Wolf's Out

Días de fuego

Sonríes, nos sonreímos, sin dejarnos de mirar y entonces nuestras penas se desvanecen, nuestra razón desaparece, nuestros corazones se calientan, nos acercamos y no dejamos de sonreír, nos sonreímos mutuamente como unos locos, nos miramos y todo a nuestro alrededor se vuelve más tenue, el ruido cambia a un silencio temporal en el que sólo escucho tu corazón y sólo veo tu cara, te paso los dedos por los labios y después entre tu pelo, cruzo caminos a través de él, caminos que ya habían sido trazados, como si mis dedos tuvieran su propia memoria. Nuestros ojos se miran y se acercan, nuestras miradas se encajan una a la otra como si estuvieran conectadas por una cuerda que se vuelve más chica. Las bocas se encuentra e inician a luchar entre ellas, con pequeños roces entre sus labios, como si siguieran una coreografía planeada y se juntan, se muerden suavemente dejando pequeños instantes entre los cuales  pequeños suspiros van y vienen intercambiando el calor que llevamos dentro. Mis manos se deslizan en tu cuerpo al igual que las tuyas en el mío en armonía  y tu pelo cae sobre mi cara como una suave ventisca de primavera en la que siento su olor dulce. Nuestro calor se vuelve uno, se enciende y siento como tu piel arde cuando roza la mía.

Dejamos los imperfectos y las penas arder entre las flamas que nacen cuando nos besamos, como si estuvieran llenas de fuegos artificiales que no dejan de volar en todas direcciones. El “tú”y  el “yo” se vuelve un nosotros y aquello que somos queda en pausa para dejar paso a aquella llamarada en la que nuestros almas se convierten.


Te veo, me ves y las llamas siguen, pero nosotros no las seguimos, las dejamos estar en el fondo de nuestros ojos sin dejarlas explotar, ya que nuestro fuego al prenderse quema todo y no deja espacio a quienes somos, tan sólo a aquello en lo que nos convertimos y una vez extintas nos dejan con las cenizas de lo que momentáneamente podemos ser, mas no aquello que permanentemente somos.


Beyond the desert plateau

Real de Catorce, May 2016

I ride at dawn passing by the peaks which mark the limit of the town, leaving behind our group, leaving behind the familiar into the dusty planes that extend beyond the horizon. The air still fresh from the dying night hits my face as I ride knowing I am going nowhere and my horse gallops at a firm phase through the bushes.

I pass by the old railroad station, far into the plateau, far away from any road. The sun rising up in the clear sky, warming the soil and with it the sounds of the animals hidden in the nature, singing like a coordinated orchestra with a feral touch. There were no signs or men, just the face of nature and its creations dwelling in the bushes and through holes along the soil.

I ride along the high mesas and the ground resounds under my horse hooves and he gallops faster as I slightly press him with my boots. Our blood heated as the sun warmed our skin and our mouths dry up and our breath becomes heavy. I turn into the old hill road and he goes anxious as if he knows our time is coming to an end and I know that what I was seeking to discover in the desert was a think that I’d always knew; that our shadows would never be one again and that my future was beyond the distance under a different sky, in which we will not ride again.

I ride through the old mining compound, silent and abandoned through the times of the revolution and I take down the mounting of my horse and we both drink water from the small pound under the ruins of the old mill. I look at his big brown eyes that seem calm, yet he looks at me quietly as if he know my heart was full with sadness. We stand there without making much sound as the cold breeze of the nearby mountains cools down our bodies and I prepare the mount again to head up into the old road.

We encounter cowboys and their cattle, jeeps full of tourists ready to venture in search of peyote, and later on I hear the bell of the church marking the entrance back into civilization and I ride back to the old hacienda, where my friends and family are having breakfast. I leave the horse at the stable with the other horses and he looks back at me from the fence quiet and still as if he knew we will not ride again, as if he was saying goodbye.


Stockholm , July 2018

Goodbye old friend.

Train ride to nowhere

I’m sitting in the restaurant wagon of a train. I look through the window and cannot recognize the place the train is going. It could be the mountains of the Sierra Madre, but all signs in the train are in Cyrillic and its unusually cold for what ir seems a summer day. I’m wearing a slim fit black suit and I’m sipping a surprisingly good gin tonic. My head feels like its gonna explode and my heart is pumping fast as if I was high in cocaine or something else. The trains is empty and the perception of time doesn’t exist. Where is this train going? Why it feels so familiar? I don’t have a clue.

