Acuarelista

 

 

 

Watercolorist

The black piano, the drum kit—without a drummer. A soaked rug. The Preacher sings to the watercolorist who painted this world formed of purple leaves and dark green herbs—herbs that save lives, yet are deadly. Noumenal forms, sensory portals. I grasp the phenomenon with my senses. I have no access to the souls or spirits of animals; I do not sense their essences. When I reflect on the animal soul, I see a common thread in my experiences: it is the difference that threatens, and prays; its demands imply—there is no certainty.

 

Acuarelista

El piano negro, el batería - sin baterista. Una alfombra que ha sido empapada. El Predicador canta al acuarelista que pintó este mundo. Está formada de hojas púrpuras y verdes oscuros hierbas que salvan vidas - y son mortales. Formas noumenales, portales sensoriales que, con mis sentidos yo  procuro. No tengo acceso al alma ni el espíritu de los animales, no siento sus esencias. Cuando reflexiono en el alma del Píritu veo que es común en mis experiencias es la diferencia que amenaza, y reza sus exigencias implican - no hay certeza.

 

 

The Unconscious

The unconscious has been written. I see figures, buildings atop waterfalls, white wolves, creatures of myth. Darkness. They are all determined—written. Written by the god of the pen. Then came speech; in the red, metonymic river of the imagination, it saw. The instantiation of strokes by the calligrapher. Traces: these epitheliomas. I translated wolves into other languages. They are not limited; they hold no meaning. Others signify that something awaits me. Shadowy places over which the veil despairs. Truth falls upon the sacred.

El Inconsciente

El inconsciente ha sido escrito. Veo figuras, edificios sobre las cascadas lobos blancos, criaturas del mito. Oscuridad. Todas están determinadas escritas. Escritas por el dios del bolígrafo. Entonces se habló, en el río rojo metonímico de la imaginación vio. La instanciación de trazos por el calígrafo. Huellas: estos epiteliomas. Traduje lobos a otros idiomas. No están limitados, no tienen significado. Otros significan que algo me espera. Lugares tenebrosos que el velo desespera. La verdad cae sobre lo sagrado. 

There Is No Difference

The brown books stain the floor; they soil the blanket, the duvet. I learned that I cannot place my trust in others. They see me as a pet, an animal, a urinal for peeing, brown or whole-grain rice for cooking.

They kick me around like a ball.

The players are no better than I am. They live a lie. There is nothing between the signifier and the signified. Without me, they would not survive; certainty was a misted mirage. I was, more or less, a lowly loader. I deserve more.

 

No Hay Diferencia

Los libros marrones manchan el piso, ensucian la frazada, el edredón. Aprendí que no hay Pueyrredón. No puedo tener fideicomiso en los demás. Me ven como una mascota, un animal, un urinario para orinar, arroz castaño, integral para cocinar.

Me patean como una pelota.

Los jugadores no son mejores que yo. Viven una mentira. Nada hay entre el significado y el significante. Sin mí no sobreviven; la certeza era un espejismo rociado. Yo era más o menos, un cargador inferior. Merezco más, sin un sitio en el citerior.

The Sorrows Everyone Drinks

Her eyes have captivated me. A beautiful, enchanting woman shines like a thousand yellow lamps. The sun was shining. I stumbled when I saw her face; my legs went weak, like young branches. In her castle, love condemns me! In her presence, I fall to tender pieces.

I wish I had more time; I would take it. How can I obtain it? That is the problem. It is not what it seems—I would proclaim her—but this penitentiary system of the psyche is something everyone must experience. The sorrows that everyone drinks.

Las Tristes que Todos Beben

Sus ojos me han atrapado. Una mujer bella y encantadora brilla como mil lámparas de amarillas. El sol brillaba. He derrapado cuando vi su cara, mis piernas se debilitaron, como ramas jóvenes. ¡En su castillo, el amor me condenes! En su presencia soy pedazos, algunas tiernas..

