His name is George, he's empty, he's weightless. His voice resonates, amplified in a cave. This and his heartbeat, that's all I can hear. His heart beats my ears with a deafening pulse. And in between pulses I hear the world distorted, the voices, vanessa: 'boom I boom like boom he boom me boom inspired', jorjo: 'we boom like boom man'. I'm missing information. He laid his head on her and said 'I wish I could see the world through your eyes'. The most beautiful gesture since I can remember. And it was nice, there the four of us. We rehearsed our performance with unbearable passion, he did not like it, he said. But it was fun the four of us.
He's wireless. It feels he does not sum up time, no past. An endless line of present continuous. Each moment at a time. And as he moves all traces disappear, no marks, no signs, no prints, clean. And when he looks at her I hear a roar, his blood pumped tumbling out his eyes. She holds the string, he's a helium balloon.
He's wireless. It feels he does not sum up time, no past. An endless line of present continuous. Each moment at a time. And as he moves all traces disappear, no marks, no signs, no prints, clean. And when he looks at her I hear a roar, his blood pumped tumbling out his eyes. She holds the string, he's a helium balloon.
"Lorena, hija, vales mas de lo que te piensas. Tu a la tuya que puedes con to. Pero gasta cuidao con actuar por la calle. De noche no, Lore! y si no te gusta Londres, te vuelves a Grana, que aqui esta tu gente, bonita. Besos, la mama. Recuerdos de la Araceli". Mum, I miss you. I don't want to come back.
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