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Murderer mia

rest times are the right ones to remember, these are my days of rest. It is true that my appearance would mislead anyone, I have always a kind gesture to the people who approach me, even those who spend a couple of seconds in my eyes, my ways and manners are invited to a perpetual trust, but until recently much was a murderer, it was. This should not be any problem for a murderer, it would simply be a murderer refined education, especially if it is for this new shadow that pretend to be.
is true that most of my life, I lived on tiptoe, went home from work and vice versa thousand times, all without much shock I do not know if I did it knowingly, it was coincidence or maybe genetics, but never called attention beyond what I propose, to some extent controlled every word and my withdrawals were among the most unnoticed, lived in constant silence, a silence that far from uncomfortable, I returned an enormous peace lost.
In those days I also remember that the only thing that might raise suspicions was a comment to a friend from work. We returned by a endless line of lanterns and my shadow was of a different kind to me, suddenly I felt the same shade that was apparent and was thrown to the highway, it caused me considerable concern and then told him that one day soon sensed in most no longer return to work, she replied that she had heard so many times at the beginning, middle, and as now the return of the day, which did not care, because then I told him mine was different because Unlike the typical little phrase made, I had a plan and something more about it.
That night back home and make my first step into it, I had the feeling of entering a tunnel no light at the end and absolutely nothing in between, I never felt so perfect darkness, I took some notes and a barbaric lucidity my plan began to take shape.
The next morning I was not working, I turned on my old radio which time we let it ring Soul-jazz tunes I think it was Don Patterson, but that it was heard, got away, got a coffee bar in the corner, one thirty over the bar, got a call from work I told them I was dead, I do not know if I believe, the truth is that even cried. I left that booth with incredible freedom, I approached the kiosk and took the paper, which at that hour of the morning still smells printing and also to past, greeted a pair of strangers, always with that gesture, they did the same, and so thousands of thoughts passing through my city ended up between the building and the bridge Ricoleto Star Wonders, slowly and with firm papelillo remove the conviction, which I reviewed several times, and began the work highly concentrated. From here you get to see the storm continuing from one planet to another, is more fun than suffering, I say because until very recently I've been there, sometimes I have to deal with a brief shower, without noise or anything objectionable, but believe me is much more pleasant not to have shade and leave that gap is closing with the stealthy passage of time.

Far

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Tramontana is unleashed on my bay

time, further south one winter night I dreamed, that it freezes your creations dreamlike icebergs around you talking, and let perpetual spring wind realities. Far away, one of those nights cold north wind made its appearance, and woke up with turbulent, until a later, long after he knew of that terrible wind, it's true that explodes against the cliffs from Catalonia and splendor that embedded in my soul. In so engrossed
we collapsed inadvertently by one of those many chasms without falling (yet) to the massive stone and slashing , bizarre skin; enjoying the fresh air slowly descended unknown lap, for that season gait splendid girl, showed the solid mass on my side, the steppe dancing cryptic sometimes clinging to others I lit my wrist between his legs and we sank, we collected pebbles like fireflies gather stars involved in this breath of hell, we fell in turns incessant, sometimes vertical and others upside down, we fell not imagine where or when we stop, covered into oblivion in boisterous north wind and Shingle so we were overwhelmed that regalabamos every inhabitant of the village where we were drawn: seven pebbles, sea glass and a rowdy song.
All this and a thousand attempts to tell, transcribe , say, translating my past ... this until waking up in a spiral bed.
There is something maddeningly attractive untranslatable, lines before was just a crude attempt to silence turns words in traffic. I hope this silence to keep the unspeakable.
When I wake up with his throat repeatedly driven into his chest, I think I want to translate the feeling your nerves, and callus, callus deep and sad rescued me: silence is clear that language itself!, yet nonexistent phone not respond questions with a yes or a no, because these do not allow a monosyllabic word itself is prevented. And I answer in silence than anything else is language but a giant, cacophonous excess of our misunderstanding.
you want to choose between chaos and the ability to name, as if there was a third place to be, believed mistakenly that if no name is something they do not yet exist, but only the attempt to translate, it may be that third option of being in the presence of a word that keeps to herself, in the silence that numb our bodies because we often can not, or translate what we feel. Thinking about the possibility of finding silence comforts me; think about their position, and shares its layers of nothing and therefore think of their movement, they never stop moving because I move with it, think about your voice, think of his shadow, to think that these words betraying my silences are a sort of sweet incomprehensible composition as that of the Tramontana wind that breaks out again in my bay.