-yesterday I saw you kissing little flowers
yesterday I saw you playing with the clouds
yesterday I saw you by the invisible waterfall
kissing colorful butterflies
kissing my lips
kissing the air
Dancing into the kaleidoscope
Invade my body
Conquer my soul
Play with me without strategy
Let’s run without a master plan
Let’s run with fire in hands
Dancing into the kaleidoscope
There is so many of you
You are my perfect geometry
You pray for the bird of prey to come and play
Yesterday I saw you kissing water
Yesterday I saw you taking me higher
xxx
Mexico city
Second passage, January 2008
I use insanity to break open heads. I provoke to charm,, I set fire to bring love.
I bring chaos to reach another level of peace. I paint to transform, you and me.
I draw to find the keys, to lead me to the gates, to cross the doors, to reach the other side, to disappear. I am the one who builds kaleidoscopes, tunnels of light, passage for you to take,
I seek for perfect geometry, universal language.
Fiesta mexicana: I met a gypsy Mexican woman: a beautiful silver ring into her nose: dressed with colorful veils, bronze skin. Erotic pearl, and tragically carbon eyes. A giant smile like the mouth of the popocatepelt. She is a mix of a tragedy and euphoria: old soul, young body. Daughter of bacchus, raw and raffine, soft but hard. She loves anis. She is beautiful like a lost revolution, like a greek tragedy, like a bird of prey, like a kite in a hurricane. She is beautiful like a bird who destroys it’s cage.
She is art, she is young and free. She is my caffeine, she is my cocaine, my fast dream, my tunnel,
She is the trumpet of miles davis, dark but illuminated.
She hangs on me like if I was a rope.
Always this rage in me, this waterfall of visions, fast, impossible to control, this emergency, this fear of the last painting, this constant chase for thrills, the impossibility of normality. Everything needs to be extreme, paradox , sublime , new , exciting, magic, a constant ritual. Burning in desire, burning form the inside. This constant legend to write,
This imaginary mythology of our universal consciousness, this mission, this mission, in me.
I raise my fists to the sky, I dive without compromise into the fragile porcelina of the ocean, the universe is pulling me.
I am always into the fast lanes, close to inner combustion, close to inner illumination.
Further there is more: A different truth to discover, a new element of knowledge, a different sequence revealing new pieces of the universe. I am broken in research, in time, in run.
SEEDS OF FIRE
Seeds of fire is a pearl diver, in a constant chase for thrills: she is a free runner, a delicate thunder, she follows a different choreography .
She moves like a ballerina from Paris on lsd. She moves without strategy, she moves around me. She is climbing up the walls, eating fireworks, eating flowers, she haves her own flag, dressed in harmony, wrapped around her own country . She haves her own way, to close her eyes to stare at the sun, I see trouble waters, strange navigation,
We fill ourselves like the moon, becoming full every night
I shall trace a road with my finger on your skin, a silk road, fingerprints, delicate euphoria, in your eyes I shall paint my visions for you to see, we will loose the notion of time, there will be no more days, night on the sea, no more light no more darkness,
We, knights of the unknown sea, warriors of the secret world,, alone in the sea, we make a fire and walk on water. ( a prayer to tacubaya)
mexico city, hotel rioja:
sometimes I feel so alone in my hunt: around is a comfort zone, with boundaries, with limits, with humans filling missions of humans, filling holes
I fill invisible holes, I dance with death, I dive everyday, I suffocate into this reality: there is no other way than to create my own universe, find a passage, and access, a secret tongue revealing to me the wonders of the other world.
I never leave the inner force that guides me into creation, that protects me from felling into normality, success, regularity, comfort. I keep myself on the edge, to always discover.
I want to give them a taste for freedom, a taste of eroticism, modern mystic trip, the taste of abandon, of elevation, of beauty, of something else, another path, push away the limits, to write their own legend.
We never discover in a comfort zone, we have to provoke ourselves to reach another level,
A chain reaction, a fire, to share, to amplify, to multiply, a tactile truth,
Hotel rioja:
I am here, in solitude, 12 years later, like a cycle, my hands still full of colors, totally dedicated to my paintings, still digging the tunnel, with bare hands, with only tools my passion and my soul, my visions.
And what if tonight I see, I know it is there, I know this hotel is my pyramid, my modern temple, what if the explosion is happening into the middle of the night.
