The dragon appears above the Popocatepetl. The fight begins. The volcano observes the battle and its lights flash in awe. The pearl swiftly slides behind his white cape and attempts to escape but the dragon then devours it and I, taking this walk, remember my grandfathers fables. Should I cry or hold it back? When I turn right at the next corner, the pearl, triumphantly shines over the sky and the cape is back in place with a light gesture of the wind.
J-Lopez (dario mariategui)
san diego
05.16.2010
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Composite Syllogism
Men worthy of faith say that men worthy of faith no longer exist but, Allah is more, or Yahweh, or Jupiter if he’s still around. But, how to believe them? There will be no more sacred rivers for absolutions, only rivers. There will be no need to reach the mountaintop.
If the indeclinable faith has died, we will see, a very shy death of priests, pupils and preachers and then we will be forced to substitute faith with god cemeteries or with the truth which will allow us to be free. Engineers will move mountains and then we will have to initiate ourselves in the faith of denying it all.
J-Lopez (dario mariategui)
san diego
05.16.2010
If the indeclinable faith has died, we will see, a very shy death of priests, pupils and preachers and then we will be forced to substitute faith with god cemeteries or with the truth which will allow us to be free. Engineers will move mountains and then we will have to initiate ourselves in the faith of denying it all.
J-Lopez (dario mariategui)
san diego
05.16.2010
Carpe Diem
He stood at the top of the cliff, “On the last day of the year”, those salty words touched every part of his tongue. The rocks below sounded happy at the end of the abyss.
The calls, the messages, the texts, leaving almost announced. The buses that run and stop at the next avenue, his maroon suede shoes hidden behind the filth of the street, his body spread across the green grass, the old park, his mother crying over the phone begging a never-ending “Don’t Leave”. None of this could hold him back any longer.
The long way down and his soul became one in unified sound and sentiment. “I feel my soul flies. I feel it go,” he says senselessly; “I feel I’m flying. Today, on the last day of the year, the day is mine. Only mine.”
The people on the streets, the music dancing from party to party, and the bottle rockets; blessed rockets, don’t matter. The day is mine.
J-Lopez. (dario mariategui)
San Diego
05.16.2010
The calls, the messages, the texts, leaving almost announced. The buses that run and stop at the next avenue, his maroon suede shoes hidden behind the filth of the street, his body spread across the green grass, the old park, his mother crying over the phone begging a never-ending “Don’t Leave”. None of this could hold him back any longer.
The long way down and his soul became one in unified sound and sentiment. “I feel my soul flies. I feel it go,” he says senselessly; “I feel I’m flying. Today, on the last day of the year, the day is mine. Only mine.”
The people on the streets, the music dancing from party to party, and the bottle rockets; blessed rockets, don’t matter. The day is mine.
J-Lopez. (dario mariategui)
San Diego
05.16.2010
Friday, May 14, 2010
Write About Me...
Write something about me. I don’t care what as long as it’s from you. I will not pay attention to your style or prose. I could care less whether you turn me in to a vile and common character or if I’m a badly made-up woman with fishnet stockings, albeit a little torn, with disproportionate breasts that carries the same yellow bag and never shaves her legs evenly reeking of cheap perfume. Or, just write thinking about me as if I were your goddess, your muse, your fetish hanging up on the wall. Imagine the glory of grazing my lips with your eyes closed and to know yourself to be slightly agitated with the excitement I provoke. Make it your mission to care for me for the rest of our lives. I want you to feel my resting exhale every night. Be my charming guardian angel and dress yourself in white in order not to draw attention to ourselves. Whisper an old story in my ear and stare, like an idiot, at me sleeping without wanting to make the slightest sound. Tend to my dreams. Don’t allow the beings under my bed to torment me...be my faithful slave. Ask yourself who is your happiness and then answer: “you”. Swear and vow yourself to never lose me and be with me until death do us part as those who marry tell each other. Be capable of murdering yourself and suiciding me at the same time, all for me. Make yourself a utopia and find it in my arms. Be mine. If you don’t want to, it’s fine. At least write about me. Write for me. Write thinking about me.
The train took longer than usual. I have a few of your writings. Too late; all I have left, now, is to give my pleas and supplications to a cold, gray tomb. I do, however, keep your writings…for you.
J-Lopez ( Dario Mariategui)
San Diego
05.14.2010
The train took longer than usual. I have a few of your writings. Too late; all I have left, now, is to give my pleas and supplications to a cold, gray tomb. I do, however, keep your writings…for you.
