Wolf's Out

Category: Journal

The unseen truth

Monterrey, March 2010

Through life people tend to focus on the way things are near to them, they go forward through life without noticing the crude reality that surrounds them as if they were horses with blinders following what the carriage’s tells them to follow and so was I living my life without mayor worries or any serious problems, being ignorant and deaf to all the buzz that blasted the news and social media. I was focused, as many others are, in scoring a good time with the girls at the club or getting fucked up at some frat party, but really comes silently close to you until it is to obvious to ignore it, but deep down you knew it was always there.

It was a late and the after party was not good enough. My throat was dry and the booze was running out, plus the pretty brunette I spend my whole night speaking to will not give me more than a kiss, which was disappointed after the time spend in the after party of her yuppie friend; it was time to call it a night. My car was parked a couple of blocks aways and the idea of an early morning walk seemed to be plausible to my drunk self. The sky was still dark as I left the apartment complex and make my way into the main street, which was completely silent despite a few dying distant barks of some dogs far aways and the dance of the leaves touched by the dawn’s breeze. I kept walking along the sidewalk, not really thinking about anything, not really caring about anything, because my consciousnesses drifted m due to lack of sleep. My state temporarily killed my relentless state of mind as a weekend routine to forget to ask myself the questions of who I was or what I was doing, because the answers were vague and confusing as my interactions with the world.

I walked a block more, when within the streets I saw a black jeep with polarized windows and two suspicious looking guys smoking cigarettes in front of an old abandoned building giving me the chills, therefore I ignore them and kept walking as the fool I was. One of the guys turned around and saw me.

– Hey man, can you come here and help us with something? – Said the guy. I looked at him. He was wearing a long oversized white shirt with some trashy pattern, black baggy pants, Jordan’s and a white new era Yankees cap or the “homie i’m here to rob you” look. -Sorry man, I’m in a hurry, need to get home soon. – I replied while speeding my pace. The guy started to get close to me and said something else, but inside I was panicking and I started to run. Two blocks ahead there was a police control and I would be safe ( or so I thought), so I push myself to run with no hesitation. My head was not dizzy anymore as the adrenaline rushed through my body when I ran pass the next block. For an instance I felt it was over, but the black van passed by my side and stopped in front of me. The guy from before got down and pointed at me saying – I told you to come here motherfucker – He didn’t show me any knife or gun, thus I turned around and made a run for it again.

All the violence and criminality that I heard of was for the first time clearly visible to me and as I ran trying to stop any passing vehicle to help me as the jeep turned around made more sense and it felt more real by the minute. Eventually a clueless taxi driver stopped and I got into the cab and told him to drive to the university, which was pretty close by and there were constant college police in the area. Once more I felt I was escaping, just to be crushed of thar illusion as the jeep approach the cab and through the window they guys screamed to the driver – Stop if you want no trouble, we want that motherfucker- The driver without hesitation stopped the vehicle and opened the door locks without even looking at me. – Man just drive, the police is not far away please.- I begged him as I saw the guy and another of his mates get down of the jeep to approach me. The old taxi driver looked at me through the rear view, his eyes were distant and I could see that he did feel sorry for me, but I understood why he would not risk his own skin for a random guy at dawn. – Sorry mate, I can’t risk any trouble- He replied making my fear grow even more. Still I wouldn’t just give up, despite my fear I knew that letting them take me wouldn’t end in any good way and why not risk all to avoid the uncertainty of even death? Why would I not just fight to the last minute? I knew the answer with certainty as they approached to the taxi, so I push opened the door with all my might and hit one of the thugs and for one last time I choose to run. A couple of meters beyond stand the guard office of an apartment building and for my luck the guard was outside having a smoke. I ran in front of him and screamed -Let me inside and call the police its an emergency!- He looked at me confused but let me in and I closed the door behind me to the thugs. The guard was my fucking savior or more specifically his need of nicotine. Thanks Marlboro.

The guard called the police, but the thugs tried a couple of times to convince to open the door saying that I was a robber and they were taking me to the police, but the guard looked at me and made a quite obvious conclusion. Eventually they left and the police arrived. The case was not solved until one day the city attorney’s office called me to state that jeep was found with bullet holes down the river, apparently a bigger fish took over.

For a long time I couldn’t really walk without watching my back, because I accepted the reality I was living in and that ignoring that things are going good in order to normalize life is not possible. Things could have been worst, but they didn’t and I ran with luck not like many others in the war on drugs.


The meeting room’s window

Stockholm, September 2018

I’m sitting in a meeting room, wearing a dark blue suit with a white shirt without a tie. Actions plans are discussed, a budget plan is proposed and a connection with our international partners is made. My colleagues speak and even though I am listening, my view is lost in one of the big windows. We are sitting in one of the tallest buildings of the city (which if you compre it to any industrial city is not that tall) in one of the upper floors and due to the flatness of the skyline and the lack of ugly glass skyscrapers I am able to see how the city spreads with its black roofs through the islands that and beyond them the archipiélago  seems not to end in the distance.

A plan is made, a critical path is analysed, someone is worried about the deadlines, the schedule is changed, their voices fade as my sight is lost between the boats sailing, the blue trains going back and forth in between the islands, and the people that look like little dots. I’m sitting here, but I am not really here. I have pursued to be here, but a side of thought of be somewhere.

I comment, collaborate, propose and discuss, yet I am a preconceived version of myself. The water reflects the white clouds and the birds fly down and up the water hunting for distracted fishes, while a part of my consciusness flies with them, away from what I call my life, away from who I am supposed to be.

Hands are shaken, roles are proposed, and everybody leaves the meeting room. As I walk through the corridor I look once again into the distance behind the glass window. I’m here but I am also there, because that is how I have always been, nowhere.

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 it 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 snored two lines of good peruvian coke. 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 expressionless , 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 I cannot move and you keep laughing and suddenly the wagon is full of confetti 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; fast and by surprise. 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 always by myself. 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 next 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.

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.

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.

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.


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.

Who drinks at Björnsträdgården?

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.

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.