Women are made by fifty percent of ilusion

Women are made by fifty percent of illusion.

The first time I went to his house I could realize how brief would be our co-existence.
The women are the ones to close the doors of the high society. In that case, the "other" was the one who did it, and with a sense of cruelty I had never seen before.

The ladies close the doors of the high society only because they know for an outsider it is forbidden seeing there´s nothing behind those walls.

But they were there. And beyond two men there were ideas. Behind a man there is an idea.
After the dream come the depression, and an ocean of despair.

They had an origin of symmetry. I should have seen since the very first time, since the first different behavior of P. I did not. I failed. But I faced the death, and he does not know but P. also did.

My first impression of a new born comes naturally of a very particular sense of tragedy and disturb. Disturb me in the darkness. Is that what the other really wanted?

I would never accepted gifts from them. People like them patronize women like me. Lady Macbeth is gay as a young pretty girl who plays in the park. There is such innocence in her eyes. How innocent she is?

The cats.
The streets are fields that never die.

Before the warm breeze in the singular cave of the city darks the atmosphere, the cats were kept in safe at his house. All kind of sweet little cats.

When I see the sky you know how I feel?
When I see the birds flying so high, you know how I feel?
I feel roses growing from my womb. I can see Sylvia still tan goes until dawn. I see Allende being continually re-elected. I see Fellini and Giulietta saying; “No hay Banda"! "No hay Orquestra"!

My painful feelings about them!
“A woman like me is not understood"
“I have been her kind"!
I see Sexton writing poems to Sylvia.
I see a woman and the black air, the thief air.
I see Narcissus and Velázquez, Bacon, darkness and thoughts, a currency of thoughts, and a rail of ideas and feelings.

No, the using of masks is the first human behavior.
We can be trustful, but only being an artist. Only the artists say the truth. The rest is not understood. The rest is a social construction. The rest is theory. I do not believe in theories.

You hurt my feelings. You disturbed me in the darkness, my anger cannot be so sweet, and I cannot feel, I will not feel, there is no more time for feelings.

There is nothing, only death.
A new born, a new life, a new dawn.