Fabulosa

Vení, mirá, el centro duele,
hay un estigma cerca de los ojos.
Debajo de las cortinas, se balancea un panadero
que confirma, definitivamente,
lo soñadora que soy;
lo importante que es mantenerse ileso,
ante una realidad que jamás pensé crear.
Y me tratan de uva,
porque si juntás todo lo bueno
con todo lo malo,
obtenés un jugo agridulce,
que pudo ser amor
o sufrimiento.

Y vos vendrías a ser un pájaro,
independiente, encantador,
hábil para los nidos.
Cómo las mujeres se enamoran
de tu canto, de tu aleteo.
Y venís a ser un pájaro también,
porque podés cagarme encima.

As far as i'm concerned, there's a broken wing in this plane called 'My Life' and i'll never be able to fix it, cause i'm already a passenger, i've become everything of the sum of a complete crew, like the pilot itself. But when i go check at the cockpit, no one's there. I can't stop being me, i can't be a butterfly without being a caterpillar first, it's logic. I've looked for a glimpse of sense in this place, but it seems to be impossible. Nothing's left to make me feel any better and i cry, i suffer, and words come out of my mouth, like smoke, like a warm body against my back. The feeling of life, like a lightning or a lash on my knuckles, you know, makes me feel good. Never knew i was inside my own head, or some vague creature's head, i don't really care anymore. Thoughts like baloons, released, free forever, go and find the world. My life is a fucking mess and speaking or singing or writing won't make it any better, cause i'm alone down here and all the voices are playing a great musical up there, so let me go, my real home, inside or outside, different parts of a book: it's beginning and conflict and ending, i make myself, i mean, i've made myself up, with actions, words, paint and brushes. Some people believe that we are all God's creation and we all have a plan. Fuck that, my plan's nonsense, i've heard it before, i saw it with black magic in a dream. You know, i've been brainwashed. No one really cares about me. I have a family, true, loyal, yes; but they're... they live inside a jar, they're at the bottom while i'm trying to blow out the top of the jar and escape. I think i've done that already, long ago. I ran out and... got on this fucking plane that's driving me crazy and if it's not enough to be all the crew and passengers, i'm also my own therapist. This is what happens when you taste independence. The first night is awesome, you go everywhere and meet lots of people. I went to a club, a place called 'Lucy' and i met her there: Rose. She's the coolest girl ever. She escaped from an asylum and helped me get off the plane. But instead she tied me up on the seat of a bus, full of people, though. I met all my actual friends there: Bob, Steve, Rocket, Ginger, Knife, and Torch. They're voyagers, transitory people, like a newspaper or something you recycle, or a bike, or even a picture. Yeah, they're cool. I may be now where the curtain falls. You see, the middle of the stage is too smal for my brain, my head, for my mind itself and its thoughts. I'm okay though. Rose is making some tea and driving the van. I'm trying to get some sleep, but back here it's impossible. I've got insomnia, and it's here to stay, i guess. But no matter what, we're ready to fight, to ride the wave and fuck its crest out. I'm ready to hunt the most dangerous animal without a single weapon. I'm so fine i'd lock up in the basement and and smash my head against the walls until my skull is open and all those feelings can run away while they can. Cause it's like... spiders. Everywhere. And i'm useless when they use me, when they walk and run around my head, when they climb up the walls of my mind. It ain't funny for me, you little monsters. I tend to talk to the beasts and bite their eyes, take them off until there's nothing left but empty space and blindness. In that way, i should be able to see, to have and extra vision, cause i need it, especially in the evenings, when the sunset is such a lovely picture that no thought is pretty enough to describe it. And i look around and i find myself sitting on a bench, day dreaming, designing space ships and licking myself like a cat. If only that cat knew that no matter how hard she tries to clean herself up the dirt won't remove, it will remain forever cause it's my past and my everyday life what's smeared on my skin and my hair. It's not my fault and i know it. I wish i could jump inside some kind of strobe light and get lost there forever. No... poor Rose, she'd miss me. Not to say that i'll need her too. She's so unique and smells good all the time. I wonder if she wonders about what i wonder about. Maybe my eyes are too closed to see reality. Or my arms are too spread to feel her skin. Maybe... i can't guide myself with a "maybe". It's naive, it's stupid, not to say bullshit. If i blink when i'm telling you something, don't believe me, i'm lying, i'm sorry. I can't help it. I want to hang from the wires that connect the houses, i want to swing on those. I miss her, she's driving, can't distract her. But i miss her anyway, what's to do? Just let me get close, kiss her and go back to my fictional sleep. I've been thinking... maybe (fuck maybes), i'm living inside a dream. Or maybe not. But truth is... i've been here before. I've been everywhere before. And i've always been a tourist, always myself and everyone at the same time.