Stranded in the wrong side...

Yep, and the wrong side is maybe this world...somehow it seems I cannot fit into it...why? Don't know...

Inner turmoil.

I was planning to write some actually interesting stuff (or so I think). But the lure of writing the same crap as usual is great. Maybe I just need to get rid off this turmoil that makes me feel weird...angry...worried, a turmoil that also forces me to think that I am as important for the people as a stone or some dirt...anyway...it's late.

See you all later.

Castaway

Somehow this strange feeling came tonight. Hence the title. Castaway. Stranded in a strange island. I can see the people. I am close through internet, phone, even presence to the people...but somehow I cannot be closer. And that feeling makes me anxious. Makes me fearful. Fearful of my abilities to connect to those people. At the end, it's just another manifestation of one basic fear: the fear of being alone.

Yep, feelings still coming, I just had to write it.

Going to write later...

Memento...

Even if I tried to get rid of all mementos of one person, coincidence didn't mean to let me go without at least one. And even if I didn't have that memento, my own mind keeps lots of records. The past is present through the labyrinths of the mind. This last weekend was boring like hell, like most weekends sadly. The night was long...restless. In that restlessness, memories came. The memories that cause nostalgia. I remember how we laughed, how we talked, when we played, when we hughed. And I miss that. I know that our relationship was just friendship. Nothing more. Sadly, all the good moments are tainted to a certain degree with the memories of what happened after...jealousy, sadness, heartbreakin'.

But still I miss the moments we spend together. And I remember. And rejoiced of the feeling that I had at the time. Even if that is in the past, and present and future don't show anything. But this are just ramblings of the insomnia....Good night...

Day after day, time after time, thing after thing.

Well, I'm here again writing. I have been refraining myself of doing it. There wasn't any reason to do so. On the other hand, there were plenty of motivations to write. What happened? It remains a mistery. Might be human nature. As far as I have seen, lots of human beings do things that they know can be nocive for their mental and physical health. And stop doing things that can improve them of make them feel better. A couple don't say "I love you" even when they feel that way. A son to his parents. One friend to each other. Days ago, this was the personal message from someone in MSN: "Actions, not words are which count". Or something like that. At a certain point, I disagree. Words can have incredible power. I hate you. I despise you. You are worthless. Those are words that you wouldn't like to hear (unless you're masochist or have some strange issue). I love you, I want to be with you, I like the way you are, I care about you, you're not alone. Those are the words you actually would like to hear. Everything counts: words and actions.

Then why someone who likes to write chooses not to do it. Maybe his thoughts are not clear. Maybe he is afraid of being misunderstood. Maybe thinks, again, that no one cares or that the people thinks "well...he's like that". As you, dear reader, can see, this argument doesn't have anything that sustains it. Telephaty isn't true (yet), so, it's difficult (impossible) to know someone thoughts, unless they are manifested in someway: speech, writing, even a painting could do the job. So, there is no reason to be silenced. At least, nothing rational.

But there is much more than rationality in human beings. That is the tip of the iceberg, an utopic state that cientists would like to achieve.

Then, the irrational being starts to scream. I am afraid. I am afraid of being lonely. I am afraid of being hopeless. Afraid that not even doctors and medicines can fix my fears and anguish. Afraid of losing the few friends that I have. Afraid that I won't find "someone" (you know what I mean) afraid of being here, angry and afraid, just wasting the oxygen. Afraid of causing my family grief...

Afraid of the people that can judge my life, afraid of not living...afraid of being death...before even live....

Well, this was a release, now I need to occupy myself in something that helps me. Cause even if I'm afraid I'm not giving up.

Unas cuantas lineas para desenmarañar (o enmarañar) una cuestión

And as fucking usual I shall do that writing in english. I have found the reason what I do this, I don't remember if I have written about it, but when I write in this foreign language, somehow I feel that I am a bit apart of myself, as if I where a story's narrator. This "technique" is the shield that raises to defend myself. Defend me of what? Probably from the world. These days I've been more conscious about the necessity of bonding and establish social and significant relationships. I am not a social scientist, I just have some personal experience and the non methodical observations that I've made through life. And observing me I came to a conclusion: why do I do things that I don't want to do? I yearn for a life. Always envious of those people that have strong ties, lots of friends, always smiling, always in parties.

On the other hand, I retreat. Every chance I have, I retreat. And it makes me sad. I do it, and it's difficult and near to impossible to avoid it. These are the thoughts that come to me, when I read the blog of a friend. (Well, not a friend, a relative of a friend). It' is late. I want to sleep and don't want to. I want so many things. But clearly my brain is lackin' of something right now and my thoughts and writings aren't as organized and clear as I would like to, so, this is it for now...

OMG!!! I haven't written in weeks....

Yes. My bad. Though, there hasn't been much to write. Started school again. Trying to look another source of income, and, above all, continuing the neverending war. Yeah, I'm in a constant strife to sustain peace (and I know that is paradoxical). Peace of mind I mean. I don't think I could achieve world piece if there is no peace in myself. But suddenly, things became violent inside my mind. Thoughts that I want to go away. But somehow, I'm still here. Writing. I would like to do it on a more regular basis. Maybe I should start with something modest. Once a week. Then I'll see. As usual, music appears and plays an important role: it's a well of sanity. Or at least helps in a positive way. Doesn't matter if the songs are sad or cheery, its catartic properties appear undeniable to me.
This is what I'm listening at the moment...




So long...Sir Francis Bacon awaits for me.