What if I was dying before sunrise, with this uncompleted painting on the wall, this unfinished symphony. What if tomorrow, I was sliding a ring into her finger, and run. What if I was scared to paint the giant painting, the one that contain all, the essence of my soul.
An invisible cathedral. What if the exact moment of my death was already written, and these we’re my last brushstrokes ? What if my out-breath was longer than my in-breath?
There is not really a line between good and evil. Do we all know it takes light to create shadow?
Last night, in a long dream, a black crow was biting my wrist, for infinite time, and I could not paint. I was hopeless with rage shaking my hand, screaming: my tears we’re covering the white canvas.
She said: utopia, she said, I will go soon, let’s drink red wine. She carries death in her, like a jewelry . She stays with me , in the cavern, under the pyramid, where no ghosts go, and where we can dance with the skeletons, hands in hands. I went where we do not return from, many times, many times.
I told myself: if I run I will never learn.
I surround them in a furious choreography: to remain motionless will be death. I breathe fire, I charm cobras, seeds of fire, just here, on my shoulder.
I am scared but this is the only way. We are already deep into the tunnel, my princess. Waiting for the sun will be too long, we have to move on into darkness, our only guide is our intuition. Fugitives on the run: echoes from an inner revolution: we fight from the inside to set free the outside. I draw a picture of god: to have a reference if we meet him along the path.
And the dawn will heal us, only will remain the images inside us: the power to transform our dreams into reality.
I open your legs with a sword, I open your lips with my tongue.
---- tonight, we destroyed so many televisions. Somebody haves to shine for me, to shine for me
TEACHINGS OF FRANCISCO GOYA:
1-dirt, raw ,provocative in the streets
2- pure, perfect, charming into the higher circles.
i travel into the labyrinth, in a house of mirrors, alone at our wedding,
alone with an invisible ring.
mexico city,
feb 2008
ART IS MAKING LOVE
MAKING LOVE IS ART
-Sun is down, sky is menacing; secret tongue, all inside, fire raging, apocalyptic peace, a new war is declared inside me, a garden of fire, pagodas on fire time on fire desires on fire art on fire my brushes on fire the memories on fire, burning pagodas.
A secret rusted diamond. I escape from polished beauty. I escape from simplicity, I love detours, I love when there is many levels. Many hands in my hand. There is so many ways to see reality: it is sad to be locked into one. Innocence and decadence: we created another story, we provoked them. We tortured reality. We gave birth to new worlds, in chaos, in beauty, without linearity, without enemy.
Into the labyrinth, we found the intrinsic passion of mysterious joy, the sacred temptation, underground pearls. Destiny in a circle.
-Something will happen to us, very soon, like a secret prophecy revealed just for us: a seal made of water and rays of light, a fossil from the future,
( break open the egg)
I take her hands, I take her eyes. For a journey into my palms, we escape . imminent lust. We will make love in seven seconds. I stare at the dance of her hands, erotic butterflies. Tragically but so beautiful, we will not survive until tomorrow: sleep until you find a refuge.
Sleep until you become your own refuge.
Aghori reset trip ( a.r.t):
I stare at the distance between two of her dreams. Two of her fingers become the wings of a bird revolving into my sky. I visit her ancestors, I play, I learn .
We traveled to all the extremes, and the middle offers no interest to us. I cannot exist in compromises, in simplicity . Storms, eclipses, hurricanes for illumination, discovery: we will create another world, from the ashes of our discoveries, we will run and scream, and see, a kaleidoscope of revelations. A fury, a wall of lamentations on fire. Violent manifestations of truth, pain and euphoria.
Once you lived in the center of the fire, you cannot hang out around an electric lamp. Once you have risked everything, you will not fall for comfort in the middle of the run. One crossroad is never an end, it is always leading to another one, further.
A real seeker could never wait in line.
A real seeker cannot accept any teachings
A real seeker cannot rest on a new revelation
( last line of book one)
Soundtrack of the moon
1-smadj: take it and drive
2-entheogenic: golden cap
3-cell: phonic peace
4-bauhaus: the sky’s gone out
5-solarfields: earthshine
6-aes dana: aftermath
BOOK TWO
( bought in mexico city,)
Feb, 2008, mural of don quijote, Universidad de mexico
( Yace aqui el hidalgo fuerte que a tanto extremo llego de valiente, que aduietre que la muerte no triunfo de su vida con su muerte) don quijote.
