Mindselfishness

I demand my own sect

I want my eyes to be opened by some

Guru

Psychotherapist

Coach

Shepard

Priestess

uber driver

I need salvation in the form of a light sent to me by a

Sister of mercy

A horse carriage

A whip

I request my peace of mind

Coldness

Voodoo eyes

Conviction

All the witchcraft that you can get from the sickening lounge coaches in all the

Wellbeing clinics in the whole fucking western world

I pray for someone who can take away from me the fact that I am

Most probable,

a walking piece of shit,

a coward

a charlatan,

a farce

and tell me that all I need is to HEAL myself

I command you to lead me to another level of conscience

To bright my path

To guide me to enlightenment

And most of all to, please,

Make me forget that probably I am just a neurotic loon that burns out

everybody around me

I solicit my own goddess

My own chatter about self-realization

Brotherhood-sorority

My personal martyr

My John the Baptist

My drug-of-choice

My saint

My numbness

I crave for it

C’mon

Take my money, please, take it

Just make me feel good about myself

Just a bit

Trick me into thinking that I am good and not just another

Selfless mega-emotional superficial prick like the girl in Fleabag

Out from a self-help book

I need my own particular temple

My sins

My sacraments

And commandments

My dying souls and my infernos

I wanna be the mindless follower of

a hollow magazine cover divinity

with my white gown and my hymns

and everything

I require you to tell me that the rest of the human beings are the problem

Not me

Never me

Of course not me!

I am hurt

I am fragile

I am Fake

I hurt

I manipulate

And lie

I am just a joke told about the person I need to believe I am

I am lost and lonely and cry alone in my room

At night when I see my own shadow in the wall

just before meditation

Oh fill my mind like crystal

My superior

My ego

I really want to be that shallow

I am forcing you to

Give it to me now

sálvese quien pueda

...en los barrios pobres no faltan farmacias,

en los ricos tampoco,

ni casas de apuestas,

ni camellos

ni panaderías orgánicas

garajes privados

clínicas de belleza

“ereselhombredemivida

lapersonamásimportanteparami

tequiero

eresmaravilloso”

La lluvia cae en los descampados

Igual que en los jacuzzi

A la lluvia no le importa

Charcos de barro y cal de las obras

Cuarteles abandonados

Carteles de circo

Conciertos de cumbia

Le da igual

Gripe en latas

Culos enormes

Cerveza de saldo

Ropa de centro comercial

Aspiraciones de piscina y trastero

Pasadizo bajo la autopista

Flores de plástico

Sudor y gritos

“nuncahabíasentidoalgocomoesto

nopuedoimaginarmividasinti

eresmiguapo

quieroabrazarteybesarte”

bares de chinos

mucho sol y poca sombra

narices rugosas y moradas

los cigarrillos se fuman hasta el final

luces que parpadean

bolsas de plástico en las esquinas meadas

sobres que vuelven a sus dueños

celofán-programas de citas en la televisión-terapias secta en el sofá

el tiempo lo dirá

polvo de azufre

rejas

metro hasta las 6

pegatinas

peleas a la salida del pub

votas a los niños ricos con corbatas ridículamente gruesas

manicura

zapatos de piel

eczemas

colchones empapados

elige tu bando

tu camino

tu engaño preferido

“nuncahequeridoanadiecomoati

eresunapersonatanespecial

teveoentodoslositios

viajassiempreconmigo”

ventanas tapadas con papel de periódico

grafitis de encargo

cierres metálicos

postes de electricidad con madera podrida

escombros

vino

papel pintado

ilusiones de burguesa,

el ansia de confort crea cicatrices tan profundas y tan

difíciles de cerrar

“mivida

miamor

nuncadejesdehacermeestoporfavor

quierotenerunhijocontigo

miblabla

bla bla bla

blablablablabla

blablablablablabla”

Chevalier de l'apocalypse
.
One summer, so long ago now, I traveled with a Galician gypsy writer friend of mine around and inside an island in the Mediterranean sea aboard a white caravan. We climbed up to the mountain to sleep at the temple in all its infinite stones and descended into the caves of the Phoenician tombs. He cooked & drove and I slept on the floor. We listen to Nick Cave, swam naked, sang, sweated, jumped the walls of the graveyard and hide from the sun & the tourist under the huge fig trees. We danced to the muses by the wells, shout from the watchtower and espied the yachts and the mirrored sky of the dawn over the water. And it was nice
.