El Blog Sadurni

Desolate

2008-04-14T13:41:00.000-07:00

I've never been so sad...

Calles

2008-01-11T09:33:00.000-08:00

The
Mysterious
Yearning
Secretive
Sad
Lonely
Troubled
Confused
Loving
Musical
Gifted
Intelligent
Beautiful
Tender
Sensitive
Haunted
Passionate
Talented

Pierced

2007-12-17T07:53:00.000-08:00

You said so much without full knowledge of the situation. As a matter of fact you haven't met me, yet you touched me with an invincible strength. It didn't last long. That feeling of inevitability lingering around. That anxious look begging for mercy, with humbleness and desperation. The uncontrolled twitch, the quivering spine, the vacuous eyes. The insatiable knowledge fluttering aggressively in front of your face reminding you of all that could have been. But in the midst of all your suffering I was there holding your hand, imbibing your feelings, sucking up every possible past that in the end, was not but a precise reflection of mine.

She was standing there, right next to you. Her entire back was leaning against the car. Unclear who was holding what; mysterious as it sounds, the vehicle that had transported her would have preferred her permanence next to you, even if some stringent repugnance was obvious upon the disgusting need to share. The topping was now black. How did it go through so many options, encompassing such a range of insecurity and search for self-identity? The tone will never fail to be present, not as long as the anxiety remains. Mounstrous beasts with unquenchable ferocity still linger in your thoughts, promising never to go. And you wonder whether they are alive in your mind only. A by-product of your imagination perhaps, you wish they had never been taken away from your life.

You opened a trap and, like your friends, I've chosen to let myself be captured and rebuild my life on top of the debris. You did not decide accordingly. Your bad.

Squirt rhymes with words at times

2007-05-30T13:15:00.000-07:00

Sometimes everything is just not enough. I wonder what's the ultimate driver: ambition, thirst, greed,...? At what point is the glass half full or rather full? I'm about to throw a lot of discs to the recepient, hopefully it will be able to hold a few. Unquenchable appetite is remarkably easy to control sometimes, but one will fall at the sight of the next ldkjfa. What the fuck. Or rather fuck?

Cicatriz en la pata

2007-03-05T17:48:00.000-08:00

Soy el oso que se cortó una pata con una rama en el bosque. Ya cicatrizó, pero cada vez que piso la nieve, puedo observar la cicatriz marcada en mi huella.

En cada paso.

Y en ocasiones basta un punto verde para observar la cicatriz y vivir su recuerdo.

The gargoyle and the eunuch

2006-12-22T09:07:00.000-08:00

It's finally coming. I am about to complete the first version, which will be submitted to editors in the near future. I am quite excited, but there is a natural sense of fear and anxiety that clouds my euphoria. I've been asked what the style is. It's difficult to define, but I guess it's an existential adventure, with a touch of Robbins, the rethoric of Rand and the literary elegance of George Bush.
Wish me luck. I've invested a shitload of time on this effort, distracting my attention from many other areas, including this page.
Happy non-denominational holidays!

Unusual elegy

2006-10-19T11:41:00.000-07:00

You died before your time, but then again, you also lived before your time. You didn't live for long, but Roy reminds us that "the light that burns twice as bright lasts half as long". Ironic as it is to verify that all that is good is doomed to whither. Aujourd'hui elle est mort.

Same day last year I was abruptly awaken by your candor. One of the bright spots that ought to be remembered for the longest time. So much light, sadly finite. But some things are meant to be passers-by.

The Earth completed its path once again. One of the most interesting turns recorded recently. Such good outcomes. A new palindrome, 365 to go, and then it will be gone.

Memento mori

2006-10-08T10:17:00.000-07:00

La muerte ha tenido un papel protagónico en las últimas semanas de mi vida. Es increíble lo torpes que somos los humanos para enfrentar un fenómeno tan común. Hemos inventado miles de religiones, costumbres y creencias para suavizar su efecto y por más que intentamos, seguimos sintiendo pánico y angustia por su inevitabildad.

El funeral de este martes fue un espectáculo patético. No estoy bien seguro de cuál es el componente más ridículo de lo que observé, pero sin duda fueron muy pocos puntos sinceros. La misa de cuerpo presente, el novenario, el luto, los trajes negros, la expresión sombría que apenas dura unos pocos minutos en los rostros de la mayoría de los presentes. Creo que de todo el festival que estuvo ahí apenas había un par que realmente estaba afectado por la muerte de esta mujer. Increíble. No entiendo siquiera por qué tiene que haber un velorio. Por lo menos ya me enteré de la razón del novenario: el alma deambula por nueve días antes de dar el paso. Me imagino que está científicamente comprobado!

Me pregunto qué pasaría si muriera hoy. ¿Cuántas personas estarían verdaderamente tristes? ¿Cuántas me extrañarían - al cabo de un día, de dos, de un mes, de un año? Paso una parte importante de mi tiempo invirtiendo en amistades, relaciones y conocidos. ¿Realmente estoy recibiendo a cambio una recompensa? Is it just all just bullshit?

