I keep moving
Not to understand
Why I'm going.

I keep moving
To be moving
To change landscapes.

To smell is not a choice,
But to select what is good
And what is not:
That is an option!

Whenever I'm remembered
I'm forgotten in fact.
What I am remembered for
Are my outter world,
My shell with its impressions,
I'm remembered for my image,
Nothing more.

All I can be to others
Are visions, icons,
Messages,
All encoded complexly,
A sign not to be understood
For thinking about it
Is to be farther,
To gain distance.

Whenever my name is said
It shuts the voice
Encapsuled by my body,
And whatever I say
It's not me anymore
For my words have not
Ten percent of the real meaning
I intended them to be:
They lack colors,
Texture, roughness, softness:
They are digital and plain.
We're more, multi dimensional.

Whenever I'm recognized
For some work or accomplishment
It's just the manifestation
Of my inability to be authentic.
He who sees himself in anything mine
Steals my bits of identity.

There's no fame
But in anonymity.

The world expands irreversibly
With every new event
Thus, the only way feasible
Is into the unbounded
possibilities of the future.

Between you and me
There's this layer,
This crust that avoids
The real me to fuse with
The real you.

How thick I am?
The exact distance
In foots and thoughts
We're apart.

But there are bits of me
That will never belong to me:
My eyes hold visions
That are no more than borrowed;
My nose grasp the world's souls
In the form of smells -  
A permission of use.

I am just a part of me,
I have my body, with a mind,
A strength and a reach,
But I also have my thickness
And my image captured
Through others' eyes,
My reflex in mirrors,
Shells that represent me,
My very own brand logo,
Glued and stuck
Without any consent.

We grow new layers of skin
Only to realize the more covered we are
Farther we are to those bits of ourselves
That do not belong to us.

To be thick is to mutilate ourselves.

A chromatic beauty
Composed into a complexity
That can only be heard
By simple ears.

The only way to express
The lightness of a tormented soul.

To have a choice
Is to distinguish,
To have appearances revealed,
To create position and assertion,
Is to judge and differentiate.

Choice comes from
Our miserly characters,
The aim for individuality
In a discriminatory way.

Choices are all but rational,
And in all of them lie
A contradiction within,
Born in our own will
To justify, and all fall apart.

In universe and nature
Holds no choice.
It is as human as bombs,
Computers, medicine:
Never good, never bad,
Just things that at a moment
Start to exist.

Even though choices are never material,
They're still real

To live is to be proven
Again and again
About our consistency,
Our mechanisms.
But to be unscathed
Is to remain over time.

Every inch of growth
Comes from millions millimeters of inadequateness
Over parts of our body
Unaware to our nerves.

The same growth and changes
Are dying symptoms
But nevertheless symptoms of life.
Changes are cause and effect of living,.

There is no memory
In being unscathed,
There is no construction
In morosity,
There is no adaptation
In nihilism.

Never be where you are
Is to extrapolate life,
Is to neglect the absurdity of it,
Is to embrace riot to the nonsense,
Is to give meaning and spit it,
Move, ****, move,
And you'll die living too much,
But it's the only thing worth
Dying for.