Karta a mi mismo (Letter to myself)

Covered by cold and emptyness,
a child woke up this morning
in a jungle of huge cypress.
He is not ill
but still he is not feeling right,
his stoned mind tries to guide
a soul which got lost on the past night.

Like a vehicle without driver,
searching for the warmness
stolen by his nightmares,
a corps walks at dawn
until its found by the river’s sound.
Beside the water stream,
his body starts a ritual
niether dance or scream,
just a perpetual movement
like the waves of the sea.

The ceremony last for minutes
drawing circles with his feet,
wandering and spinning
against his will.
He wants to sit down
and listen to his thoughts,
but his muscles are numb
surrounded by a cold fog.
Excercising for warming up
is the best choise.

Convinced by the evidence,
the boy decides to continue
the walk somewhere else,
the rock avenue
is not wide enogh to cease
the pain of the meaningless.
A red path devored by the plants
looks like the perfect alternative
to get lost into someone’s past.

After a few steps,
the sun rises over the green hills,
the cold kept
is realesed in a thin
layer of freezing sweat.
But the journey has started
and the heart
is way too excited
to be put apart from his live motiv.

The way, the way is the poisson
and the cure for the lost,
the engine in motion
which leaves behind the past
and allows to forget the grasp
of time.
Only the way makes you feel alive
when everything is dead.
Only the way makes naive
the adult and mature the brat.

The only way of knowledge
is knowing that the wisest decission
is to ignore the edge
and jump into the illusion
of being exposed to everything that
surrounds you… but there’s not only one way.
The way is one for each region
and unique for each person.
You only need to take out
your mask and go for it… but there’re masks that can not be removed.

Sometimes the way is not the only way of confronting the problems. Sometimes the problem is the way. Sometimes the way was long ago finished and its difficult to find the way back home. Sometimes is better to enjoy being lost…

This travel has taken us far from everythimg that was clear before. It has made us be dirty in the cleanest places and shine in the darkest ones. But still, we were always able to follow our way and be victorious thanks to the goldhearted ones.

Meaby is time to face our reality, meaby is time to use everything that we learned to change another’s one… the only thing I know is the travel is finished, at least as we knew it.

Cars wont be stopped anymore. Trash is burnt in every corner or eaten by flies. Even camping could be dangerous sometimes.

But we have our experience and our childish illusion to take over control of any situation. Like children excited by the simplest things but concerned of what does it takes to be enjoyed, we will continue our way. No matter the difficulties.

This is just the end of a phase.


Sign: A man who woke up as a brat with an adult’s mask, or meaby just another man trying to pretend being a child.

La oscuridad y la máscara (The darkness and the mask)

Curiosa la idea de que hay preguntas que solo uno puede contestar. Pero ante la angustia de adentrarse en uno mismo, por la facilidad de conseguir parches temporales con respuestas ajenas o por mera incapacidad de escucharnos con un órgano atrofiado nos imposibilitamos el hallar una respuesta.
Observo que cosas me alejan de mi mismo y cuales me acercan. Cuando la gente “se encuentra a sí misma” en un viaje como el mío, no es por el viaje, sino porque se extirpan todos los estímulos que te distraen de lo que sientes y por lo tanto comienzas a buscar los causantes de tus sentimientos en lugar de enmascararlos con placebo tecnológico y social.
El viaje del Arte es el que realmente me conecta a cada momento conmigo. Para generar arte, para crear, debo ser vulnerable y sincero. Sobretodo con uno mismo (que es lo más duro de todo). Escucho mi oscuridad, eso que me aterra reconocer ante mi mismo y cuando consigo verlo como una parte igual de bella y creadora de mi existencia, la abrazo.
“Dejo que los demás contemplen mi máscara mientras yo me contemplo a mi mismo”

It’s curious how some questions can only be answered by oneself. However, due to the pain that can occur from looking within, the ease with which we can readily use the answers of others as a crutch, and the inability to actually listen when looking within, we prevent ourselves from finding that answer.

I notice which things keep me away from myself and which ones bring me closer. When people “find themselves” on a trip like the one I’m on right now, it is not because of the travel, but because they remove all the stimuli which distract them from hearing their feelings, and therefore they begin to search for the causes of their feelings instead of masking them with technological and social placebo.

The journey of art is the one that really connects me with myself in each moment. To generate art, in order to create, I should be vulnerable and sincere. Especially with myself (which is the hardest thing). I listen to my darkness what terrifies me to recognize about myself. When I am able to see it like a part of me as beautiful and creative as my existence, I embrace it.

“I let others contemplate my mask meanwhile I contemplate myself”

Un café

No escribo mis experiencias, no escribo mi vida.

Será por qué no existen palabras que definan una vida y yo no soy lo suficientemente habilidoso para que, articulandolas, expresen el momento recogido en un segundo.

Yo soy actor, yo expreso un momento con otro momento, yo trabajo con equivalencias de tiempo. Revivo el momento viviendolo de nuevo, no lo escribo para que otro lo viva al leerlo (no soy tan bueno). Yo re-vivo el momento para que otro lo viva conmigo. Dicho esto. Si alguien quiere conocer qué estoy viviendo… Que me invite a un café cuando vuelva y se lo re-vivo.

Anagnórisis viajerístico

Que placer. Estoy disfrutando muchísimo, sin embargo no siento que sea una persona renovada catharticamente, eso de “Me ha cambiado la vida” (Que es un poco lo que la gente esperaba de mí viaje, quizás yo también).

La catharsis experimentada por un viaje interior lo he realizado miles de veces durante la carrera, quebrándome a mi mismo para montarme a continuación. Me he escuchado tanto que he llegado a acabar exhausto de estar conmigo mismo.

Este viaje no es para conocerme, es para conocer el mundo. Para estar en escucha con el otro.

“Es un viaje físico-espiritual porque mi alma va con mi cuerpo, aunque alguna vez viaje a casa”


Víctor MB (Tibilisi, in a Rainbow house)