Waiting*At*The*Counter*Of*Life

You're* Like* My* Little* Star* Thing

Stars have personality's. Quite Strong Ones. Planets also have them. And govern the rest of us, magical compositions of dust particles, moving to some overturning symphony in the depths of the galaxy.

Skin * Of * Stars

Happen * To * Yourself

LOT'D - Lesson Of The Day

Frida * Kahlo

“I paint myself because I am so often alone and because I am the subject I know best.”
― Frida Kahlo ―

*Blackfeel* Wite* Moonbeam*

A woman to become. You run away from. When the reflection between your eyes and hers transcends the meaning of time. Loosing yourself at the border between what you want, and what you still are. Knowing you must transform in order to continue...without knowing how. What you think you hate, you adore. The woman on the other side of the door. Reach for the Pandora’s key and unlock the mind. Unbind the hands of your shadow’s doll. I am you, she is I, two mirrors, one black one white, closing into the body of another suicidal bride of ballet, as a book, through her story, in her expression, the stage, time weaving a thread up the sequences of her last seconds, sparkling in a purple and blue stage light. Stretching her arms towards a face for one last kiss, before her knees give in, and weakness erupts through her body. Hitting the mattress, mimicking her death, she collapses into a blankness of thought. As the seconds trickle away, and first tear of blood, plummets to the floor, and the lights of the theatre, with glass of clouds moving before her very eyes, forever raise her soul into the limits of self induced perfection, as she chokes into her last breathe, reciting a broken doll of a life, of her absurdly needed immorality, for the attainment of selection. -----Theatre Begs For Blood & Sin. It Needs Drama To Fill Seats in The Heart of Theatre with Human Emotion. While the Absurdity Lasts For Only A Few Hours. Life Does Not Need Such Peaks Of Psychological Breakdowns. Life Needs Space. Sometimes To Shut All Black Doors Of Memory And Time and Centre Yourself In The Vast Room of Stillness, Where Nothing Can Touch Or Feel You, No Thoughts Penetrate You, Without Your Invitation, Into Their Unknown........Which Is You.

She* Lets* Herself* Go

The days pass by and all of the silence I stole
I leave buried
The white paper and ink bear witness,
The days
add +
add +
add +
and subtract -
again
as long as I find it
I - loose - myself

If fate doesn't let- me -rest
Because it doesn't know me
I'm confused by that mind
they tend to harm


Turbulent sex .....loses me
The sound of sound .....loses me
The sound of you coming!
The sound of me going!
The sound of your cadence!
The sound of how you
............................are,

When the hours - become
confused to the rhythm
marked by money
I come apart- from- my -soul
and just wait...
But when I wait....
I am
Desperate!!!
and travel
in entanglement....
giving me something to talk about


In conclusion:
loving you....
Isn't the same as having you
having you...isn't loving you
and losing myself
is my luck!

That I live in the present
And the present is suddenly
Composed by you know what

From
Life
Until
Death

What else is sold if its her body
*She gets carried away
What more untruths besides contempt
*She gets carried away
What more gifts besides an
"I love you"
more eternal than
"Silencio"
more sincere
than the act
of
getting
carried....away



Se Deja Llevar
Gracias Antonio Orozco