Rodrigo, desde el campo

I grew tired of living in a gaudy hole, one of millions. I grew tired of not knowing on which land I walked and of feeling that the sky was only a dream at the bottom of a ditch. I grew tired of the speed that uselessly scratched out my expiration date, of tense relationships, of eating advertising, of not sleeping on those loud and dirty yellow nights. For all of these reasons, and before I go, I wanted to feel myself on top of this immense orb heated by the sun; the cold under the stars, three hundred and sixty degrees of solitudes, winds that break me in two, lights and shadows in absolute silence and damp smells that share my days with stones, trees and animals.

Rodrigo, october 2009