Cuando muera no quiero un funeral. Quiero ser cremado y quiero mis cenizas enterradas en el lugar más cómodo para quien sea responsable del proceso. Si alguien insiste, quiero simplemente una reunión. En mi casa. Quiero que haya comida - un carbo load para celebrar mis hábitos en vida. Quiero que haya música, mucha música. Tal vez de Wagner o de Stravinsky; tal vez de Pink Floyd o the REM, pero casi seguro de baile y del día. Quiero que la gente celebre las cosas que me gustaban, que aunque sea por última vez haya alguien que aprenda de las cosas que me hacían feliz. Que alguien cite a Shakespeare, a Poe y a Bulgakov. Que por ahí se pierdan las parejas para celebrar su cuerpo, o si prefieren, que lo hagan en la sala. Que se hable de política, y que se cuenten chistes vulgares. Que se actúe como si yo estuviera presente. No me quiero convertir en uno de esos muertos que por estarlo dejan atrás sus defectos en vida. El primero que diga "tan bueno que era" debe retirarse. Lo mismo para "era un gran hombre". Que la gente se acuerde de que soy tan sólo una persona, con defectos y virtudes. Pero sobre todo que mi huella quede en la mente y las ideas de los que nos quisimos. Quiero sentimientos primitivos y puros. Y los quiero también en vida.

Feliz cumpleaños, niña preciosa

2006-09-28T04:59:00.000-07:00

Porque debes ser feliz
Porque tu felicidad es tu sonrisa
Y tu sonrisa es la felicidad de todos
Porque refleja lo hermoso que hay dentro
Sólo un envase divino puede contener esa belleza

No hay otra igual

Y algunas fechas quedan tatuadas para siempre

Meet me in Montauk, encore

2006-08-30T08:19:00.000-07:00

It's impossible to hold a tear when Clementine asks Joel to meet her in Montauk. In a world full of cliches, in the land of predictability and lack of originality, we have the most intense and poetic reply to "I love you". Meet me there where you've met me. See me again and recognize me even though you don't know who I am. We say goodbye and know that we'll be strangers the moment we turn our backs on each other. All memories gone, even if their imprint is still there, alive, burning, warm, hurting and enchanting. Memory is such a beautiful collage. It's nearly impossible to see the movie, you just get a set of pictures that can be connected fluidly when you're lucky. It is non-linear, just like this great story of our time. Few pieces are so romantic, few emotions are so extravangtly surfaced, few challenges are so consistently failed at; either because of fear or because of pride.

As I've mentioned before, I'm panicked by loss. I still don't know how to hedge emotionally against it. She explained that it's a common feeling, that we're all haunted by it regularly. I still don't feel accompanied; like a child, "sometimes I don't think people realize how lonely it is to be a kid". I ultimately don't know how and when we all grow, but almost certainly we don't really grow out of that loneliness. "This is it, Joel, it's going to be gone soon - I know - What do we do? - Enjoy it". It's so dam hard to enjoy it when you know it's ending...

I've read that poem so many times. The first time in Cape Town, ironically. One of them in the frostfangs - even more ironic -, my own Clementine to erase. "Suffice it to say, Miss Kruczynski was not happy and wanted to move on". A few more lying on straw, and most times solo. Two exceptions, what an irony. A previous Montauk entry marked sadness, desperation and confusion after a huge mistake. This time it's just longing. A deeper feeling, though. A person craving for recognition, a heart lingering for intimacy.

"I have to go see the frozen Charles now", hoping that doing so would let me die in the very instant I realized that even if it's going to be over soon, life, it is a must to enjoy it.

Playing Tetris

2006-08-28T11:13:00.000-07:00

It will never cease to amaze me. Luck is shuch a funny companion, as unfaithful as hell. But sometimes we are just in the middle of a streak. One after the other, the pieces fall as in a game of Tetris. Our ability helps, of course; we manage to set-up the blocks in a way that minimizes the effects of hazard. But then again, your skills are useless if the gods are against you.
All the pieces seem to be in the right place right now. Apparently the big bet paid off and the demon in red is effectively the axis of it all.

The flights are cancelled, and even the IM id has changed. Yet I feel happy. I'm the kind of guy that waits for the long bar to fall into place, else I loose. Not this time, not ever.

But you're only mine

2006-07-20T13:18:00.000-07:00

You are red, head to heel. Silk glows like fire around each of your red curves, showing a glimpse of the bloodred fabric beneath. The choker around your throat is a ruby, tighter than the toughest lace. Your hair is not the orange or strawberry of a common read haired woman, it is a deep burnished copper than shines with the light, which illuminates the aura around you. Your skin is olive, but pale, maybe just to highlight the flames that surround it. Slender and graceful, you look taller than giants even if you are just shorter than me. Full breasts, narrow waist and voluptuous lines – most men just can’t quickly pull away once you’ve hypnotized them. You are beautiful. But above all you are red, and terrible, and red.

I am possessed, and taken, and helpless. You realized all that was needed to capture me, and now I am there. My cum turns vermillion as it drips to your thighs. The music around you is not the top of my list, but it is ever prevalent and overarching. Daunting.

I fell so hard, so low. But you were there for the save, with your smile, your hand, your cunt, your song. You were the strength, the wind; I owe you so much. You forced me to become a real human being. Audacious people own the world, so they say. And to be audacious one needs courage. You made me gain that audacity. I needed you, but I didn’t know it.

A thousand or a million or a billion or more people recognize you and love you. But only I am in love with you. Good job. Patience paid. I’m yours.

Happy birth

2006-07-03T08:00:00.000-07:00

I guess I am a happy man. My virtues are not that abundant, but that makes me human. And being human makes me feel alive, and there is nothing that could make me happier than that very feeling.

Life is a succession of lessons, they say. It is our responsibility to learn from them, to avoid stepping on the proverbial same stone over and over. Then again, we rock at making the same mistakes, finding excuses to argue that this particular time things were different.

