A summer rainy afternoon.

We had a plan. To spend the night in a room. It was a time when nothing had sense and we were just fooling around.
-You and your songs.- said her.

-It makes me get into my mood.- I replied.

-Am i not getting into this mood?- And she kissed him. She put her hand on his chest and enjoyed that kiss.

-It’s just a start, just play me around.-

They walked hand in hand through th streets. The afternoon felt so anonymous. Without a name and a debt for a moment, they went together into a place. By that time, they were sharing a new sound device, as we know them as bluetooh earbuds, something fancy. They shared a few musical genes but this afternoon wasn’t starting that good for him.

When I Fall in Love – Ben Webster

The song was starting and they were approaching down in that street, the sky was getting cloudy. The cars were parked randomly. At the end of that street was that -love hotel-. Murakami really screwed me up with that word. I was smiling but there’s no more words for describing. That down tempo were getting me into the mood and I grabbed her hand, she was listening the same as me. In that company, both hearts gets the feeling in both ways, as the piano and the saxo are quite different sounds but their rhythm made harmony to get the door. They registered to the attendant and both sights were accomplices. They were going to have sex. More than that…. they were going to become lovers. They walked to the lift, and a dim yellow light were colouring the scenario. Inside the lift, he pressed her body against his body.

It amazes me by Blossom Dearie was playing along. Her deep breathing was a sign of her desire, His heart was beating. It was pounding like drums, flowing that boiling blood before turning his eyes on hers. That kiss was real. Meant to be given for no one else. It had her name, and for that night becoming timeless, a ninth floor were dinging anouncing a stopped elevator. They were walking like two teenagers, devouring each other. Passion were just an accent, a french accent for every kiss given before entering the door.

-Were you picking up those songs before getting me here?- She asked. While a non intentional “When or where” by Clifford Brown was making a perfect rendez-vous, he smiled, put a finger on her lips. He caressed her face. He grabbed her hand and led her like a slow ball dance. Nothing else matters. They were melting each other while that song ended.

-Would you mind closing the door first?- said her… He was behind her sliding his hands over her waist and her legs. They were a few steps away. When the door closes he turn his head to his left shoulder and she wasn’t there. She was in the bathroom. Her purse was on the bed. Her jacket. Her earbuds were still on.

He got his boot off an got undressed, and put everything to a night table under a dim red light. Those rooms were designed to be eternal. He took a look to the ceiling while “Only Trust your Heart” of Stan Getz and Astrud Gilberto. A ceiling full of mirrors. Dim light. A cold breeze and a leg from the bathroom were just stepping in towards him.



The Roadtrip Way Home

Chapter II: The Old Man

I am a sociopath. Worse… i’m an imploding sociopath and this day was the call for getting the leash out of me. I smile when i think of shovels and axes. It is not against humans. But as for zombies, it’s a different thing. Had to cover myself with black tape and plastic hard cover all over my body. By the very first days of the blackout, i was a bit paranoid, if all diseases were spread by the speed of a sneezing, i didn’t want to spare a chance to get undead.

Where were God? Where wwas all the preparement for the military over here? Unlike the army from other nations, we were quite a joke. We used to be a small country, now without frontiers or any social rule to attach as ctizens, this city is now lost with the screams at the highways and a not-going-the-fuck-away-into-the-woods attitude, First rule for everything, check out everything on your own. A common sense was appliable for any kind of possible dangers, imminent ones,well, not that much. For example, i saw people screaming and running scared. My option? Avoid all open spaces. There’s no escape for a bite but if you’re undercover, i was running between cars, unseen. All kind of feelings that could spoil my location, had to shut them off. When i saw for real a zombie…. it was fascinated… Finally, they’re here. I didn’t wank because, well…. i was in company. I was scared and smiling. My dream come true.

Unfortunely… one thing is to dream, another is to dream for too long. And when you see hordes of zombies, your strength is diminishing at every hack, slash and maim. There’s no stick in your ass to keep going. You get tired, you sneeze, you want to poop. How the fuck do you relax to keep killing if you can’t poop in peace? It sounds funny. I know. But we are complicated multifunctional living beings, we feel, sweat, cry, fall in love and see our family get ripped off their extremities and scream for their lives. See, complicated. Them? Move. Bite. Kill. Move.

