When it craws
I held your sorrow-like aunts running all over my hand.
I tried to squeeze it, but it kept escaping.
I was born with the inability to understand anthropomorphisms.
Anita Mendes
[ˌro͞oməˈnāSH(ə)n]
I keep records and memories. in the dark I write. I enjoy solitude. airtight ; hermetic, cryptic and esoteric. trying to unveil secrets. inward we go. d ifferent lives. s idewalks. joy. leaping puddles in the dark. dreams and fantasies. the past and collective memories. archetypes of woman- wolves and deep waters of fertile art shines above my crown. shrines of the psyche. keep asking myself the same questions.no matter the route I make the same mistakes. Amor Fati? It was the love I was creating inside a MC. Escher's painting. climbing and descending paradigms. where are the flight of stairs? I want to fly. looking for love in objects and souls. matter. It doesn't matter. I was refuting solitude because I never had the gift of self reflection. it hurts; it will. always. there are no escape goats. I pass by the bar, by the memory, by the park, by the painting, bye, bye. it went away like a kite in a storm. tying treads. connecting imaginary red strings. superstitions a...
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