Queja

MALDITO INTERNET QUE NO FUNCIONA BIEN AL MENOS ME DEJO ENTRAR A BLOGGER A QUEJARME WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

I know this is no twitter.

But somehow, working out seems to purify the mind as well as helping the body.

Perhaps...perhaps....perhaps....

Just perhaps...

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.

Master and Commander.

Sometimes I would just like to be master and commander of my body, my mind, my soul. Most of the time, it looks that it is just the opposite. Weird things of life. Hehehe

I want to sleep, and to runaway, to leave this starcrossed place behind.

Yeah, I want to leave, to runaway, runaway from this feeling of loneliness and despair. To runaway from my grieves. As I said before, seems to be that I'm in great need, but somehow, unable to ask for help in a proper way. I want to escape and want to find something good. I want to be fixed, I want to heal, and, again, hear some friendly voice, feel a huge, feel hope that things are going to be mended.

Those are my hopes this afternoon, while I feel drowziness and awkwardness...

But I still have hope

It's all in your mind.

Yeah, that's what the song says. This day seemed to be just another day. Another quiet day, maybe boring, maybe not. This day I was trying to make my mind clear. To acknowledge my issues, but also, acknowledge my capacity to get over them, and to put on faith and hope those things that I cannot affect by my direct intervention. Suddenly I was in my bussiness, giving a look to some books in a store. Then I heard that voice. I was compelled to stay, why should I had to go anyway? My determination just lasted a few seconds, after which I practically start running. Running towards nowhere. Confused. Saddened and angered. The past doesn't leave. The past still exists. And suddenly I started to think about how far do I feel from my friends, my beloved friends, my family (the human race). All the solutions that I was trying to find to my life start to crumble. I called a friend because I wanted to hear a friendly familiar voice, to somehow overcome the feeling of loneliness that was upon me. I felt angry and guilty. Between the mess of my mind and memories, I don't know if that situation was my fault. If I failed as a person, If I didn't do the right thing. If the feelings that I had towards that person were right. Why I felt that way? I didn't asked to feel it. Nor was my election. It just happened. I cared about. I loved? Maybe. It's hard to tell right now. All this days wishing to find myself in front that person and now that it happens...well...this. I just want this to go away from my life. I wished I could forget. I wish we could be friends again. I wish we can hug again. But it seems to be not possible. It seems to be weird. It's late again...Good night.

Un saludo.

Así es, saludo a aquellos que aun creen en cuentos chinos.

Normalmente...

Normalmente no escribiría esto en este (esto en este...jajaja) blog. El otro día pense en quitar todas las entradas depresivas, pero tristemente, me di cuenta de que me quedaría sin blog ¬ ¬. Igual y nadie obliga a quienes tienen a bien pasar por aquí hacerlo, quizás se sientan identificados en algún aspecto, quizá digan "WTF con este tipo como es dramático y exagerado" o "que mamón por escribir en inglés". Así que no creo eliminar muchas entradas por lo pronto jajajajaja.

Se me ocurriá el otro día que si tuviera Twitter que clase de cosas escribiría, considerando que tengo en abandono este paño de lágrimas. Después de meditar al respecto, se me ocurrió: "mejor aún, ¿que escribiría alguien en la estación espacial internacional?". Dadas las noticias de los últimos dias creo que sería algo así:

@ElPlanetaTierra: ¡ME CAGO ENCIMA DE TODOS USTEDES!.

Bueno, suficiente divagación por el momento.

Does it have any sense to write on a title for what I am going to write?

Well I don't really know, but at least I managed to fill the slot with something other than "no title". Anyway. This week was pretty odd, like some sort of escape from the friggin' reality and the shitty thoughts that assault me everyday. Today, bugged by my family "is your treatment really working", "I've seen some details in you". I could explain them in plain terms, but it wouldn't be socially acceptable and would lend to more and more judgement. Yeah..judgment. Two weeks ago I found an old friend from school, and I was asked "what are you doing now"...and in my mind I was only thinkin' : "should I lie?" Why the lying? Because seems to be that I feel ashamed of what I am doing. Then, some "in-law" asked me: where are you working?. I have the answers to those questions, but I feel totally ashamed. I shouldn't be. But seems to be that deep inside me, I feel that I'm wrong somehow. I really don't feel like partying and the summer is almost fuckin' over...and another night..another day...another year...

I'm starting to think that I couldn't recognize happiness even if it would slap me over the face...

So long. I apologize.

I was daydreaming...

I was daydreaming today...trying to escape from my own thoughts with other thoughts. I was somewhere across the Cortes Sea...in a peaceful city that has some name that bears that peace. Swimming in a lonely beach, smelling the salty breeze, enjoying the warm of the sun, without even worrying about my looks, my state, my past, or my future...

