“I am perfectly aware that she was beautiful on the outside, but a dark and haunted forest on the inside. However, the mixture between her undeniable beauty and emotional intensity has left her image burnt into my soul.”
Stuttgart , November 2013
We weren’t the best coders neither the best at managing a website, but for a time everybody was able to enter write something and collaborate in our endless-senseless writing. It was an annoying twitter for letting go our creativity and improve our writing skills. Somehow, it became a place to relieve secrets, tell amazing short stories, and let our feelings pour out.
One day the serves we had went down and most of the data was lost and many amazing short fragments coming from the hearts of random strangers with them. Bringing back the data was expensive and the book we planned wasn’t very successful. Eventually, we gave up and the server flashes a forbidden error.
I still refresh it sometimes, hoping that it will work out even though I was the owner of the server and I imagine some people still refresh it up to today and that we all connected with a single click and the little disappointing that it produces.
Monterrey, March 2010
Home gatherings became the preferred option, and staying home to play video games grew more appealing regardless of the favorable weather conditions. We discussed these activities more frequently than ever before, and the numerous stories we shared seemed more akin to horror fiction than reality. However, they were indeed true, as evidenced by the videos available online.
Walking the streets at night or hearing sirens while playing baseball brought feelings of powerlessness and mild sadness, but life continued. The constant news and social media rumors left us numb rather than surprised.
Every morning, heavy police presence in the neighborhood didn’t bring safety, just an expectation of something happening. Worry would pass quickly as we moved on with our lives. A classmate once said, “If it comes, we will just follow,” reflecting our shared understanding.
Near my apartment was a house with high walls and bodyguards. Rumors said it belonged to either a prosecutor or a big player in the game. Passing by daily, I wondered if they felt the same fear or even more danger. One day, all the bodyguards were gone, and the empty house had a large cloth at the entrance with text:
If you die today, would that person know that you love her?
Don’t wait. Tell her today
Despite everything, there remained a chance for love to blossom. When the piece of cloth was finally removed hours later, I couldn’t help but wonder if he had truly told her. We must embrace reality and adapt to its uncertainties, holding tight to each other and moving forward with hearts full of hope. Because hope is the only thing we had those days, that things could change for the better one day.
Narcopoetry – Monterrey 2010
As time passed, the police presence and bodyguards vacated the large residence, leaving me speculating about the outcome of the potentially tragic incident that occurred. Eventually, it became a distant memory, much like the countless sad narratives surrounding the ongoing war on drugs. From the folds of the Sierra Madre and to the riverbanks of the Rio Bravo, has been perennially marred by violence stemming from human ambition.
In the small northern towns, blood has always been shed – Los Cadetes de Linares
“Behind this sad spectacle of words, unspeakably trembles the hope that you read me, that I didn’t die completely from your memory” – Julio Cortázar
It bothers us that we don’t look in our pictures as we see ourselves in the mirror.
Just like the impression others have from us isn’t like the one we want others to have.
We hide our weaknesses through our strengths, we show little of ourselves.
On the distance 