“Neither Logic Nor Locura”
That which is built on logic is lost, for logic is built by death.
There is no escape from this if all you are using is cold-hearted logic. Death only exists because we have pretended it with these words.
It is only the Vida Loca Loco who confronts the law of logic, and the more he fights it, the more conscious he becomes.
Vida Loca is that primitive chaos that terrifies normal people with their common collective consciousness.
Chin up, the Loco stands and states—“Whatever happens, Vida Loca, Homes.”
Brown and Proud
My Brother had that tattooed across his stomach in giant olde-english letters, cholo script. He lived and died according to the streets, by the code of Smile Now, Cry Later.
Proud sinner, he humbled himself in howls and cries, and the pride always melted to sadness and tears, and he felt it even more because at least he embraced Vida Loca, which is the best one alone can do in this world.
The vanity of this world is our death mask.
Neither logic nor locura could save him.
It is only Amor that saves and does not save you. It does not save you from the world, yet it saves you in the world—because of spirit, which according to the world does not exist.
Amor is not a solution; it is a blessing, a miracle.