Bloody Hell...

That's one of the words that come to me when I think what I was going to write right now. The other one is "I'm getting tired" but I think I have used that as a title already, so I won't use it in that sense. But I will use it a lot...again. So far, this sounds like a metha-story. A story about the bloody story (yeah, I like how bloody sounds, God bless britains). Anyway, what is the point on writing so anyone can see what you think, even when all you write about is just trouble and distress? Probably that's why I have too much readers. I'm just like a sunshine, full of flowers and candies.Well, If someone has read this blog, probably would know how things work. Been years and trials, medicine, prayers. And right now I have some strange conclusions....I have alienated myself...no one is alienating me, and, if that was the case, it could be just my fault. I still feel that people questions and judge me, everytime someone asks me about my life, I need that I have to give stupids reasons, even lies, about my laboral-academic situation. "Oh yes, and what are you doing since school?....How do you procure yourself a living?"... It is true...I shouldn't have to give explanations of my life to anyone...but in the practice, I just feel ashamed...yeah, ashamed. The worst part is that, if I'm ashamed of what I do, it implies that I'm also ashamed of what I am. I'm ashamed of what I feel, ashamed of having a permanent fear to lose what and who I love. Ashamed of being the cause for the grief of those who care for me...

I'm ashamed and tired of my envy, my jealousy, my stupidity, my sadness, my neverending grief, my selfishness, the lack of love to myself. In just a few words: I'm tired of myself...Now, I think that is pretty much obvious why I am alone and misunderstood.

Through the aging, the fearing, the strife...

And just like that song, I became sensitive to faith. Because faith in me is not like a cornerstone, or a strong foundation. I use it and consider it like that, but it is variable, like the tides, like the winds. Also, sometimes I would like to look the other way. To lead my sight to better things, not an uncertain and dark future, or an everlasting and determining past. And a brief present. Somethings are almost over, and haven't even started. Some other things don't seem to start.

Good Night

Holidays are injurious and bullcrap.

But besides that, I don't have much to say or to write. While I was walking in the rainy night, a lot of thoughts came to my mind. While I was standing at the public square, watching the people and the city I just could thought how twisted the world was. Or maybe I am the twisted one? Because I keep trying (or at least, I think that) to carry on a normal life, or at least a bearable life. But it keeps happening. I cannot "function properly". Maybe it's the fucking postmodernity. That's the feeling that I have, a feeling of alienation, a malfunction in myself that doesn't let me work my way through the world. Why do I think there is something wrong? Well, it might not be enough evidence, but the events that I see in other persons lead me to think that I, or something is wrong. I see people perfectly adapting to every "human" situation without an effort, and enjoying it. If I wouldn't want it, well, that could be reasonable. Tough, it is not the situation. I feel in a constant struggle to achieve some functionality in this human world, at the same time that I feel overwhelmed or dissapointed of it. And that is why I sense a problem. If I wasn't interested at all, then it wouldn't be a problem. On the other hand, If I had the sense of "I'm fine as a person and a member of this world" there would be no problem. But there is a problem, and it has that character because there is no apparent solution. Worked towards a solution: yes, definitely yes. I think I tried. But doesn't seem to work. Besides, I'm tired of people that don't understand and believes it is only a "matter of thinking" or "naa why do you think that, life is beautiful, just look at the sun, the flowers". Really, that people don't help at all, and just make it worse. It only shows how ignorant and devoid of empathy is the people. I cannot speak freely of what I feel and I don't know why. But in the brink of total lack of reason, I write it down on a web log that anyone can see, maybe with a wicked hope of finding some kind of help, relief or even pity. Mmmm pity me because I seem to be so full of foolishness. Sorrounded and strangulated by fears, specially the fear of that my chances to achieve some degree of happiness are over. Because I'm getting older and I cannot do what I was supposed to when I was young. And because was already old when I supposed to be young. And as usual, I'm ranting, insomniac an irrational. So I will try to sleep. 

Continuing with the absurd.

And yes. Because somehow I felt victim of the absurd. Last week, among the stress and the hurry, things seemed to have a meaning. Everything seemed to have a meaning. Now, I find trying every other thing pointless. And I feel odd. Suddenly I don't know what to do. What to think. What to expect. I wish that my sleep would save my mind, relieve me from my strangeness... make me a real boy... well, no, but maybe a normal person, if there is such. To stop the suffering of dealing with another humans...anyway, I will try to sleep. 

13 de junio...