Drums please.

July 9, 14:42 GMT-6:00: turning point in my life. The last 12 months brought way too much excitement. Time to inject a little boredom. The decision was instantaneous, irreversible and inevitable. Unbelievable it took me such a long time to see. The Story of the Eye triggered another big decision back in February. Major sacrifices with intense emotional swinging. This time the trigger was quieter. The effect much larger.

The nomad is dead
Richard is dead
The prodigal is gone for good
The jilguero is quiet
Back to basics

Missed you

Back to the Big Ben

2006-06-12T09:05:00.000-07:00

Hadn't been to the territory of Ned Stark since the Big Confusion.

This time was different, though. There was no need for Beelzebub to save me. No kiss from Gressil, Asmodeus didn't swallow. No hanging out with my beloved Astaroth. I might have missed them all, but few things could hurt my enjoyment this time.

Missed Sibylla very much, but fared well. What a way for life to fuck it up. I'm still so pissed, and sad, and... ready 2 cow it forth. The Big Hand is my hand now. It didn't tremble when drawing from the blood bank.

Blood turn black and flesh turn blue, I will curse you if you force me to, by the left hand and the unclean food, I´ll curse your eyes, I´ll curse your lies, I´ll call down a plague of flies, blood go black and flesh go blue, evil from me and back to you, my soul clean and yours on fire, you fuck with a witch you get burned, liar.

(Un)Forgotten lesson

2006-05-24T07:31:00.000-07:00

What a lesson I confirmed yesterday. Below the text with the gift of prose.

Let me give you some counsel, monster. Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armor yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you.

And don't forget that all deformities make the cripple a bastard in their father's eyes. Some person, no doubt about it. Most of them are. Remember this, boy, cripples are deformed but not all deformities need to cripple you.

Dependencia

2006-05-15T05:39:00.000-07:00

Tus gemidos me hicieron dependiente. Y tu sonrisa, y tu vientre, y tu espíritu. Tu conquista, tu mirada que invita y que cautiva en cada movimiento. La retroalimentación de tu cadera. El ritmo de tu interior que no permite escapar. El torrente de tu sangre que trae al sol mismo a tus entrañas. Una reacción explosiva, una sonrisa - la mejor de todas ellas - que nunca ha visto en la historia un precedente comparable. Cada una de tus formas es la muerte, preludio de aquélla que es la pequeña. Repetible pero cada ocasión inolvidable. Hay rocío entre tus pechos; se mezcla con el torrente que concluye. Los olores son tan distintivos que los puedo oler en todo momento con sólo cerrar los ojos. Por algo se ha hecho el tema dominante de mis sueños.
Transpiramos amor en cada repetición. Por no sentirnos solos habremos de recordar esos minutos por siempre. Las horas pasan pero no el tiempo.
Tus gemidos me hicieron dependiente.

About love

2006-05-02T16:11:00.000-07:00

Sometimes the process to consolidate a thought is even more interesting than the thought itself. It is a pregnancy of the mind, labor is painful, but it’s nothing but the closure of a 40 week process that can be extended or shortened to whatever length is necessary to find the truth. In my case it was a hurricane that started in July.

Love. Love and other sources of madness.

The realization that when you love someone, – oh blissful joy – the reasoning about that love has to focus on that which is supreme, controlling every move and action, every thought and desire. It becomes obvious how petty, deceptive, unnecessary and full of betray is letting things get on the way of love. All that matters is that which is more important than happiness or unhappiness, sin or virtue, at least in the basic way in which they are all typically understood. If reason does not lead you in the right direction, it is simply not worth reasoning at all.

Trying to submit the person that you claim you love to your power is not an act of love but of denigration. Love is about growth, about enjoyment, about the capacity to understand. Not each other, but the world around both.

My precious girl, I swear…

Become what you are

2006-04-27T16:03:00.000-07:00

The courage to become oneself is not easy to gather.
Be yourself - just figure out what the fuck that means.

Aún lo veo

2006-04-13T18:11:00.000-07:00

Sigo viendo lo que vi en el avión. Cada día es un recuerdo y un paso más cercano a un destino que no entiendo,..., ni quiero.
Mi corazón dió su último "suspiro" cuando pude pronunciar correctamente la palabra.

Texas cancellation

2006-04-04T07:51:00.000-07:00

He cancelled his trip to Texas. It would have been fun and exciting, no doubt about it. The crowd is fantastic and the multitudes even more. More than anything, the Egyptian eyes, with blazing bursts of energy. Few things were as thrilling as his trip to California. But he realized that it's also necessary to be cautious and mindful of other people's feelings. Going to Texas would have further contributed to keeping the illusion alive and there was evidence that it would not be reciprocated, at least not in a while.
"The message was not generated in our system", the technical support guy said. "It's most likely spam".
His heart was broken, shattered in a thousand pieces. At least two. When he saw the e-mail with the (at the time unbeknownst) fake greeting opened the door to fantasy, excitement and dreams. The sweetest and shortest palindrome was there, its three laters shiny as if neon lights were forming them. And in spite of the failure to open it, the million attempts to do so, and the conversations with the technicians at one-two-three, it was clear that pursuing a vermillion path was inappropriate.
"Funny thing", he thought. "I guess I'll have to mourn. If only I had had a chance to have a dialogue, my beautiful jewel".
The walk was slow and taciturn. And it was dominated by the melancolic melody: E A D G B E. Heroes for ghosts, hot air for a cool breeze, a smile for a veil.
What had he found? The same old fears - "Wish you were here"

Unokai – a different type

2006-03-27T13:30:00.000-08:00

I wish I had the craft of the poet, the painter or the musician. I wish I could capture the essence of love, hatred, frustration and happiness. I trust that my feelings go deep and intense; why is it then that when I try to express them I find such limitations? Every time I face the blank sheet or the canvas I encounter the same obstacles. Is this a problem of not being analytical enough when observing the world around me? Or is it rather a problem of depth, of reach, of sensitivity? There are so many instances every day that I feel touched inside, burning in desperation to become an exclamation. The soul ejaculating, a burst of energy that cannot be contained, the taste of lust, of every sin mixed in one moment, the climax of the spirit.