Delicate euphoria; the distance is reduced to a THIN LINE.
A thin invisible line that we call time.
Tactile silence( utopie comestible)
Many sounds create a new music. Just to me, just to us.
Reality will not overtake our days and lead our destiny.
Reality will not sponsor our days. We will fight and resist, to remain in our world, at every second, we will dig another road. We will not fall in a blind cycle.
Every day of our life will be a kaleidoscope of visions, a mandala, an explosion of joy, a new nuptial dance. delicate insanity, finger poetry.
----I want to give you words you can touch, a tactile story,
a tale where there is no resistance,
An university is a good place to start a revolution, to give birth to a new volcano, a nice swimming pool of new souls, a field to set fast fire. All students want something, a kick, a thrill, a new order, this is a good place for cutting edge explorations, fast illuminations, create a wave.
I listen to shpongle. In the streets, so loud, all flags are falling, wind is blowing, I am becoming the music, I paint in air, visionary muses holding new moons. I am becoming the earth, in the sky a white swan and a black crow fill the orange sky in a furious nuptial dance.
I stop to drink in a bar, because there is no other way, when the sun is setting, when you are alone and you want to scream your own revolution.
How if my revolution was love?
And purity was taking me?
What if all flowers we’re now becoming fruits?
The 7000 drawings I did in all these journeys, are now coming back to one pure black line, erotic , mysterious, free, gracious but strong, mystic and joyful. Everything I learned is coming back to the surface.
I remember all the promises of the invisible piano; ivory fingers. I wrapped all my memories on a plastic bag, I separate my soul in different parts. I use a sharp knife. I abandon behind several parts. I feel my feet are not leaving traces behind , but ahead.
Romantic levitation.
This is a real love story, like they we’re in the last centuries. This is not just you and me, this is the universe reaching perfect harmony.
EXODE,TO YOU
EXILE, TO YOU
ESCAPE, TO YOU
A sacrifice in the altar of love. A river of blood, to the ocean, drinking at your fountain.
And what if death would become so inviting, so charming, so colorful, that we would turn to life to experience darkness?
Life would become the exile and we would know ecstasy , the exode to life.
On my lips, nectar from earth. Body fluid. A pyramid of flesh, opening temple, I burn the door, I jump over the gates, and I dive into you without introduction.
I always run away from prologues and epilogues, I dive fast in the middle.
They like to say that I am a magician. They like to say that I am a free runner, a free man, holding a torch. They like to say that I give them power, but to night, I feel so alone, holding my brush like a torch, screaming.
I close this book because I do not want witness to this moment.
I close this book because I do not want to remember.
I close my eyes because I do not want to be witness of this moment, I want to be here, with you.
I dive inside you without end, with no master plan, with no map, just free navigation.
TOTEMS FOR A NEW SOCIETY
I burn the doors, I jump the gates, I skip the introduction
I want you in the middle, I vanish before the end.
Seeds of fire
You stand as a new consciousness emerge and the future is uncertain.
Shall we trace new lines in our hands?
Shall we join them to create a bird?
Shall we destroy all witnesses of our happiness? This story belongs only to us, and to the birds, I tell stories to your fingers, to your eyes, I erase your fears. Timeless expansion,
So, tonight that we might see? So tonight that we might fly.
This is not just you and me,
This is the universe falling in perfect harmony.
And they will know us by the trail of life. And they will know by the whispers of the wind. And they will know us by the shadow of the crow, by the light of the swan.
soundtrack of the week( late night to make love or paint)
1-intro- lamb mix, martina topley-bird
2-pale blue eyes- velvet underground
3-freedom exists-jim Morrison
4-I’m set free- velvet underground
5-the sky is burning- sam gopal
6-if- pink floyd
7-seasons in the sun- terry jacks
8-hashish poem-bill laswell
9-blue light- mazzy star
10-that home- cinematic orchestra with Patrick Watson
11-only you- portishead
12-I’m leaving-devotchka
13-soul- ohia
14-boys don’t cry- the cure
15-fat old sun- pink floyd
16-ne me quittes pas-nina simone
17- bird of prey- jim Morrison
you never know how deep an emotion will take you. Our real strength is to make ourselves fragile, to open ourselves, to give and receive, without resistance. Passion is sacred: the essence of inspiration. Devotion is sacred: the essence of art.