From El Continuum

Nonsense

Foolishness, nonesense, delusion, lies. bla bla bla bla absurd

Thorns

Yes, I have some thorns on me. Not physically. A lot of work to do and still writing crap. As usual a lot of things come to my mind...And this is about, problems. All of us have problems. Probably all of us think our problems are the worst problems in the world. Nothing can compares. Wrong... You must acknowledge that everyone has problems and that you are not that person, are not in the same fuckin situation and thus, cannot compare your problems in a superlative way against your friend problems, with words like "mines are worse", or "that's nothing compared with my situation", and such. Of course there are some exceptions, as this is not a rule. Choosing between a pink or red dress is not comparable at all with struggling for survive. And following this topic...I'm mad 'cause I cannot tell my problems. It's annoying to listen to everyone, being asked to listen, to help, confort and take care of others....bla maybe i'm just ranting again..

In the middle of the night...

I should be doing anything but blogging. But I cannot help it since it's one of the few ways that I have to release some pressure. And I have lots. Also a way to release frustration (have lots), anger (have lots). Ok, no more ranting. Well. I will rant a little bit more while trying to stop my anxiety for the finals. Anyway...it wouldn't be end term without that anxiety. Or would it? If I had twitter or some crap like that my state would be: hate + stress. Hate, well I don't know why...I really shouldn't be having those feelings. But I can't help it. They just come, stress, anger, anxiety, loneliness. Everything with a dressing of guilt. As usual...regrets caught me and I fall under them. Sometimes would be nice if some light would shine me, if God would try to help me a bit, if living weren't so fuckin' painful every fuckin day...Ok no more ranting.

So fuckin angry....

I know this crap is not twitter but right now I am so fuckin angry...or sad....or both...Really don't know or care......but I can't stand it....can't even wirte...nev,easem

Two post before.

I am in the middle of insomnia...scavenging through that aberration called Myspace. Suddenly I remembered things that I heard from my teachers...and things that I think I could share, because I consider those words to be like tiny pearls of wisdom...Something worthy for everyone of you, that come here sometimes. I really should be sleeping or working on my finals (OMG OMG OMG) but here I am. Here is my strange gift to you.

Chat with another professor.

In this times, we don't know exactly what a human is, and this is new. None other era had the problem. Greeks had an exact concept of human. So do people in the middle age. It is possible that the suffering we have in this time of indetermination came from the excessive attention we pay to ourselves, and the little we bring to other persons. If we could focus more on worrying about the needs of the other, we wouldn't be suffering this much...but it's just my reflexion guys....

That was my teacher said.

Chat with the professor.

A professor said some days ago: We shouldn't look at people that comitt suicide like they are crazy or disturbed...we should look at them with some understanding, even with respect, because the reality made that situation possible. The world make it possible, it isn't just a problem of mental health, or perturbed persons...We shouldn't be so eager on making judgements about them...

About the last post...

I was tempted to publish it again...yeah. Don't know why. Don't know if it has any sense to write down that pathetic plight just to feel a little relief. But anyway, I'm writing about it, so it is almost like if I was writing it again. I was saying days ago that every people has the potential of being completely unrational. Part of a theory of mine. The idea came after I read the post of a friend (I would link it, but the blog is private) and after chattin through msn. But how does it relate with this post? Well, after a deep thinking (ok, just a little thinking) I came to the conclusion that every feeling is completely unrational (I discovered the sun!!). I don't know what is the purpose of the feelings. If it something related with evolution, I think nature screwed it up. What is their purpose? I don't know. I don't know why do I need what I wrote in my last post. But I need it. I don't know why do I need to feel something for the people that I care. But I need it. Don't even know why do I need to be cared about, loved, cheered, huged. I don't know. And I feel completely overwhelmed for my incapacity to manage that sensations. I mean, I feel, that is sure. It just seems to be that something is wrong with me. And that is a problem I cannot solve. People that I see, friends of mine, school mates, work mates; they seem to manage their feelings in some sort of "natural" way. Effortless. I struggle everyday. I fight everyday. And every night. With situations like the one I posted before this one. And it's difficult. It is very difficult to be feeling hurt, lonely and thinking no one can understand me. Even though the evidence tells me that I am not alone, I feel that way. Alienated. Don't know how to fix it. Don't know how to fix me. And I just look again at the people I mentioned, friends, family, etc. and I wish to be like that. I look at some friends blogs, messengers, facebooks, myspaces, pictures and all of it is a painful reminder of what I'm not. And what I wish to be. Things should be wrong if I wish to be what I am not. Anyway it's late now...

Sometimes...

Sometimes... I wish someone would come along and just give me a big, long hug.

A few thoughts...

I have been wondering a lot of things lately. Instead of collecting the information I need for my end term paper, my mind fools around (and so do I) on things that are also important, not academicly, but in practical life. Some person once wrote about friendship. Why are friends needed, what kind of friendships and friends exists and such. The conclusions are not surprising. The phenomenon of friendships seems to be an essential part of human behaviours and even a need, or a requisite for achieving higher goods, such happiness. 

