in dreams,
you can’t close
your eyes for a reason;
you may unearth
the fossils of old dreams,
a kinda treason.
even the ones forgotten,
the ones buried deep,
and reconstruct
old nightmares
from their bones,
where shadows sleep.
history is the art of taking words out of people’s heads
and putting them into a blank page.
we are all more story than flesh,
if no one has written about us, what are we then?
a tridimensional weight without a name.
(yess, you must fall in love with a writer)
mira bb,
asi está la onda:
la Tierra es
la dimensión más baja
del cielo y la dimensión
más elevada del infierno.
una estación
interdimensional
donde entidades
cósmicas de todas los
reinos se congregan para
manipular el ascenso
o el descenso
de los humanos.
vamos por un
helado?
they’ll damn you
for stealing from the past,
all those forms and colors
that were here before
any of us.
but if you come with me,
i’ll show you how to steal
from the future.
you’ve only one heart, and you don't mind leaving pieces of it with other people and in several places because that means sharing the last piece will open up the portal to the next dimension.
¿me come o me alimenta?
ese tiempo que aún no existe,
o el que ya dejó de existir.
me he divorciado del pasado y ya corté con el futuro.
still, ahora no se de qué me preocupo.
god is geometry
and symmetry.
the quiet math
behind every sequence.
the golden ratio
of all our patterns.
and so if we are made
in god’s image…
the more symmetrical
your face is,
the more god loves you.
for the rest of us,
we’ll have to rely on our
sense of humor.
the godhead machine
despises original thought.
the tsunami of info
flooding your mind is
by design.
how many authentic
things did you think
for yourself today?
yesterday?
or any other day?