The words represent an unspeakable horror (there were a lot of puns in that phrase). Lately, words don't heed my command. Every thing I try to write or speak becomes gibberish or a horrible mockery of what I sought to express. All my interior world (another phrase that I'm not fond of) remains trapped, as the infidelity of written and spoken language hacks through the very essence of it.
So, a problem of expression ensues. The possibility to communicate in a fluid, concise, and asertive way is hindered. The words simply cannot hold the being of the ideas and the feelings. Their simbolism is getting too limited, at least in my case. Words like despair, anxiety, unrequited, love, confusion, are just provisional labels. But, what could be the definite phase? As i said before, making up words is out of the boundaries of the languagues I supposedly command, and also beyond my intellectual and cultural skills. Nor I am some sort of Tolkien to create a whole language ex nihilo (as you can see, this use of a dead language was just a showy device).
Even if I say something over and over, the words appear mute. The feeling continue trapped. Reality is still there, impassable, behind a barrier that I can only scratch a bit. The words are horror because they cannot hold reality. They just aim at it, with more or less accuracy and success.
And in my present situation. Well, that's just another worry.
martes, noviembre 22, 2011
sábado, noviembre 19, 2011
Instintos, signos, apariencias.
La pregunta es simple. En un momento dado, una especie de "instinto de conservación" (por llamarle de algún modo) compele o impide la realización de cierta acción. Sin embargo, a medida que la esperanza se desvanece, dicho instinto se reconfigura.
El mismo instinto, o quizás una reflexión ulterior (y digo ulterior en honor a un personaje) a su vez proponen salvaguardar algo: todo lo que pueda ser salvado, dadas las circunstancias.
Por otra parte, surge otra volición, un llamado a mandar todo al cabrón de una vez y para siempre, lo cuál tiene la ventaja de por fin dejar de guardar un sentimiento y un secreto doloroso en el pecho. La desventaja radica en la pérdida total de algo bueno, si bien no lo que las expectativas guardasen, algo provechoso, de suyo virtuoso (¡oh!).
Si, estoy hablando del más oscuro de los tópicos: relaciones humanas. Odio ambos conceptos: relación y humano pero en vista de las limitaciones del lenguaje creo que debo ceñirme. No soy alemán y no puedo inventar términos a diestra y siniestra. Además, estoy agotado. Soportar esta situación, hasta para el más comprensivo y/o estoico de los temperamentos resulta desgastante. Máxime para el de alguien tan susceptible de ser afectado por el pathos como he podido constatar en este último tránsito.
¿Qué queda? Soportar y, tal como dice la canción: sentarme a esperar...que se me pase y ya.
O probablemente ser lo más sincero posible y destruir todo. Tal vez ese sea el destino. Mi destino. Destructor y lastimero. Una disculpa por el talante "emo" de esta entrada. Al menos fue en castellano más o menos legible y hasta cierto punto fluído.
El sueño llama.
----EDICIÓN----
Fluído mis polainas, pero de eso hablo después.
El mismo instinto, o quizás una reflexión ulterior (y digo ulterior en honor a un personaje) a su vez proponen salvaguardar algo: todo lo que pueda ser salvado, dadas las circunstancias.
Por otra parte, surge otra volición, un llamado a mandar todo al cabrón de una vez y para siempre, lo cuál tiene la ventaja de por fin dejar de guardar un sentimiento y un secreto doloroso en el pecho. La desventaja radica en la pérdida total de algo bueno, si bien no lo que las expectativas guardasen, algo provechoso, de suyo virtuoso (¡oh!).
Si, estoy hablando del más oscuro de los tópicos: relaciones humanas. Odio ambos conceptos: relación y humano pero en vista de las limitaciones del lenguaje creo que debo ceñirme. No soy alemán y no puedo inventar términos a diestra y siniestra. Además, estoy agotado. Soportar esta situación, hasta para el más comprensivo y/o estoico de los temperamentos resulta desgastante. Máxime para el de alguien tan susceptible de ser afectado por el pathos como he podido constatar en este último tránsito.
¿Qué queda? Soportar y, tal como dice la canción: sentarme a esperar...que se me pase y ya.
O probablemente ser lo más sincero posible y destruir todo. Tal vez ese sea el destino. Mi destino. Destructor y lastimero. Una disculpa por el talante "emo" de esta entrada. Al menos fue en castellano más o menos legible y hasta cierto punto fluído.
El sueño llama.
----EDICIÓN----
Fluído mis polainas, pero de eso hablo después.
jueves, noviembre 17, 2011
Drag.
You're always ahead of the rest,
When I'm always on time,
You got A's on your algebra test,
I failed and they kept me behind,
I just gotta get off my chest,
That I think you're divine,
You're always ahead of the rest,
While I drag behind..
Lately this song from Placebo has been playing on my head. Besides the other issues that crawl in my mind, when the opportunity to try something new or improve on something comes, that sensation assaults my will and conciousness.
Think about "writer's block" applied to almost every aspect of your life. Or maybe, a negative admiration, a feedback which doesn't feed, but exerts your hopes of progress. Like if it wasn't enough with being a hopeless romantic (you can laugh).