Ok, this seems to be pretty much descriptive, even boring, but what's the point? Well, this texts show a classification: some friends are such because it is useful for them. Another friends are such because of the pleasure they give to each other. And the last kind of friends. The friend that wants his/her friend because of him/her, not because the things that can obtain through the friendship. 

When I read this ideas, in my mind something resonates. I start to think about it, about how this phenomenon is relevant to me, how do I relate to others how does my friendships play a role in my life. And I figure out if my friendships are the last kind that I mentioned. I think that, considering my friends are scarce, all of them are of that kind. Most of the signs I see give me the answer to my doubts. I just hope the things I cannot see tell the same. Having this fear about the nature of my friendships is, somehow, a fear on my value. If I were sure of it, I won't be worried. But sometimes, even in the most secure person, the deception can come, with the mask of a friend.

I also have another fear. The fear of lookin' inside myself to my mistakes. Did I become a friend of someone for the sake of utility or the pleasure that person provided me? Could I do that? Is it possible? Sadly...yes, it is possible, but not just for me, for you, and for everyone else. I am afraid to realize that I did something like that. Using a person as a mean to an end. People shouldn't be means, just ends. Period. The analisis made so far tell me that my intentions where good. I should dig even more, more precisely to see if my actions where fouled, so I don't repeat it. And I will do it. Would be nice if everyone does it. 

To change...or not to change...

Nevertheless....you don't have a choice!!! Everything just changes and changes. You just must try to figure out what kind of change you're into, and if it will help you to improve yourself, to go in a way or a direction that you are willing to go. Of course, it would require to be in control. But there are some things which cannot be controlled. Then, decisitions must be made. Where is the compass pointing to? The compass of the life. What are you doing? Are you doing right? Aren't you affecting in a negative way the people that is around you? Are you doing good? What is good anyway? So many questions, and, as usual, not so many answers. I am kinda ranting right now, so, 'til next we meet...

El lado fresqui y menos patológico

En El sueño del mapache.

100% libre de influenza

El continuum: 100% libre de influenza. (puede contener cantidades importantes de trastorno obsesivo compulsivo, hipocondría, depresión, trastorno dismorfico de la personalidad y neurosis).

El lado bueno de la vida...

No, no es un refresco: vea el lado bueno de la vida en El Sueño del Mapache.

Algunas citas mas referentes a esas cosas humanas.

Batallé un poco para encontrarles de nuevo, y eso que las leía la tarde de hoy. Mi mente esta difusa porque no se distinguir entre realidad y fantasía extraña. Pero no hablaré de eso hoy. Solo quería escribir estas ideas:

"Las relaciones amistosas con el prójimo y aquellas por las que se definen las amistades parecen originarse de las de los hombres con relación a sí mismos."

"Parece, pues, que el malo no está dispuesto a amar ni siquiera a sí mismo, porque no tiene nada amable. Por consiguiente, si el tener tal disposición es una gran desgracia, debemos hacer todo esfuerzo para evitar la maldad e intentar ser buenos, porque de esta manera sólo uno puede tener disposiciones amistosas consigo mismo, sino también llegar a ser amigo de otro"

Right, wrong, who knows?

That question came to my mind, thinkin' about the current outbreak epidemic situation. Life goes on. Should go on. But what if life wasn't right at the beginning? Do we, or do I cling too much into the future, a future that maybe won't happen at all? Do we, or do I think too much about the past? As usual, this questions seems to have no answers. And it is also amazing that much of the human life depends on the network of significant relationships between persons. Acknowledgments, friendship, family, romantic, sexual...etc. Human beings seems to be their relationships and almost every mental state is derived from that relations. How does the socially inept people survive this? If they (or we) survive, which are the consequences? How deep are the scars? Is it possible to overcome a sociophatic (in the sense of difficult relationships) state? These people may just look fine to the people who enjoy a good interaction with others. But, does anyone knows what's happening inside them? How much does it hurt to feel that? I don't know... Sadly, not many people know. And i think, less people cares. 

Pretend that you're alone...

