javiegaray

[javiegaray]

The paradox of a dark paradise (Ruido blanco de épocas difusas)

I had a paradise in my mind, and you destroyed it with your greed and your lies.

It still shines, it still shines,

like an agonising firefly, singing a deathly lullaby.

And even though I have no words left, you can still hear my mind.

It plays on replay; they sing it like it was written by somebody else.

All the stars that crown me, mother of this universe…

Everything. I could be anything.

A million different people, all the pieces of me,

like a shattered sun that refused to be alone in space,

and because of you, I am this.

All the darkness that consumes me, daughter of the night…

Nothing. You have given me nothing.

And for you I have lost my name,

my children,

my country,

my crown,

my friends,

my beauty,

my language.

I had a paradise playing in my mind, and you turned it off just because.

It is not me, the one who is lost.

[javiegaray]

Cherry blossoming in Japan

Photographed by Ryu Haharu

[javiegaray]

“Keep it simple”

And I hear the sweetest hymn in disguise

What a pleasure to my ears, oh, the tears in my eyes.

In the lingua franca, the goddamned, godless lingua franca.

And I think: “Bohemia, my Bohemia,

My little Bohemia.”

With you —like you— I become extinct.

And without you, hope dies.

[javiegaray]

Fragance Du Bois

One said: “I’ll love you as long as your size remains.”

Another one said: “I’ll keep loving you as long as you don’t lose your head.”

That one said: “I’ll be your husband until you become dumb.”

And I wonder if they know I’ll only love them as long as they are good.

And I wonder if they know that none of them is.

So none of them I love, except one.

Who, you may ask. He knows.

Lo sabía. Pasado.

[javiegaray]

There was no feminism when it happened to me (y lo sabes)

Ultimately, I was the victim of gender-based violence.

That was my only “crime”: being a woman.

This was a lame protest —just as lame as the world we live in.

[javiegaray]

“Darling, there’s a part of me

I’m afraid will always be

Trapped within an abstract from a moment of my life”

H.

[javiegaray]

💧

Veridis quo (the last Riddle)

“Quo Vadis?” — Pedro a Jesús.

Pedro y Jesús

Pedro con Jesús

[javiegaray]

Schools for deaf children, 1964 - by  Kryn Taconis (1918 - 1979), Dutch

[javiegaray]

move me, baby

[javiegaray]

The pain we are unable to carry (From the diary of a broken woman)

I have all these strange dreams, and I want to ask you, is this real? Is he alive? I want to be with him. I want to hold him.

And I want to ask you, when was the last time I saw you?

And I want to know, do you love me?

Do you love him?

Is he alive?

Are you real?

Would you hold me tonight, one last time? Hold me for the rest of my life. Love of my life.

Love of my life.

I was wrong.

I am a mother.

I am a bride.

I am king queen.

Where is he? Where are you? Is it all a dream?

Can I go home now?

[javiegaray]

Take your stupid car with you, I don’t want you and I don’t want anything from you

Any normal girl would’ve accepted those gifts. I am not one of them.

“Burn the car. I don’t want it,” I said.

“What should I do with the ring?” he asked.

“Burn it too,” I replied.

“I can melt it,” he said.

“I want you to burn it. Find a way to burn gold —it should be interesting,” I said. Something like that.

Send it to space and burn it there, I don’t even care how. But if you want to do what I want, burn it.

That’s what I thought: Burn it, and I hope it burns you out of my mind forever, too. You’re not something I want to remember.

And so he did. He found a way to burn gold.

Well, not him exactly. He was never that much of a scientist. Was he? All pretty words. Wonderful music. No action, no reaction.

Who cares. I don’t regret it. No man that gives up so easily deserves to be remembered.

All that power, all that money could never buy him a decent heart.

Out of sight, out of mind. Forever.

Burn it all. Burn it. It never happened. And yes I’m a terrible writer. Who cares. And if you care well,… I don’t care that you care.

You can all go to hell with him, and the car and the ring. You’ll probably end up there anyway.

Es algo bueno que no sea yo la que decida quién se va al infierno, ¿Cierto?

Tampoco es como si hubiese sido un auto volador… “La magia no existe”. Eso es todo lo que hay que saber, aparentemente. Podría haber estado hecho de oro sólido y no me habría importado.

No existe nadie con un corazón que solo busca oro que pueda comprar un alma de diamante.

[javiegaray]

“I hope she’ll be a fool —that’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool”.

[javiegaray]

🌧️🌧️🌧️🌧️

[javiegaray]

Igniting silent sparks in a dark universe (Nocturna, despierta, taciturna)

You can’t be somebody’s muse and their wife — it is written in history, a notion widespread, as old as time itself.

What we are denied is often what we long for.

It is what we attempt to demonstrate and express. Like a child throwing a tantrum.

Call it the cry of the millennium, the cry of men who identify themselves as artists. Self proclaimed geniuses with the tenacity, the ferocity and the audacity to convince everyone else of what they try to be.

(…) But deep down they know they need someone to admire, because they can’t find in themselves the thing that they want the most.

Because to observe, to truly observe, interpret and express a reality, you must feel a void. You must have a void. You must want something that you don’t have.

Most artists take pride in their originality, in their versatility, in their depth. When the artist, like an interpreter, is just an instrument. The wind passes through them. The fresh breeze of a muse. The artist is shallow. His inspiration often runs deep. His inspiration is divine. The artist is dark. Otherwise, how could he capture the light?

(…)

Inspiration is closer to idealisation than to love.

Inspiration requires objectification. Inspiring someone means being the object of their desires, and the byproduct of desire is never love.

Plus, love isn’t merely an idea; there is no such thing as the perfect person destined for you.

Some of us are meant to inspire — poetry, songs, novels, films — scattered across the night sky like a million stars, like the grains of sand in a beach.

A tiny universe held within something not yet understood.

Or perhaps simply meant to be recognised.

As it is.

As it reveals itself.

Much like admiring a muse, rather than loving a wife.

Así que ahora sabes que la consecución de tus deseos se opone a tu amor y que la clave para que alguien nunca te deje de querer es nunca darle lo que quiere. Lo que no significa que le dejes de dar lo que necesita.

Bailar eternamente en una estrella de neutrones, eso tiene que ser lo más parecido al amor. Cuando tu luz es tan fuerte que quizás te vuelves el objeto más brillante del universo.

Algunas musas solo somos despedazadas en millones de estrellas.

Translate that now, favourite interpreter. I too, have made you nothing but my muse.

I hear the symphony every night. Like the symptom of a disease in my blood, waiting to implode. My music, anonymous, in the sky.

It never ends. Because it was never written.

I hereby declare the end of the war between instruments and the winner is the wind. Nothing but air running free. Void. The void has won. Accident over substance. All that is left for you in my heart is a blank space where you deleted your name, like a marvellous artist. Like a terrible man.

All that is left for me is love. Honey, I’m done with art.

And this will be my last confession, I love you never felt like any blessing.

With a heavy heart,

Your muse. Not your wife.

[javiegaray]

Entropy. ♾️

And in my heart, chaos forever.

And in my head, every type of madness known to [(hu)man]kind.

And in my soul, only one demon made in heaven.

And in my body, the Big Bang.

Blowing kisses, firing words like loaded guns, playing videogames not just for fun,

The girl that forgot her own name and loves to drive.