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.


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.

Journal: Vampirisim

Stockholm, February 2018

A void deep in my heart ,for which I haven’t found a total explanation, craves for feeding like a caged tiger who hasn’t had a meal in days. A hunger that invades my mind and corrupts my thoughts like a virus. The numbness created by it , mixes with my hormones injecting me with a dose of uneasiness that pushes slowly from my late nights into my days.

Can I control it? Can i cure it? Its a question that raised as it  penetrated every inch of myself and it became more and more unbearable. My real emotions change rapidly as , the litmus in those pH indicators, making it harder to find an inner peace or a way to kill it. It is not logic, it doesn’t make sense; it something that appears and disappears randomly. As if, a curse was conjured from beyond into me, hitting me like a lightning, burning into my flesh to later disappear.

As time goes by, I figured out that this unexplainable hunger feeds on others. Just like a werwolf or a vampire, it wakes up at night. As if I, in a metaphysical plane, turn into a vampire or some demonic looking being. Not a Stocker’s vampire that feeds in  human blood, rather one that feeds in people’s emotions. I find myself hunting for a prey, with a pretty  look and an charming talk through the parties, bars, and clubs . For a moment, I stop being me and a side of me, who seduces and deceives, emerges to catch victims to satiate this hunger.

I have ignored it as time passed, yet let it feed on the ones close to me. I thought it was my horniness, but as I grew older the more I took girls to bed and the more game I played; the more I realized the hunger wasn’t gone and the closer my lovers got to me the more it feed on them. Eventually, it will eat all their love and later their pain  and leave me only with loneliness.

I accept it now and every night, as I look myself in the mirror, I force it to go back to sleep, since that void inside my heart cannot be filled with others love or pain, but by means from within myself.  The hunger hunts me, but my heart tries to stop it in hope of finding answers, in hope of finding who I am and that one day that vampire within me that preys at night turns into dust with the lights of a brighter future.


Journal: Who drinks at Björnsträdgård?

Stockholm, October 2016

The trees’ leaves slowly changed from green to yellow-brown gradients and ,at the same time, slowly accumulated in many corners of the city. It wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t really warm and strong winds followed and clothes the people were wearing also changed. Everybody seem to jump to a greyscale combination and so did in a way their faces, with less smiles and one by one the outdoors areas of every single bar and restaurant started to close.

I wasn’t used to such a change of mood due to weather conditions. Back home people will not really change depending on how hot or cold was outside, but this wasn’t home and from the very beginning I applied to come, I knew the closer to the poles you are, the colder the people are too.

By that time I had already made a small group of friends from school. We were a little mix of locals and foreigns who weren’t up to just study the whole time and wanted to live a little our lives outside the typical student venues. We planned to go to a hip terrace at the slaughter district south of the city, since due to weather conditions would be closed soon. A friend and I thought it would be a good idea to have some drinks at a park nearby, the closer to the metro the better. We walked up Götgatan and sat down in a small park called Björnsträdgården. It had concrete stairs to people sit down in front of a nice green area with a playground and a skatepark in the background. Seemed like a pretty normal spot for people to gather!

We contacted our local friends, who were a little confused as why we decided to drink in such a place, but still the agreed to come. We didn’t really understand why they were so confused about that, why should we worry about it. Later on we were bothered by junkies asking for beer, gypsies asking for money, the girls catcalled by young North African migrants and some other weird people walking around. We moved quickly as soon my friends came. That small situation kept me thinking for a while as how in that part of town, which for me seemed to be quite decent turned into such a place as soon as the sun started to go down.

Wasn’t that I really didn’t new my neighborhood as good as I thought, but somehow it made those invisible visible to my eyes as I walked every day to the metro. It somehow gave a depressing vibe to the surroundings, but somehow people ignored it. It was somehow interesting to see how the hip and pretty coexisted with the misfits, like if every time they ran into each other they were in different dimensions and those pretty blondes wearing channel blocked from their reality the gypsy girl asking for money. There were and weren’t there and through the pass of days they became invisible to me to, like their own existence was a glitch and their pain and suffering was just far beyond our world to actually care.

Everybody kept walking with their headphones and their thoughts, everybody passed by without looking and in a metaphysical sense  they were just a shadow of something we know what it is, but at the same time we pretend we don’t know.

Later that year the city invested in a new lighting system to cover the whole area where we sat for the first time. Slowly they weren’t there any more as the community service officers started to appear more often. Their spots were no more and their suffering was retired to somewhere else, somewhere were nobody can see, where it  isn’t unpleasant to the eye and people can concentrate a little more in their instagram notifications and their tinder dates and not in the sound made by some coins in a Pressbyrån coffee cup.


Journal: No title

Stockholm, January 2018

There is not a clear explanation of how everything began, but I know that it has been constant and I have been  unable to stop it. I fall as the water falls through the sewers in a rainy day , into a silent darkness, but unlike of the underground planned patterns water follows, I do it within my thoughts  into unknown paths that existed within me.

