Writers block

How if writers block come in the worst moment, when writing is not only your hobby, but also your work? Hehehe, nevermind, I am aware that pretty much every writer suffers from such condition. In my case it is quite simply: trying to explain, make an argument and give a proper foundation for an idea. But somehow, when the attempt to write such explanation comes out, the implications came like a snowball, every little problem or issue leads to another. So, procrastination ensues. Might as well be the fear. Fear of failing, anyone? Maybe a good advice, one that has been given to a lot of people is: take the risk, don't be afraid of mistakes, even more if such mistakes can lead you to perfect your work, your art and craft. Anyway, that's pretty much for today.

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.

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...

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.

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.

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

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. 

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...

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)

In a situation.

In a situation when you don't like someone...you leave.

What can you do, if the person you don't like, who makes you feel discomfort is none other than yourself.....?

Unbreakable Will.

Will unbreakable, faith unshakable. A strenght underlying in the spirit itself. What can someone possibly do to tap on the power of this?. Is it meditation, religion, praying, pleasure, work, discipline? What?

Certainly I don't know. And someone doesn't know me either, as I have been said "I didn't believe that of you".

But it's true as it seems all of us are capable of the greatest deeds. But also the oposite. Nevertheless, I can say that almost everyone is in the middle. 

I am saying crazyness again!!!. 

I'll stop right now.

G. Night.

Hace tanto tiempo.

So it is. A long time ago since the last time that I wrote something here. A lot of changes and feelings as usual. Huge changes I guess, but I think I tend to overreact about them. Sometimes I feel that I am doing wrong, but at this point, I don't know what would I do, instead of what I am doing now. I cannot go back. And I am afraid to go forward. Jajajaja pretty hilarious isn't it. So, basically, I'm kind of trapped. Because I don't want to go back to a reality in which I will just grow old and wish for something better. But I am not sure of what I am doing now. But at least, I've managed to do it for about a week. Is this the right way? I don't know for sure. Well, now I know that I do not know anything for sure. I'm just here, riskin' just like it is supposed to be, even when I think that I am too old for that, that I should stop playing around and get a life. But, hey, this is my life. I don't want to live it in function of what other people says that is good or right. I don't want to be a stereotype, or live my life because somebody told me "hey, you should to that because it is what you're supposed to do". Just because. But it's difficult. Difficult in my mind, and in my heart. But I think that I am risking for the right causes. Even if I fail, it wouldn't matter, I failed a lot in the past, but at least I am trying to live what I want to live, and to believe in me, although sometimes I don't feel that way. 

Well, guess that's all right now. But I am still here , in this glorious and schizophrenic blog jajajaja. 

Los árboles...antes de la Edad del Sol y la Luna.

...Entonces Yavanna se incorporó y se irguió sobre Ezellohar, el montículo verde, pero estaba desnudo ahora, y negro; y puso las manos sobre los árboles, pero estos estaban muertos y oscuros, y cada rama que tocaba se quebraba y caía marchita a sus pies. Entoces muchas voces se alzaron en lamentaciones; y les parecio a los que se apesadumbraban que habían bebido hasta las heces la copa de dolor que Melkor habia escanciado para ellos. Pero no era así.

Yavanna habló ante los Valar diciendo: - La luz de los Árboles se ha ido, y ahora solo vive en los Silmarils de Fëanor. ¡Previsor ha sido! Aún para los más poderosos bajo la égida de Iluvatar hay una obra que solo pueden llevar a cabo una única vez. Di ser a la Luz de los Árboles, y en los confines de Eä nunca más podre hacerlo. Sin embargo, si yo dispusiese de un poco de esa luz, podría devolver la vida a los Árboles antes de que las raíces se corrompieran; y entonces nuestras heridas tendrían remedio, y la malicia de Melkor quedaría confundida...

El Silmarillion.