I am an unokai, several times now. I have enjoyed each and every one of those stabs. I smiled the first time, I was ecstatic with the taste of blood the second, I had sweet dreams after each of subsequent opportunities. There is no violence in the act, just hedonism. No moment is so pure as the one that arises after committing the act, my satrap. The vibes that emerge after each move are those that fuel art. The propeller that turns so fast that you become unable to see the asps. Not that many weeks ago, in a town in the middle of nowhere I encountered that feeling once again, this time not as an unokai but as an emissary. Recalling that night of cheap alcohol dancing over a boardwalk has kept me alive and still enamored. What is it that I got from that beautiful treasure that turned my life around so completely? Just one word is missing.

The present has brought me an assortment of mysterious gifts. The view from above, ink decorating the breast, metal perforating the cunt and the nose, a capella music in the middle of the night, precisely at 3am – how Trinitarian! Vermillion shining with light behind the back and dark black around the eyes. So many towns where I have stepped after farewell and not one has given me what “mimi” has given me. So corny. Not the big port, the isolationist, the mosque, the enormous clock, the beach, the dirty city or the power.

It is almost certainly the time to move forward. It is unclear who dictates that. Maybe it is time to be an unokai again, this time at least of the spirit, the memories and the hope. I guess these are good problems to have, god damn (pun intended). Probably the only thing that remains is a friendly glance, best wishes and looking forward. In red. In green, white and red. In green. Unokai for the aorta, unokai for the edge of the East.

Funny thing it was not Central; maybe because it was really not standard.

No stage fright

2006-03-20T14:00:00.000-08:00

Man, did I miss the scene! Amongst the pile of bullshit inherited from our ancestors – angels (contaminated?), sacraments and all – I was there, looking at a thousand or ten thousand or more people cheering the precious ruby that I own. No wonder Zeus from the Olympus was so cocky; nothing like the world cheering at you or your makings. The Bandaloops could not maintain the goat alive. It wasn’t the alcohol or the fornication, it was the praising.

And yet all that it would take is a single word and I would be back, on my way to the pawn house and exchanging it all for just an instant. But as Mickey reminded me on Saturday, they won’t take Roth for a million dollars. Or for ten.

The notes and the light were all around us. I'm not used to stand behind the scene, yet I was there, with my heart and mind possessed by the moment. More of this, please. Ruby.

Prolific times

2006-03-18T06:23:00.000-08:00

Three in one week. Wow! This time to quote a classic. In Arameic that's called a shortcut!

Every time I think of you, I get a shot right through into a bolt of blue, It’s no problem of mine but it’s a problem I find, Living a life that I can’t leave behind, There’s no sense in telling me, The wisdom of a fool won’t set you free, But that’s the way that it goes, And it’s what nobody knows, And every day my confusion grows.

Every time I see you falling, I get down on my knees and pray, I’m waiting for that final moment, You’ll say the words that I can’t say.

I feel fine and I feel good, I feel like I never should, Whenever I get this way, I just don’t know what to say, Why can’t we be ourselves like we were yesterday, I’m not sure what this could mean, I don’t think you’re what you seem, I do admit to myself, That if I hurt someone else, Then we’d never see just what we’re meant to be.

Más tristeza

2006-03-15T13:50:00.000-08:00

Es increíble, pero hoy son 18 años. Diez y ocho. Y me doy cuenta que hay cosas que ni el tiempo ni el espacio pueden cambiar. Siempre estás aquí. Y Calpurnia sigue en llanto.
Hay fronteras tan grandes del lenguaje... Hay emociones que no se pueden expresar - tal vez es porque llevamos apenas unos siglos hablando y millones de años sintiendo. Víctimas como siempre de la evolución. Nunca lo mencioné, pero el brevísimo palíndromo que la identifica fue también la primera palabra que pronuncié hace ya 18 años.

Tristeza

2006-03-14T15:12:00.000-08:00

La tristeza es un sentimiento fascinante. También es fascinante la capacidad que tenemos para ir de un extremo al otro del espectro de la felicidad. O tal vez deberíamos de nombrarlo el espectro de la tristeza. A final de cuentas son una misma cosa, expresada en diferentes sentidos. En ambos se exacerban nuestras emociones, ambos nos hacen creativos, ambos nos hacen sentir distintos, acaso especiales. Mucho se dice que cada cabeza es un mundo, que somos únicos, etc. Nunca se sienten estas emociones tanto como cuando uno está contento, o triste. O muy contento o muy triste.