I became unable to step back and the daily solitude makes it harder to hold to who I am. I am there, but not really there. An autopilot leads my daily routine, while my inner self struggles to gain control over the things that define me. There aren’t rights or wrongs, just unclear ideas and mixed feelings about the things and persons around me.

I get lost in the endless labyrinths my mind creates in loneliness, but unlike Theseus; I have no thread to follow back. There is no Minotaur in my labyrinth, yet I fear a reflection of  myself awaits me at the center. Will it leave me there and take over? I don’t know.  My constant pain is unclear and unfounded, but slowly spreads into my daily life and those around me. Do I want it to inflict it to others or do I want them to help me escape? I am not sure, yet countless times I have somehow being face-to-face to the possible truth without finding any catharsis. There is nothing to confess, yet there is also nothing to not feel guilty of. Nothing new can be extracted for my sayings and I achieve no deeper understanding of the paths within my mind. There is no regret neither acceptance , just an attempt to find out where my real conscience lays within the one I fabricated.

Journal: Student again.

Stockholm, September 2016

They gather us in a big room and they showed us a pretty power point about the possible specializations in our career. All the information in the induction meeting was already online and I already had gone a couple of times over it, since I wasn’t totally sure which path I was going to take. I wasn’t there to wait for answers, but to have a look of the people I would probably would end up sharing 50% of my time the following two years.

The room was a mixture of different cultures, colors and religions. I had always a multicultural mindset, but never really had to share my time with non-westerns and it would be probably opportunity to learn a little bit more about how people actually are in other places and not through the eyes of media.

I got to know a couple of them and made some friends and others not so much, but my time at school turned to be positive in the following months.

Journal: Mango Cake

Monterrey , January 2014

It was a Friday and my last months of college were beginning at the end of the weekend. After a quite crazy New Year’s vacation at Cancún, I was left with no money, no energy and no excitement for the upcoming months. I landed an internship in a pretty good company, but I wasn’t certain about what I wanted for my career in the future so I didn’t have any strong goals or motivations. I wasn’t able to embrace the idea that I was at that point when you have no choice but to become an independent person and more important stop being a frat boy and become a man.

I smoked a joint and sat at my balcony for hours wondering about where I was going, what I was doing and what I really wanted, nevertheless within my thoughts there were no answers to any of these questions. I was unsure, like many others are in their Senior Year, about whatever is coming after the graduation year. Did I really wanted to stay in Monterrey? Did I was really ready to leave the comfortable life and make hard choices? Not really.

The night arrived, neither with anticipation nor with my restlesness. My new roommate, with whom I really didn’t share anything, insisted to go to our neighbor’s birthdayparty. My neighbor, a wannabe Sheldon Copper with a hard obsession with lifting weights ( those muscual nerds with glasses type), have knowed me for a while by our AOE LAN-Parties and not going will probably be a rude gesture.  I put on a demin shirt and decided to join them, not after a Cuba Libre to handle the social interaction.

His appartment, which was the exact as mine, was packed moslty by drunk exchange students and a couple of our other neighbors, which clearly were there to hunt newly arrived exchange girls. I didn’t blame them, since every one of us in the building had done it for quite a while; all exchange students in our University ended up living there.

I was still high and the alcohol started to kick in, but this time my expectation to something happening (or forcing it to) was non existent. I decided to stay a reasonable time and leave when everybody was busy with everybody.

The party when on and all the friends brought a huge Mango Cake in order to throw it to my neighbor’s face. Since the cake was quite big, 3/4 of it were left behind and everybody in the party was too busy to actually eat them. I decided to grab some of it, as I had a strong munchies already, and go home.

I walked to the kitchen table and when I was about to grab a piece of it, when somebody tapped my shoulder. I turned around and I saw a tall blonde girl with huge blue eyes and a smile that could make the most miserable man in the world smile back. “I think we can take the whole cake and eat it and nobody will notice” – she said in spanish with almost no accent. “I think everybody is too busy trying to eat other things or other ones” – I answered as I grabbed a knife to cut the cake. She was wearing a white shirt with a brown Ralph Lauren Jacket. Her hair was not too long, but not too short and straight. Her face reminded me of a younger version of Jennifer Connely for her role in Virginia. “Do you want some? I think I’ll take a half and you can take the other” – I told her as I looked straight into her ocean blue eyes. “Sure, but we can maybe eat it outside by the stairs without any drunk people stealing it from us” – She said as she started walking on the way to the door. I followed with the whole cake in my hands.

We left the party and went to the upper floor of the building, where we sat down and ate cake and talked about bad horror movies that made us laugh, about that time when she was stuck in Nicaragua, about that time I when I got arrested as a teenager; about those little details who people usually don’t speak. I had never met someone with her name and still I don’t have. She liked the ironic t-shirt i had under my shirt and told me I looked like those nerds kids who try to be cool in highschool. I told she seemed like the person who push the toothpaste by the middle and not by the end. She told me I seemed that guy who always cheats in Wario Stadium in Mario Kart.

