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.

Si los sueños se van

El cosmos te guiará...

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.

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.

La crisis de identidad del otoño.

Me resulta familiar, sobre todo en el otoño (boreal, puesto que vivo en el hemisferio norte) escuchar cada año acerca de su caracter poético: de como es la estación más bella, la cadencia de las hojas al viento, la lánguida paleta de colores de la flora preparada a dormir; y sobre todo, el fin del calor infernal al que nos tiene sometido el cambio climático. En fin, clichés, clichés. Muchos clichés. Yo pienso en el otoño como una primavera a la inversa, con todo y su equinoccio. Pero tiene una peculiar traza de inestabilidad mental que no encuentro en ninguna otra estación. Si bien la primavera también es cambiante, es relativamente predecible a lo largo de los días (salvo, de nuevo, el horror del daño al ambiente). El otoño guarda en si una confusión. Se sabe camino al invierno, pero posee una mano con muchas cartas de las estaciones restantes y las va jugando como si no le importase demasiado traer a octubre la primavera, la nieve a septiembre o el viento de marzo a los albores de diciembre.

El otoño no abraza la locura, sólo es inestable, una inestabilidad mesurada que en su mesura desmesura todo (pffft).

Tiene muchos "días extraviados":

Porque muchas veces, en tal tiempo del año, se encuentra un día extraviado que pertenece a una estación distinta y que tiene la propiedad de hacernos vivir en esa época, evocando sus placeres, haciéndonoslos desear, y que viene a interrumpir las ilusiones que nos estábamos forjando, colocando fuera de su sitio, más allá o más acá, esa hoja arrancada de otro capítulo en el calendario interpolado de la felicidad

Marcel Proust, En busca del tiempo perdido. Por el Camino de Swann.

Tal vez sea por ello que sea una estación tan socorrida "sentimentalmente".

The answer to your paradoxical questions

A very frequent and maybe inconscious ask for forgiveness. How can I deny it to you. But you ask carelessly, without even knowing that there is just one thing that deserves such petition. And the paradox is that it is not your fault. The thought do not appear to your mind, the feeling isn't printed in your soul. Maybe I'm just a captive of my subjetivity, of my reality (if I can call it that way). Trapped temporarily in the way I think about you and feel about you. May it be for the best. Ignorance is bliss.

Vorágine.

No puedo recordar si antes había usado este título para alguna entrada y no tengo deseos de revisar en este preciso instante. A pesar de mi intención de llenar este escrito de tropos, metáforas, metonimia y cualquier maquillaje retórico que disimule mi palurdez literaria, se impone mi necesidad de expresión cruda y dura.

¿Vorágine? Vorágine. Voragine, vorágine, vorágine, vorágine, vorágine. Cuando dices mucho una palabra parece perder el sentido por momentos. Así quisiera poder repetir mis sentimientos, una y otra vez, para sumir su sentido en el ojo de esa vorágine, vorágine, vorágine.

Pero no me resulta posible, están atrapados, justo entre el gaznate y el plexo solar (donde quiera que estén ambas partes). Entre un chakra y otro chakra. Aturdiendo los cinco séntidos y fuera del alcance del sexto (y el séptimo).

Y aún así, a pesar de estar atrapado, siento una extraña sensación. Es mejor sentir esto a no sentir nada. Y mientras lo escribo me arrepiento. Y me arrepiento de arrepentirme. Y recuerdo que el arrepentimiento es inadecuado.

Finalizo.

I have a little bit of a crush

So, there is no other way to define it. And yes, on the riptide of feelings that accompany this precise one, comes another. At least there is no denial like other times. On the positive side of things, well, it's a reminder that my heart is not hollow or petrified.

But that might be the other issue. As much as I know that my feelings toward the "person" (object sounds horrible) of my affection aren't possible, I still have them. That's a conflict. It is not possible to think clearly (of course hehehehehe). Nothing that can be solved by algorithms or logic. Only time? Only a miracle? What then? Who knows.

Leaving now. It's getting late.

Holding everything together.