You are sitting in front of me,wearing an elegant blue dress with your hair loose and you keep staring at me with a sad smile, but you don’t say a word. I can see a sadness through your eyes and I try to hold your hand, but you don’t let me and instead you laugh and sip a glass of red wine, which was not there a minute ago. The train goes faster and the coldness turns into a unbearable warm, yet you don’t seem to bother. The landscape turns into an endless desert, like the one in Sonora and in the wagon speakers “I wanna be your dog” by Iggy Pop starts to play and you start laughing and hold my hand tight. I am not sure if I am there or if I’m not, because I don’t feel your hand and I wanna kiss you, but you I cannot move and you keep laughing and suddenly the wagon is full of confetti everywhere and the train goes faster and through the windows the desert is covered on fire.

– It is the last time, but not like the other last times, this is truly the last time. – you say in a soft and sad tone.

– But I don’t know if that is what suppose to happen or if I can promise you that it is – I said while tears fill my eyes, but I cannot cry so I keep smiling.

– I guess there isn’t much we can say or do about it, it is just how it is and you should just go wherever this takes you. – You reply to me and stand up and you move towards me and kiss me, like I kissed you the first time. The train starts to get on fire and the confetti turns into ashes all around us.

– There are no goodbyes, just jumps into different futures that may or may not entangle again. – you say as you slowly walk into the entrance to the other wagon, which is already covered on fire, but you don’t burn with it and as you walk aways into the flames you start to fade away.

I’m alone and the train accelerates into a upcoming tunnel as I and everything around me covers on fire, but the fire is cold and my heart is full of pain, but I cannot move because of the speed. The tunnel covers the light from the windows and I sit in plane darkness and you are gone and I know that I cannot follow you. I start crying, because I remember I have been sitting in this train before and I reached the destination alone. The train exits the tunnel and stops and the flames are gone and I’m in a unnamed Eastern European city alone, waiting for the train to come again.

I wake up and stare into my white roof. I look around and the one next to me is not you and I wonder if you wake up next to another, will you sometimes think about me or maybe not? I make coffee and go into my life as usual, thinking about that train, your blue dress, and the things that are not mean to happen.

As the day goes by, it all fades away just to come back in another random night in which I will be riding that train again, but you may or may not be there.

Journal: Sommarlov

Stockholm, July 2017

Once the sun rises above the sky for the entire day and night, the atmosphere fulls with happiness visible in the peoples eyes as they hang out with their pals in the once closed out sections of bars and restaurants. We all find a good excuse to be outside and feel the sunshine touch our skin, which after months of waiting, feels warm.  Summer was exiting all my life, but not as this time, not in the same way.  The winter in Scandinavia made every single degree over 10 Celsius like a miracle,thus we celebrated them with booze and early hang outs.

A dear friend of ours invited me and my friend Rodrigo to an uptight party in Lidingö: Preppy area full of nice houses and fancy SUV’s. Every opportunity to mix with whoever it came we took it, and we agreed to join as usual. A long ride in the metro followed by a confusing bus route took us to the called house where the party was taking place. The only non-swedish were us,and probably the only men besides another shy guy friend of the host, something unusually convenient as a part of enjoying the summer was to get laid as much as possible before the endless winter came again along with the cold hearts and busy schedules.

The day went by and in between the alcohol, the Swedish games and two or three joints we found ourselves dancing to latino music. All the girls were over average good looking and friendly, fiting the ideal picture of the swedish summer in front of our faces. We were relentless, passionate, and, in a silly way over chivalrous, just to land at kiss or a number whom will never reply back.

