Never try to trick me with a kiss

Never try to trick me with a kiss

Pretending that the birds are here to stay;

The dying man will scoff and scorn at this.

A stone can masquerade where no heart is

And virgins rise where lustful Venus lay:

Never try to trick me with a kiss.

Our noble doctor claims the pain is his,

While stricken patients let him have his say;

The dying man will scoff and scorn at this.

Each virile bachelor dreads paralysis,

The old maid in the gable cries all day:

Never try to trick me with a kiss.

The suave eternal serpents promise bliss

To mortal children longing to be gay;

The dying man will scoff and scorn at this.

Sooner or later something goes amiss;

The singing birds pack up and fly away;

So never try to trick me with a kiss:

The dying man will scoff and scorn at this.

Sylvia Plath, quien metió la cabeza al horno en 1963

Amor Guerrero

Como dicen Los Caifanes, si pudiéramos escupir cometas le ganaríamos al tiempo, a la magia, al destino, a la distancia, al olvido...

Llámenme intensa, zonza, desesperada, impaciente y una larga lista de etcéteras, pero ya me decidí. Bueno, la decisión está tomada desde que comencé a enamorarme, sólo que esta vez la siento más poderosa que nunca.

Quiero un amor guerrero.

Incansable, apasionado, fuerte, emocionante, interminable, tenaz, perseverante.

Que rompa con estereotipos, distancias, mentiras, tentaciones.

Un amor LOCO, loco, loco.

Me siento taaaan adormecida...

Superficial

I wonder if there's any chance that I will inspire someone, someday, to take photos of me. Yeah, yeah! I know a lot of people have taken photos of me before, at parties, in bed, blablabla. But that's not what I'm talking about. I mean photos in real situations, I'd still be posing, of course, but I could wear all my ridiculous panties and bras and shorts and t-shirts and hand made vests and shaggy hair and dark rings under my puffy eyes. Just me, as natural as it gets, showing my crotch, my unshaved arm pits, my cellulitis. I'm sure I'd still look bad ass and beautiful. I could be hugging my stuffed animals, or playing with my guinea pig or just walking into the wild.

I would like a photo of me with my nipples showing through the pre-teen-t-shirt. Oh! and let's not forget about my belly, my big big belly with tiny hairs all over it.

Then I could like have sex with the photographer, because of course, he thinks I'm the most imperfect and pretty little thing there is. And then, he would go to a magazine and show his conceptual and deep deep work and they will be like "oh man! this is amazing. Actually this one is going to be our cover, because is such a powerful image, blablabla...".

And then, one day, I'm gonna be walking down the street, and then going inside one of those parties for scene people, which I'm not, by the way, and they're all gonna smile at me, because they can tell that I'm the girl from the magazine. The one with saggy boobs and perfect hair and wild eyebrows and bad wrinkles in her face because she smiles so much.

Borrador de los calientes

Los miré con repulsión. Sobra decir algo acerca de su aspecto físico. No eran muy hermosos, pero al parecer se querían. La música era un reggae suave, perfecto para NUESTRO momento, hasta que ellos me lo arruinaron. Pero no lo sabían. No lo hicieron a propósito, sólo estaban disfrutando del pasto y del cuerpo del otro. Con la música, avanzaban sus lenguas, avanzaban sus manos. Él tenía el rostro lleno de acné, ella tenía el cabello muy largo y maltratado, ambos deseaban tener sexo en ese momento...