Well, the title of that song of Keane may as well be applied to the life of the person that is writing this right now. There is a difference. Sometimes, it isn't necesary to pretend. About 3 weeks of isolation...wasn't very good at all, and suddenly, thanks to a fu&%6 virus of s&/% everything got worse. Fighting against the inner demons is kinda tough, without the help of a freakin contagious disease. But it's frightning. Reality tends to twist around when is looked through the internet, the newspapers, the t.v. And then, everything seems shattered. Hardly trying to keep the broken pieces of the personal reality together...Isolation never comes alone. Neither loneliness. They come together with some "friends": obsesions, strange thoughts, anxiety, despair... What a single person can do...? There is not an emergency number that can help you out, or a cosmic glue to bind the ever-shattering pieces. The clock shows that time hasn't stopped. Look around and there is no one...Seems to be that you are not important anymore, if you ever was. Maybe every time you tried to grasp that feeling, the feeling of belonging, the feeling that told you "someone care for you" is just an illusion. A trick of the mind, to try to help you function in a world that you didn't asked to come...and a world that doesnt' seem to want you...

Stars....

Normally, I would start ranting about how sad, bad, depressing things are. About loneliness and all of it. Right now, I won't. It doesn't mean that those topics are away from me. Actually, they are in my mind right now, floating, flying, makin' circles. But also, I had this idea, to write about the stars. I can't avoid lookin' at the sky from night to night, lookin' for them. Sometimes it is hard or difficult to see them, because the cold blinding lights of the city. From time to time, I am lucky and I can be part, a little part of all the universe, and feel connected to it, from my present, to the past that I am looking. Millions of years ago are showed every night. Some of us don't know, some of us don't care. But the past, the things that was, the things that we usually cannot perceive, are perceivable, through the stars....

A callar

"Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent"

Citas, citas, citas...

"Si Dios existe, será generoso con las criaturas que desean irse aún más pronto de esta tierra y hasta incluso quizá se disculper por habernos obligado a pasar por aquí".

"Cada uno sabe la dimensión del propio sufrimiento o la ausencia total de sentido de su vida. "

"¿Qué hace que una persona se deteste a sí mismo? Tal vez la cobardía o el miedo a estar equivocado , a no ser demás esperan.

El amargado crónico solo advierte su dolencia una vez por semana: las tardes de los domingos. Como no tiene el trabajo o la rutina para aliviar los síntomas percibe que algo anda muy mal, pues la paz de esas tardes es infernal, el tiempo no acaba de pasar y una constante irritación se manifiesta libremente.

The problem of the other (or, I don't really know what this is going to be about)

Relationships. Every freakin aspect of a human life is ruled by a series of relationships between them. Even if that relationship is just to say hello to the person at the counterdesk in a store or something, it's enough to make this affirmation: we have to leave with the "other". The one who looks at us, trying to figure out what is inside our looks and our thoughts.  We became that other, but we do not realize it. So, the majority of the people moves through they relationships with caution, with some fear, trying to protect theirselves or, better said, each "self". Maybe all relations just are a way of looking out for ourselves when we don't want to be alone. I really want to write something different. but things feel this way right now. 

Sunday hangover...but it is Thursday!

And decisions are odd. Efforts are odd. Everything is odd. Somehow, something that a teacher told me once turns out to be truth: "how can you possibly think or believe that you know someone if you barely know you? I just don't know. Maybe it's a false certainty that we need to "function" or walk through the world and time without becoming insane. But it is false. So, if you believe it, you will be very dissapointed. Because you will think, speak, plan, act, without a real fundation but your own personal fantasy about the people that you "know". I don't know why humans aren't like wolves or something else. It would be easier. But nature has been cruel. It cursed us with the need to relate with those beings that look at you, thinking, even for a brief moment about you, like an object, like an objective, as if you were a mere instrument to his/her means. And that's it. Humans try to relate with each other, but with a lot of stupid expectations that cannot be rid off.

Anyway, I don't know if this has any sense.

Hey, man, I'm alive...

Gotta live my life....

(si si, no todo tiene que ser negativo en este blog o en mi aunque se asombren)

And what happened after monday?

After monday and all that memories came the fear. That fear was precedid by a passive feeling. Does the suffix "algia" make any sense?  Yes, from the greek "algos". Pain. Nostos. Coming home. Idealizing things. Nostalgia. That's the word we're lookin' for. The present becames again infiltrated by the past. And the fear also recalls my mind to the future. Present time, struggling between the things that were (but are not anymore) and the things that are going to be (maybe). As the struggle to manage the relationships with another human beings is partially stable, then it cames the inminent change, that will shatter those weak bonds that I try to hold together. I fear the loosing of the little that I have. I fear when I look at the relationships (so called) that I have, because it reminds me things that were, if not ideal, better. But also recalls some ideas. And envy. Envy of the people that had a sense of pertenence. Happy memories shared with friends, partners, romances... I can only recall wanting those things....

I was writing yesterday...

