Assholean.

To all the people who have ever hurt me:

I know you probably told me beforehand about your intentions, and I probably shushed you using my thumb. I'm sorry I didn't listen, but I must tell you: I don't speak assholean...

All my love (or not),

Jma!!!

Strange Phenomenon or Something About Human Relationships.

“It is worth it… living is worth it. “

As its stomach crunches, its brain, as if sap, starts oozing down its back. Foul instrument given to it, fine treasure it keeps in its head. A strange phenomenon, it is, a creature made out of machines, guts, and apparent wit. It grows wings, roots, and gills… yet lives nowhere near the air, the earth nor the sea.

It is colorless and brilliant. Humans made it, yet, it is anything but humane. Headless birds feed from its brain sap. They glow and then die. Such are ideas. Fragments of its liquid grey matter grow flowers on the ground. It walks endlessly. Ill-tempered and unforgiving, emanating Pink. It must be true, the color that makes heads go round.

It shines on, even if it has lost a leg. Nothing that cannot be replaced with wood. Born with no arms, it is proud of its uniqueness. Brain leaking out, it knows nothing can beat its labyrinthine mind. It needs no reason to go on, it has more than enough with itself. A pink-emanating, winged, rooted, gilled, glowing, ill-tempered, brain-leaking creature. The greatest and strangest phenomenon of all.

It reeks of sulfur and mould, it is older than language, and it has been dumbing down humanity since prehistoric times. Like an outbreak it scatters, giving us tiny versions of itself we can keep or kill. It dies a little everyday… some days…

When I asked what it felt like dying, all it said was “It is worth it… living is worth it.“

Uma e Outra, Over and Over, Una y Más Veces Todavía.

Sim, vai começar outra vez. O paroxismo da alegria. Desfrutando uma vez mais no momento que caem onde eu em algum tempo fiquei, regozijando-me enquanto lutam por chegar para onde eu encontrou-me hoje. Uma e outra vez sucede: superar a fragilidade, adaptar-se à indiferencia... não há mais que fazer. Já aprendi que as nuvens não vai manter-me por sempre. Ainda assim, recuso-me converter numa delas. Porque use minhas garras para chegar ao céu. Não vou rendi-me tão facilmente. Now that I am here, fighting annulment caused by that which I am forced to repeat, I am finding magic in every inhalation. It is impossible to run away; instead, I choose to embrace myself. Understanding that I will never escape my body, given that in every breath I take in, my own dead cells, my own dead skin travel down my respiratory system… poetic self-destruction. Over and over, here I am breathing me in and out; older by the second… Happy it is me, exhilarated because I am me, free to hate and eager to fly. Sentado en la obscuridad lo entiendo, platico con ballenas suicidas porque cayó la noche y las nubes desaparecieron. No me robaron la vida, me regalaron eternidad. Platico, escucho y disfruto una y otra y más veces todavía los discursos, analizando cada oxímoron de los changuitos amaestrados que no saben que el círculo es redondo.

Something About Oblivion.

She is the end of history, the lack of realism, the triumph of passion over reason. She is immortal, yet… we forget her.

She is our savior… Oblivion will guarantee our fate.

Let us reunite; let us celebrate what we have forgotten. Let us toast for having lost our knowledge on human spirit and its cruelty.

You are at a party where all invitations were unsent. It is you and Oblivion. It is up to you to create equilibrium, all that is geometric and unnatural.

Do not be fooled. Question everything that is random…

What is “pure reason”? Is it utopia? An accident of the mind? Maybe just something that happens… I do not know, I forgot.

Yes, we have forgotten how to distinguish between natural and artificial. We are the protagonists and creators of entropy. We have given gender to Oblivion and chaos. They are extremely human, yet evidently machine-like. Gods who give birth to beauty, the one who has the right to be unaware: the triumph of reason over passion.

A word from Ms. Oblivion: “Humans, you forgot your need to affirm your existence and vitality…”

-- I forgot where she told me we left it.