So, maybe in some sense (or even in all sense), a phrase from certain writer thinker (I can't remember the exact words right now) it's true: we have a driving inner force to perseverate in our life. Maybe that's why I feel right now so baffled and tired. I might have neglected or overlooked at it for...what, years, lustrums, maybe a decade or so? Even thinking about it frightens me. And makes me sad about the time. But the same thinker said: "there's no use in regretting". (not the exact words again).

The point is (as I am trying to conclude in a crude manner) that you cannot expect the life to just "go on". Even for issues like feelings, sentiments, and so it is necessary an active participation. Conscious if you want to. Just my two cents. Not a medical or psychological advice. This opinion can even change through the years (or through the lectures). But right now, it seems to be the state of the affairs. Grabbing all the edges of your existence and directing them can be a very hard and demanding activity. And you cannot expect the world, the universe, the others, or God to do it by yourself.

Infatuation.

One problem with feelings is that they come at their own will. Somehow learning to identify them gives an advantage but there is always a question: what can you do with them?

Maybe just cope with them. But infatuation is a misleading one. You may feel excited about it, but you know it pushes your will towards someone that won't share your enthusiasm.

Anyway, this was just a quick post. I didnt' want to go to sleep with this in my chest.

Torrent.

Leaves aren't falling yet, but autumn is here now. But this new month has some strayed days from spring and summer, where you can be bathed by the bliss of the sun at noon and washed by cold rain drops at the evening.

Seasons are changing. Everything keeps changing. People changes, I guess. Even if it's a common idea to negate it, nothing is, nor can be permanent. Everyday I convince myself of that. Not even feelings, mind, or even some apparently stable mode of being.

Is this change slow paced or fast? Depends. But if I write about it now, is because I felt something different. A torrent. Or a stream. Flowing upon me. Somehow, I now I am the same, but at the same time, paradoxically, I have changed. Translocation might have helped to operate this changed. To isolate me in a pocket of reality and time, away from petty and big issues, bracketing the time while time were still flowing and meanwhile giving a chance to be. To open up. Could it be? Or is it just an illusion? If so, it feels so authentic, vivid as reality, even more.

If the mind and or spirit were conformed of gears and such mechanisms, some sort of adjustment would have been made. A slight variation, a difference that consolidates reality in such a different way. The mighty stream of feelings, with its overwhelming impact creates a new notion in my consciousness.

More than a week of contemplation of art, of giving some little pleasures, was a week of feeling. And to feel is always a challenge. A challenge to the stability of mental issues, to the stagnation and the fear, and to the denial of feeling itself. Feeling and being became a coherent duality to function: impossible to close one's eyes and negate its existence.

An unfolding of possibilities comes up with the recognition of the fact of feeling. It brings up the capacity to act. But, even if it is tautological, the capacity to feel in a broader sense, instead of holding back the sensation. This might be just a rambling, but sometimes, the right time, space, circumstance, recognition and, most important, the right connections may bring a change: of mind, of spirit, of heart. In my person, that change could be the possibility to let other to enter my life. Scary. Don't know if that is really what happened. Don't know it's permanent. Neither if it's real. Just that I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same.

End of rambling. Start of hope (don't care if hope is rejected by some thinkers).

Disconnection

A disconnection is defined as breaking the connection of or between. A connection is a relationship in which a person , thing or idea is linked or associated with something else (just for clarifying the obviousness of dictionaries). So... Things are connected and disconnected. Even thoughts and feelings. And probably that's the cause of many discomforts. Perceptions that lead to thoughts. And these thoughts or mental representations lead to feelings. But the connection doesn't seem logical. Somehow I know that my feelings aren't...right. And that brings me to the recent past, when I was complaining (yet again) about my inhability to make a choice. To choose the people I like, or whom I feel attracted to.

An so on, this maze of connections and disconnections becomes even more twisted. When I thought that I got rid of the burden of what I call "evil feelings" or thoughts. some conversation, or situation, bring it back to the surface. And suddenly I look at my past...make comparisons, and let the grudge grow. And I cannot change my past, nor obtain another one.

So confusion ensues. And resentment.

'Til next one, even if no one reads. Next one probably won't have nothing to do with this one. Maybe will be related. We'll see.