Death has taken me many times, and I have always pushed her away. And run naked, screaming. And tonight she is not far. What if this book was the last trace found close to me, open to this page, in solitude, seeking for the infinite.
Eyes open, looking east, hands full of colors, an infinity sing on his left running shoe, symbol of pi on the right one, with still the rage in his eyes, the quest, the uncompleted circle, a brush with wings.
Where was he going at full speed with this black book?
Was he followed by someone, by angels he painted a few hours before?
Was he the hunter, or the hunted?
Last song: bolero de ravel
I feel like a ballerina without audience. I feel don quichote abandoned me tonight, all mirages are just illusions. I walk alone: no music matches my state of mind. Impossible crossroad.
Alone with a lonely dream. There is no escape, I am drowned into a lost exile . i am chased by imaginary dragons, the abortion of my dreams, the death of my visions, I breathe fire, I charm the dragon, secret disaster. Time is a predator without wings. I whisper to a ghost my imminent departure. Shall I swim into the river of your blood? I lock myself into the hotel room, and I paint. I paint I paint.
I let you pray and play. Joyful creature, fast muse, around me , you move like s swan on lsd. I paint on the walls, amuse naked, offered, virgin again.
!!!Mexicans arrive on time to only two events: funerals and bullfights.!!!
Sunday morning, feb 10 2008
Mexico city, parque del alameda
Pornography for blind birds
And what if Salvador the poet appears?
The fear of dying is the fear of flying.
The fear of flying is the fear of dying.
Leaving mexico city:
Silence to excess, I reach another state, like a traveling monk, painting mantras. I will see in a rain of dust the end of my celestial solitude. All great discoveries are made alone. You pull me with invisible strings.
I jump in an unknown train, to reach you, to leave without leaving traces, invisible angel, but I left behind a long line of colors, a continuous stroke of ink, on houses, walls, people, deserts, on the sands, on skins, a long line of color, without ending. A string of life.
Can you be my rest? Can you be my circle?
Can I dive into you like child is walking in a church for the first time?
Can I burn my fears in the volcano of your eyes?
Can I feed the birds on your breast, on your skin?
Can I trace new lines in your palms?
Can I love you without electricity?
highway again:
Dolores told me:- you are an art machine, impossible to stop. You cannot even stop yourself.
How could I ever write my memories, I was drunk and high most of the time. I do not remember what happened: linearity did not exist. I was running, screaming, I was running toward a wall, perhaps, I was the wall. Memories are futile, a weight we choose to carry or not.
Guadalajara:
And I am going to paint with the gypsy whales, with the dancing palm trees.
I answered;-never try to change a gypsy, let him come and go, every gypsy haves secrets, a mysterious life, with paradoxes and potions, silent alchemy.
I am happy to be back on the road, this time alone, the radio is crying Mexican romance. I scream for abundance, for bigger paintings, to go straight to the top of my visions.
I paint with my eyes on the road. Eagles are cutting the sky in several parts, natural geometry. Sun is faded but beautiful. Poetry comes in my mind, around my lips, with no desire of memory . I do not want to record the moment. I love to do art that disappears at the moment of creation. Words come and go, freely, verses of the moment, without witnesses, verses of Eros, meeting hermaphrodite at the venus fountain, just before dawn.
To be totally alone, without interruption, to totally dive into the visions, I feel like I am a kite. I am a kite without strings: my visions are taking me far away: impossible to land. There is no guide, I discover the secret doors of the universe, I dive, I fly, I open my soul, my heart, I break open my egg.
I am a kite-man, a gypsy on wheels, a solitary warrior to discover a new iconography. My temptations come from nature . I do not sail in illusions anymore.
I have never asked for a change; everything I always wanted to change I did it myself. I saw that the only way to navigate to an island of freedom is to build your own, plant your own seeds, create your own rules, break them.
Everything is really the way we see it, there is as many worlds as awaken souls.