J-Lopez ( Dario Mariategui)
San Diego
05.14.2010
The Cigarette
He lit a cigarette, exhaled the dense smoke and wept a few tears. He never knew if the tears were caused by rage or by the cigarette smoke since, the wind blowing it in his face, fell directly in his eyes.
He stared at a dog with a unique fixation.
The dog played with a dove that, it seems, was too stupid to fly away even upon being aware of the risk of being near the dog’s legs.
The man finished his filthy cancer stick and tossed it towards the dove in hopes it would fly away. Without knowing the full extent of his actions he walked towards the park’s flower shop. He bought a small bouquet and annexed a card that simply read:
“I’m sorry”.
J-Lopez (Dario Mariategui)
San Diego
05.14.2010
He stared at a dog with a unique fixation.
The dog played with a dove that, it seems, was too stupid to fly away even upon being aware of the risk of being near the dog’s legs.
The man finished his filthy cancer stick and tossed it towards the dove in hopes it would fly away. Without knowing the full extent of his actions he walked towards the park’s flower shop. He bought a small bouquet and annexed a card that simply read:
“I’m sorry”.
J-Lopez (Dario Mariategui)
San Diego
05.14.2010
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Pinocchio and Jesus
Both were first borns
Both were sons of a carpenter
Both were sons of an old man
Both were sons of a pater putativus
Both listened to their conscience
Both had perforated extremities
Both were manipulated by invisible strings
Both had a fairy or spirit that enlightened them
Both were driven towards sin
Both, in the end, refused to be dominated by evil
Both played with children
3.28.2010, Prague, Czech Republic
Both were sons of a carpenter
Both were sons of an old man
Both were sons of a pater putativus
Both listened to their conscience
Both had perforated extremities
Both were manipulated by invisible strings
Both had a fairy or spirit that enlightened them
Both were driven towards sin
Both, in the end, refused to be dominated by evil
Both played with children
3.28.2010, Prague, Czech Republic
freedom of speech.
My grandfather tended to express his malaise about the rising price in maize and beans through minuscule, muffled, mumbles. Once in a while the paper that was distributed all throughout the city would come to rest in his hands but he was unable to read it like millions of illiterate Mexicans.
He visited the most prolific circle of political analysis known to man in his time: the barbershop. The barber was master of scissor and comb; a connoisseur and propagator of renovating ideas. The barbershop was the center of the political and cultural universe. And, like hair, ignorance fell from my grandfather’s head (and off every man) only to reappear once again with the passing of time as he exited the barbershop and walked into reality.
Times are so different. Now, I don’t wish to talk about myself but I must. I admit that I find a bit of amusement about the many ways and styles that exist in this country to tell the President to go “fuck himself”.
J-Lopez (Dario Mariategui)
Prague, Czech Republic
3.28.2010
He visited the most prolific circle of political analysis known to man in his time: the barbershop. The barber was master of scissor and comb; a connoisseur and propagator of renovating ideas. The barbershop was the center of the political and cultural universe. And, like hair, ignorance fell from my grandfather’s head (and off every man) only to reappear once again with the passing of time as he exited the barbershop and walked into reality.
Times are so different. Now, I don’t wish to talk about myself but I must. I admit that I find a bit of amusement about the many ways and styles that exist in this country to tell the President to go “fuck himself”.
J-Lopez (Dario Mariategui)
Prague, Czech Republic
3.28.2010
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Ava lived this way. Ava died this way.
Ava saluted death with a somber smile and together they parted while the sun still smiled softly on a summer afternoon.
The Reaper, for the first time in history, was not cloaked in torn dark garments. No sickle in her hand. Together, Ava and the reaper seemed like two good friends embarking on an eternal adventure. One wore a black cocktail dress and the other a hospital gown buttoned to the knees.
This way she lived. This way she died.
She, the spark of the neighborhood and as happy as the flirtatious clouds that draw shapeless objects in the sky. Without a destiny, enjoying every moment and without looking forward as those who have blind faith in promise.
Ava lived free.
She owned the wind and the rain. The sky was the roof over her head and the mountains the walls crowned with stars that invited her to walk unknown paths. Every home was her home. Wherever she arrive she stayed. All of the open spaces cherished her joy, a joy that inundated the atmosphere like the warm smell a cup of coffee.
Ava lived this way. Ava died this way.
J-Lopez (Dario Mariategui)
Prague, Czech Republic
3.26.2010
The Reaper, for the first time in history, was not cloaked in torn dark garments. No sickle in her hand. Together, Ava and the reaper seemed like two good friends embarking on an eternal adventure. One wore a black cocktail dress and the other a hospital gown buttoned to the knees.
