manet, Monet but an overabundance of German painters such as Menzel, Weitsch, Corinth, among others.
Sitting on the second floor is a copy of Rodin’s famous sculpture ‘The Thinker’.
More famous art to come in the near future, enjoy!
Seated Nude, Eugène Delacroix
The Maypole, Francisco José de Goya y Lucientes
Bärtiger Männerkopf im Profil nach rechts, Adolph Menzel
Falke auf eine Taube Stoßend, Adolph Menzel
Der Fuß des Künstlers, Adoplh Menzel
Tritons and Naiads, Max Klinger
Woman in Rose-Trimmed Hat, Lovis Corinth
Nanna, Anselm Feuerbach
Children’s Afternoon at Wargemont, Auguste Renoir
Chestnut in Blossom, Auguste Renoir
Still Life with Flowers and Fruit, Paul Cézanne
Mill on the Couleuvre at Pontoise, Paul Cézanne
Still Life with Fruit and Crockery, Paul Cézanne
White Lilac, Edouard Manet
In the Conservatory, Eduard Manet
View of Vétheuil-sur-Seine, Claude Monet
Houses at Argenteuil, Claude Monet
Summer, Claude Monet
Saint-Germain-l’Auxerrois in Pairs, Claude Monet
The Author David Friedländer, Friedrich Georg Weitsch
The abbot Jerusalem, the Father of “Young Werther”, Friedrich Georg Weitsch
Sin, Franz von Stuck
The Philosopher Georg Wilhelm Friedrich HEGEL, Jacob Schlesinger
The Thinker (copy of original in Paris), Auguste Rodin
Tahitianische Fischerinnen, Paul Gauguin
Richard Wagner, Franz von Lenbach
Es hora de buscar
una cierta indestructibilidad
comenzar a jugar una vez más
con un escalofrío de fantasía-
si consiguiéramos la esperanza
de poder borrar
un poco de lo que somos.
De niño me acuerdo
penetrar mis propias venas
desvanecer como la bruma de una catarata blanca
levitar sobre la miseria
de un innecesario cuerpo.
Ser indestructible es… volver a volar.
Beyond Language 
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