The night went on and the remaining group decided to hit the a club in the city and we followed, as usual. From that trip a huge black out remains as the amount of drugs and alcohol were pretty high in our system,but I still remember a small blonde which her name I don’t recall guiding me to the entrance of the club as I was stuck in a trance of dizziness. An old building near Mariatorget was our destination, which during my daily walks I have never noticed. Techno, people wearing white Adidas shoes, and the usual hipsterish crowd of Södermalm were inside. I regain my senses with the beats of a song I recalled from a time I don´t remember and rushed to drink some water. After a glass or two I turned around to look for my friends and there she was. She was wearing a white dress with a Levi´s denim jacket over. Her hair was light brown and her blue eyes were staring at me while I looked at her perfect smile. Her name was the female version of mine and she was a professional ballet dancer. I didn’t want to confess that she was probably one of the most beautiful women I have seen in my life, but it was easy revealed by my stupid smile and my poor use of words. We kissed after an endless discussion of why 50’s rock’n’roll should become hip again. The rest of the night and my friends became less important the longer I looked at her perfect lips smile.

I wasn’t never the biggest fan of ballet, but for the rest of the summer I was present in almost all her performances, the same ways her body was in my bed and her face in my paintings until we departed ways for different lands.

Journal: November, darkness , and snow.

Stockholm, November 2016

The first snowy days of the year were already approaching and the darkness that comes with them. The city not only changed its appearance, but its inhabitants attitude dramatically changed for a more stiff and depressing reaction towards daily life. Complains about the weather, hardly structured routines and unwillingness to be spontaneous were some of the newly injected characteristics into the minds of everyone. The winter, besides being a season of the year, was also a newly discovered mentality for me and it bugged me. Many swedes I met abroad spoke about it, yet I never fully understood it until this point and in a way I was both scared and fascinated how it highly influenced their lives, yet I couldn’t really accept that it will be the same for me.

It was predicted that the record snowstorms were coming to Scandinavia and people asked me if I have seen snow before in my life, as if every single part of Mexico was a paradise like Playa del Carmen. The white cover of the winter slowly started to appear in every roof and street and the temperature dropped with it. The snow flakes became more of a common view from my window, which showed how beautiful and annoying the winter days can be at the same time.

I found myself drinking more, more confused and yet  in a very odd way was fascinated by this new change.  My days passed by as usual and the tiredness also invaded my insides for each day the sunlight diminished.  For every day my routines became full of planned activities in order to avoid being alone in my apartment looking at the window to see the sunset before 4 p.m.

Journal: Halloween with poor designed costumes

Stockholm, October 2016

I used to be really exited about Halloween back home for the simple fact that people actually were exited about it. Everybody took their fair amount of time and money to come up with a cool costume or at least end up hooking for a sexy version of any profession.  I met with a friend and decided to hit a club which for their Facebook page appeared to take it more seriously.  We got some paint and ended up pulling off semi decent face painted mask. The club was pretty classy with good music, fair sized dance-floor and a bunch of good looking girls, but the amount of people actually wearing a costume was disappointing. Things weren’t the same as home, which deeply reminded how things wouldn’t be the same, and all my excitement was poured with the overpriced gin and tonics I drank.

The night went on and my drunken self forced himself to have fun and dance, as nostalgic fire burned me from inside out, which for being just three months away was ridiculous. Was I that of a cry baby? Did I actually moved all the way just to complain for the lack of sexy policewomen and sexy-nurses on a Halloween night? I put myself together and started walking to the bar to kill my uneasiness with a tequila shot. Just about when I was about to give up and go home, a dear friend of mine managed to get invited to a table full of middle-aged men drinking expensive champagne and smuggled me into the V.I.P. area, where we drank Don Perignon for free and I ended up meeting a girl with the same paint-mask as me with whom I ended up in bed later that night.

As I woke up and looked myself at the mirror to a semi-blurred skull paint and red hangover eyes, I realized how unsure of my future I really was and maybe that was the main reason I deeply wished for a nice Halloween, to feel that life didn’t changed as much as I believed.. but it did and the only way dealing with it was accepting it and move on for the things to come. I walked down the street in a shameful display of my half destroyed Halloween costume with my Ray-Ban Club-master glasses on, yet easy with my inner conclusion. A kid cried when he saw me at the metro as I left the station close to my house.

Journal: Independence day

Stockholm, September 16th 2016

It had been 3 weeks since I moved to Stockholm and everything seemed positive around me. I really liked my classes, had a bunch of new friends, got a nice apartment, met a bunch of new girls. Even though my original plans had to change, they weren’t really dependent on me, everything was going in a good direction.