This way she lived. This way she died.
She, the spark of the neighborhood and as happy as the flirtatious clouds that draw shapeless objects in the sky. Without a destiny, enjoying every moment and without looking forward as those who have blind faith in promise.
Ava lived free.
She owned the wind and the rain. The sky was the roof over her head and the mountains the walls crowned with stars that invited her to walk unknown paths. Every home was her home. Wherever she arrive she stayed. All of the open spaces cherished her joy, a joy that inundated the atmosphere like the warm smell a cup of coffee.
Ava lived this way. Ava died this way.
J-Lopez (Dario Mariategui)
Prague, Czech Republic
3.26.2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Out of Boredom...
We search for our eyes to cry, to hold our tears up there,
in the starving arms of our ghosts.
We look for the origins of light, during the day, to cry...and in our fleshly
memory reminisce.
We appreciate our bones, death seated next to us, to cry...
And he hide our voice, every night because we carry our own disgrace.
We hide our gaze under the wings of stones...
And we breathe easier than the mills of heaven...we are afraid.
Our body rips in silence
Like the skeleton in the anniversary of its death
It is to cry that we search the words of the heart
In the pit of the winds that pump in our chest
In the miracle of the breeze, full of our words
Death is screwed on life
The stars back away into infinity and the ships of the sea
The voices fade to black towards nothingness
Faces distance themselves in the forest of my nostalgia
And when the emptyness is empty under the irreparable aspect
The wind opens the eyes of the blind, only to cry...to cry...
No one comprehends our symbols, our gestures of love
No one understands the caged dove in our words
Dove of clouds and night
From cloud to cloud, from night to night
We hold at the door the long awaited the return of your eyes
We look into that hole, where those who are unborn move and dance...
That hole where the stare of the blind remain stable
It's to be able to cry, it's to be able to cry
because the tears must rain over the cheeks of the afternoon...
It is to cry that this life is so short
It is to cry that this life is so long...
J-Lopez...
in the starving arms of our ghosts.
We look for the origins of light, during the day, to cry...and in our fleshly
memory reminisce.
We appreciate our bones, death seated next to us, to cry...
And he hide our voice, every night because we carry our own disgrace.
We hide our gaze under the wings of stones...
And we breathe easier than the mills of heaven...we are afraid.
Our body rips in silence
Like the skeleton in the anniversary of its death
It is to cry that we search the words of the heart
In the pit of the winds that pump in our chest
In the miracle of the breeze, full of our words
Death is screwed on life
The stars back away into infinity and the ships of the sea
The voices fade to black towards nothingness
Faces distance themselves in the forest of my nostalgia
And when the emptyness is empty under the irreparable aspect
The wind opens the eyes of the blind, only to cry...to cry...
No one comprehends our symbols, our gestures of love
No one understands the caged dove in our words
Dove of clouds and night
From cloud to cloud, from night to night
We hold at the door the long awaited the return of your eyes
We look into that hole, where those who are unborn move and dance...
That hole where the stare of the blind remain stable
It's to be able to cry, it's to be able to cry
because the tears must rain over the cheeks of the afternoon...
It is to cry that this life is so short
It is to cry that this life is so long...
J-Lopez...
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Mestizo
The holidays are dreadful. He can’t stand the humid stench of the home of her parents, the cold and pale light of their den, nor the inevitable fruit cake on Christmas Eve. She hated his parents’ vegetarian menu and the pounding of his brothers’ and sisters’ shoes while dancing on the wooden platform of their back yard every New Years Eve. Both families contemplated with disdain: “what hybrid monsters will this couple, against all of nature’s laws, give birth if they are of centaur and mermaid?”
J-Lopez(Dario Mariategui)
Tijuana
1.7.10
J-Lopez(Dario Mariategui)
Tijuana
1.7.10
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Underwater Voices
He began to lose touch with everything that was real. Around him was nothing, everything remained still.
An inexplicable sense of peace filled the place. How he got there a total mystery. All he knew was that it was a beautiful sensation.
Suddenly he heard voices, voices that seemed to be underwater, muffled, far away. Please…don’t go… It was her voice. He could not mistake it. He then began to feel an unstoppable buzzing in his head and felt vibrations all over his body. His eyes became milky white and everything blurred. He did not want to leave nor go back to the world he used to live in; he never made such a great effort to live.
His body called out to him but there was no turning back. He felt like a ship sailing a deep black sea where his sorrows rained down incessantly, his weaknesses became gigantic waves, and his fears strong winds intended on sinking his vessel.
By leaving no one would ever be able to bother him. They would all wait for a response but they knew it wouldn’t come.
