lima-mala-lima

siempre más

in the beginning it was us (part four)

at the apex of the fifth season, the city never wakes before opening its skies in purple sheets, dawn is another reason to further. down the blinds, off the lights. in the middle of summer her rotten corpse comes afloat, the ice pleads guilty, your tongue becomes a whip, studded stars expecting the rise and fall of robots. as if change was inevitable, but not for us, not for her, not for you. the guards fasten the gate with concrete bars, access is denied to all members, regardless of the color of their skin. the music is beautiful, steel and rain playing against ceramic buildings, government officials piled on the desk, their mangled bodies full of scars and light. the accidents never seemed so genuine, the sun never seemed so far, and so close, at the same time.

do not feed the animals

huaca-letts

un poquito aunque sea

la prensa, que tal lujo...

la condición de la raza humana en el siglo 21

más

más

más

más



demasiado.

pre-criatura

marin headlands

choquequirao 2

my head

the road to iquicha

because it doesn’t matter how many times, it’s still worth it.

that under the appropriate circumstances, you’ll come back, and we’ll figure out a way to redistribute the food evenly without offending anyone, list all the possible outcomes that can be achieved by turning off the tv, draw the shape of the wind on the yielding sand, solve the inequities inherent to the form

rescue the fallen from the trenches.

lather your body with rosemary and cumin, a little basil, and the magnitude of our failure when held to the light.

the road to iquicha is steep, the words crumble into the crevices

they leave empty spaces behind, for some people to belong

as pregnant to the world.

thai love

chinchao

stop

why am i doing this?

hay algo inherentemente vanidoso en este tipo de empresas.

¿cómo discernir?

veritas: un amor profundo.
my son is a thinker = mom: la arrogancia.
i don’t think i’m going to make it = me: la realidad.

why am i doing this?


in the beginning it was us.

grande maria jose

choquequirao, inna mariel style

in the beginning it was us (part three)

i am so tired, and i feel so small, that i could even fit into this body without having to complain about traffic, or the lack of avenues wide enough to hold entire families of breath.