A sea of roofs without sides, an horde of cement that climb the hillsides and facesthe waves's coast. The looks of the trapped, free inside their niches and tunnelsonly reach to make out a fragmented sky. They, color-blind and drunk by thejungle, praise the colours of a contradictory and subjective city.
The city, a new idea. Everything is possible in a city that rise and fall towards a sea of eternal stairs. The vigour of youth overcomes obstacles. The city is elementary and covered by a warm and toast sky. The own perspective at the time of progress, an illusion of growing. A few invisible threads make us ascend.
Hercules
time, as powerful as no one, makes mature the crops, and changes the face of the earth. The sky radiant heats a seed, generates a field and it closes a cycle.Hercules returns, leaving behind big skies and wide, open fields towards his city, covering it in his new career.
Going to work at the morning
It begins to get light in a summer day in my city, the Sun paints buildings in red, the sea is visible brought by the breeze. Carmen, as each day, goes out to work. Thousands of stairs leading to thousands of sites. I watch as she moves away and the world is the sum of all its fragments.
The wind of poets
Spring, joy of living, Barcelona. The wind dries the clothes, the city blushes and this warm air it returns to life while the economy is still on wheels.
Between Santa Coloma and Badalona
The pure line, clean and define it. Once more being a parent fills me with joy and responsibility, the world becomes less fragmented and the Blue starts to seep through the windows.
City I, II, III. By the sea
A new century changes us as never before. Now all people fit in a small cardboard box and pass through a screen. The same pictorial material evolves. Barcelona has collected its fruits: the tourism, the sea, the light and the internet. The city continues to produce. The pyramid is large, although a sardine show us its bones.
Bifid unicycle
immigration comes gradually to the neighbourhood, the poverty arrives swimming. The stairs start to be an obstacle, so that the wheels let down. A double moral of conceit and steel glimpse the beginning of a crisis.
Dream of Sintra
Dream in Sintra. His landscape, of other seas and the different lights. I decide to stop there and look at an inscrutable Atlantic. The wind blows sleep-inducing clouds while they are approaching. Begins a decay that comes from the American coast.
The cry of the machine a second before blowing up
After years the bubble explodes. The ripped excavator emits a last cry of death. The city is a heap of niches. Who invested didn't know that they were paying for their tomb. The gray and the black of the smoke is turned off. Behind the buildings, well-heeled and speculators are hidden.
The one that divides
The gray scorches everything. A rider from the destruction leads a crowd of unemployed. There are people, many people, and he divides to few and other while Spain breaks.
Arcangela
Arcangela, a lyncher, Godess of Euro. A Europe of uneven stars, which produces men of mud, where the new europeans, hungry of bread, are trampled upon. No one dares to stand up.
Hunger
Hunger as the beginning and the end of everything, as a common thread of universal conflicts. Hunger is geopolitics without hesitation. There are economic areas that exploit and oppress the people who shouts.