We’re losing him, he could hear a watery voice say.
What would people think now if he opened his eyes? He would have wanted people to understand him, that he was passing through a portal where all of his dreams oscillated between the real and the illusory as he waited to cross the bridge of death. He hoped his mind would make a decision so that he could take the next step.
I love you…, he heard her say. Those three words bounced around his brain, shook his body, and froze his soul causing an effect he was not prepared for. Now he missed her, his wife, and being with her was the only thing keeping him alive. He missed her smile, her green eyes, her dark brown hair covering her velvet shoulders, the ethereal embrace of her slender arms, and the glorious touch of her full lips.
It was too late. There was nothing that could be done. He then felt an icy hand drag him out of the room where the voices became harder and harder to hear.
J-Lopez (Dario Mariategui)
San Diego
1.6.10
An inexplicable sense of peace filled the place. How he got there a total mystery. All he knew was that it was a beautiful sensation.
Suddenly he heard voices, voices that seemed to be underwater, muffled, far away. Please…don’t go… It was her voice. He could not mistake it. He then began to feel an unstoppable buzzing in his head and felt vibrations all over his body. His eyes became milky white and everything blurred. He did not want to leave nor go back to the world he used to live in; he never made such a great effort to live.
His body called out to him but there was no turning back. He felt like a ship sailing a deep black sea where his sorrows rained down incessantly, his weaknesses became gigantic waves, and his fears strong winds intended on sinking his vessel.
By leaving no one would ever be able to bother him. They would all wait for a response but they knew it wouldn’t come.
We’re losing him, he could hear a watery voice say.
What would people think now if he opened his eyes? He would have wanted people to understand him, that he was passing through a portal where all of his dreams oscillated between the real and the illusory as he waited to cross the bridge of death. He hoped his mind would make a decision so that he could take the next step.
I love you…, he heard her say. Those three words bounced around his brain, shook his body, and froze his soul causing an effect he was not prepared for. Now he missed her, his wife, and being with her was the only thing keeping him alive. He missed her smile, her green eyes, her dark brown hair covering her velvet shoulders, the ethereal embrace of her slender arms, and the glorious touch of her full lips.
It was too late. There was nothing that could be done. He then felt an icy hand drag him out of the room where the voices became harder and harder to hear.
J-Lopez (Dario Mariategui)
San Diego
1.6.10
Monday, January 4, 2010
Moonshine
…I want to know where you are so I may know where to go…those were the only words that I pretended clothe my reasons and have them guide the solitary steps of my feet; and without having realized I had reached that point. I had come to proverbial crossroad in life, the one you stand on the edge of. On one side you see the water that runs smooth and sometimes tumultuous and violent and on the other a slightly perceptible and unknown road, aimless, with multiple textures and movements.
I feel my frozen feet and the torrent of water splashes on me, it stirs my fears and dampens the wounds suffered along the way. It is easy to submerge oneself in it and to fuse with its molecules. However, the dying light of the road steals me away from the hypnotizing coming and going of the stream.
This road is as lonely as the void that has nested in my eyes but the light that pierces it comes from the moon above, a lost flash of the pure and unknown enigma that implies the whole spirit of celestial body.
…and in a delicate whisper, nameless, it makes me walk…one…two…three..four steps to soothe me under the warmth of its magic so as to allow me to perceive the totality of my senses. In celestial worship every pore of my skin breathes on its own, every cell and drop of blood move in complete harmony until they have reached the infinite and unknown space of the universe. I don’t need any sort of clothes to feel protected but the climax of this supreme freedom and beauty is temporary and once again leaves this lonely road in darkness and earthly uncertainty…
I’m not too far. I can still run and dive into the water but my soul yearns for that moon beam that keeps my hopes alive and I know that if I stay I will be withering away the body that envelops my reason and my spirit would be so free that I can partake of its intensity. How many strings pull at my toes and hands and feet? Perhaps that is why I’m cold, because I have failed to visualize and desire the fire that shall consume me in a single breath, in an instant and in a flash…
J-Lopez (Dario Mariategui)
San Diego
1.4.10
I feel my frozen feet and the torrent of water splashes on me, it stirs my fears and dampens the wounds suffered along the way. It is easy to submerge oneself in it and to fuse with its molecules. However, the dying light of the road steals me away from the hypnotizing coming and going of the stream.
This road is as lonely as the void that has nested in my eyes but the light that pierces it comes from the moon above, a lost flash of the pure and unknown enigma that implies the whole spirit of celestial body.
