RE: Pablo Pablo

Brendan Keiffer Russell's repsonse to Pablo Pablo:

"Whoa, Pablo has a wicked mean sneer.

I once drank tequila until the early morning hours with a chinchilla named Ernesto. He wore a bowler hat and had an underbite but he did not sing. In case any of you might be wondering I'd like to make it clear. ERNESTO MOST CERTAINLY DID NOT SING."

Vibrance

The silence in this room is empowering.

Its presence is subtle but strong. Distant yet present. It's like a beast that surrounds me and takes control of my thoughts. It is like a warm blanket that envelopes me in a comforting embrace. It's incredibly distracting.

Al I can listen to is this bottomless quiet.

This is silence. It is the absence of vibrations. No movement. Everything still. Everything calm. Everything at peace.

I unknowingly have begun a very soothing breathing pattern. I am very much awake, but in such sweet tranquility. Everything is pleasant, yet I can't escape the silence. I can't focus on anything else. My mind finds itself seduced by the warmth, or coolness, or both of this mysterious force.

I'm so confused. One part of me is so on focus, sharp and crisp. My senses gain acute properties, I am aware of this and that, but more importantly - I am strangely more aware of myself than I have been in the absence of silence. It is just the silence and me here, and it would seem that it is the silence that has the upper hand.

But another part of me can't help but wander. My thoughts are like ivy, forever growing, flowing, creeping in unpredictable directions and patterns. They grow and grow, clinging on hard in an effort to never be forgotten. However I can't shake this confusion. It's the silence that won't let me be which has trickled into my body. It lies inside my head now - screeching. It whispers sweetly and smoothly directly into my thoughts.

I listen carefully and I finally understand. I find it hard to fight what it wants.

The silence cannot be broken - it must remain silent.

Recuerdos palpables

Es algo tan primitivo pero tan presente. Jamás algo tan suave a tenido tanta fuerza. Suave, suave como la textura de su piel perfecta. Tibia como cuando cae el sol sobre nuestro cuello. Su temperatura, -- increible -- qué poderosa es. El simple recuerdo de ello manda químicos furiosmente por todo mi ser produciendo todo tipo de coctel emocional y mental. Pierdo la capacidad de pensar y adopto la habilidad de ferozmente estar en un momento instantáneamente infinito. Su temperatura.

Tibia de pies a cabeza. Tibia en su mirada y en su sonrisa. Tibia su piel. Tibios su labios. Tibia su voz. Tibia la memoria que dejo en mí.

Que bárbaro, que buen recuerdo.