<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?><rss xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" version="2.0"><channel><title><![CDATA[Infinity Archive]]></title><description><![CDATA[Infinity Archive]]></description><link>https://www.infinityarchive.org/escritos</link><generator>RSS for Node</generator><lastBuildDate>Tue, 14 Apr 2026 21:11:39 GMT</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="https://www.infinityarchive.org/en/blog-feed.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title><![CDATA[ THE SADDEST POEM IN THE WORLD]]></title><description><![CDATA[For Ozair Tavera Fragoso I We made a pact, the kind you only speak too late, with an open bottle and death sitting at the table. If one of us ended up full of tubes, the other would bring cyanide. No  warning. No  remorse. With the loyalty of wounded dogs. He used to laugh when he said it. He had that worn-out laugh of someone who has understood everything and no longer wants to understand anything at all. He said life was a long joke, a job without pay, a room with no exit. And the body—his...]]></description><link>https://www.infinityarchive.org/en/post/the-saddest-poem-in-the-world</link><guid isPermaLink="false">69bb9b06bd18b4a90c2bae9b</guid><pubDate>Thu, 19 Mar 2026 06:52:37 GMT</pubDate><dc:creator>infinityarchive</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[EL POEMA MÁS TRISTE DEL MUNDO]]></title><description><![CDATA[A Ozair Tavera Fragoso I Hicimos un pacto, uno de esos que se dicen siempre tarde, con una botella abierta y la muerte sentada en la mesa. Si uno de los dos terminaba lleno de tubos, el otro iba a llevar cianuro. Sin aviso. Sin remordimiento. Con la lealtad de los perros heridos. Él se reía cuando lo decía. Tenía esa risa gastadade quien ya lo entendió todo y ya no quiere entender nada más. Decía que la vida era una broma larga, un trabajo sin salario, una habitación sin salida. Y el cuerpo,...]]></description><link>https://www.infinityarchive.org/post/el-poema-m%C3%A1s-triste-del-mundo</link><guid isPermaLink="false">69bb9867380d30c3e9fd8774</guid><pubDate>Thu, 19 Mar 2026 06:43:00 GMT</pubDate><dc:creator>infinityarchive</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[On Body Hair]]></title><description><![CDATA[There is something deeply symptomatic in the collective reaction of disgust toward female body hair. This disgust is expressed with a calm that borders on the moral, a certainty presented not as a subjective preference but as an objective truth. It seems not to be an emotion patiently learned and refined over centuries of visual convention, but an unquestionable biological fact—a natural law of attraction. Hair in the armpits, the pubis, the arms, the legs, or along the soft arc of the upper...]]></description><link>https://www.infinityarchive.org/en/post/on-body-hair</link><guid isPermaLink="false">69bb92da94740294a966c881</guid><pubDate>Thu, 19 Mar 2026 06:11:27 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/af1423_d398944b20254b5592e9aefaf58df470~mv2.jpg/v1/fit/w_485,h_632,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>infinityarchive</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[De pelos]]></title><description><![CDATA[Hay algo profundamente sintomático en la reacción colectiva de asco ante el vello corporal femenino. Este asco se expresa con una tranquilidad que se acerca a lo moral, una certeza que se presenta no como un gusto subjetivo sino como una verdad objetiva. Pareciera que no se trata de una emoción pacientemente aprendida y pulida a lo largo de siglos de convención visual, sino de un hecho biológico incuestionable, una ley natural de la atracción. El vello en las axilas, en el pubis, en los...]]></description><link>https://www.infinityarchive.org/post/de-pelos</link><guid isPermaLink="false">69bb91a223f9a3655ef2b5aa</guid><pubDate>Thu, 19 Mar 2026 06:07:29 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/af1423_d398944b20254b5592e9aefaf58df470~mv2.jpg/v1/fit/w_485,h_632,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>infinityarchive</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[I am the Silence]]></title><description><![CDATA[I am the dense silence of the spectator. Revelation never arrives with cinematic fireworks, but with the impact of a poorly calculated phrase. A decree born of that arrogance you hide in front of the mirror, returning with the rusted edge of a boomerang. There are no swelling chords of tension. Only a heavy silence and the slow drip of a brutal suspicion: the fire you swore to fight—you were the one who started it. In the background, a spinning top that never quite falls turns on a marble...]]