Una probada

Un buen zapatero hace el mejor calzado con el cuero que se le da

Aristóteles - Ética Nicomáquea.

25 de marzo de 3019 de la tercera edad del sol.

Otro aniversario, esta vez de la caída de Sauron.

Jueves 24 de marzo de 2005 - Jueves 24 de marzo de 2011.

Apenas hoy reparo en que hace 6 años estos días fueron el mismo (jueves). Hace demasiado que no escribia. Tengo mis razones para hacer esta pausa, pero no podía dejar pasar este aniversario mas. Un aniversario y una peculiar casualidad. Que cosas.

Lo dijo mejor que yo.

La mayoría de las personas que conocemos no nos inspiran más que indiferencia; de modo que cuando en un ser depositamos grandes posibilidades de pena o de alegría para nuestro corazón, se nos figura que pertenece a otro mundo, se envuelve en poesía, convierte nuestra vida en una gran llanura donde nosotros no apreciamos mas que la distancia que de él nos separa.

Marcel Proust. Por el camino de Swann.

Status: alguien lo escribió mejor.

Ocurre muy a menudo. Alguien escribe mejor en algunas estrofas de lo que yo podría en cientos de líneas. Más ahora, cuando las palabras se confunden en su trayecto de mi mente a mi voz, o en este caso a mis dedos:

Feel like a big old stone
Standing by a strength of my own
But every time the morning breaks
I know I'm closer to falling

I'm all out of love, all out of faith
I would give everything just for a taste
Everything's here, all out of place
Losing my memory...

No sé lo que piensan acerca de esto, pero se como se siente, se la impresión que da. Como dice un mediático anuncio de la hoy tan popular (y por desgracia, creo tan prostituida) psicología: la realidad puede parecer muy subjetiva. Es por esto mi intento de mostrarles mi percepción hasta donde sea posible. ¿De nuevo, tiene algún caso, o sentido? Creo, de nuevo, que si. De otro modo no lo estaría haciendo. Soy un humano y algo en mi requiere intentar establecer un vínculo con ustedes, quiensea el destinatario de esta voz.

Ahora, el siguiente mensaje lo dejó aquí, después de haberlo tomado. Veo una necesidad inminente en él:

You're asking for friendly advice
And remaining in permanent crisis
Affection is yours if you ask
But first you must take off your mask

In two or three words; how do you feel?

For me, it always have been difficult to tell how I feel. If might be evident, as I am not (or I was not) good at hiding some reactions. But I think everyone is an open book for those with the ability to read it. Right now school should be joyful. But at my face I find it stressful and unenjoyable. That's not right to me as it produces suffering. Unnecesary suffering, as I can tell. But that was a small deviation from the original theme. I guess I have a problem telling someone how I feel. That person is very important to me and I tend to see only defects and vices, which I can't tell if they really exist or not. Well of course, nobody is perfect, but focusing on negative aspects cannot be a good politic. I really want to tell that person: I like you, I love you and I will do the best for you, for your happiness. But everytime we meet, a sound can't escape my throat, nor a thought my mind. And I have to stare at him at the mirror, again....

Patience

The greatest of virtues it seems. Patience is priceless, unvaluable and ever desired by everyone. Who doesn't want to be able to stand the multiples delays of life, the unevitable waiting for something better, the arrival of someone to an appointment.

But those are only the shallow powers of this divine gift, for it would serve perfectly for those with hopes and expectations. Do you hope your pain ends, do you expect your suffering to stop. Well, then patience will be your pharmakon, the perfect remedy. And it will be definitely necessary. Its nexus with hope appears as a "conditio sine qua non". Hope and Patience must be always together. Of course this not always happens. Then, the consequence is suffering. How do you expect something which you don't know when it will occur (in case it occurs)?

Indeed a gift, a stoic one. But if someone comes with a method to develop, train, create patience, please, shut it out loud, write me an email or leave a comment.

Not that I don't like you...