( read don quijote de Cervantes, again , like a bible)
jade= before, is an abstract vision of beauty, a wild animal hidden into the concrete forest. In between trees, the promises of pleasure, a sculpture in movement, a comet of invisible galaxy, a hunted deer in a lost paradise. Jade is a shadow, and will always remain a shadow. I steal a diamond ring, and I hide it, it might be useful one day.
yesterday I saw you playing with the clouds
yesterday I saw you by the invisible waterfall
kissing colorful butterflies
kissing my lips
kissing the air
Dancing into the kaleidoscope
Invade my body
Conquer my soul
Play with me without strategy
Let’s run without a master plan
Let’s run with fire in hands
Dancing into the kaleidoscope
There is so many of you
You are my perfect geometry
You pray for the bird of prey to come and play
Yesterday I saw you kissing water
Yesterday I saw you taking me higher
xxx
Mexico city
Second passage, January 2008
I use insanity to break open heads. I provoke to charm,, I set fire to bring love.
I bring chaos to reach another level of peace. I paint to transform, you and me.
I draw to find the keys, to lead me to the gates, to cross the doors, to reach the other side, to disappear. I am the one who builds kaleidoscopes, tunnels of light, passage for you to take,
I seek for perfect geometry, universal language.
Fiesta mexicana: I met a gypsy Mexican woman: a beautiful silver ring into her nose: dressed with colorful veils, bronze skin. Erotic pearl, and tragically carbon eyes. A giant smile like the mouth of the popocatepelt. She is a mix of a tragedy and euphoria: old soul, young body. Daughter of bacchus, raw and raffine, soft but hard. She loves anis. She is beautiful like a lost revolution, like a greek tragedy, like a bird of prey, like a kite in a hurricane. She is beautiful like a bird who destroys it’s cage.
She is art, she is young and free. She is my caffeine, she is my cocaine, my fast dream, my tunnel,
She is the trumpet of miles davis, dark but illuminated.
She hangs on me like if I was a rope.
Always this rage in me, this waterfall of visions, fast, impossible to control, this emergency, this fear of the last painting, this constant chase for thrills, the impossibility of normality. Everything needs to be extreme, paradox , sublime , new , exciting, magic, a constant ritual. Burning in desire, burning form the inside. This constant legend to write,
This imaginary mythology of our universal consciousness, this mission, this mission, in me.
I raise my fists to the sky, I dive without compromise into the fragile porcelina of the ocean, the universe is pulling me.
I am always into the fast lanes, close to inner combustion, close to inner illumination.
Further there is more: A different truth to discover, a new element of knowledge, a different sequence revealing new pieces of the universe. I am broken in research, in time, in run.
SEEDS OF FIRE
Seeds of fire is a pearl diver, in a constant chase for thrills: she is a free runner, a delicate thunder, she follows a different choreography .
She moves like a ballerina from Paris on lsd. She moves without strategy, she moves around me. She is climbing up the walls, eating fireworks, eating flowers, she haves her own flag, dressed in harmony, wrapped around her own country . She haves her own way, to close her eyes to stare at the sun, I see trouble waters, strange navigation,
We fill ourselves like the moon, becoming full every night
I shall trace a road with my finger on your skin, a silk road, fingerprints, delicate euphoria, in your eyes I shall paint my visions for you to see, we will loose the notion of time, there will be no more days, night on the sea, no more light no more darkness,
We, knights of the unknown sea, warriors of the secret world,, alone in the sea, we make a fire and walk on water. ( a prayer to tacubaya)
mexico city, hotel rioja:
sometimes I feel so alone in my hunt: around is a comfort zone, with boundaries, with limits, with humans filling missions of humans, filling holes
I fill invisible holes, I dance with death, I dive everyday, I suffocate into this reality: there is no other way than to create my own universe, find a passage, and access, a secret tongue revealing to me the wonders of the other world.
I never leave the inner force that guides me into creation, that protects me from felling into normality, success, regularity, comfort. I keep myself on the edge, to always discover.
I want to give them a taste for freedom, a taste of eroticism, modern mystic trip, the taste of abandon, of elevation, of beauty, of something else, another path, push away the limits, to write their own legend.
We never discover in a comfort zone, we have to provoke ourselves to reach another level,
A chain reaction, a fire, to share, to amplify, to multiply, a tactile truth,
Hotel rioja:
I am here, in solitude, 12 years later, like a cycle, my hands still full of colors, totally dedicated to my paintings, still digging the tunnel, with bare hands, with only tools my passion and my soul, my visions.
And what if tonight I see, I know it is there, I know this hotel is my pyramid, my modern temple, what if the explosion is happening into the middle of the night.