></description><link>https://www.infinityarchive.org/en/post/i-am-the-silence</link><guid isPermaLink="false">69bb902e53165ead2d528d6f</guid><pubDate>Thu, 19 Mar 2026 05:59:17 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/af1423_ec6bbe99558b4768aa6aaa2e5fd4ac05~mv2.jpg/v1/fit/w_900,h_725,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>infinityarchive</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[Soy el silencio]]></title><description><![CDATA[Soy el silencio denso del espectador. La revelación nunca llega con la pirotecnia del cine, sino con el impacto de una frase mal calculada. Un decreto nacido de esa soberbia que escondes frente al espejo y que regresa con el filo oxidado de un boomerang. No hay acordes de tensión. Solo un silencio denso y el goteo de una sospecha cruenta: el incendio que juraste combatir lo provocaste tú mismo. En el fondo, una peonza que no termina de caer gira sobre una mesa de mármol. Lleva días, meses y...]]></description><link>https://www.infinityarchive.org/post/soy-el-silencio</link><guid isPermaLink="false">69bb8f8523f9a3655ef2af89</guid><pubDate>Thu, 19 Mar 2026 05:56:18 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/af1423_ec6bbe99558b4768aa6aaa2e5fd4ac05~mv2.jpg/v1/fit/w_900,h_725,al_c,q_80/file.png" length="0" type="image/png"/><dc:creator>infinityarchive</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[The Lost Astronaut ]]></title><description><![CDATA[Major Tom drifted in the belly of the night—“The Nautilio,” a shell suspended in an obsidian ocean that sought its heartbeat, was his vessel. From the hatch there were no stars, only wounds of light flickering like half-spoken secrets. Space was not pitch black, but a ravaged canvas where colors had fragmented, leaving only the memory of a glimmer once called home. Tom had left Earth the way one tears off an old skin in a single motion. In the distance, the notes of a Space Odyssey seemed to...]]></description><link>https://www.infinityarchive.org/en/post/the-lost-astronaut</link><guid isPermaLink="false">69bb8c4cdb6ba4e41bebc8e9</guid><pubDate>Thu, 19 Mar 2026 05:41:47 GMT</pubDate><dc:creator>infinityarchive</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[El Astronauta Perdido]]></title><description><![CDATA[El Mayor Tom flotaba en el vientre de la noche, “El Nautilio,” un caparazón suspendido en un océano de obsidiana que buscaba su latido era su navío. Desde la escotilla no había estrellas, solo heridas de luz que titilaban como secretos a medio pronunciar. El espacio no era renegrido, sino un lienzo arrasado donde los colores se habían desfragmentado, dejando solo el recuerdo de algún destello llamado hogar. Tom había dejado la Tierra como quien se arranca una piel vieja de tajo. En la...]]></description><link>https://www.infinityarchive.org/post/el-astronauta-perdido</link><guid isPermaLink="false">69bb8ae623f9a3655ef2a0a4</guid><pubDate>Thu, 19 Mar 2026 05:36:46 GMT</pubDate><dc:creator>infinityarchive</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[Paradox]]></title><description><![CDATA[“Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes.)” — Walt Whitman I. The Dark Fruit Night leans toward the abyss, and in its depth discovers its fruit, hesitating on the cusp of its thorns, as if tangled in a leap of faith that caresses, roughly, doubt; dismayed among weavings by a penumbra that devours it endlessly, aware, perhaps, of its near nothingness, of the lucid wisdom in its disgrace, it throws itself into delirious faith seeking a...]]></description><link>https://www.infinityarchive.org/en/post/paradox</link><guid isPermaLink="false">69ae5e9e0610c35d1fcdacd9</guid><pubDate>Mon, 09 Mar 2026 05:46:37 GMT</pubDate><dc:creator>infinityarchive</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[Paradoja]]></title><description><![CDATA[“¿Me contradigo a mí mismo? Muy bien, entonces me contradigo a mí mismo, (Soy vasto, contengo multitudes).” —Walt Whitman I. El fruto oscuro La noche se asoma al abismo, y en su hondura descubre su fruto, Vacilante en la cúspide de sus espinas, como enredada en un salto de fe que acaricia, áspera, la duda; consternada entre tejidos por una penumbra que la devora sin fin, consciente, acaso, de su casi nada, como de la lúcida sapiencia en su ignominia, se arroja a su fe delirante en busca de un...]]></description><link>https://www.infinityarchive.org/post/paradoja</link><guid isPermaLink="false">69ae599f1b8e90b2a7e79238</guid><pubDate>Mon, 09 Mar 2026 05:25:06 GMT</pubDate><dc:creator>infinityarchive</dc:creator></item></channel></rss>