Fuck, i gotta go, Been spoiled.

(will be continued…)

A Brief Essay About Time

Time is a dimension of the reality where its phases can be perceived and determined by the conception of philosophy and belief. Perhaps many authors and important figures can allude to different emphasis through science, but in this case, the human conception for time is an allegory for the human thought itself. When is now? When is the past? We can consider that time, has a sort of a scheme to be time itself. We comprehend time as past, present and future, but beyond this structure, time also follows its own steps on every person and to its mind. Now, we consider the everyday as the present, the ongoing set in motion. A present that can recall the past as a part of the present, but it doesn’t happen for the future. Now, the future for the everyday supposes a better view of the present. The everyday comprehend in different scales, a summary of all actions made by us that leads the present, a bit different than the present ongoing. It’s a bit confusing but we can interpret the current present as a consolidated state of time where people can understand its place in time; now the ongoing present consists to go ahead like a pursue of the future. “I will do this for that” The Ongoing present is linked to the term we spoke in the first part. Dedication, determination, a will where the notion of time escapes to another dimension and plan a better space, but this is, merely, a matter of interpretation. For better or worse, time is time, exert of the human meaning and an inherited tool to mold another dimension of reality: space.


Time, as we speak of the present, led many writers to make focus their character to play a role in the current present, not ours but theirs. This can be the past for us, but as for the fictional characters there are representing and living an individual state of time. Time as a conditioning factor for dedication or purpose, gives to the human understanding a dilemma to conceive: “if this is my current present, I still can reach the ongoing present, what can I do to be part or get into eternity?” Now, Eternity is a concept well known in history. Eternity in the time structure, seems to be the last dimensional step. It goes beyond life, person, or space. Flows through the structure as the ultimate state, but eternity seems to flaw as a possible conception because it won’t be lived by any living creature. So Eternity is attached to non-human figures, mythological or divine such as God, but this term, eternity, is always referred from the past. Eternity seems to be an idealization of a time with a meaning. But eternity, can’t be real. In fact time is only a measure, a human attempt to discover the several layers for reality. Now, Eternity as a notion, is a lapse that escapes times itself. Finishing it, but the time structure we can conceive, eternity rolls over to the ongoing present leading to a paradox that eternity sells itself as an ultimate state and a constant; which is the ongoing present. And so, time is a dimension who leaps over itself while we try to make our own time, significant. For what we don’t know the future, we also forget the past, what we know is the present and thus, disappear as the sands.


How we consider the everyday versus the notion of eternity? It will depend under the current present. If we discern this paradoxical dilemma this clash of dimensions will make us struggle under the grasp of doubt. The mere questions are taming our conceptions of reality. When is now? And worse, what if this is eternity already? The everyday merges when we try to understand that eternity is just but a gradient on time for anyone who tells or live a story. Cyclic, as Borges made us see through The Wizard in The Circular Ruins.

Where is the sea driving me, Where halos and the moon draw a cloud of a reality disguised, mixed in memorias. Blur my senses, stirring in smiles and lost sights. Close my eyes, a wink and i’m there. That place were forbidden is its name. It’s another morning but here… It’s a fairies dance. Eons… And tequila.

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The Roadtrip Way Home

Chapter I

For he, who walks with a smile and we left him a world that was better burnt down than full of rotting zombies.

Zombies. Nothing good can come from this word. If i take a look back where the worlds was just… quiet, without a bite, i could say it was marvelous. It’s 2033 by now. These words are by now, my heir for the memories i lived in Caracas and for my partner, my beloved nephew Samu. I saw him born, saw him crawl, saw his childhood so fulfilled and now… he’s taking the first guard at night. Trying to survive another horrifying night. Me? I was the crazy uncle who was playing to be prepared for “something like this” and here we are…

Well, let’s start from the beginning,

Zombies. They changed everything. When we were the pinnacle of the chain food, they infected and twist the whole nature design. Can’t blame nature. But i can’t blame the humans. I only can blame stupidity. It’s 2033 and we survive in Caracas, a city that was pure chaos, between us trying to make money from everything, killing ourselves for anything and now…. surrounded. On the Zombageddon, day i just called it when i was fooling with his parents, told my brother i wished a lot for that day. How naive i was. When you feel threatened, no matter who or what, when you’re not in danger, you make fantasies about what you can deal. And man, i loved zombies. I spent many years of my life thinking how it would be, but the Zombageddon changed everything.