Luckily for me I just remembered August 2 years ago. Now things are different (yes, are, not seem to be). But anyhow, that was just a bit of memories. If something has to be fixed that is, precisely, the permanent gaze upon the past and the future (not denying their relevance, but present is always more important, and the only one that exists).

This thoughts doesn't seem very structured, nor the title adjust to the contents. Of course that I don't like a lot of things. And I would like to shut them out loud. But somehow, education, tradition, habit tend to restrain the desire. Also, fears are still there. The human condition, said a lot of writers, intelectuals and people in their works, a bar, a cafe, or even a bus stop, trying to solve the world with words of pedestrian wisdom. Am I too harsh? I hope not. Or do I hope to be? Fear. Fear is a constant. How to live with it? A permanent stock of prescription drugs? Non prescriptions drugs like alcohol, coffee, soft drinks, cookies, or even that disgusting thing called tobacco? Some think that the idea of a divinity helps to overcome the fears. That doesn't seem to be logical, as major semitic religions instill fear into the hearts of men. God is there, but the humans try to hide him.

Caution breathes a lonely breath...

Change. Why to cherish stability if change is the only stable thing? Hehehe. Now I am trying to solve the world with words of wisdom. Pedestrian wisdom. Well. I recall my words. I am just pointing out, destroying, or trying to destroy. Can't believe that I'm doing what Nietszche wrote in his "Philosopher's book".

This post should come to an end soon. This is too scattered and the objective is not being achieved. If there is such thing as an objective. It might be just the same as the majority of this posts, trying to express, like a painter express something with his work without giving it a recognizable shape or order, like a poet express without using logic, or even metrics. Maybe just trying to express something to me through the exterior. To realize that life is. That things can happen and will happen. And that some things have to be triggered, constructed, nurtured, created, birthed...

Good night

For humans.

The way most of abrahamic or modern major religions are configured points to the idea that they are made for destroying people in some way. As a firm believer of a higher power I just can't understand the major degree of evil present in some so-called "men of God". Anyway, that's not the point.

Recently I have been thinking about buddhism. If I may say, that religion-philosophy-way of thought has caught my interest years ago. But I remember one idea that arisen when thinking about it. It's pretty much for the sake of human. Its main purpose it's quite simple: to stop the human suffering. You don't have to buy an indulgence, kiss some bishop ring or think of yourself as a sinner.

You have a path to follow to stop suffering. And you can do it now. You reach it now, and you got it forever. Honestly it isn't surprising the popularity that it had in Asia. The fact that surprise me is that isn't even more popular. But who knows... religion of philosophy it seems to be a real pharmakon. It makes me think of the stoics combined with the Epicurus. Anyway, just a bit of thought for tonight.

Life unscripted.

Haven't written in a while. But I am sure any reader should be aware of that, considering that every post has its date. I may say, things have been better since vacations ended. Before being whacked with some blunt object, let me explain: vacations are great if you have the money to travel and/or the oportunity to do something different, a boyfriend/girlfriend to fool around, some gang of friends, etc etc. In case of lack of all these factors, vacations can be just a time to think about all the bloody things that happen, how the world will end soon, all the diseases you may have....the list can go on, but the point has been made.

Now, the script is going on. The writer seems to be more condescending, or at least optimist. But i have yet to know if the writer is God, or if I write.

Pray the night.

Is it any wonder? I don't know. Yeah, that's my favorite phrase, whatever. I was banished from the kingdom of the good and true. So I stand here. I was planning to write on things that happened long ago (May) but suddenly I felt so angered and bothered, so I decided that was meaningless. Just as everything seems to be. Reality daunts me as I try to grasp it and to decide what to do. In any case, that effort turns into a complicated net of perceptions, feelings and comparisons. Trying to find answers doesn't look like the right choice. May was a turmoil..confusion, and impending deadlines. June becomes intense heat and a feeling of What the fuck am I doing. July morphs into fear of everything. I would like to have hope. Or better than hope. Faith. Hope is expect. Faith is being sure. Being sure that things might have a meaning and that life is more than fear, than anxiety, than shame, pain and suffering.

¿Es realmente necesario?