And I said that I will continue today. Memories. This weekend wasn't the best at all. I was wavering through my expectations: I stayed at home, hoping to be anywhere else. I stayed alone, hoping to be with someone. Wondering again why this turn of things, when I resolved to be optimistic and better, to solve my issues. Then, the night came. And as soon as I closed my eyes to try to sleep they came. The memories. Memories of a short time, when I was with someone. I enjoyed staying with that person. I enjoyed the chats we had. I felt strange. I wasn't feeling lonely. I was thinking that, at last I was finding a place, that I was functioning as a person...That I was deeply special to someone, and that someone was also deeply special. Then, it all finished. And I think it was my fault. Because I made myself illusions from nothing. But the memories came without warning the last night. I was remembering all the good stuff. That was supposed to be good isn't it? Well, no. They were tainted with a fact. It all belong to the past. Exists no more. Probably my fault. Weekend gave me that. A sad look at my instant message program, just to realize that there is no one. Homework to be done, that is not done. Lack of interest. Lack of will. Weekend extended through monday. And monday through fear...Will talk later

A cerca de 4 años.

Realmente no parece que haya escrito mucho o desviado del tema principal (¿?)... Esta bien no hay tema principal, es, como diria Andrea, mezclar un poco mi locura con la de los demás...si es que aceptan tal cosa. Porque hay locuras más peligrosas que otras. ¿qué tal la locura de la memoria? Esa extraña instancia, facultad, parte de la mente que se dedica a "guardar". Es como un vórtice. Aparentemente tenemos cierto control, pero a veces los recuerdos vienen...sin ser llamados. Si...el pasado se hace presente, por más paradójico que suene o se lea. Tal como los recuerdos que vinieron la noche de anoche. Recuerdos que yo no llame. Pero tal vez continue despues de escribir esto. Ahora no deseo hacerlo más.

I really should think about a tag named "I should be sleeping..."

But seems to be that I am not very good organizing this botomless pit of enthropy (this blog). So, I'm just going to write, or try to, wasting the few phrases and limited abilities to write in a language that I don't even like...I studied it for the sake of convenience, and because my mother told me so, and I was young and inexpert (right now I'm old and inexpert...and if I can add another adjective, also naive and fool enough to...nevermind). Anyway, here I am after a week that started pretty much "well", then turned out to be really bad, to have a pretty good ending, or at least, not THAT bad.  While I repeatedly listen to songs that I used to listen scarcely some years ago, I just keep thinking the words that I am putting in this post. Trying to figure out how to make this bunch of signs look decent, or at least understandable and readable. Just to realize that I may focus on the content instead. But hey! Isn't logic, grammar, and that stuff all about form? Write well...doesn't matter what your write. It can even be possible to captivate and mesmerize the readers if your words are appropiate, beautiful, hipnotizing. The content becomes irrelevant. You can even scream lies through the typing and still convince the people about what you want. Anyway, this post wasn't going to be about these...I just wanted to scream and spit out the toxicity that flows through me. But it's late. Maybe later.

Then again, should be sleeping or doing productive stuff...

But naa, I am drowning on rage, and I don't know why, just seemed to be that things were pretty good actually, which is pretty much a novelty. But now, just anger, and rage. I would like to hide and stay away from every human being...I don't want to see anyone, nor talk to anyone, or relate to anyone. People is obnoxious...disgusting...

Embriaguez de domingo.

Si si bla bla bla ya es jueves o casi jueves pero por alguna razón he traído en mente esto desde el lunes. ¿entonces porque se titula "de domingo? Vaya, es como la resaca, cruda o como se le diga, pasa al dia siguiente (francamente yo no se demasiado de esto, aunque conozco a varios versados en el envenenamiento personal -porque a eso se debe el malestar, a lo tóxico de la sustancia-) en fin, no juzgare (mas) los "pasatiempos" de los demas. El título es solo un modo alegórico de expresar lo que sucede despúes. No consumí alcohol dicho día. A pesar de ello, no pude evitar sentir un aturdimiento durante el lunes... A veces creo que hace mucho tiempo que no vivo esos dos dias, que el fin de semana, más que el ansíado descanso, es la antesala de otra semana, un camino del cual el destino es sabido y es pues tiempo mancillado por la preocupación, por la necesidad de hacer algo ¡algo! con ese precioso tiempo. ¿que angustia no? De modo que el lunes cae la embriaguez o postembriaguez del domingo. Diría que es una especie de caída libre, pero mejor sería decir que es una caída, no importa el tipo. Caída extraña de un día que no debería existir, pero que existe cada siete días en los que un gran numero de personas termina su vida, con causa racional o sin ella, voluntaria o involuntariamente. Usando una expresión antigua pero que me causa cierta gracia digo: "que barbaridad" y termino esta entrada.

Veinticuatro

94608000 segundos...