What if I was dying before sunrise, with this uncompleted painting on the wall, this unfinished symphony. What if tomorrow, I was sliding a ring into her finger, and run. What if I was scared to paint the giant painting, the one that contain all, the essence of my soul.
An invisible cathedral. What if the exact moment of my death was already written, and these we’re my last brushstrokes ? What if my out-breath was longer than my in-breath?
There is not really a line between good and evil. Do we all know it takes light to create shadow?
Last night, in a long dream, a black crow was biting my wrist, for infinite time, and I could not paint. I was hopeless with rage shaking my hand, screaming: my tears we’re covering the white canvas.
She said: utopia, she said, I will go soon, let’s drink red wine. She carries death in her, like a jewelry . She stays with me , in the cavern, under the pyramid, where no ghosts go, and where we can dance with the skeletons, hands in hands. I went where we do not return from, many times, many times.
I told myself: if I run I will never learn.
I surround them in a furious choreography: to remain motionless will be death. I breathe fire, I charm cobras, seeds of fire, just here, on my shoulder.
I am scared but this is the only way. We are already deep into the tunnel, my princess. Waiting for the sun will be too long, we have to move on into darkness, our only guide is our intuition. Fugitives on the run: echoes from an inner revolution: we fight from the inside to set free the outside. I draw a picture of god: to have a reference if we meet him along the path.
And the dawn will heal us, only will remain the images inside us: the power to transform our dreams into reality.
I open your legs with a sword, I open your lips with my tongue.
---- tonight, we destroyed so many televisions. Somebody haves to shine for me, to shine for me
TEACHINGS OF FRANCISCO GOYA:
1-dirt, raw ,provocative in the streets
2- pure, perfect, charming into the higher circles.
i travel into the labyrinth, in a house of mirrors, alone at our wedding,
alone with an invisible ring.
mexico city,
feb 2008
ART IS MAKING LOVE
MAKING LOVE IS ART
-Sun is down, sky is menacing; secret tongue, all inside, fire raging, apocalyptic peace, a new war is declared inside me, a garden of fire, pagodas on fire time on fire desires on fire art on fire my brushes on fire the memories on fire, burning pagodas.
A secret rusted diamond. I escape from polished beauty. I escape from simplicity, I love detours, I love when there is many levels. Many hands in my hand. There is so many ways to see reality: it is sad to be locked into one. Innocence and decadence: we created another story, we provoked them. We tortured reality. We gave birth to new worlds, in chaos, in beauty, without linearity, without enemy.
Into the labyrinth, we found the intrinsic passion of mysterious joy, the sacred temptation, underground pearls. Destiny in a circle.
-Something will happen to us, very soon, like a secret prophecy revealed just for us: a seal made of water and rays of light, a fossil from the future,
( break open the egg)
I take her hands, I take her eyes. For a journey into my palms, we escape . imminent lust. We will make love in seven seconds. I stare at the dance of her hands, erotic butterflies. Tragically but so beautiful, we will not survive until tomorrow: sleep until you find a refuge.
Sleep until you become your own refuge.
Aghori reset trip ( a.r.t):
I stare at the distance between two of her dreams. Two of her fingers become the wings of a bird revolving into my sky. I visit her ancestors, I play, I learn .
We traveled to all the extremes, and the middle offers no interest to us. I cannot exist in compromises, in simplicity . Storms, eclipses, hurricanes for illumination, discovery: we will create another world, from the ashes of our discoveries, we will run and scream, and see, a kaleidoscope of revelations. A fury, a wall of lamentations on fire. Violent manifestations of truth, pain and euphoria.
Once you lived in the center of the fire, you cannot hang out around an electric lamp. Once you have risked everything, you will not fall for comfort in the middle of the run. One crossroad is never an end, it is always leading to another one, further.
A real seeker could never wait in line.
A real seeker cannot accept any teachings
A real seeker cannot rest on a new revelation
( last line of book one)
Soundtrack of the moon
1-smadj: take it and drive
2-entheogenic: golden cap
3-cell: phonic peace
4-bauhaus: the sky’s gone out
5-solarfields: earthshine
6-aes dana: aftermath
BOOK TWO
( bought in mexico city,)
Feb, 2008, mural of don quijote, Universidad de mexico
( Yace aqui el hidalgo fuerte que a tanto extremo llego de valiente, que aduietre que la muerte no triunfo de su vida con su muerte) don quijote.
