Carlos & Friend

Woke up, No longer in the dream. Time started to tick again, everything seemed eternal. I was savagely killed though I'm still alive(?) Woke up from a dream, shapeless, being no longer what for years I thought. It vanished. Forms in the shape of letters said so. Thoughts in the shape of feathers said so. Now that character has gone away, in this reality he's disappeared, leaving trails of irretrievable. This shapeless being is now nothing more than bleeding clay. Waiting to be shaped. And I know that all around will try I'll be their toy, their hope, their guide. And I'll be their shape, their figure just so they can sleep alone (with a grin on their face) But deep inside the bleeding clay There's a little, little soul That's searching for the moment where you'll let me be your clay Mold me, shape me, do me, only you can do it right. when the shape turns into wishes, then the task will be complete. Then I would be your dream come true, or the end of my last ...

Preface So many things to say, so many things to write. But before I shape my new entry I would like to thank all the people that took a little spark of their time in this life writing comments, reading, or just watching the other entries. I appreciate that a lot. Lately I noticed that I had not posted a single new entry since last year's November, and I felt slightly kind of shocked about it, but at the same time I knew that things happen for a reason, and that this was the path that had to be taken in order to share a new idea that I felt worth telling. The other -and most important- reason of my absence in this dream-thought-space is probably best told within this same entry that is specially dedicated and devoted to all souls that are in constant search of truth, and love, and wisdom (and magic too), and that fight for what some might call the warmth of being here, just like a gift from life and into the eternal, infinite space that surrounds and invades us everywhen… The next ...

Because so many things are shown to us through the path we live, it may be valid to wonder about the idleness of our silence. Is there nothing left to say? Is there nothing left to see? There is everything out there where thought believes, and there's everything inside, rotting (as Baudelaire said of course) while we try to polish the being that can't be defined by words; not even by that word some people call soul.

Lately I have been starting to think some things are not so real as we think they are, materially speaking. The spirit guides us through our journey. When our spirits are lost, we must know our ancestors will always be there to tell us who we are... I don't want to sound that corny, it's just we actually are our ancestor's birthmarks, burden or legacy -whatever you wish to call it- It is hard sometimes to find the way out. Specially when you have been inside for a long, long time.

I cannot even understand it... For more info go to this link PS Also thanking Count Duckula

I had Two dreams, on Two different nights. Where sea was just out of control Where I had to swim out of it Did it. Knew I could. When walking by Trapped was Alice In the jungle through the glass. Nothing now, I have. Anyway, I think I will start to post more dreams, probably to get them out of my mind. Is it possible to understand them?

I try to create an image Lurk in the deepest cave of the unconscious Found a tree A leafy tree Growing in the dark Waiting to be found... The Pig Influenza It is strange to find that image in my mind, and at the same time live the paranoia through the supermarket corridors. Mexican Anthrax. Life doesn't cost a breathing mask, but it costs a cheap tampion. Then, we're afraid of dying. Mechanical survival mode. All the things we made and lived we don't want them to disappear. I would fuck it all. It is funny to sneeze next to a man in the Wal-Mart line, and put him nervous about anything [such as getting the flu]. In the end... what does this tree mean? This is a letter my friend Manuel sent today. He felt like writing some visceral stuff. It is written in spanish: Hey Juan! Espero la estés pasando bomba en tierras vancouverianas y que el frío ya haya cedido un poco... Ayer se acabaron oficialmente mis vacaciones y regresé a SLP, que se ha convertido en uno de las ciudades...