As I wrote before, I attribute this to a disconnection. Or a misconception. Of the self, and the reality. The problem is: how to fix it?
Good grief!
And plain grief...
When I'm always on time,
You got A's on your algebra test,
I failed and they kept me behind,
I just gotta get off my chest,
That I think you're divine,
You're always ahead of the rest,
While I drag behind..
Lately this song from Placebo has been playing on my head. Besides the other issues that crawl in my mind, when the opportunity to try something new or improve on something comes, that sensation assaults my will and conciousness.
Think about "writer's block" applied to almost every aspect of your life. Or maybe, a negative admiration, a feedback which doesn't feed, but exerts your hopes of progress. Like if it wasn't enough with being a hopeless romantic (you can laugh).
As I wrote before, I attribute this to a disconnection. Or a misconception. Of the self, and the reality. The problem is: how to fix it?
Good grief!
And plain grief...
lunes, noviembre 14, 2011
Just because I'm losing doesn't mean I'm lost.
This is the thought of hope that I would like to believe: just because I'm losing doesn't mean I'm lost. But I just got lost, and every door that I ever tried was locked. I am not going to post the entire song anyway. Just wanted to make a point using the words of someone who writes better than me. As I wrote this I don't know about my immediate future. My neglected obligations (pointless considering how easy they are), but what really pierces my mind are the pulses of my heart, soul or wherever the feelings reside. Sounds indeed strange that something which hasn't happened or going to happen at all can have such weight and power over the general state, the mood and even the body.
I just can look at the material signs of whatever happened inside me and feel a mix of emotions. I don't like it. It is outside of every logic to have an aspiration, a longing for someone who can't feel the same for you. What could be the best strategy: stay away, telling it? Probably there is not a best strategy. Last time chose the second one, and the outcome was desastrous, probably because of my lack of...control, temperance, good will? Don't know. I just remember what happened and it wasn't ideal. Stay away. Seems also equally hurtful. Would be easier if I could run away and stop the perception of that "someone". But I can't. I have to bear with the burden of day-to-day coloquial contact. And besides, I also feel the need of friendship. The problem is: it becomes almost unbearable. The suffering and the longing, just relieved a bit when I recieve a glance, a look, when my hand is hold, at a hug. I just want to forget. But as far as I can see, that is a difficult task. Most of my faculties are revolving around the issue, and even now, I think of the past and still hurts.
Right now, I don't know how to get rid of this. How to manage a productive living when I feel a tearing of the soul or spirit, a pressure in the chest, sharp needles. I really would have prefered to avoid any contact with you. But now it's to late. I'm twined, but it doesn't matter. The feelings I have may shatter against the wall of reality. So, probably that's why I'm considered a closed person. It's hard to care, to love, when that is going to waste...
I just can look at the material signs of whatever happened inside me and feel a mix of emotions. I don't like it. It is outside of every logic to have an aspiration, a longing for someone who can't feel the same for you. What could be the best strategy: stay away, telling it? Probably there is not a best strategy. Last time chose the second one, and the outcome was desastrous, probably because of my lack of...control, temperance, good will? Don't know. I just remember what happened and it wasn't ideal. Stay away. Seems also equally hurtful. Would be easier if I could run away and stop the perception of that "someone". But I can't. I have to bear with the burden of day-to-day coloquial contact. And besides, I also feel the need of friendship. The problem is: it becomes almost unbearable. The suffering and the longing, just relieved a bit when I recieve a glance, a look, when my hand is hold, at a hug. I just want to forget. But as far as I can see, that is a difficult task. Most of my faculties are revolving around the issue, and even now, I think of the past and still hurts.
Right now, I don't know how to get rid of this. How to manage a productive living when I feel a tearing of the soul or spirit, a pressure in the chest, sharp needles. I really would have prefered to avoid any contact with you. But now it's to late. I'm twined, but it doesn't matter. The feelings I have may shatter against the wall of reality. So, probably that's why I'm considered a closed person. It's hard to care, to love, when that is going to waste...
sábado, noviembre 05, 2011
A story which I know the end.
I am watching, just before my very eyes and being, the unfolding of a story of which I already know the end. And just as a Greek tragedy, I appear incapable to turn the tide or grasp the reins of fate. Destiny looks closer now, more real, not like an absurd concept, but as the reality I must face and to which I turned away. Such naiveness is not, or at least shouldn't be suitable in me.
As days go by, I become aware of the overwhelming waves of feelings inside me. Also noticed what is, what can be, and the possibilities. None of them favor me. And the come back to myself. Questioning the whens, the hows, and above all, the whys. Why again?
I see their orbit gravitating away from my, but the knowledge seems to be useless in this case. No matter how much I repeat to myself the ending of the story, the feeling doesn't go away.
This bloody (in an English jargon way) mixture of need, of longing, of caring. The senseless paradox of having to deal at the same time with the pain of knowing that the brief and simple contact that I have is all that I am going to have; the suffering of having to listen from the beloved one the affections towards someone else, that I'm not going to be the target of that affection ever. And, in spite of all these, yearning for closeness, for a simple touch, a shake of hands, even the smallest crumb of it would bring some relief.
