Learning to live is learning to die. Death is a constant change, life is full of deaths. The knight goes to war and with fear sees thousands of deaths and forgets to live. Humankind fears death because it fears change and at the same time fears life. The knight never leaves the war until he dies. Dying is deciding to change.

Everyone wants to enter the jar of being right. Being right is not a good business, on the contrary, it is a way to wear out and blind yourself to what really matters, a King can be right all his life and never realize his wear and die with the same outdated perceptions, archaic and without praxis. But commonly the Kings are never right, they have and they exercise something that matters more: power. Wanting to be right makes you forget what really counts. Fight for power. Those who have power have fun seeing how they fight for the reason. The reason is overrated.

Hate is a shape of love, it can even be the most powerful, pretentious and even beautiful way to love. Hate is thrilling like the waves of the goddess Mar or something gigantic.The nocturnal lover comes home at dawn and full of hate, gives the best orgasms to his goddess, the moment when he hates her the most when she is not present, hatred is a spiritual energy that accumulates when what is wanted is not there, Hate brings out the best and the worst in us, love is there, very shy and still difficult to understand, and it will be years...

The city is a code powerful like the house. You walk by your fury, the subway, the passers-by, the heat, the cold, the fire, the rain, it has everything. You wallow in it and you find perfection where flaws abound.

The house is the best image that the poems can carry, ask Andrés Neuman, Juan Carlos Mestre and Luis Fernando Suárez. The house is the metaphor that God does not like, is that they are very similar. God and the house, I say.

Hope and nudity, yesterday I saw your skin, reminds me of so many things that I had to walk. I did not know what hope meant until today. Imagine the light touch on that skin, in the quest to bristle his soul and make that body rain, is the closest I've been to hope, the rest is the desire to fuck that has life.

The images go to their source when you click on them.

FL