Eventualmente seguire con algunas otras reflexiones. Pero ahora es verano, fin de cursos escolares en los paises del hemisferio noroccidental. Y yo me pregunto....¿es realmente necesario tener que tragar todas las malditas ceremonias de graduación?. Son una verdadera pena. Primero que nada gran parte de las escuelas utilizan una musicalización cursi y trillada, claro, pero siempre tratando de dar "realce" o como se diga al evento. En segundo, prácticamente se esta acostumbrando hacer una maldita graduación para cada ciclo: guarderia, jardín de niños, primaria, secundaria, preparatoria, etc. Las graduaciones supuestamente eran para otorgar títulos: bachiller, licenciado, doctor. ¿Por qué carajos entonces hacer las de secundaria, primaria y jardín? Estupideces y pérdida de tiempo. Prácticamente sólo los masoquistas gustan de estas ceremonias vanas.

Para colmo, como ahora cualquiera se "gradua" hasta de licenciatura, (ohh y esto es motivo de vanagloria para los directivos) estas ceremonias suelen ser masivas. Hablan a cada promovido uno a uno entregándoles sus "documentos" (que en la mayoría de los casos, dada la burocracia del sistema educativo y la premura de los planteles, no son más que una carpeta con una hoja medio impresa representando dichos documentos, los cuales llegan meses después).

Además, muy probablemente la ceremonia tendra lugar en un salón de eventos (el cuál estará bastante lleno, amontonado, caluroso, con un mobiliario bastante incómodo y decoración de unicel-nieve seca muy ordinaria), en un gimnasio (lugar no diseñado para este tipo de eventos, si bien algo menos incómodo), o con suerte un buen auditorio (rogemos porque no le afeen con su decoración).

Ahora, el aspecto técnico. Con la llegada de la tecnología ahora lo "in" es mostrar diapositivas por medio de un proyector electrónico. La realidad es que, dadas las condiciones de iluminación, es casi seguro que la proyección no se aprecie bien o ni siquiera sea visible. Ahora, no sé, pero cualquier presentación pierde totalmente su impacto si es posible ver "tras bambalinas" todo el proceso. Concretamente: las aplicaciones más populares de presentación (Power Point, Presentations, Open Office, Keynote) tienen una opción para evitar que veamos el escritorio del la computadora en cuestión, ver como el encargado inicia su sistema operativo, hace click, abre el archivo (y de paso vemos en la memoria toooda su creatividad para nombrar) y comienza el pase de diapositivas. Pero no, ya se paso, regresa otras cinco diapositivas hasta que ya queda listo para empezar. Y no me hagan hablar del sonido. El sonido tiende a ser horroroso.

La organización tiende a ser nefasta, todos quieren estar encima del graduando, los fotógrafos se amontonan y si ya tuvo a bien empezar el evento (raro si es puntual) y empiezan a besarle el #@l0 a los representantes de las autoridades (las autoridades siempre estan muuuuy ocupadas en cosas importantes como para asistir). Comienzan discursos interminables donde se mezcla la lambisconería, la falacia y el proselitismo político entre otras cosas. Numeros musicales y artísticos, me parecen bien, siempre y cuando sean breves y atinentes, y no interminables y mal organizados. Es una graduación, no un maldito recital o concierto.

Tampoco pueden faltar los niños corriendo por cada pasillo, los bebes llorando (para que diablos los llevan...si alguien no disfruta estos eventos, son ellos), la gente llegando tarde, apresurada para cumplir el "compromiso" con su familiar atravesando los angostos pasillos donde la gente se encuentra ya apiñada, sudorosa, olorosa, acalorada.

Año con año se empeñan en repetir este miserable ritual, cada vez en formas mas barrocas (que a fin de cuenta derivan en un espectáculo Kitsch...bueno ni siquiera kitsch). Nadie lo disfruta, es un gasto innecesario. Si hay que hacer una ceremonia, que sea breve, discreta, elegante, agradable, donde permanezca un buen recuerdo, no un deber malentendido e incomodidad innecesaria durante 3 o mas horas.

Sin una máscara.

