For five years I perfected the apology of my gait and procedure, now I am like a blind man juggling with needle, thread and thimble.
I am just the uncomfortable point that I pointed without remorse with the finger of creation, and crushed under my fingernail those people drowning in boredom who take for lunch memories with two sugars, and in order to sleep they tell each other stories of past victories. As an old man who knows sex, knows how to do it, he does not hesitate to smash the quarto whole, but, impossible to practice it.
I opened the packaging of the year 90 and half of the pieces to assemble were broken; how do I take your worn socks to my carpet? how many smiles do your bad jokes need before I can kiss you? Macarena go to the end of the hall and break the glass, take the tool and crush the little I offer you, destroy the evenings I wasted not looking at your crooked and shiny teeth. Shake the dress of black canutillos and dress to pay the bill for any unfortunate of the canteen, then steal a song that manages to mildew the atmosphere, please Macarena do not dance or I will have to be happy and I will have to lose the restrocedido, and we have the last verse and you want to be good? Raise like a tree branch your hand (I watch you) without remorse point out the stain I became, a puddle of boredom that served for others to drown in fasting. My young body knew your sex, I made you with my sex, you were good and the old man that I am froze as I told stories of past victories to make you sleep. Macarena you are the luck that I will fail 20 more times, I want to embroider flowers to your heart, now that I am like a blind man juggling needle, thread and thimble.
Photography by Paola Saetti
I write to accompany; my texts enter what is broken, the everyday, and the hidden.