Is this some kind of creepy joke...I'm not under any kind of influence but that's how I'm feeling. This is not my body, my hands have fallen in the sky and my eyes are dancing on the living room table. I don't want to go or stay. I can't find myself and I'm not lost. I love the skin I'm wearing, but I rather wear some shirt and jeans. Poor little rabit kid, he wants to find a black hole to get into his world and never come back. My eyes found it, and I don't know if they're planning to wake up. So my fingers ask if I've forgotten what I came here to do, they tell me: "you are not writting any more so who is doing it for you?".

María Fernanda Núñez Sarmiento.