It wouldn’t the last time we ate mango cake, neither wouldn’t be the last time we talked until the sun rised, nor the last time I felt a fire in my chest when I kissed her lips.



Journal: Medis

Stockholm, September 2016

My new apartment was located in my favorite island in the Stockholm Archipelago: Södermalm. Apartment Buildings of the beginning of the 20th century, which with the past of time became the hub of the small hipster coffees, start-ups and exotic restaurants. I stood in one of the windows of the last floor of my building starring at the homogenous black roofs that spread in every direction until they  met  the water of lake Mälaren. My student apartment was completely empty, beside a desk, a bed and the empty white walls which reflected the sunlight; I needed new curtains.

I stared through my window, as I still do now, and looked at the people that walked through Götgatan with no idea that I was looking at them as they, one by one, appeared and disappeared in both directions. And old couple, the hipster looking dude pushing his son’s stroller, the gypsy woman picking cans from the trash, the young kids smoking to be cool, the under-paid foodora couriers. I could stare at them, make stories of their lives in my mind and they will disappear from my site one moment after.

University was starting and my morning ritual will be followed, for the rest of my days in this place, with a walk to the Medborgplatsen Metro Station or as the locals called: Medis. From now on I began telling the people I lived near medis which , due to the housing crisis in Stockholm , gave me some kind of privileged status and made ten times easier to convince a girl to go back home with me after the club. I was in love with Södermalm; with Stockholm. I got to finally be a anonymous in a city where nobody really knew who I was or even cared.  Every time I had the chance, I would explore every inch of the island. Every little graffiti bar or café. I ran along the water by day and partied hard during the night at Trädgården.  I walked through Slussen through the crows. I smoke pot and drank beer at Skinnarviksberget. I hooked up with a ballet dancer behind Allhelgonakyrkan. I watched the exhibitions at Fotografiska. I left a stencil under Skanstull bridge

I was a restless tiger and Södermalm was my jungle.

Journal: Days at the hostel

Stockholm, August 2016


I landed in Arlanda around midday. It wasn’t a busy flight and there wasn’t really a lot of people at the airport. I took the shuttle bus to the city struggling with all the luggage I had on me. Before leaving, a good friend put me in contact with another Mexican who was also moving to the city and we reached each other. Neither of us had received an apartment yet so we picked a hostel near the central station and agreed to meet there. Two Mexicans form the north with the same name at the same city in the other side of the world,  what were the odds.

I had not felt the jetlag yet and somehow my excitement to finally moving away becoming a reality gave me energies to keep moving the 42 kg which made my life at the moment around the city. The sky was grey and it wasn’t exactly warm, which didn’t really bother us. The hostel was quite central, maybe just a little too hipster. Victor’s room was full, so they put me in a different room with 3 other persons. I went to the room left the bags and took a shower. I came out of the shower room and a beautiful Icelandic girls entered the room with her two brothers.  We had some small talk before I left. She had long blonde hair, blue eyes and was short and quite fit. She wasn’t able to stop looking at me, later on she confessed that I was the first Mexican she saw in real life and I wasn’t neither fat or had a mustache which made me somehow exotic. Like I hadn’t hear that story a thousands times before in Europe.

Victor and me went for a walk around town and agreed to meet some other newly arrived international students for a festival. I knew a Russian girl whit whom I had contact online before arriving was coming and for her pictures I knew she was hot, making the evening a little more exiting. The festival turned up to be great and we ended up watching Caravan Palace play during the evening. The other students showed up lat and the Russian girl was less friendly and less good looking in person, so I didn’t really bothered to push something.

On the way back to the hostel ,as we crossed Sergelstorg, I came to the realization that what I planned actually was being a reality and that all the time waiting for a change, waiting for something to happen, hopping to try something else besides the usual ; everything was happening at that moment. That every step I walked through Drottningatan made it clearer that my road and plans were consolidating themselves by the mere fact that I was able to walk on this street. I felt I could do it all, that nothing would stop me for moving forward and reaching my goals. Hell, I even thought I could get my ex back.

We went back into the hostel and decided to have a couple of drinks, nobody at the hostels bar seemed really interesting so we called it a night. Back in my room, I managed to make out with the Icelandic girl since her brothers went out and she stayed back. My jetlag was kicking in and she didn’t wanted to have sex and I didn’t push. I moved to my bed and passed out almost immediately. Victor and me spent the  rest of the days at the hostel wondering the city while I made out with the Icelandic girl every time her brothers were away at night. However, we never past third base.

Not long after,  I crashed a swedish friends place for a couple of days more until I got the keys to my own apartment and  I officially became an inhabitant of Stockholm.