…and in a delicate whisper, nameless, it makes me walk…one…two…three..four steps to soothe me under the warmth of its magic so as to allow me to perceive the totality of my senses. In celestial worship every pore of my skin breathes on its own, every cell and drop of blood move in complete harmony until they have reached the infinite and unknown space of the universe. I don’t need any sort of clothes to feel protected but the climax of this supreme freedom and beauty is temporary and once again leaves this lonely road in darkness and earthly uncertainty…
I’m not too far. I can still run and dive into the water but my soul yearns for that moon beam that keeps my hopes alive and I know that if I stay I will be withering away the body that envelops my reason and my spirit would be so free that I can partake of its intensity. How many strings pull at my toes and hands and feet? Perhaps that is why I’m cold, because I have failed to visualize and desire the fire that shall consume me in a single breath, in an instant and in a flash…
J-Lopez (Dario Mariategui)
San Diego
1.4.10
Saturday, January 2, 2010
To Roam the Desert
He had always wanted to be human. His search led him to a mortal to which he would commend the whole universe. Perhaps his inexplicable indifference to bear the weight of the heavens had now made him a castaway on earth.
He walked for forty days, in what he feared to be a circular trajectory, until he found himself at a maze of water to submerge himself in. The horizon told him there was no end in sight. Still, he had to find the man he had wished to be. Perhaps the fluttering of the wings of a butterfly had brought upon him that hurricane leaving him shipwrecked and unconscious. That night he awoke in a fortress of stone.
They will think I’m insane, a liar, he thought but he could bare it no more and upon raising his voice he let out words into the air that captivated the citizens’ curiosity. They gave him ink and paper to drown his insanity. However, his words reached the whole world.
It will exceed fantasy until it becomes absurd, he thought again. Soon enough they called upon him, orientated him, and gave him supplies and advise on conquering the desert, that place sought out by so many religious leaders as something not to escape, but as a place to find themselves.
He spent about a century or more wandering the wilderness and all its abstract essence, chimerical horizons, and infinite skies. He had gone past the threshold of which he had been warned where, in the deepness of the desert, time is nothing more but an attempt to make death short and the waiting long while fusing together present, past, and future in a single breath.
Having heeded that advice he roamed the emptiness without finding what he sought to find. He lay tired and skeptical, perhaps disappointed. The desert waited for another anxious wanderer.
J-Lopez (Dario Mariategui)
San Diego
1.2.10
He walked for forty days, in what he feared to be a circular trajectory, until he found himself at a maze of water to submerge himself in. The horizon told him there was no end in sight. Still, he had to find the man he had wished to be. Perhaps the fluttering of the wings of a butterfly had brought upon him that hurricane leaving him shipwrecked and unconscious. That night he awoke in a fortress of stone.
They will think I’m insane, a liar, he thought but he could bare it no more and upon raising his voice he let out words into the air that captivated the citizens’ curiosity. They gave him ink and paper to drown his insanity. However, his words reached the whole world.
It will exceed fantasy until it becomes absurd, he thought again. Soon enough they called upon him, orientated him, and gave him supplies and advise on conquering the desert, that place sought out by so many religious leaders as something not to escape, but as a place to find themselves.
He spent about a century or more wandering the wilderness and all its abstract essence, chimerical horizons, and infinite skies. He had gone past the threshold of which he had been warned where, in the deepness of the desert, time is nothing more but an attempt to make death short and the waiting long while fusing together present, past, and future in a single breath.
Having heeded that advice he roamed the emptiness without finding what he sought to find. He lay tired and skeptical, perhaps disappointed. The desert waited for another anxious wanderer.
J-Lopez (Dario Mariategui)
San Diego
1.2.10
Echos are liars...
At first you will not them to be very happy; that seems to be everyone’s impression. Soon you will see that they share the same faces, the same dialogues. It’s quite unnerving, the constant repetition, but remember that you are buried in a valley, surrounded by mountains and paths that allow the echo to propagate itself and you may lose yourself in the intense heat.
In time, it will all make sense. It’s difficult to conform to the idea that no one is alive and that this place is far too dead. But for a while now the living have lived as if they would never die and that is why they are so hard to find. Even harder now that they devour themselves.
The echos are liars…iars…iars…
J-Lopez (Dario Mariategui)
San Diego
1.2.10
In time, it will all make sense. It’s difficult to conform to the idea that no one is alive and that this place is far too dead. But for a while now the living have lived as if they would never die and that is why they are so hard to find. Even harder now that they devour themselves.
The echos are liars…iars…iars…
J-Lopez (Dario Mariategui)
San Diego
1.2.10
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