Mi tesis de maestría

Expandiendo la percepción de lo posible - la intervención en espacios públicos en el documental by Mateo Hinojosa on Scribd

when they ask me
(or godforbid when They ask me)
what exactly I'm doing just standing there
where I should be circulating and going about my business,
I just tell them:
I'm watching rabbits who are listening to me...
epa! there they went, you just missed them!

Counting breath instead of minutes

Counting breath instead of minutes,

air flows infinite

as you sit in it

adjusting mind to spirit.

Epics-to-be sling hooks of hope

at mind's great tapestry;

the feeble weave of consciousness

unravels, sends its threads into cosmos.

Currents electric like Northern Lights

carry crackle of deep-night sparkle,

the bright cackal of glee in silent dark peace:

it isn't me, I'm all, empty.

Mi último videito, de una nueva novela argentina (muy recomendada). Jugando con voces, sonidos y fotos.

Memorias del Viento - una novela de Jorge Torres Zavaleta from Mateo Hinojosa on Vimeo.

Another Rebirth

There was, as there always is,

the Fiery Moment:

You burst into flames

at the sight of the Angel of Death

when she walked in what was your front door,

pointed at you, then out at the wide wild world.

Your denial died as you drowned in her eyes

and saw your long-time love in need

of more than you now provide.

Then, the Time of Reeling:

stumbling, stunned, eyes drowning

in the haze, mind ablaze,

the Angel now came cruel.

You clutched at your chest (of fool's gold)

as her claws sank deep,

tearing away hard-won hopes and fears - more fuel for the reblooming fire

And then, when all was burnt into past, the Time of Ash:

in you and about you, all fell apart

and you let the pieces lie,

let wind and passersby scatter the bits of you

in the land you once called home, held as your own,

and bit by irretrievable bit, you let it all go,

grieving the lost soul.

You would have walked away to see fairer horizons...

but neither your legs nor your eyes had survived.

Finally, the Time to be Fallow:

pure presence of emptiness

patience

stillness

surrender.

First you harden, then slowly, selectively soften,

yielding to layers of ash,

inhaling new nutrients.

Your deep earth gathers unto itself fertility

for another rebirth.

maybe you thought that you'd decide

that there would be plans to understand

but forget free will or saving your hide

the world is taking you for a ride

don't despair though, soul's on your side

you've got the wiles, wares and spirit

to do it, to see your way though it

to let the path find your feet and then move it

you've go the let go to let the need flow

to let the dead breathe some grow into seeds you know

to give earth to future whispering come now and grow

you may not know how but listen

just listen

dismembered

This steady hand belies dancing feet
skipping over rug pulled from under me
this serene smile hides a tortured heart
feeling the fabric of life being torn apart

and

yet... the whirling dispersal of the tatters
frame (and so reveal) what really matters:
not-so-far-off land to steward, love and trust,
earth whose form gives steps to this wild dance,
in spite of us

and

so... let me relax as the Earth quakes and cracks
let me flow as I lose track of rhythm and rhyme
and am dismembered from this place and time
to be remembered not as face but as deed
there where the whirl of the world deems fit to fill a need

video por / video by:
Mateo Hinojosa - sidestreetproductions.blogspot.com
Felipe Guerrero

música por:
Art Vandelay - música gratis / free music - soundcloud.com/art-vandelay-productions

info:
estilolibrearg.com.ar/

1 / 1 / 2012

oh Uruguay

I don’t know if we’re at the beginning of the end

but still I want to learn…

let me start by bowing to your humility, to

your satisfied gaze across oceans which you have not ruined

over continents you aren’t trying to conquer

you calmly offer me yerba mate so I may sip your same elixir

sharing without fear that I might contaminate you with my diseases...

yes, I'm ill, sick with fright that my people will kill the world,

stressed into a knot that I am powerless to stop the apocalypse

that all it takes for evil to triumph is for good people to do nothing...

yet convinced that I, we, need to do-not-doing:

imagine the world revolution if all our politicians, bankers, activists, teachers, welders, trash collectors and soldiers were able to sit and meditate on the air that enters and exits their permeable, impermanent bodies

if we could all just gift ourselves a month to be at peace on the Uruguayan coast.