A Cartoon

"Before, the drums and the screams anticipating the arrival of the swords, the fire and the death. Today, the screams of anger of stupidity, and after the slaughter, the explanation of the injustifiable. It's not even a matter of revenge: just ambition and the aspiration of the others to be one of them, however, their frustration will not allow them to stop being true slaves. Mournfully, the murdered are free now, and their memory will be emancipated when the truth in the rest of the years of the humanity, be in everyone, visible. And it will be unbearable for them, the accomplices, the servants.  The day after give the memory. I think of her body and also the name to which I support everything, in time. In past, in present and in future... in dreams. Because this time is not the way but it is reality. So, the fantasy ended when I told her to leave me alone. And I'm alone now. Finally.  With a little of tequila, Megadeth in symphony and anger at impotence. There are many things disconnected and I lost my dreams and the real inspiration. She is happy with this reality, despite my desire and my sex in her mouth, in time. A dark cartoon in the deep book of the lost places in Saturday night. 

It is not certain that the humans make the right decision in masse. Optimist talk about culture to survive violence and artists write and paint about the control of violence: in creation, more than culture or civilisation: the human especies as motivation to live, to discover an universe without them and to tell about the discovers and ideas despite the mass and the fear. It is not a question of a vendetta, is fear and personal deception. Luckily the dark is also inspiration for humans and there are art and sensibility, and the possibility to save knowledge and to transform the world, thanks to the fear. I remember her playing with the wind. And  how she looked for me at night, while she slept. My heat and my dreams. I think in the poems that I write thinking in she: lips and deep looks, and the the tobacco smoke covering what made us real. The city is boring, outside, it's Saturday and it's raining. Guitars and drums, and our lips find the bodies and flee each other (lips). August 22, and I remember the 21, but those were the words of other times. In other August, in a year, we danced and we made love. I felt lips again. 

The words are organised in the same way and the phrases and stories of the present are the same: however it is only for this continent and for the people can't support to read the one discourse, accepted, correct and revisited all time. So, the best thing is to escape. The insistence is not good when the time is measured in human lives and generations. Another world exists in other place and the destruction (optimist) is the good manner because this type of countries ace cannot exist anymore, if humanity is to be emancipated and to arrive to the imagination frontiers and beyond. Nothing new to say, so I'm unforgivable and forgettable. A basic man to blame and of course, to leave alone (I'm happy in any case with my tequila and the guitars and the drums and the darkness of the night in a city to abandon if I want to be happy), because there is not a single person who fights for me: why? All people accept that one fights for who motivates or inspires or pays; and I don't pay. In other story, for an hour and after six decades and three wine bottles (and may be the silence) it will paid, but the romanticism is too strong for the men in the borders of the civilized world. 

Humanity will be able against the nations. It is a question of survive and transcendence. The significance to be important for a world where the time is to remember and to live. After moments (seconds or years) with the thinking of the experience and the observation and the distinction of the sensation, feelings and arguments, it is possible to learn and share the memory for the future.  The lesson more than a cartoon to explain the decisions like bad or good situations. Actually, are decisions are bad and the consequences makes some difference.  I think, in the stairs in other August and how our lips and bodies and sex were in a fabulous romance that should have continued, as the reason to leave far away of these death lands: countries that kill dreams and awaken passions. I remember her lips in me and the last time that we talk about us. Invisible, I'm the past, and the decision never made, why? In the best part of the story, a cartoon to be kept in a drawer and the and the souvenir to masturbate without hearing my voice, in a rainy night a Saturday night.

Words organised to write another story for the humans but the actions are necessary. It is not a question of culture of civilisation, but yes of life. The life against the possibility of the absentmindedness in a civilization in decadence against all life. Not just to exist, but to create. A couple of words to start the possibility to create in importance and to inspire. The mutual vision is not a common goal, is more than the shared way to arrive to the human afflatus in a time when the songs are sung by the same generation in happiness. I forgot that it is to feel inspired. I see her smile and I remember the sensation of kissing each other. Her lips, her chest and my soul, in the times when I suppose to have one (and I assumed I am a time traveler: one night, one second with she with me without words in the magical world of a Saturday night in August.  In one week I will come back to fly and other wonderful tale start written in a woman body without the pressure to say something new.  My lips in her sex and after, some minutes in her breasts without any love word or the lyrics of the well done songs of love. The basic time to basic sex and human love in a cartoon to see twice between despair and songs."