El vaivén de sentimientos por los que he pasado recientemente es un caso de estudio interesante. Del cansancio y depresión a la emoción, al enamoramiento, estrepitosamente a la nostalgia y en alguna medida después al renacimiento. La tendencia que uno tiene a acordarse de momentos por las noches para evitar sentirse sólo. Esa soledad que no depende de la compañía sino de la perspectiva y emoción de vivir. ¡Cuántas veces me he sentido plenamente acompañado a pesar de que no haya nadie alrededor! Y de repente fueron suficientes unos minutos de condena para volver inevitablemente al principio de todo. Un ciclo completo – me pregunto si la duración fue estándar o si hubo un desfase respecto a la norma.

No estoy seguro si en estos momentos me siento triste o contento. A final de cuentas se puede llorar por ambas causas. Sé que extraño y sé qué extraño. Por las razones incorrectas estoy lejos de la joya que me comprometí a cuidar en el boulevard. Hay algo de miedo por razones de ojos, de muerte y de renacimiento. Han sido ya muchos años en los que mi estilo de vida ha sido estable en su inestabilidad. Me dijo el mayor que los de nuestro clan no sabemos disfrutar de lo estable; me pregunto si es cierto. Todavía hay demasiadas variables en el aire y es sumamente difícil predecir en qué dirección se va a inclinar el péndulo. Unas semanas más amarrado a la turbina, y después queda la incógnita de cuál será el nuevo destino de mi correspondencia. El caótico momento de perder mis esmeraldas. El renacimiento en carmesí o en bermellón, muy musical e histriónico. Pero hay una pequeña razón llena de nostalgia que se desvaneció sin remedio. Todo junto es inexplicable. Risa y desazón, hay tanto que cargar.

Kafka y un demonio me llevan de la mano varios kilómetros al sur. Y yo que dudaba de la determinación de mi camino al occidente.

My story of the Story of the Eye

2006-02-27T13:55:00.000-08:00

Life sometimes has a funny way of making a point. The most unexpected of sources, the equivocal wild pitch, an erratic stone that hits the back of your head without warning. I knew the book was unusual, that’s in part why I decided to take upon it. I also knew that it was shocking; I wonder if Bataille’s view was being philosophical, controversial or both. I am still trying to figure out the reason why it moved me so much. I don’t really believe it was so much the pornography or violence, although clearly there is an element of that. It is more intriguing because of the former – pornography is something that I enjoy, but I despise violence. However, this is not even close to the first time that I interact with something with such superlative violence. I have read, seen and heard of brutality that is much more realistic (or real) and expressed more purely than what this snuff represented.

But let’s now try to describe the effect of having read the book. I don’t want to go as far as to say that it was a direct impact; the route that this followed to hit me is not fully clear, and maybe it won’t be so for a while. But what is certain is that reading this book led me to finally take a stand and make some of the most critical decisions of my life. So many different arenas, but it now seems so obvious! The peace of mind that I gained upon making a decision is amazing. I am certainly stressed and so blue that even non-intimate observers have figured it out, but nevertheless I feel confident that it was the right choice.

The specific elements of the decision are various and complex, and for now I won’t discuss them in detail. I find it amusing how I’ve been forced to sit at the witness chair; however, accusation is not proof and I shall act accordingly. Each player can take as may as three outs at the time. At the end of the day, twenty seven outs give you many opportunities. I wonder what would be Marcelle’s reaction if she were to listen to the dialogue in my head: I’m sure she would freak out at the inevitable feeling of warmth in her thighs, the white and the yellow mixing with different textures burning her inner walls. The bizarre and the obscure mixed within her cunt…

“The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep!” Sad are some of the ways that Georges had in store for me. The words were uttered so haphazardly that no defense is admissible. At the very least, though I have to say that the outcome was brilliant and so should be the next steps. I will always wonder how thing would have been different shall the path be alternative, but I will do my best to avoid the temptation to blame it on this moment. The bloody testicles on her skin guarantees courage. The eye of the priest breaks with the status quo, the shamelessness with her mother reaffirms my decision to be pure in spite of any appearances.

Around fifty thousand miles – the airlines were kind enough to take me around all over February. A fortune spent and lots of collateral damage. Bataille did just the same with 90 pages, but took me back to the starting point. However, this time I know that I want it – no collateral damage.

Absurd, part 1

2006-02-21T11:32:00.000-08:00

There is something truly absurd in our perception of the world. The fast pace that seems to dominate our daily life is nothing but a mirage. The rhythm is entirely artificial – at the end of the day the cantata is not heard by anyone. We are quite good at ignoring ourselves and each other. We excel at not recognizing things that are important (but then again, the mere definition of importance is confusing – the association here goes to those levers that push the furthest). We have created a system that tends to give preponderance to urgent and not relevant matters. The sequence is ludicrous and yet we are so self-obsessed that minimizing short-term benefit is the common denominator and critical issues are never resolved.

This has been a burning issue in my mind for the longest time, and I’m still incapable of solving it. The problem includes not having been able to ask the right question, even developing a statement has been challenging. I wonder what is the actual level of effort that is needed to effectively be in a position to answer the question. It is important to say that while the language coincidence may betray my actual goals, this is not the same feeling of absurdity described in Sisyphus. This is something slightly less specific – I am thinking of the poor and uneven perception of our surrounding that lead us to making wrongful decisions. And it is obviously ironic that my own perception of the world is biased on it own, complicating further the set-up…

This is going to be the subject of many more posts. It might require understanding in better detail the ideas of other thinkers, and mostly trying to address the mandatory solipsism of this question.

