"There was a time when I wrote poetry, those times when the world was simpler and the direction was a straight line. When I grew up I lost all my writing and the lines turned like a tumbleweed. The city, its lights and its noise, it is impossible for me to maintain a single thought. Sometimes when silence reigns in insomnia, bohemian nights awaken and some poetry come to a piece.
“My life is an open book with a twist.”
As I said, my art has been my salvation. At the age of 33 I lost every sense of direccion. My daughters were my angels, my only touch of reality. It took me almost 10 years and a body of work to be able to comprehend what was broken inside of me. To underestand a silence disease, the one that eveybody shout-“Its only inside your head.”@aryes97
Buscando a Madre.
Donde divaga Madre?
Divaga entre los cuartos de su fragmentada memorie
Ha perdido el norte.
El rumbo de las Cosas importantes.
En el diván duermen sus sueños,
la fuerza y vida que ella da.
La oscuridad se acerca y
Los buitres acechan.
Saldremos a buscarla,
la despertaremos de su letargo,
la traeremos a la realidad.