July 22, 2016
AND THE RIVER RUNS THROUGH HER-FROM WIRIKUTA TO LAS POZAS
gouache and acaruella on arches paper, channeled from the top in awirikuta desert on a peyote trance , to reach the bottom in xilitla, las pozas, the surrealist jungle castle of sir edward james, 50 cm x 180 cm,  
July 4, 2016
journals-mexico city

Heavy rains begins in Mexico City- magical feeling of isolation in the studio- among the painted spirits- something exceptional will happen- magic trap opens up to a garden of miracles- echo of the rain surrounds me like the trumpet of Miles Davis- no witness- sex with art- until sky opens up- uncertain times: will I die, will I live? Will I see? - knock of the drops on my heart: I write with the old typewriter a love letter to the sea- knock of the letters on my soul- every word is a sound a song- war in bed- dreams in convulsions- prophetic- erotic- a muse made of the parts of six women that I know- hand of her- eyes of the other- sex of the another- skin of the another her- voice of her holy screams of joy- kiss of one- she is everyone- she awakes brave and naked- I found a Venus at the Antique market- in a seashell open- white and virgin- not for long- I must make those kites fly- high- oh it’s a dream for everyone- It’s not mine- grey low sky over the city- protected by my pink scarf- my pink hands- there is no place in my sleep- no place to seek- there is too many to paint- too many to transform- too many to escape from- my body is broken, my spirit vibrates too high:

everything must be achieved now- must be saved and destroyed- virgin muse- birth of Venus seashell- archetype- myth- joy- enjoy- destroy- kite sex- naked, morning seashell-

I breathe. I believe- is it a new life?

I am coming back to the sunface to breathe air in between two paintings. Every piece of art is now linked to the other in a continuous line- one scream of liberation- drowned in a sea of colors and visions- is there anything else? Can you pull me out?- 

Is there anything else that really matters but those tree letters: A-R-T-?

Longevity makes me tired: I cannot exist in repetition- fuck the future- a shoe shiner- never searching- It’s always here- over there- everywhere- he whistles- he makes me happy- he makes me alive- fragile joy- today- it could be sadness or explosive happiness- cannot be in between- It is full moon? I feel excited- turned on- mad cristal powder -mad printing through the night- in red and blue- serigraphia- 3D glasses-

great utopian free metropolis- I got higher then anyone- I took too much- can I just never come down, can I never touch ground? Art is an act of survival- there is always a candle burning when I paint- waves of light- waves of darkness- totally immersed into them- from prophet to lost hero- from truth to emptiness- from illumination to perdition- from my hands full of feathers to dirty empty hands- It comes and goes- like tides- but heavy-invisible moon is guiding my pulse- my hand under your dress- I am the evolution of my painting- I go up or down with her- I am the colors that I a paint- I am the war inside my painting- I can touch death if she is- I live in another time made of cycles of joy and pain, according to the art that I am creating. 

I do not touch ground- I walk above the side walk- “Je suis insaisissable”- presque insensible, Je suis une main libre qui peint sans corps- mon ame est dans ma main- mon coeur est dans ma main- mon sexe est dans ma main- I have let go of my immortality quest- tonight death is my lover- the way she moves her hands is revelatory- I know she is a magical love maker- from above- eternal wheel of infinite joy- San pedro high- emotional art making- walking in the centro-

discotheque lights I am fascinated- strobe light at sunset- street trumpet- I feel romantic- I need to love- to touch- to feel- Champagne supernova- acoustic laments- everybody drinks coca-cola but me- electric extension- I fear no rebellion- I fear no insanity- no intensity- those streets breathe human machinery- falling feathers- junky dead on the sidewalk- asleep dead?- I wonder why people hang out to the past and memories- truth is always ahead- faster than us- silk screen painting- freedom temple- time for propaganda- Its time to reveal ourselves- to shine naked albatros to destroy all distances.

There is only you and me. Who are you?

My tongue is under electric shock- It’s moving so fast inside, there is no time for any church to be built, a new God is carved in the fabric of time at any moment- neither He or She –it’s pure energy-

-Are they looking here? From above: a swan erotic- coming -

we will draw an empire- we will drown in desire sacred euphoria a kick- a quest- a thrill- first kiss- gold doors- silver reflections- erotic fascination- salvation useless salvation- chemical madness- sleepless- sex with the minotaur- I wake up with my sex so hard- driven by a million spirits- desires- 

I contain everyone- the desire of a million skeletons- into my sex- rebellion- tower of joy- she climbs- she climbs- touch- I feel the grace of giving- the invisible- but I can see it- this thing that will penetrate you so profoundly- that never again- you’ll be the same- and I ask him- will you ever do something in your life that will change someone forever?


EMBRACE EXPERIENCE- I am a firework- I long to be a candle flame- I long to be a firefly- I long to be a lighthouse.

-I never want you to follow my path, I want you to get lost in yourself.

“He is waiting for the man- 26 dollars in his hands.”

I am a guest into this forest- red painting- sky grey charcoal-



“…Archaic, the ritualistic, rites of passage, the tragic, the sublime, the trascendent, sacrifice, and synthesis of pantheism, shamanism…”

Guernica, biography of an icion.

July 4, 2016
NYEPI-PROCESSION TO THE ISLAND OF SILENCE