Y esa máscara es precisamente el uso de la lengua. O el uso de cierta lengua. Francamente escribir en inglés se ha convertido en una especie de protección. En estos momentos estoy experimentando un Deja- vu. Creo que ya había hablado (escrito) al respecto. Pero en fin. Hoy, si según Leibniz existe un principio de razón suficiente, me esta haciendo escribir de este modo, un poco más abierto. Porque de nuevo, este es mi instrumento de confesión, una muleta o prótesis que me ayuda a llegar al mundo, o tal vez a llegar a mi mismo. Mi cabeza me punza como usualmente lo hace, del lado izquierdo y mis creencias me llevan a pensar en cierta teoría cuya afirmación es: el cuerpo refleja a la mente. No se si sea cierto, pero da igual. Cada día suponemos un montón de cosas que no son ciertas o quizás no lo sean. Que el sol saldrá de nuevo, que estaremos vivos, etc.

Y como diría un amigo (hace rato no le escucho decirlo o veo escrito) "heme aquí". Heme aquí tratando de conciliar la visión política de tres autores. Sin mucho éxito. Es muy difícil encontrar concentración cuando un cúmulo de pensamientos asaltan mi cerebro, y otro tanto de sentimientos, mi alma, corazón, espíritu o el bazo (desconozco el órgano o facultad para sentir).

Es aún más complicado entregarse a ese trabajo intelectual cuando dichos sentimientos súbitamente se apoderan de tí. No haces más que mirar al monitor de la computadora, sin hacer realmente nada, sin hablar, sin investigar, sin ver siquiera algún video interesante. Y eso pasa porque sientes un extraño nudo en el pecho, tratas de buscar una causa y no encuentras algo plausible.

Se vuelve dificil vivir el día a día preocupado porque cada noche se libra una batalla para conciliar un sueño que no repara.

Y la batalla continúa cada día, viviendo la paradoja de la "insociable sociabilidad" y el pensar "estoy mejorando" y a pesar de ello seguir sintiendote sólo.

De querer gritar cada día...pero no saber que gritar. De querer sin saber que querer. Y de carecer de esa capacidad mágica, de ser a-histórico que te permite ser feliz. Porque sin pasado y sin futuro todo sería mejor.

Pero que se yo. Igual y esto es solo, de nuevo, el vehículo para mitigar aunque sea un poco esa soledad, o para, confesando abiertamente esto, confesarlo ante mi. Es un intento. Quizá malogrado...quiza no.

Pero de nuevo, se hace tarde, y quisiera dormir....

Weeping wounds....

My body aches, my mind aches, my soul aches....just want to relieve myself...

More distress.

And this time I cannot find a valid reason to feel it. That's worrisome. Also is worrisome the thought that just came to my mind: abandon...it would be so easy. But how easy? I don't know. How easy is to abandon a dream? Is it really true that as a being I shall do everything to preserve myself. I happen to doubt that. Nevertheless, I have to sleep and my rethoric is no good in my native tongue, worse in English and even worse at this hour.

Distress...

Distress...A word that defines a situation. Then again, I feel the need to confess, to relieve myself or at least to try. Knowing that even if the words on this page are under my control, I cannot decide if it is right or wrong. I find different origins to this distress, or maybe there are distinct, and become mixed. Probably lots of people are used to tests, examinations, ways to put a qualification, "to measure" our performance, at work, at school, even at life. I am getting tired of this. Since childhood there are lot of voices yelling "you're good" "you're not good". Good enough or not good enough. Pressure from parents, society or maybe just an internalization of all that pressure, constantly yelling at you to do your best, to beat them all, to win at all costs. To win what? A good job, a good career, the perfect life? It doesn't seem fair. Because no one is perfect, and the frustration of "not being good enough", "not being perfect" seems to permeate every moment of the life, every little game, every joke, every situation at school or work seems to be a fierce competition. But sometimes, the competitors have no face, and no name. Are just shadows inside you. The figures that you try to impress, to satisfy. Memorize, organize, fill completely the circles with a number 2 pencil. That will tell you what you're good for. You will feel extreme pleasure if you accomplish it. But then what. It will last for a second or less. Then you'll be again, fearing, fighting endlessly, trying to reach a goal that will never be close, and this desire or obsession, long ago graved deeply in yourself will taint everything in your life. Suddenly, nothing will be enjoyable unless it's a competition that you can win...to prove you worth something...