Today is the day, tonight is the night

Simple phrases that have a lot of sense and meaning for people who have plans, expectations and such, specially on the short term. Marginal people expect to have, at least, a day or a night where their thoughs don't disturb their efforts to live in a universe that doesn't understand them, nor have a place for them. Nevertheless, most of them yearn to belong to that world. Yearn to have a place in the universe order, a place to call their own. Yes, people walk, go to the movies, plan their weekends to grab a drink at a bar with their friends. Marginal people just think....what if.....

Poco que escribir (decir)

O será que simplemente no tengo la pinche puta gana de hacerlo, solo tenia ganas de citar algo que parece no tener sentido en este momento, pero que de algún modo parece resonar:

Sería absurdo que un hombre no eligiera su propia vida, sino la de otro.

Marginalidad

Otro tiempo, otras palabras. Otros pensamientos, otras ideas. Investigaciones y teorías sobre un personaje histórico, pilar de la cultura occidental sugieren que en su entorno original era marginado. Y esa palabra, pero más que nada, su sentido, su significado, resonaron dentro de mi al grado de orillarme en este momento a escribir al respecto. No pude menos que realizar una pequeña recapitulación de mis recuerdos, en los cuales dicha palabra aparecia, o describia ese momento captado dentro de mi cabeza. Marginal: al margen, lejos del centro, no importante, secundario. Fuera de la norma quizás sea otro sinónimo, o parte de la connotación de esa palabra. Connotación que es coloquialmente negativa. Que conlleva a una situación de no normalidad. ¿Hasta que punto es eso bueno o conveniente en un mundo como este? Mi experiencia me dice que no demasiado. O tal vez si es bueno, pero no conveniente, porque resulta que el resto no son buenos.  Que ser diferente significa tener un "destino" algo más cruel en un mundo como este. Marginalidad al extremo, marginal dentro de cada categoría o grupo en el que se podría clasificar la existencia que lleva el autor de estas letras. En fin. La coherencia para escribir termino por hoy.

Horas y kilómetros después.

Horas y kilómetros después. Cielos extraños, vientos sofocantes. Humo y polvo. El tiempo sigue corriendo y tengo que cumplir con las obligaciones (realmente lo son) o quizás con los horarios de las actividades estructuradas. Escuchar con atención debiera ser siempre la consigna y hacerlo debiera ser un placer. Pero no siempre es así. La disposición es algo extraño. Los nervios y el stress se hacen presentes en la primera hora. El miedo a no ser lo suficientemente bueno (cuando en tu mente "suficientemente bueno" significa ser absolutamente el mejor), a no saber lo suficiente, a no poseer el entendimiento y, sobre todo, a fracasar en aquello que creo es lo único para lo que valgo. El miedo es más grande cuando ese pensamiento cruza por la mente. Los siguientes minutos transcurren entre extrañezas, entre alzar la ceja ante una didáctica que juzgo ineficiente y entre ideas que a pesar de su solidez no resuenan demasiado. Las preocupaciones habituales en mi van y vienen a lo largo del día, atentando contra la supuesta concentración que debiera tener en lo que estoy realizando. Miedo a lo inevitable, al destino de todos humanos. Todos sabemos que ocurrirá, más no sabemos la hora. Y es como este juego cruel de alguna entidad que la biología y la fisiología intuyen esta relacionada con mi cerebro y sus sustancias químicas, que me estruja con sus cadenas, atándome al tiempo que no es, a las cosas que han de suceder a mi familia, pero de lo que no tengo certeza real (quién rayos pasa una parte de su tiempo diario preocupándose por ello, esa es mi anormalidad). Una mala película me hace lanzar palabras agudas y nefastas, tener un semblante más sombrío o indiferente de lo normal y pensar una y otra vez el porque de la existencia de películas tristes,  que reafirman lo que ya sabemos y acentúan lo que ya sentimos. Interacciones poco significativas durante varias horas en un espacio común donde supuestamente aprender debe ser el objetivo y es hora de volver al refugio. Paso por un comercio donde, con receta en mano, solicito una cura mágica. Recibo la caja, entrego el dinero. Píldoras para la modernidad...píldoras para algo que antes no existia, ignoro la causa. Tal vez sea solo parte de una gran conspiración, como muchos afirman. Igual las consumire, porque a pesar de todo tengo esperanza. Si no fuera así, ni me tomaría la molestia. Quisiera que nada me importara y vivir una vida carente de esas extrañas necesidades afectivas, de realización, de interacción con todos esos tus. Es ahora, cuando empiezo a perder la coherencia, que me doy cuenta que es hora de dormir y seguir tratando de escapar.

Lo intenté.