Tack

2006-02-06T16:01:00.000-08:00

¿Cómo sabes si la dirección en la que estás caminando es la correcta? De repente siento que estoy dentro de un bosque, sin punto de referencia, sin mapa ni guía. Me imagino que la vida está hecha de eso: de incertidumbre y de decisiones tomadas con poca información. Evidentemente hay que entrenar el instinto, hacer crecer el “músculo” que nos ayuda a elegir la ruta crítica y que nos ayuda a hacer el tack cuando sentimos que nos movemos incorrectamente.

De pronto me siento viejo e inefectivo, envuelto por la inercia sin una idea clara de que los pasos son los correctos. Lo frustrante es que se sentía muy bien, y de un momento a otro las boyas se sienten todas más adelantes. Siempre habrán competidores por delante y por detrás de nosotros. Pero ese no es el punto. El punto es que la medida de éxito está impuesta por uno mismo y no me queda claro que la marca en la que quiero estar en unos pocos años es alcanzable dadas acciones presentes. Tiene que haber alguna forma de dar un acelerón fuerte; creamos en el físico y entendamos de una vez por toda que la gravedad que nos hunde y la aceleración que nos eleva no son diferentes: el efecto en nuestra materia es el mismo. ¿Es tan difícil el paralelismo?

Todas, todas las herramientas están al alcance, el problema es no estar seguro de qué es lo que se quiere construir. Como escribí hace ya meses, I have clearly become comfortably numb. Así que de una vez por todas habrá que hacer una nueva reflexión y encaminarse. Sé con cierta certeza el lugar al que me llevará la inercia. No es un mal lugar pero no es suficiente. Hace ya más de un año escribía de las jornadas a occidente. Ese es un camino del que queda poco por recorrer pero por el que hay que andar de una vez por todas. Al menos ahí sí hay claridad. Pero hay otras jornadas más difíciles de ver y tal vez con un desenlace más importante en el largo plazo. No hay que olvidar la trigonometría, y por pequeño que sea el valor de la función, la diferencia es grande cuando se multiplica por el cateto…

Goodbye ma, goodbye pa, after the service when you’re walking slowly to the park, and the silver in her hair shines in the cold November air, you hear the tolling bell and touch the silk in your lapel.

Todo tiene una primera vez

2005-11-15T12:46:00.000-08:00

Estoy cansado

Just slightly misplaced

2005-11-14T18:47:00.000-08:00

It's getting late for scribbling and scratching on the paper. Something's gonna give under this pressure. The cracks are already beginning to show. It's too late, the weekend career girl never boarded the plane. They said this could never happen again, oh so wrong so wrong.
... was Bible black in Lyon when I met the Magadalene. She was paralyzed in a streetlight, she refused to give her name. She wore a ring of violet bruises, they were pinned upon her arm. Two hundred francs for sanctuary and she led me by the hand to a room of dancing shadows where all the heartache disappears, and from the glowing tongues of candles I heard her whisper in my ear: "J'entend ton coeur".
I see black flags on factories, soup labels poised on the lips of the poor. I see children with vacant stares, destined for rape in the alleyways.
Does anybody care I can't take anymore! Should we say goodbye?

Hiya Roger

2005-11-03T11:15:00.000-08:00

Hope and expectation grow like a snowball: every second the diameter is larger - volume increases exponentially. Some weeks are better than others, some are just dumb. And this week, pun intended, has been comfortably numb.
Going back to old friends, some I know, some I don't. Hiya Roger, hey there David. The sequence seems even smarter today than what it seemed many years ago. In the flesh, thin ice. Empty spaces, young lust... one of my turns! Nobody home, comfortably numb, the show must go on. Run like hell. Cool.

When I was a child I caught a fleeting glimpse Out of the corner of my eye I turned to look but it was gone I cannot put my finger on it now The child is grown, The dream is gone. I have become comfortably numb.

That's awful, can't live in numbness. The roads ahead may look difficult, but still it's better to maximize value in the long-term. "Keep your dirty feelings deep inside": bullshit ("fill me with the urge to defecate). "Back to your mother in a cardboard box".

"Just five minutes, Worm Your Honour, him and me alone".

Simple matters

2005-10-24T13:05:00.000-07:00

Just underwent a couple of very insightful days. As usual, deep insights tend to come casually and unexpectedly, and while they can be a result of careful observation, sometimes they just pop in front of our eyes. It is generally much easier to be insightful about other people’s lives. It is so difficult sometimes to judge oneself accurately; it is easy to see the proverbial straw in your neighbor’s eye.

I have often wondered how I would feel if I heard how the rest of the world talks about me. Clearly the mirror that I use to see myself is not the lens through which I am seen by everyone else. Would it be beneficial to sit in this conversation? Would it be just too harsh? My guess is that the one tends to minimize one’s faults, making it easier to build self-esteem and to be fair: who wants to be such a poignant judge? Let the rest of the world play that role.

I have realized that I enjoy simplicity. The feeling goes beyond enjoyment: I respect it, praise it and, believe or not, seek it. The fact is that my life is not as simple as I would want it to be.

A couple of very intense days in a relatively foreign city were more than educational. The highlight of these days was looking at the dawn while riding a bicycle with a group of complete strangers, most of whom I did not even know their names. Amidst priceless works of art, remarkable architectonic treasures, vibrant culture and top food, the highlight was a cheesy collection of brushes in the sky that to be perfectly fair I could have seen elsewhere. Not to say that the rest was not interesting, boring or bad. It’s simply that simple beat it all. I guess that is the simple way to state the insight: simple is better. I may not be a simple person, lead a simple life or think simply, but I prefer to think of life as a set of straightforward events weaved together, not as a grand complex phenomenon.