This is one thing. But the other thing.

The unsocial sociability. Or the inability to hold an affectionate relationship with another human being. THe isolation that hurts more everyday. The impotence of knowing that the time is passing, the efforts are inneffective, the fear, incapacitating...at points like these I just wish for hope and possibility, even if right now it is not seen...

Random Citation

Sayin' all is good and nothingness is death...

Expresar lo inexpresable.

Algo así me dijo un amigo y/o compañero de la escuela hace unos cuantos días. Y eso me puso a pensar que en este momento tengo muchas ganas de escribir, pero no se el "acerca de". Como pasa muy a menudo, escribo ya tarde (o temprano, depende de la perspectiva) tengo trabajo que pude haber hecho antes pero cierto bloqueo y/o procrastinación me detuvo a realizar. Mientras todo eso "sucede" trato de aferrarme a la aparente cordura que me ha estado acompañando las últimas horas. ¿Será esquizofrenia? ¿Será una paradoja en la cual la esquizofrenia sea cordura? No lo sé y sinceramente no lo creo. Aún con tanta lectura desconozco el funcionamiento de mi mente. La máxima de conocerse a uno mismo es ignorada por mi ser. Pero el temor surge. El temor de ver hacia adentro y encontrar algo desagradable. Pero a fin de cuenta eso es una paradoja también. Si no es posible mentirse a uno mismo, tampoco es posible ocultarse. ¿o sí? No lo sé. Sólo espero dormir con esperanza de lograr reparar esta semana (o lo que queda) los errores provocados por mi procrastinación. Tonight's gonna be a good night....today's gonna be a good day...I hope so...I think so.

25 de Marzo del año 3019 de la tercera edad del sol

Un aniversario más de la derrota de Sauron.

Otro año mas de blogger.

¿Quién lo diría? jejeje Empezó como algo raro, sigue siendo algo raro, pero ya es parte de mi vida y de lo que soy, de lo que tengo que decir, de mi capacidad de ser escuchado (o mejor dicho leído), una parte de mi en el mundo. No se si sea bueno o malo, pero es, por el momento presente, lo que es.

Causa y efecto o efecto y causa.

La causa de que escriba es la soledad que tengo y posiblemente el miedo. Escribo porque no puedo hablar o tengo miedo de hablar y en ello es creada esta simulación. Porque escribir es lo más parecido que encuentro a conversar y aún así no es lo mismo. Sus ventajas son sus desventajas. No escuchas lo que quieres oir, o lo que no quieres oir, simplemente no escuchas. Pero a fin de cuentas es un último recurso de aquel, que como yo, va por este mundo en una especie de ostracismo personal, ya voluntario, ya por parte del mundo. Realmente no se a que grado uno y el otro. En que punto uno elige la soledad, o, de nuevo, la soledad te elige a ti. Entonces la causa y efecto no quedan tan claras de nuevo y la causa no aparece más del mismo sencillo modo que al inicio de esta "conversación".

Interrupción.

Si, eso fue lo que pasó el día de hoy cuando, enfrascado, caminando, quiza algo enfadado de la universidad al lugar que habito algo interrumpió la corriente de pensamientos y de afecciones mentales y sentimentales que experimentaba. El aroma de un naranjo, increíblemente fragante, increíblemente dulce interrumpió todo aquello que me turbaba por segundos, aquello que me molestaba, aquello sobre lo que mi mente giraba sin cesar.

I need something to rely on.

As usual the strange thought to close the night or the dawn, depends on the point of view. As usual writing from the loneliness of my room. Do I chose loneliness or does loneliness choose me? It's a valid question. I cannot say that I don't have friends, because I have them, I have great friends actually and I am knowing new people at school, people that have interesting and different views and that I'm starting to care. I do have a family, a good caring family. I do not hunger nor thirst.

Then why I feel awkward? Then why I feel that I don't belong to anywhere? that I can't understand people and people can't understand me? That despite I have friends, I pass much of my time bored, sad and alone. That I don't feel enthusiasm anylonger.

