WE MADE A PACT.
And I him told: I’ll wait only for your lips with my happy teeth with a huge smile with the
feeling of hunger of the senses without remorse
and you will wait for me in your temple also shared
playing amongst the lucidity and the troublesome waves that chewing our genes searching for our infinity.
The base on my flesh will fall down – I think – savoring me in others deluded tongues
and-but
I bite my lips with so much forcemischievously that all of the saliva of some malicious mouths
does not compare with the pleasure of knowing each other in the freedom of our curious gums.
Perhaps the base of my flesh sticking to the bone
that place
where two different substances gather
I should adjustdisinfect it
because the pacts that are made with sighs in the throat and readjusted grey matter can cause
aftershocks of suffering that scare the soul.
Photography: Hicimos un pacto
Photographer: Andressa Furletti / Costume and Concept Montserrat Vargas
Hicimos un pacto – We made a pact poem, translation from Spanish to English by Sandie Luna
#LaMordidaProject
LITTLE TENSIONED BODY
I feel a little knot in my throat, the kind that everyone at some point talks about,
that fills your eyes with tears from any little thing and makes you get chills on your back, just waiting for a confident look.
I feel a little knot in the chest that gets bigger when I open my mouth, that tightens when I think about the spring lived by the loved ones back in my land and becomes painful when I think about what the autumn in my body means.
I feel a little knot in my calf, in my wrist, in the fingers that do not know what to do,
they move slow and sometimes quick, but the little knot in my throat does not go away and a little water keeps coming out of my eyes,
sometimes in the morning, at night, in the afternoon, when I walk, when I dance and always when I sing.
I have a little knot in the tummy, it tightens when I’m told I love you and that I am missed … longing, nostalgia, ache and little knot in my throat that tightens the eyes. I try to laugh constantly and hard and keep going so that the little wáter does not come out … sometimes … because sometimes nothing comes out, it’s not that the little knot is always in my thoat…
Also I have a little knot in the legs that do not know where to place themselves, but that walk quick and don’t even tell me where they go, they take me, take me, they’re still taking me, walking fast like a lightning ray and sometimes in curves, so much so that the little knot makes the throat squeal a high-pitched cry, quick, as well as the steps that hinder my breathing and raise my shoulders and tighten everything, everything, all my little tensioned body, then I stop and I tell the little knot in my throat to “stop a little”, and I take a deep breath, very deep and I blink continuously to make sure that the little water will not come out and heat up my little body (sometimes) in tension, and I walk … because there’s no other choice.
And sometimes it passes and sometimes it does not.
Cuerpecito en Tensión, mixed media techniques. 31×46 cm. Materials: Rice paper, gold plastic table individual, gold tempera, thread, dental utensils, cuts of magazines.
Cuerpecito en tensión – Little tensioned body, translation from Spanish to English by Sandie Luna
#LaMordidaProject
THE MOUTH.
Your mouth my mouth, the mouth of others speaking and who keep talking
I should shut up and not talk to them because their grey matter does not connect to their tongue
it is difficult to connect with the tongue
with yours and mine
that one that laps up this new body of mine.
We will rise and fall searching- our maybe / perhaps / who knows.
And I yearn to feel it again
before I go once more around my mouth
with that saliva
that still tastes like you.
Photography: La boca – The mouth
Photographer: Andressa Furletti / Costume and Concept Montserrat Vargas
La Boca – The Mouth, translation from Spanish to English by Sandie Luna
#LaMordidaProject
SEPTEMBERS.
I love and I do not forget, I read and remember, I celebrate and I cry, listen and laugh, I learn and I do not forget, I grow and cramp, restrain and sigh, get drunk and bite, mark territory markofflimits, I get lost and sigh and laugh, I control and dream, and I seek and get lost and do not belong.
And there’s a nostalgia that runs in the blood of the minesomebodyelse’s
that looks for the bend in the beat of the dance and the lost claps between buildings that cover the sky
and I capture the pride in a sometimes forced and blind smile, that makes me continue with the steps in a half stateless state.
Septembers
I devour them whole
to swallow the country
in the Septembers.
Photography: Septiembres – Septembers
Photographer: Andressa Furletti / Costume and Concept Montserrat Vargas
Septiembres – Septembers, translation from Spanish to English by Sandie Luna
#LaMordidaProject