Yet, once again. The end of the story is already written, even if my sight is too short to notice. Then, how did I become trapped in such a box with no exits, where the situation is: to lose and/or to lose. When no matter the outcome or what I do there will be suffering. Dosed or in a hurtful blast.
I just want to get out. I don't want to cheat myself. I want to extinguish once and for all the hope. And my feelings towards...
Carpe
No soy filólogo. Pero Phoenicoperus insistentemente ha mostrado a mi conciencia una frase: "carpe diem". Muchos han de saber el significado o la consideración coloquial de tal locución latina: una exhortación a aprovechar el presente.
A mi me sorprende precisamente el significado del verbo "Carpe": tomar, agarrar. Cuando se observa esta peculiaridad de la palabra y se ahonda en su significación y sentido, se observa la profundidad de una frase con frecuencia trivializada.
Carpe se dice, por ejemplo, para tomar las flores. Su sentido es de aprehender y en ello deriva la profundidad de la locución "carpe diem".
Carpe diem implica aprovechar el dia en un sentido profundo, tomarlo, apresarlo, hacerlo de cada parte de ese momento presente un momento relevante para tí.
Al menos dentro de mi palurda filología es lo que puedo inferir.
A mi me sorprende precisamente el significado del verbo "Carpe": tomar, agarrar. Cuando se observa esta peculiaridad de la palabra y se ahonda en su significación y sentido, se observa la profundidad de una frase con frecuencia trivializada.
Carpe se dice, por ejemplo, para tomar las flores. Su sentido es de aprehender y en ello deriva la profundidad de la locución "carpe diem".
Carpe diem implica aprovechar el dia en un sentido profundo, tomarlo, apresarlo, hacerlo de cada parte de ese momento presente un momento relevante para tí.
Al menos dentro de mi palurda filología es lo que puedo inferir.
jueves, noviembre 03, 2011
miércoles, noviembre 02, 2011
To protect the realm of dream
The hardest part when your mind is restless and your feelings are upset is to protect the sanctity (or what's left) of the dreams. I just gaze at the faint stars that I can see in this pale sky. Mintaka, Alnitak, Alnilam. Stars are usually related to dreams. I hope stars can bless me with sleep, and protect my dreams.
martes, noviembre 01, 2011
No es agosto de 2007.
(Look Mommy! I can write in Spanish)
No es Agosto de 2007, pero, fuera del escenario y las demás personas, la situación se mira espeluznantemente similar. Ni siquiera se porque me atrevo a hacer una comparación tan directa, considerando la abismal diferencia. La sensación no es igual, pero tiene cierto aire, un deja vú que estremece y sobrecoge. Constantemente me recuerdan la necesidad de identificar y asumir, no negar lo que siento, pero en estos días la única sensación es un indescriptible sobrecogimiento en mi στήθος, cuyo centro siento sostenido apenas por alfileres. Esto en el plano físico. En el plano emocional he perdido la expresión y a mi pesar me veo forzado a utilizar un sólo término que define el estado de las cosas: "restlessness".
Pero heme allí; capturando todo en una consciencia que se niega a actuar racionalmente. No es agosto de 2007. Pero las sensaciones son viejas conocidas. Es de nuevo la confirmación de la inutilidad de la esperanza, a pesar de la reiterada insistencia de una mente pueril y su prosa pueril de engañarse y tratar de disfrazar por medio de letras y retruécanos una situación simple y llana, cuya repetición aplasta la esperanza misma, pero desgraciadamente no acaba con ella.
Necesito un Chimalli. Justo en medio del στήθος. Más no sé. Poco sentido tendría defender fragmentos.
No es Agosto de 2007, pero, fuera del escenario y las demás personas, la situación se mira espeluznantemente similar. Ni siquiera se porque me atrevo a hacer una comparación tan directa, considerando la abismal diferencia. La sensación no es igual, pero tiene cierto aire, un deja vú que estremece y sobrecoge. Constantemente me recuerdan la necesidad de identificar y asumir, no negar lo que siento, pero en estos días la única sensación es un indescriptible sobrecogimiento en mi στήθος, cuyo centro siento sostenido apenas por alfileres. Esto en el plano físico. En el plano emocional he perdido la expresión y a mi pesar me veo forzado a utilizar un sólo término que define el estado de las cosas: "restlessness".
Pero heme allí; capturando todo en una consciencia que se niega a actuar racionalmente. No es agosto de 2007. Pero las sensaciones son viejas conocidas. Es de nuevo la confirmación de la inutilidad de la esperanza, a pesar de la reiterada insistencia de una mente pueril y su prosa pueril de engañarse y tratar de disfrazar por medio de letras y retruécanos una situación simple y llana, cuya repetición aplasta la esperanza misma, pero desgraciadamente no acaba con ella.
Necesito un Chimalli. Justo en medio del στήθος. Más no sé. Poco sentido tendría defender fragmentos.
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