Then, came to me this thought: loneliness choses me, and even embrace me. And even twists the reality. Reality doesn't match the way it should. The first paragraphs shows the reality as most of the people would look at if I would tell the. Second paragraph shows how do I feel about that reality.

I'm still hoping.

Words from the Lady of Lothlorien

Do not let your hearts be troubled. Go now and rest, for you are weary with sorrow and much toil. Tonight, you will sleep in peace.

Peace...peace...peace...

Someone hit pause please...

One of those days in which the worse of the others just mixes with the worse of you. I have days wondering and asking about the sense of what I'm doing? Today I got results of some tests. Not what I would like to see. But somehow, nothing seems good enough for me. That is one of my problems, or at least, some people have pointed out that. Well, I have pointed it out too, because that neverending quest for perfection doesn't let me live. And speaking of life, I also throw a question: where is the joy? Someone in msn said: enjoy the little things. Another blog says: unhappiness is the result of bad choices. Also people tell me that I need a relationship. The fact is I don't know and right now I'm pretty much worried about what to do. I cannot continue this way. What is going to happen to me if this continues? I cannot tell, but I don't like it, and like the song said "ya no se que hacer conmigo" (I don't know how to do with myself). Yes, a school quiz went wrong. Yes, I haven't been motivated. A bunch of crap in my hands and just wanting to scream...but who would listen?? Someone told me: I want to go home... I can go back and forth to the place where I was born and raised, and to the place where I study, to the streets of my hometown and this other city and I cannot find and answer to how I Feel. And I'm tiring...I cannot live like these...I can't stand it any longer. The loneliness is getting a heavier burden...specially when I find myself...totally different and when I see that things that should go naturally are a source of conflict...every human relationship. Nevermind....getting late again...

Meaning.

Meaning as in sense. In the way that something has a "raison d'être". That's the idea of how we are raised. Everything, somehow, has a reason to be. Every thing that happen should follow that idea. You should behave yourself as a kid because bla bla bla bla. Cause-effect. Well I just have to say: all that crap is just that: crap. What to live for if you don't have hope? And if you have hope how long can it last before you fall? I really don't know. People crave for love, for a hapiness that society tells should be. Anyway I just find everything pointless...boring...and don't have the enthusiasm that maybe I had. Did I have it anyway? I'm afraid to said that I did have. Now, I don't know.

Puáj

Es la opinión que tengo de la existencia en este momento

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.

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

¿Es la amistad algo bueno? ¿es algo que se desea, sin lo que la vida resulta difícil o incluso inconcebible?

La respuesta a estas preguntas parece ser si. La presencia de la amistad resulta evidente en el universo de las relaciones humanas y frecuentemente resulta algo importante en la vida de todos.

Es algo bueno, quiza porque nos da bienestar, una sensación de que ese aspecto de la existencia y las relaciones produce sensaciones agradables y tambien sensaciones placenteras.

De nuevo, no soy omnisciente ni nada de eso, pero esto me lleva a pensar mas a fondo en algo que lei.

¿Pueden los malvados ser amigos entre sí?

Pretendía escribir esto en este momento, pero la pereza es mucha. Seguire en la próxima entrega.

Comenzar, nacer, etc.

Me abstendre en estos momentos de hacer cualquier alusión a lo típico o sea, quejas, lamentos, puntualización de lo malo, etc.

El año nuevo (que realmente es una convencionalidad, pero bueno, esa es otra historia) por lo general brinda sensaciones de esperanza y de propósitos, buscando un cambio en nuestras propias actitudes, nuestra suerte, nuestras circunstancias y pone en nuestras mentes, si bien, de manera breve, la idea de comienzo. Esto me recuerda ciertas ideas de Hannah Arendt, respecto al nacimiento (de los humanos) que bien podrían ser adecuadas:

el nuevo comienzo inherente al nacimiento se deja sentir en el mundo sólo porque el recién llegado posee la capacidad de empezar algo nuevo, es decir, de actuar...

Es todo por el momento...

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.