Delicate euphoria; the distance is reduced to a THIN LINE.
A thin invisible line that we call time.
Tactile silence( utopie comestible)
Many sounds create a new music. Just to me, just to us.
Reality will not overtake our days and lead our destiny.
Reality will not sponsor our days. We will fight and resist, to remain in our world, at every second, we will dig another road. We will not fall in a blind cycle.
Every day of our life will be a kaleidoscope of visions, a mandala, an explosion of joy, a new nuptial dance. delicate insanity, finger poetry.
----I want to give you words you can touch, a tactile story,
a tale where there is no resistance,
An university is a good place to start a revolution, to give birth to a new volcano, a nice swimming pool of new souls, a field to set fast fire. All students want something, a kick, a thrill, a new order, this is a good place for cutting edge explorations, fast illuminations, create a wave.
I listen to shpongle. In the streets, so loud, all flags are falling, wind is blowing, I am becoming the music, I paint in air, visionary muses holding new moons. I am becoming the earth, in the sky a white swan and a black crow fill the orange sky in a furious nuptial dance.
I stop to drink in a bar, because there is no other way, when the sun is setting, when you are alone and you want to scream your own revolution.
How if my revolution was love?
And purity was taking me?
What if all flowers we’re now becoming fruits?
The 7000 drawings I did in all these journeys, are now coming back to one pure black line, erotic , mysterious, free, gracious but strong, mystic and joyful. Everything I learned is coming back to the surface.
I remember all the promises of the invisible piano; ivory fingers. I wrapped all my memories on a plastic bag, I separate my soul in different parts. I use a sharp knife. I abandon behind several parts. I feel my feet are not leaving traces behind , but ahead.
Romantic levitation.
This is a real love story, like they we’re in the last centuries. This is not just you and me, this is the universe reaching perfect harmony.
EXODE,TO YOU
EXILE, TO YOU
ESCAPE, TO YOU
A sacrifice in the altar of love. A river of blood, to the ocean, drinking at your fountain.
And what if death would become so inviting, so charming, so colorful, that we would turn to life to experience darkness?
Life would become the exile and we would know ecstasy , the exode to life.
On my lips, nectar from earth. Body fluid. A pyramid of flesh, opening temple, I burn the door, I jump over the gates, and I dive into you without introduction.
I always run away from prologues and epilogues, I dive fast in the middle.
They like to say that I am a magician. They like to say that I am a free runner, a free man, holding a torch. They like to say that I give them power, but to night, I feel so alone, holding my brush like a torch, screaming.
I close this book because I do not want witness to this moment.
I close this book because I do not want to remember.
I close my eyes because I do not want to be witness of this moment, I want to be here, with you.
I dive inside you without end, with no master plan, with no map, just free navigation.
TOTEMS FOR A NEW SOCIETY
I burn the doors, I jump the gates, I skip the introduction
I want you in the middle, I vanish before the end.
Seeds of fire
You stand as a new consciousness emerge and the future is uncertain.
Shall we trace new lines in our hands?
Shall we join them to create a bird?
Shall we destroy all witnesses of our happiness? This story belongs only to us, and to the birds, I tell stories to your fingers, to your eyes, I erase your fears. Timeless expansion,
So, tonight that we might see? So tonight that we might fly.
This is not just you and me,
This is the universe falling in perfect harmony.
And they will know us by the trail of life. And they will know by the whispers of the wind. And they will know us by the shadow of the crow, by the light of the swan.
soundtrack of the week( late night to make love or paint)
1-intro- lamb mix, martina topley-bird
2-pale blue eyes- velvet underground
3-freedom exists-jim Morrison
4-I’m set free- velvet underground
5-the sky is burning- sam gopal
6-if- pink floyd
7-seasons in the sun- terry jacks
8-hashish poem-bill laswell
9-blue light- mazzy star
10-that home- cinematic orchestra with Patrick Watson
11-only you- portishead
12-I’m leaving-devotchka
13-soul- ohia
14-boys don’t cry- the cure
15-fat old sun- pink floyd
16-ne me quittes pas-nina simone
17- bird of prey- jim Morrison
you never know how deep an emotion will take you. Our real strength is to make ourselves fragile, to open ourselves, to give and receive, without resistance. Passion is sacred: the essence of inspiration. Devotion is sacred: the essence of art.
