24

Tanto tiempo....tan poco tiempo

Here i go again

I remember a song that starts that way. But that's off-topic. I write because I want this to be my escape route (no pun intended). Because of my lack of enthusiasm about life and all the beautiful things that the world has to offer (do you feel sarcasm? you should). I hope to go to school and find a rich and vibrant plural ambient. I don't know if there is really such a thing but what I see is some bunch of people that are there for whatever reason but learning, and some people that are there for whatever reason but learning. I don't find joy going there and then I ask myself "did I do right throwing what I knew for pursuing this?" But then I see...what else could I do? and that leads me to feel trapped. Of course, there are things that I know I must do, that I must think, but it annoys me that my only option to do it in a proffessional way has to be this twisted and flawed. I have games that I play on a daily basis, but is more a routine that an enjoyment. I wake up and don't know what to do. I see the newspaper and don't know. I travel back and fort to the place that I call home and feel the way. And I don't know what to do. I don't know what I can do. Or why I can make a good decision. A decision that starts to show that I am in the right way. I'm desperated and if this are not the right decisions then I don't know which the fuck ones are. Ohhh anger that flows I just want to let it go and let all go. Anyway, it's late now. Good Night.

Well then...

Too bad when I write in english. It means one thing: a boring confession, maybe a lament or a complain against the unfairness of life, of humanity, of the Universe, God and everything else. But somehow there is something I need, at least for today, at least for tonight. Because at this moment, there is no human being around me, there is no one I can rely on. And even if someone was here, I don't know I would be able to speak. Speaking is a difficult task. Speaking with the truth, the truth inside, the truth of my being. And what is that truth. I can't tell. It's even hard to write it. But I can resume it in some words: sadness, weariness, anger, fear. Rejection can be felt even through the internet and yet still hurts. Yet one find oneself worthless. And I fear that. People speaks to me and ask me "how are you". I don't want to say...I don't feel good. I don't want to bother. But I also need it. People annoy me...people hurt me...but yet I yearn human contact. What a paradox

El porque un perro maldito no puede ser amigo de un miserable cabron parte II.

¿Un malvado puede ser amigo de otro malvado? Eso me preguntaba el otro día y lo escribí aquí. Una pregunta inútil, o irrelevante. Yo no lo creo. Siendo que la amistad es un punto básico en la interacción entre los humanos, ponerse a pensar un poquito acerca de ello puede iluminarnos.

En lo personal, amistad para mi solo seria aquella entre dos personas buenas, que se buscan en si mismas. Habrá quien se busque por ser útil (conveniencia le dicen) o por placer. Muchas veces a estas dos últimas situaciones se les denomina -malamente- amistad.

¿Y esto que tiene que ver conque los malvados sean amigos entre si? Pues el hecho de que los malvados no buscan "lo bueno" ¿o acaso se asocian para causas nobles?

No. De manera general podría decirse que se buscan por el interes que tienen de sus actos, de modo que sus asociaciones tendrían que ser por una utilidad.

Verdadera amistad...no creo.

La verdadera amistad resulta difícil. Dificil de definir, y aún mas de alcanzar. Es esto la complejidad de las relaciones con los otros, con aquellos mundos que se esconden detrás de cada mirada que encontramos. De eso escribiré luego buscando aclarar mis pensamientos y, si tengo suerte, también los suyos.