Oscar Varona is a writer and a collagist from Madrid, Spain. Influenced by transgressive narrative styles and little conventional, he published his first book of stories, “Tremolo” in 2003. He combines his poems, dialogues and stories with his own artistic creations, mainly collages and illustrations.
I
To be.
The language ends in a land
where the most spontaneous letter
is liquid shit and judgment for the soul
that violates the metaphysical order.
Revealing words arise
and questions where my thoughts are
the navel from which
a possible complex problem emerges
and is installed in the psyche
to constitute the far edge of my world.
Serious troubles of the suburb
where skip equals fail.
As it is said.
Postal time forces me to swallow more tests
to keep living,
to expect what ever seen
without seeing.
Breathe lives by I might be more than others.
I’d have need the meeting of the boredom
if the sequence will always be the background
with the country on fire.
How much I hate these Sunday mornings
II
Point changes before experiences.
Eject diarrhea,
sadness amount
Distinguish force.
Swelling phase number seven.
Some may be early vomiting.
Rules women, rule form.
Bleeding for a childbirth of obvious wounds,
don’t go in next sudden paranoias.
If you have horror pills of tired women,
leave me to continue suffering.
III
Truth is nothing,
That’s violence.
They crop mouth;
make excellent killed persons immediately.
Not a rotten country within our borders.
They could be soldiers for hopeless causes.
They could be pieces of meat that spit air
to flush out the trash while talk about freights.
they take place over a few events
and don’t understand any language because they chew fear
How difficult it’s to be an slave.
IV
I dream that I dream with symptoms
that involve perceptions
that they dream in insomnia
that can loose motions
or persistent dream presentations
and producing insights beauties
resulting from full confusion;
but in general,
the facts are the property of shock and amnesia
with harmful that contain exhalation disorders
and I dream with floating beds
that kept quiet to the conscious eye
of the dreamer eye
but I upset about it,
for inspiring notes tend toward the sleep talk
in moans and screams of viral apneas.
I dream that I dream that I die
and I’m therefore glad.
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