Death has taken me many times, and I have always pushed her away. And run naked, screaming. And tonight she is not far. What if this book was the last trace found close to me, open to this page, in solitude, seeking for the infinite.
Eyes open, looking east, hands full of colors, an infinity sing on his left running shoe, symbol of pi on the right one, with still the rage in his eyes, the quest, the uncompleted circle, a brush with wings.
Where was he going at full speed with this black book?
Was he followed by someone, by angels he painted a few hours before?
Was he the hunter, or the hunted?
Last song: bolero de ravel
I feel like a ballerina without audience. I feel don quichote abandoned me tonight, all mirages are just illusions. I walk alone: no music matches my state of mind. Impossible crossroad.
Alone with a lonely dream. There is no escape, I am drowned into a lost exile . i am chased by imaginary dragons, the abortion of my dreams, the death of my visions, I breathe fire, I charm the dragon, secret disaster. Time is a predator without wings. I whisper to a ghost my imminent departure. Shall I swim into the river of your blood? I lock myself into the hotel room, and I paint. I paint I paint.
I let you pray and play. Joyful creature, fast muse, around me , you move like s swan on lsd. I paint on the walls, amuse naked, offered, virgin again.
!!!Mexicans arrive on time to only two events: funerals and bullfights.!!!
Sunday morning, feb 10 2008
Mexico city, parque del alameda
Pornography for blind birds
And what if Salvador the poet appears?
The fear of dying is the fear of flying.
The fear of flying is the fear of dying.
Leaving mexico city:
Silence to excess, I reach another state, like a traveling monk, painting mantras. I will see in a rain of dust the end of my celestial solitude. All great discoveries are made alone. You pull me with invisible strings.
I jump in an unknown train, to reach you, to leave without leaving traces, invisible angel, but I left behind a long line of colors, a continuous stroke of ink, on houses, walls, people, deserts, on the sands, on skins, a long line of color, without ending. A string of life.
Can you be my rest? Can you be my circle?
Can I dive into you like child is walking in a church for the first time?
Can I burn my fears in the volcano of your eyes?
Can I feed the birds on your breast, on your skin?
Can I trace new lines in your palms?
Can I love you without electricity?
highway again:
Dolores told me:- you are an art machine, impossible to stop. You cannot even stop yourself.
How could I ever write my memories, I was drunk and high most of the time. I do not remember what happened: linearity did not exist. I was running, screaming, I was running toward a wall, perhaps, I was the wall. Memories are futile, a weight we choose to carry or not.
Guadalajara:
And I am going to paint with the gypsy whales, with the dancing palm trees.
I answered;-never try to change a gypsy, let him come and go, every gypsy haves secrets, a mysterious life, with paradoxes and potions, silent alchemy.
I am happy to be back on the road, this time alone, the radio is crying Mexican romance. I scream for abundance, for bigger paintings, to go straight to the top of my visions.
I paint with my eyes on the road. Eagles are cutting the sky in several parts, natural geometry. Sun is faded but beautiful. Poetry comes in my mind, around my lips, with no desire of memory . I do not want to record the moment. I love to do art that disappears at the moment of creation. Words come and go, freely, verses of the moment, without witnesses, verses of Eros, meeting hermaphrodite at the venus fountain, just before dawn.
To be totally alone, without interruption, to totally dive into the visions, I feel like I am a kite. I am a kite without strings: my visions are taking me far away: impossible to land. There is no guide, I discover the secret doors of the universe, I dive, I fly, I open my soul, my heart, I break open my egg.
I am a kite-man, a gypsy on wheels, a solitary warrior to discover a new iconography. My temptations come from nature . I do not sail in illusions anymore.
I have never asked for a change; everything I always wanted to change I did it myself. I saw that the only way to navigate to an island of freedom is to build your own, plant your own seeds, create your own rules, break them.
Everything is really the way we see it, there is as many worlds as awaken souls.
( read don quijote de Cervantes, again , like a bible)
jade= before, is an abstract vision of beauty, a wild animal hidden into the concrete forest. In between trees, the promises of pleasure, a sculpture in movement, a comet of invisible galaxy, a hunted deer in a lost paradise. Jade is a shadow, and will always remain a shadow. I steal a diamond ring, and I hide it, it might be useful one day.