Me gustaría tener más tiempo, lo tomaría, ¿Puedo conseguirlo? Ese es el problema. No es lo que parece, yo la asomaria, porque pero esta sistema penitenciario de la psique es algo todos deben experienciar. Las tristezas que todos beben

 

The Love That Burns

Her eyes can see my desires; through the storms, we seem different, yet we sound the same—our voices blend. We share kisses. We sing in harmony. We forge something new each time we speak of their pain, of their hopes. We build a home and tell stories born of despair.

How long can it last?

Time stands suspended; a fruit that hangs heavy. They know our love runs deep—like a cavern... It is eternal, in this eternal winter. Our love burns—an inferno.

 

El Amor que Arde

Sus ojos pueden ver mis deseos,a través de las tormentas, parecemos diferentes, pero soñamos igual - los seseos. Nos damos besos. Cantamos en armonía. Establecemos algo nuevo cada vez que hablamos sobre su dolor, de sus esperanzas. Construimos un hogar y fablamos de historias nacidas en la desesperanza.

¿Cuánto tiempo puede durar?

El tiempo está suspendido, una fruta cuelga. Ellos saben que asegurar que nuestro amor es profundo, una gruta..  Es eterno, en este invierno eterno. Nuestro amor arde, un infierno.

 

Hornet Sting

These are the few things that make life unbearable—or hospitable: being forced to respect those who embrace you with bloody fists; precarious words, like the sting of a hornet.

The first attack was hasty and limited, yet the scar remains. The bispon serves various purposes. The scar—a representative representing the pains of the past. She remembers she has choices. Ella speaks freely. I drew near to hear stories and achievements; then came the fights, and children screamed amidst the very successes they had so fervently sought.

Picadura de un Avispón

Estas son las pocas cosas que hacen una vida insoportable o hospitalaria: obligado a respetar a quienes abrazan con golpes sangrientos, palabras precarias escasan, como la picadura de un avispón.

 

El primer ataque fue apresurado-limitado, pero la cicatriz persiste. El bispón tiene varios usos. La cicatriz - un diputado que representa dolores del pasado. Ella recuerda que tiene opciones. Ella habla con libertad. Me he acercado a oir relatos, logros, consecuciones; luego hubo peleas, y los niños gritaban en medio del éxito que tanto buscaban.

Desire

She takes the form of food. She is thirst that pulls me—a planned economy. She has open borders: a nation. The rope, the cable, pulls me—the attraction. Motivation, dynamism, hunger: a link between the potential to be and the bearer—who does not pull—allowing for the emotions of thirst; to act in swarms.

We had walked in the shadows, passing shops that sold rugs with holes in them. I saw what was written; I knew this satisfaction was temporary, that I would have to commit a crime… but he won't let me—the voice of morality.

 

El Deseo

Ella tiene forma de comida. Es la sed me tira, una economía dirigida. Tiene fronteras abiertas: una nación. La cuerda, el cable, me tira - la atracción. Motivación, dinamismo, hambre: una articulación entre la potencia de ser y el portador que no tirar, para poder ser un emociones de sed, actúan enjambres.

 

Habíamos caminado en las sombras, pasado por tiendas que vendían alfombras con agujeros. Yo vi lo que estaba escrito; sabía que esta satisfacción era temporal, que tendría que cometer un delito… pero él no me la permite —la voz de la moral—.

 

 

 

Les vents du changement

The Screams

Burning fear on her face. The memory of hands on her neck. The screams make the head spin. A sharp turn! The screams tighten nuts and bolts. He asked the girl, "Are you curious?" Nuts and bolts tightening around a mother's throat. He stifles the songs born of injury and abusive. Life seemed fleeting. All of her power—a single kick. She rose up, the spirit of fire. Lifting her firmly onto her foot. She shows her bruises to the law. She gets into the car; justice will come through her righteousness.