The second insight is probably more interesting, and largely came as a result of the first. Anyone who knows me well can say that betrayal is the one thing that I simply cannot tolerate. There are many things that I dislike, of course, but betrayal has always been at the top of my list. For example, when analyzing politics, one of the key criticisms that I have made of certain people is their extreme ease at swinging from one side of the spectrum to the next. That is betraying yourself and the people that believe in you. Clearly under certain circumstances it is convenient, necessary and wise to change one’s opinion. That is not betrayal. But wandering aimlessly without goal and purpose, just choosing whatever avenue maximizes short-term benefit is, from my perspective, simply despicable.

I am particularly good at dealing with stress. Most often I am calmed and at ease. One of the most common sources of anxiety that I experience is fear of loss. I do not know how typical this is among people, but every time I am having a blissful moment, I feel almost immediately anxious about losing it, or not being able to ever experience it again. This applies to so many situations. A landscape, a work of art, good food, good sex… And deep inside I know that I do not want to ruin the moment by this fear, but it is still there. That is probably why I hate betrayal, because it shows that probably that great moment was not what I thought it was, and because it ensures that the bliss is not coming back again.

I guess the question now is how to take advantage of these insights. At the very least they let me see my own soul and assist my pursue of happiness. And more importantly, being happy allows me to make people around me happy. Self-reinforcing. Strong. Strength.

Cuando tú no estás

2005-10-10T14:05:00.000-07:00

Coloquemos el esoterismo de lado y seamos directos, transparentes y sencillos. Sin embargo sólo tú podrás comprender lo que dicta esta entrada; justo ahí la magia: es en verdad esotérica menos uno.
Las primeras líneas del presente son desde el aire, tal vez representa lo volátil del prólogo de la novela. Pero el espectáculo es prístino y majestuoso. Incluso reveló el amanecer; un comienzo. También el sol tuvo que superar algunos obstáculos, incluyendo una oscuridad inmensa y apabullante. Pero por algo el sol es el sol, "el ave canta aunque la rama cruja, como que sabe lo que son sus alas".
Fue necesario tomar una decisión radical; al menos parece radical cuando se considera en prospectiva. Pero existe el consuelo de que los minutos, por muchos que parezcan, son a fin de cuenta finitos y por lo tanto será más temprano que tarde cuando llegue su fin. Todavía creo en el éxito, aún y cuando su definición incluye mantener la integridad en tantas dimensiones. Porque no hay forma en la que la felicidad venga por paquetes individuales – se necesita que el conjunto esté balanceado.
Esta vez fueron cuatro, con cada minuto ocupado. Y hasta más que cuatro, en dos cajas y hasta una pérdida. Y cientos de dulces cuya envoltura es tan áspera que raspa. Hasta un three-sixty con una milagrosa póliza de seguro. Y canciones, y baile, de lo de antes y de lo de ahora. Poco sueño, al parecer Morfeo está de huelga esta temporada. El alfabeto truncado, se perdieron algunas letras y se confunden otras. Yo que pensaba que sólo la hache es muda, y que el sonido “th” no existe en español… de verdath. Programas a mediano y corto plazo acompañados por uvas y verduras y langosta y filete y sobre todo un pie de limón. Casi 28 con rescate poco antes del congelamiento. Fuerza milenaria, insectos suplicantes y marcha por pasillos con retablos y mole. Emoción por las lágrimas en una hacienda y por el triunfo de un país andino. Dos en noventa. Miradas profundas, y una sonrisa que no se puede desdibujar. Llamadas con clientes, teorías de comportamiento y de repente hasta de cuerdas. Luz roja con destellos amarillos, tonos rojizos alrededor del rostro, cuellos blancos en fondos negros. Pero el más importante es el silencio pacífico que dice más cuando no se habla.
Uno por uno, cada momento es mágico. Como dice el poema, “… por si no lo saben, de eso está hecha la vida, de momentos”.
¿Por qué querer dar el paso siguiente? ¿Por qué ser paciente cuando éste es un don que no se tiene? Porque hay evidencia, y porque hay un camino que se puede seguir. Porque todavía tiene que escribirse un diccionario que lleve de una lengua a la otra. Y hay que escribirlo.

Keep moving

2005-10-03T14:12:00.000-07:00

Off-topic, but more relevant than anything.

Unforgettable afternoon, with abundant color, one palette. Orange that becomes red, pink turning maroon, blue metamorphosed to purple. The ever growing circle, ultimately a dominant vermillion disc. The rosy reflexion transfigured the white marble.

Exhausted body that ignores itself and surrenders to the inmense vault. If the day were shorter... At least I'd want to increase my speed and track the show constantly. Will have to wait for the next. Can't imagine getting tired.

Crepuscular feeling, it's after all the dawn of the night. Senses are sharped. Enhanced engine. Please keep going forward...

An upcoming big one

2005-09-24T18:26:00.000-07:00

This time my words of appreciation go to Kali. The emaciated hag has finally done it. It's been more than a year since Nirnaeth Arnoediad, and finally Gorthaur is going away. Never again will Níniel be in charge, goodbye Raktabija.

What a week this has been, life at last. Almost at least. The usual limit, the intolerable siren around my head. Five sevenths are fine, two are killing. This is when Atlas shrugs.

Why was it so good? Some help from Loki, that's true, but no Ragnarok. Freyja gave me the eight golden apples that I had lost. Go back to Eshu, I am not Ifa. You've always known I am Seth. Shri looks at Vishnu, I am ecstatic. Exultant, thrilled, joyful.