When the people finally could see the first zombie walking around the Francisco Fajardo Av. people thought it was another stoned-drunk guy that didn’t realized he was about to die and nobody would give a fuck. Another dead. It wasn’t a difference in a country with a rate of 40 dead per week. One more, one less… Then he was, a slow step, one after another. His head was moving slow and looking up, His eyes were turning grey. Two days dead or… two days from a hell of a party. Seemed dormant, Seemed defenseless. How innocent. The highway was getting crowded, in a rush hour early in the morning when the first zombie was hitting the road. The first witness was the first stupid guy to yell him out. -Hey, get the fuck out of the higway! Your ass isn’t going to pay me the car insurance-, the guy, was looking up, a light that was getting hidden between rainy clouds and he turned to him. The guy in the car was looking at him. -He won’t move, this motherfu…- The zombie stared at him, his jaw open wide and an alarming amount of blood were dropping down his dragged clothes. He screamed. He screamed so loud that the guy in the car grabbed the wheel, his spine chilled and a natural WTF? came instantly from his lips. The zombie started to run straight at him and started to hit the car. The guy was in shock, put down the doors safe but the zombie get closer and closer. His legs were moving fast then slow… Standing in fron of the driver’s windows, his eyes were grey, out of the living, his jaw were full of blood, out of any hope. He got up both arms and started hitting the glass with such a force like his first scream. One, two and three hits against the glass were shattering slowly the glass.

The people around were closing their doors and watching the whole scene. -Look, mom, look- All people around were scared to death. We could handle a robbery with a handgun. It was normal. But a dead man, just like that?! The rest was chaos in seconds.A family tried to escape from the road and hit the back of the car. The guy felt his clod sweat behind his back while the glass was shattering badly, another car hit him from the left trying to hit the zombie but it only helped to break the glass. There was no dramatic timing while the zombie hitted it once more. The window broke and the guy was being devoured. First, his arm, trying to defend himself, then there was no hope, the zombie was getting inside the window to finish the rest of the feast. Outside people could stare the frightening scene while his neck was getting ripped by ferocious bites. Something that was never seen. Minutes later, the zombie was with a stripe of what it seems to be a vocal chord waving against the wind.

Chaos. Blood. And four hours later, Caracas fell down into the first dangerous blackout. Nobody knew a simple news from anyone excerpt from something at the highway.

I don’t know how’s the world outside since that blackout occured three years ago. But from that moment. We knew we were alone. The world was going down to a bite and we have our share of horror.


Mientras escribo unas breves lineas que salieron de su perfume en el viento, degusto un helado. La mejor bala destinada para distraerme de su recuerdo. Confieso aquí que esta semana ha sido enteramente de ella. He perseguido a dos mujeres sin que se den cuenta tan solo por el cruel motivo de llevar un perfume.

Un perfume tan atado a sus recuerdos, imbuidos en magia y dolor.

Y no me arrepiento de haberla conocido.

Me arrepiento de nunca revelar que sucedió después que pasó. Pero a quien le interesa cómo se muere y cómo se vuelve a erigir un corazón. He levantado poco a poco y paso a paso mis pasos. Es su mirada. Dura, Intensa y eterna. Y solo recuerdo como era su brillo al mirarme. No pasa un sencillo día sin pensar en ella. Sin perdonar. Sin dejar ir las cosas. Pues a juzgar como soy, la superficialidad nunca fue de mí gusto y catar recuerdos exquisitos se vuelve tan espontaneo como desear un pez fugu por la mañana. Rio. Callo. Muero cada día y renazco a cada paso de esas nubes decorando un cielo, pliego de esperanza y letal pagina del destino.

Vendería, si existiese, mi alma por volverla a ver.

Y al verla: matarla.