 

Les Cris

Peur brûlante sur son visage. Le souvenir des mains sur son cou. Les cris font tourner la tête. Un virage! Les cris du serrage des écrous. Il demanda à la fille: «Es-tu curieuse?» Ecrous serrant la gorge d’une mère. Il étouffe les chansons injurieuses. La vie semblait éphémère. Sa puissance, un seul coup de pied. Elle souleva, l'esprit du feu. La soulevant fermement sur son pied. Elle montre ses bleus à la loi. Elle monte dans la voiture. La justice viendra grâce à sa droiture.

 

The Void 

The water glistened, a tranquil glass. Thoughts abound, teeming. I saw the shadows: a shifting whorl. The body effervescent. The absence of the other is the void we experience. Appearances are everywhere. The word is *pétanque*. An existence in transparency—something we do not wish to bring to pass. I must focus. I want to be freed from the system that makes us into sauce. I must rework things. I have reclaimed my life. For he struck me into stupefaction, because I am the target, an ingredient of its soup!

Le Manque

L'eau brillait, un verre tranquille. Les pensées abondent, fourmillantes. J’ai vu les ombres: un verticille mouvant. Le corps pétillant. Le manque de l'autre est le manque que nous éprouvons. Des apparences sont partout. Le mot est pétanque. Une existence en transparence, ce que nous ne voulons pas exaucer. Je dois me concentrer. Je veux être libéré du système qui nous fait saucer. Je dois retravailler. J’ai récupéré ma vie. Car, il m’a frappé de stupeur. Car, je suis l’objet d’un soupeur!

Hole

The drawing depicts the real person. The cold, black earth; the rigid stick formed by the layering of paint. A life succumbing to its own rigid expression—narrow language, narrow handwriting. The leaves turn dead; I heard the leaves, their texture. I see the fingerprint. I remain strong, holding a robust view: nothing is unchangeable. Shut out from boundless joy, I have learned a venerable form of self-control. Prophets battling poor learning. A rigid mind can kill you. A free mind always knows the truth.

 

Un Trou de Balle

Le dessin représente le vrai personnage. La terre noire et froide, le bâton rigide résultant du badigeonnage. Une vie qui succombe à sa psychorigide expression, langage étroit, écriture étroite. Les feuilles deviennent mortes. J’ai entendu les feuilles, leur tessiture. Je vois l’empreinte digitale. Je reste fort, avis robuste: rien n’est inaltérable. Exclu de la joie illimitée, j’ai appris un contrôle vénérable. Les prophètes combattant le mal appris. Un esprit rigide peut vous tuer. L’avis libre sait toujours avouer.

Winds of change

I need to go back, to return; my memories cut into me. They teach me to sway, to find my rhythm. They set me in motion! Amidst a pleasant atmosphere, a welcoming environment. The rival! I confront an impenetrable world. I gaze into sharp, piercing eyes. Pointed arches, decorated shop windows adorned with posters—these are the signs that compel my memory, offering lures that tell me it was a stroke of bad luck. That deep cherry red was a clue. I have nothing left.

Les vents de changer

J'ai besoin de retourner, revenir. Mes souvenirs me coupent. Mes souvenirs m’enseignent à devenir a me balancer. Elles me chaloupent! Dans une ambiance agréable, un environnement convivial. Le rival! J’affronte le monde imperméable. Je regarde dans les yeux pointus. Ogival fenêtre, vitrine décorée, ornée d'affiches décorés d'affiches, sont les signes qui forcent ma mémoire avec des aguiches qui m’a dit que c’était un guigne. Ce rouge cerise foncé, était un indice. Je n’ai plus rien pour un appendice.

Woman of the Struggle

Stone buildings, dying flowers on shelves as tall as towers. Remember the hour. It was born of eternity in sudden leaps!