And a souvenir note to you, Diego's whore. Please do not cry any more. We are there.

Expectativas

2005-09-19T14:44:00.000-07:00

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2

Increíblemente cerca, pero falta todavía una eternidad. ¡Cuán cerca me siento del agua! Si tan sólo pudiera mojar mis manos, no habría nada que me detuviera.

... 1...

¿Dónde está el siguiente?

Optimism

2005-09-14T12:43:00.000-07:00

Lots of reasons to feel uplifted, in spite of this morning's sultry air. It surprisingly coagulated in the shape of two fruits, each of which is elongated and has soft pulpy flesh. The fruits were connected by the edges, one meridional, the other septentrional.

A swollen eyelid revealed a pain-clouded eye staring at the fog. A young vagrant in an eighty minute tribulation. It is quicker by air, of course, but the flight is delayed for a week. A white cloak with red-blood lining would be suitable. Overstimulation of the motor nerves and speech centers, delirious illusions. A bunch of hair-raising stories about recent events - a black magic brilliant performance.

Clock is ticking, no going back. No need to do so. Your help last night was critical.

Baja de peso

2005-09-12T12:44:00.000-07:00

Al parecer el entrenamiento está dando resultado, pero no me siento conforme. Partí de 145, ahora son 140 pero deberían de ser 100 más. Tal vez un poco menos. Mis piernas están duras como nunca; están los robles pero no las rocas. Supuestamente hay que dormir un minuto más por milla. 45 minutos más de sueño, pero sólo la vigilia me descansa. Energía para 13 y 26, pero falta el empujón para la primera.

Urge definición, urge tono, urge sentido. 8 y 80 grados, Venus llegó hace un poco más de un siglo y la dejó dividida. Encantadora en sus dos mitades. La de arriba y la de abajo, pero mejor es la de la izquierda y la derecha. Simetría que sólo se pierde con el triunfo de un balero.

Cada día lo entiendo mejor y el siguiente paso es incierto. El pánico sigila como Argus a Ío, pero habrá que seguir como Danae.

Augustus ix, MMV

2005-09-06T18:33:00.000-07:00

Seva ascendes, pulsata, brulans, kitzelans, dementissima. Elevator clatterans, pausa, clatterans, populus in corridoro. Hanc nisi mors mihi adimet nemo! Juncea puellula, jo pensavo fondissime, nobserva nihil quidquam.

A poignant chaos was welling within me - but I had to drop those things and hurriedly regain my composure, as I became aware of the velvety voice calling me softly .

Anxiety

2005-09-05T14:58:00.000-07:00

How do you address a letter that you send to your own soul?

It's probably a highly cyincal view, maybe just a solipsism. I accidentally drank the potion and without noticing had to turn myself in. Now I'm drunk with the effect, but lost the vial. Let's clear the way, let's pave the field. Not impossible, just hard. Make your life an exclamation.

Even thoughts have to be translated, the paradigm has changed.

The sequence of events is inspiring, let's ensure a proper twist.

L onging
O blivion
V irisimilitude
E nchant

Meet me in Montauk

2005-08-31T06:34:00.000-07:00

Ayer fue una de las peores noches de mi vida. Los errores cuestan, al igual que las pendejadas. El pasado es imborrable, y aunque quisiera cambiar algunos elementos, es necesario entender que nuestro presente es el resultado de nuestro pasado.

Me destroza el corazón pensar en el efecto de algunas decisiones. Algunas las tomé hace años, otras hace muy poco tiempo. Algunas fueron tomadas por los demás. Pero no voy a echarle la culpa a nadie, quisiera ser quien carga con las lágrimas que yo provoqué.

Estaba tan cerca de estar en la posición en la que quería estar, y mi mundo se trastornó dramáticamente en un instante. ¿Cómo convencer a los demás de nuestros objetivos cuando las cosas empezaron mal? "How can things go back to the way they were when so much bad has hapenned?" En verdad lo siento.

"Joely? What if you stay this time?"
"I walked out the door. There's no memory left."
"Come back and make up a goodbye at least, let's pretend we had one... Goodbye, Joel"
"I love you..."
"... Meet me in Montauk..."

En serio espero que haya un Montauk en el futuro.

Pinche juventud inerte

2005-01-09T10:54:00.000-08:00

abcdef hi klmnñopqr tuvwxyz

Aunque a veces sólo un ojo experto sea capaz de identificarla.

Language barrier

2004-12-30T17:54:00.000-08:00

I wonder how you say that in Spanish.

Límite

2004-12-30T17:09:00.000-08:00

Tal vez mi jornada al occidente debió ser un poco más larga. Me detuve en la colina, pero en retrospectiva es obvio que debí seguir hasta el lago.

Siempre he creído en mi valentía, pero la evidencia me hace dudar. Tengo la puerta abierta, el pretexto y el reto. Pero no me atrevo a tomar la decisión, o al menos a actuar en consistencia con ésta. Una vida por delante, los años que tengo ahora nunca habrán de regresar.

Es verdad que estoy desperdiciando mi vida? De ser el caso, es verdad que recorro un camino mediocre.

Hoy

2004-12-25T11:09:00.000-08:00

Espiral y no se acaba
No hay palabras que me saquen de la curva
Y mientras más intento ver de lado o ver arriba
Más me sumo
Esto es una trampa sin salida

Soy yo mismo