It was a Friday and after speaking with a couple of Mexicans I knew, we decided to have a small party. This time the good tequila, the fireworks and the red, green and white flags would be absent; but we still would found a way to celebrate it with heavy drinking and home made spicy food. People started to show as the party went on with latino beats and heartbroken mariachi songs, which for being 10,000 km away felt a little like home. The party ended a little earlier and I ended up half drunk in a techno club with some people of my class. No paint on my face, no tequila bottle on hand.. but Viva Mexico all the way.

¿Cuál camino?

Nos encontramos perdidos, con suspiros largos al escuchar el despertador y pedir que las próximas 10 horas se pasen volando y así poder volver a soñar con lugares lejanos, situaciones que creamos en nuestra cabeza o simplemente en un vacío carente del ruido que nos tormenta cuando estamos atrapados en nuestros autos y cubículos.

Vivimos en un limbo en el que nuestra juventud cada momento se siente más lejos y ese fenómeno tan espeluznante llamado madurar se acerca más de prisa. ¿ Así tendremos que vivir hasta el final? Poco a poco nos damos cuenta como gira el mundo y aceptamos ,como los otros millones en él, nuestro destino de seres creados para producir en un sistema diseñado para consumir, igual nunca falta uno que otro loco que quiere ser diferente y terminado tirado en una esquina o en una comunidad de esas hippies que viven en el bosque.

No vine porque estuviera buscando desesperadamente otra de vida. Cuando la gente me pregunta porque decidí mudarme a Estocolmo, siempre pienso en una respuesta convincente que no me haga sonar como un tercer mundista desesperado ni como un malinchista de esos que te encuentras en facebook. Cada vez que esta conversación se repite sigue una especie de diálogo previamente bien planeado: Hago que cada argumento tenga una congruencia para que haga parecer que las razones por las que dejé la mitad de mi vida atrás parezcan razonables. Que por el nivel de vida, que por las oportunidades de trabajo, que porque me gustan las rubias o porque la ciudad es ni muy grande ni muy chica. Dependiendo de las personas, cada respuesta es escrita en nuestro diálogo previamente a inciarlo. La verdad es que a veces yo no tengo idea de porque me fui tan lejos, porque al principio parecía una idea romántica en la que podría perderme y encontrar el amor de mi vida en una calle de un trayecto aletoriamente elegido en el centro de alguna ciudad Europea como le pasó a Horacio Oliveira (que desgraciadamente no fue aleatorio y fue de momentito) o a lo mejor tan sólo quería volverme tan cosmopolita como al lugar que me moviera y poder cambiar las botas de vaquero y las camisas Wrangler por unos botínes Gant y una gabardina color de camello.

De tu Diablo Guardián

” La intensidad de una pasión se mide por la soledad que la procede” – Xavier Velasco

Nunca había sido capaz de experimentar aquel estándar que Velasco estableció. Después de una cantidad considerable de relaciones largas y otras un poco más pasajeras, parece ser que me topé con mi propia Violeta. Hermosa, independiente, impredecible e inolvidable y , al igual que a Pig, se encajó en mi corazón como los tornillos expansivos que se usan en el hormigón.

For you and me

The feelings of this letter have been buried in my pile of unsent letters for a long time, but for unexpected encounters, I decided that making it public is a way to letting it go somehow.

To you,

I decided to leave you now. I’ll leave like  a satellite launching into the endless space to never return, but I will always be thinking about you. I will be spending it all missing everything we never had. Thinking about all the things my brain imagined and created, while you were in another place.

I’ll be dreaming about that bridge we never built, the step we never jumped, and all the prettier things that we never said. All those things we could have become will be kept in the corner of my dreams.

I will always think about the sweetest verses I wrote you, about the nights you were between my arms and the times I kissed you under the endless sky.

I loved you and sometimes you loved me too. How could I not loved your long hair or your infinite yes? How could could I not loved your smile?

My heart looks for you, in the silence of the night, in the emptiness of my bed, and in the loneliness of my room.

The brightness from the city lights covers the same places, yet we aren’t the same neither we are there.

I am leaving you, but you will always be in the inside and outside of me. Your sent in my nostrils, the softness of your skin in my fingertips, and your smile in my brain edges.  You aren’t a candle I can snuff, neither a pack of empty cigarettes I can toss. You are maybe more like that book that you can always read again, like that lucky jacket you always want to wear.

Eternity will come and I will follow it, but you my love I don’t know where you will be, but for sure a piece of you will be with me.