The brown skin of my hands is drying out. Oshun has emerged from the blue rivers. *Abẹ̀bẹ̀*—sensuality is mighty. The arrow! I saw the sacred books—O *Morbleues* singing the praises of Black people, because speaking against the African is blasphemy; it was written in the grimoire. The parishioner says: the priest is the grapheme that prescribes baptism. For us, she beats back this world of vultures!

Femme du Combat

Les bâtiments en pierre, les fleurs mourantes sur des étagères aussi hautes que des tours. Souviens-toi de l’heure. Il est né de l'éternité par sautes!

La peau brune de mes mains s’assèche. Oshun a émergé des rivières bleues. Abẹ̀bẹ̀, la sensualité est plus forte. La flèche! J’ai vu les livres sacrés, o Morbleues qui chante les louanges des Noirs, mais parler contre l'Africain – blasphème c'était écrit dans le grimoire. Le paroissien dit: le curé est le graphème qui prescrit le baptême. Pour nous, elle bat ce monde de vautours!

The Postmodernist

The postmodernist is not the person who engages in deconstruction. That person is bound to the logocentric; he lectures me on the Enlightenment—a grand *signified*! A shifting *signifier* that they tether to empires of iron devoid of freedom. An era when men hide their gold. Men have made me discourse on the concrete deeds they enacted upon a highly fertile field—where false ideas were concocted. They have eradicated competing concepts. They live in a world of glass. They venture forth…

 

Le Postmoderniste

Le postmoderniste n’est pas la personne qui fait de la déconstruction. Il est lié au logocentrique; il me sermonne a l'illumination - un grand signifié! Un signifiant mouvant qu'ils attachent aux empires de fer sans liberté. L'époque où les hommes cachent leur or. Les hommes m'ont fait disserté sur les faits concrets qu'ils ont pratiqué sur un champ tres fécond, fausses idées ont été trafiquées. Ils ont éradiqué les concepts concurrents. Ils vivent dans un monde de verre. Ils s’aventurent…

The Punishment

In fact, everything is analytic. Fire will consume the building. A dictator plus a bullet—a paralytic departure. Punishment is synthetic. The principle remains analytic. Punishment for the great scam. We wear the Dionysian mask—the one based on 'pataphysical power! Hey distracts your eyes while he cut s out your tongue. It’s over! Their actions are the catalyst for the fire. Their actions drove up prices. 

Can they pay the price?

 

Le châtiment

En fait, tout est analytique. Le feu va consumer le bâtiment. Un dictateur plus une balle – paralytique partie. C'est synthétique, la chatiment. Le principe reste analytique. Le châtiment pour la grande arnaque. Nous portons le masque Dionysiaque, Celui basé sur le pouvoir -pataphysique! Il a distrait tes yeux alors qu'il peut te couper la langue. C’est fini! Ses actions sont le catalyseur de feu. Ses actions ont fait grimper les prix.

Peuvent-ils payer le prix?

Desire

Sometimes an open door is closed. She keeps her distance, feeling disgust for the man. She refuses to see. I sit before the gate—hoping!

The cat that hunts the mouse without eating it. The feeling of absence, insidious. A sensation of orgasm, a longing for God. The cat that hunts the mouse without eating it.

An appetite without an object, yet immense. A hunger for hunger, aimless. A void that takes on shape. It is protean, this mask-like attribute. It conceals feelings. It is a place of liberation.

The price is punishment!

Le Desir

Parfois un porte ouverte est fermée. Elle garde sa distance, sent renfermée de l'homme. Elle ne veut pas voir. Je m'assois devant le portail, espoir!

Le chat qui chasse la souris sans manger. Le sentiment de l'absence, insidieux. Envie de l'orgasme, long pour Dieu. Le chat qui chasse la souris sans manger

Un appétit sans objet, mais énorme. Une faim de faim, sans but. Un trou qui prend ta forme. Il est protéiforme, cet attribut de masque. Il cache les sentiments. C’est un lieu de libération.

Le prix est châtiment!