Arte Sicótico en Vallekas

Last Page of Final Chapter

I am broken. There was this book in my attic.

It is the diary by some woman in her late 40s.

This is its last page:

“It has been a year now since we broke up.

That ungrateful son of a… I need to calm myself down.

There we are. Mr. Daniel’s is the only one that understands me lately.

Who am I trying to fool anyways… I built my very happiness around him.

Same job. No friends. Same office. No love.

No love…

I’ll be right back…

I have made a choice:

This evening, I am walking the Brooklyn Bridge from my side of town to the other side.

If no one… If no-one smiles at me all the way across, I’ll just jump off it.”

There’s nothing more written on it.

Eureka!

Falling asleep over a midnight thought

And that’s why. That’s why.
Eureka! The secret of life.

Because today you went out,
Now as the clock is about to strike twelve,
For you to fall asleep.

And you’ve realized, all by yourself,
That it could’ve been anyone.

That gal who winked you an eye,
The other who was walking with her boyfriend,
Holding hands…
And as each one of you turned around,
You realized you were looking at eachother’s butts.

Not to mention all of your exes,
Or why the hell not,
That sassy guy who puckered up as you walked by.

Now, as the clock strikes twelve,
You realize, you’re somebody’s reason to masturbate.

Astral Voyage

A Planetride.

I just was thinking, this is a Planetride.

If only I could make people see from my eyes.

This is but a Planetride.

We are on Earth.

Earth rotates.

Earth revolts around the Sun.

The whole of the Solar Systen revolts within the Milky Way.

Which… Well…

Just a Music. Just like celestial Music Time,

Which cannot be heard, for it has always sounded.

Just does Space. Velocity…

It depends on the observant.

As a whole.

From my eyes. Just from my eyes.

I always wanted to study Science.

Mentors would guide me:

“Are you sure you don’t want to write?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to draw, to take pics?”

“In all seriousness, why aren’t you already writing?”

I would choose Science.

Deep inside. Perhaps. I always knew it to be an inspiration.

I am traveling… All within myself.

Just an experiment. I am writing.

That witch. That witch. She would talk to Angels;

By automatic writing.

I was 14. I am, still 14. Only writing this at age 28.

I was 14. I am, 14. Reckless, I said:

“I must see by myself”.

Grabbed the pen, the sheet of paper…

A reference for voyaging, for me;

A mere observer.

Torture’s Man

Torture’s Man.

He isn’t afraid of words’ double-meaning either.

Alone in a sea of people, polluted as the real part of the metaphore.

Just fed up. Word he’s fed up.

And thus Torture’s Man, goes out on the street.

A hag is being robbed by a youth, and she shouts out for help.

“Oh, a robbing, oh là là” were the words to come out of his mouth.

The robber takes it as a defiance, and places his knife in Torture’s Man’s neck, exactly opposing his jugular.

“Oh, a cutting thing. Oh là là”, he skewers, just before leaving the youth badly wounded from a forbidden strike.

He just keeps on walking.

Four officers stop him.

“Oh, fire guns. Oh, là là”.

The tallest points to his police badge.

“Oh, the Authority. Oh, là là”.

He cracks his head open with his club. Call it a silly day.

“Hum, I am bleeding out. Oh, là là”.

Finally in Hell:

“Ow, ow, ow, Satan’s gonna hurt me.”

“Know what? Forget me”.

He sees the face of God Himself:

“Man, you… I mean, you!?”

“Hey, hey, hey, God is not O. K. Oh, là, LÀ”

“Cafuné”

“The page before this one… How does one even keep this of a secret?

It is killing me… Someone gotta know… Even David Bowie would agree.

But I cannot.

Well… I musn’t, I even could learn to enjoy this.

But… I could…”

—With sugar and black, yes. —I replied to the waitress as I was about to turn the page.

Shelter (Acid Rain)

A hut.

Here you have got to: A sheet roof in plain wilderness.

And it rains, it rains hard.

And it has leaks, and you are poorly covered.

Yet it isn’t the first time it rains.

You know it will stop.

But you can’t feel it will.

You cannot see through, all your sense says it won’t end.

You could get out, but the factory burnt.

And it’s raining acid..

You could get out, but the factory burned twenty years ago.

And acid rained.

It is nothing but water.

It only rains water.

Over you, just like over anyone else.

How is that special?

The factory burned twenty years ago,

And you still think it’s raining acid

You can’t get out of your own mind!

But the rain fades out, for that’s its law

And you, fool,

Who twenty years ago would’ve dance in the puddles,

In those of water, acid and fire,

That is the other extreme, which egoism would choose,

But which hurts even more those surronding you.

And it keeps on raining…

The factory burned.

The water is acid.

It will never end, it will never end…

But it does, for it’s its law.

Never because you,

Could have leaked out from self-deceit…

Writing Technique IV: Major Introspection

Disclaimer: I am not doing public apology of drug use. Surrealists did. One of which I am.

The brain is plastic, the mind can recover from virtually anything. Do not be afraid. DO ensure you’ll come back, alive.

Weed, Shrooms, Acid, Absinthe (which sadly is the hardest to find), Datura (grows in a wasteland, can and may kill you…).

Ayahuasca… Which is legal by the way. Or not. Or who knows, does a cop even know what that is. Did I make it up? Did I dream it within an Ayahuasca dream…

No, seriously. I do not take drugs myself. I would admit if that was the case, but it isn’t.

I do my research on https://www.erowid.org/ , which is an open and reliable source on people sharing experiences with drug use, attempted suicide acts or made up stuff, which you, through use of reason, will be able to discriminate.

And here’s a principle of myself: Learn from everything. NO exceptions.

Thanks for reading.

Diabolic Advice [Breakin’ up with Myself]

[Introducing:]

\Ego\

/The Evil Dude/

I was going to divide this in parts, perhaps nights. But, to me, this has been but a day, a real long day.

Yes. We have spoken.

/And that’s how you get the square root of pi/.

\So you can square a circle\.

/Yes, if you do the math/.

\I didn’t really ask, so…\.

/When people say jump, you say how high/.

Notes were taken, heavy decisions were made.

\Sure\.

/Love is a tool, used to control others/.

\”When people say jump, you say how high”\.

/What about that?/.

\That seems like love to me\.