Así es, este pasado sábado 14 de febrero intenté realmente procurar que el día pasase como lo que era: un día común, tan común como cualquier otro. Caminando por la calle, riendo irónicamente al pasar por las florerías, mirando como las personas se apiñaban buscando un arreglo, un ramo, una flor; junto a las tiendas de regalos, mientras compradores buscaban una tarjeta, un muñeco, o uno de esos artículos llamados "detalles" cuya razón de existir es, al parecer, ser un desperdicio de dinero y recursos que acaba en algún estante acumulando polvo y estorbando, mientras camaleónicamente se funde con el entorno de nuestra habitación hasta pasar desapercibido. Si, orgullosamente caminaba esa tarde por las calles de mi ciudad (o pueblo) natal observando el movimiento a mi alrededor, sustraído en apariencia de la realidad anímica y temporal de los demás. Evidentemente, había logrado mi cometido, escapando del remolino consumista y mercadológico de estos dias. Pero sobre todo, de mi propio sentimiento, el cual, presionado por el exterior, era vulnerable. Incluso tenía expectativas positivas, ya desde que llegara a mi casa el día anterior, potenciadas por mi sesión de terapia de ese día (terapia en 14 de febrero... debiera ser el negocio de la época). En fin, despues de mi caminata y demás asuntos, mientras me encontraba ya en mi habitación, "planeando" de un modo u otro las horas que habrían de suceder inmediatamente, el peso de la realidad que prima desde hace tiempo en mi vida se hizo presente. La soledad. Y de ese modo en rabia y soledad habrían de transcurrir esas horas, mirando inútilmente los monitores de la computadora y el teléfono celular, levantándome, sentándome, abriendo y cerrando páginas y aplicaciones, deseando estar en cualquier otro lugar, o mejor dicho, deseando no estar y cuestionándome, tal como me cuestiono cada día los qués, los por qués, los comos... tratando de escapar cuando ya tarde y perdida la ilusión de una noche mejor, miraba la televisión, donde 70 y tantos canales no tienen nada que pueda llenar el vacío. ¿Qué queda? tratar de conciliar el sueño en una madrugada que no tenía, igual que el día que la precedió, nada de especial. Para comenzar con un amanecer que no ví, porque el embotamiento era grande, y la sensación...vuelve apenas llega la conciencia.

Really?

Really... I was thinkin' about writing the last few days and a title wandered in my head: Being crazy. Was going to write about being crazy, how does it feels, what do crazy people think of, what they do, how crazy people goes through life. 

And then a little issue came up: there isn't a type of  "crazyness". Every crazy people is different and feels different in their own particular crazyness...or madness, don't know which word fits best. So, I posposed this post because I thought it wouldn't be relevant or significant, that it wouldn't have any purpose or meaning and it wouldn't be interesting, even for me.

But the origin of the idea was to explain other my crazyness. I often find myself inquired about the things that I think and feel in my crazyness (well, not that often, but sometimes it happen). What can I say? It's not something that I call for. Isn't neither something that I can get rid off so easily. Does the flu goes away with the solely thought? Don't think so. Neither this. Hey, postmodernity, is there a pill for that? Don't think so either. Are pills magic? Nop, they're not.  There is always hope. That is something hard to lose. Fortunately.

A question in mind.

Peace is a word often used, but rarely understood. Hapiness, a term that is frequently confused.  And somehow, my mind just related both, tried to make a fusion, in an effort to find something to ease the turmoil of  my toughts. Finding a calm inner place, where things aren't found clashing in the speed of anxiety. Where the need to talk is fulfilled without restrains or fears. Are things solved talking? I don't know. It is said that in fact problems can be addressed that way, or at least, the feelings that problems create can be relieved speaking. I haven't speaked. It seems I have forgotten how to do it. Not in the way of creating sounds with my mouth and tongue, but in the way of letting them go out of my mind. The chains of silence are heavy, and seem to condemn you to loneliness...

Chains of silence...

Just because I'm losing.....

Doesn't mean I'm lost...

Meanings...

Or...what's the point of these? Thinking might be a dangerous activity before the eyes of the people, to the eyes (in a figurative way) of God, even to our own view. Because thinking took me to this idea: What's the point of living? What is the meaning of life?. I just see one thing: suffering. Feared, avoided, but inevitable. Then why to suffer if it can be avoided? How? Stopping the life. Is it really necesary to go through all these? What drives people? Some would say love? That's debatable. Some of us just know the painful side of it...the unrequited, the cruel. Anothers would say wealth. Too hard when you can barely survive, even if you work with all your strenght. Very unlikely. Health? Impossible to guarantee. Eventually sickness will catch you and render your body and mind useless. Loneliness, poverty, pain, anxiety, fear. The list could go on...But  I kinda made my point. Is really necesary to live this...years of pain in exchange for incredibly brief moments of happiness?.

Again I don't want to write this...but I hardly think so.