Este pasaje ha venido mucho a mi cabeza. Solo una vez. Una vez fue la creación, según la tradición. Una vez. Una vez las grandes maravillas. Pero solo hoy, que releí el pasaje, repare en la última parte. Un poco de esa luz. ¿Será que existe tal luz, o es solo una ilusión extraña?

Mighty forces.

Mighty forces struggle inside me. And many forces flow outside. But at the end, everything seems to be related. This year, somehow, I managed to quiet all the noise and listen to my inner voice, and also, to the voice of God, who is always speaking, even when we doesn't pay attention. Even when I don't always believe, or when I think that everything is like a conspiracy from the universe against me. But right now, I will use my favorite phrase: "I don't know". But suddenly, a burst of things came out. Better said, a burst of feelings. In one hand I feel deep fear and uncertainty, nostalgia, sorrow. Then I feel rage, too much rage and anger, wrath. Then I feel anxious. Then, I feel good, I feel and spread love, joy, hapiness. So strange. So many changes, a new life, and I am afraid. But ready.

Another Post in this Blog

So it is. Here am I, everyday less anonymous thanks to a very good blog, from a great person (you know who you are). I really thought about killing this, but after all, it seemed like if I was killing a part of myself, so I don't know, it's one of my scape valves, even when I doesn't want to know nothing about the world, when I feel lonely, even when I guess just few people read it.

So, here am I, just telling a few thing.

THIS IS MY FUCKIN' BLOG AND I CAN WRITE WHATEVER THE FUCK I WANT ON IT.

So now, It's hard to start writing. It is almost painful. It's like every word came out like a tear, like a drop of blood, like a needle that comes through the skin.

But is more painful to get all the stuff inside, hurting you directly.

Why do I do this? Because I can.

Because there are too many few ways in which I can say how much I hate, how much anger lies inside me, how much fear, how much sadness, but also, hoy much hope, love, joy, lies inside, and cannot go out either.

Last days I tried something that I thought it was going to be the best for me. I think I've failed, and that only made my anger grew up, so my sadness.

why did I do it? I don't know for sure, or maybe, as somebody said to me, "it's too painful for you to tell".

Might be. But those only lead to confusion. And an old pain. The old pain of an incorrect path, a deep shame of doing something wrong, and be struggling right now to find the correct way, without success.

And It's a deep shame. I don't really know what is worse, admitting it, or hearing the people asking you "why you don't do that before" or "do something else". The thing is that it seems that I've failed, so I am strugglin' here with this.

Later comes the confusion of being myself, the fear of talking, the anger of feeling lonely, the envy and other feelings that struggle inside me...

Nevertheless, it's hurting. I will continue tomorrow I guess.
I promise.

Good Evening again.

Decisions are taken as I write this lines. Not just my decisions. The decisions of every person in this world. Decisions like going to bed or pickin' up something to eat. Decisicions like pursuing a career. Decisions like marrying someone. Decisions like killing someone. Decisions of saving someone's life.

Why am I writing about this. Well. I have made such decisions in the last months. But I am not concerned about mine decisions this night....well, I am, in fact, but I am going to write about something else.

And talk about something that I do not like, and something that has happened last years. When the people whom I love leaves.

I tried to read and understand bhuddism. One point was the most important. Do not bond or attach to anything in this world. Anything. Do not have desires. Desires are the origin of pain and suffering.

Somehow, I thought that losing that bonds will obviously make you lose suffering. You suffer for the things you love or care about. For the people you love or care about. Even if that thing is not with you. But that is bond. And attachment. If you don't care for the things and persons of the world, you won't suffer. It leads you to a peaceful state...but it has its price. You resign happiness.

I do not know if I am right. I do not know If I am misunderstanding the teachings of the Bhudda. Or even misunderstanding human feelings. But is how I feel now.

Someone I met, not so much time ago is considering to leave. I should feel happy. That person is, like everyone else, pursuing or trying to find what is the best way in life. I do not know that person a long time ago...but recently, I have developed some affinity, some friendship, even some affection, and I like it, because, even though we are different in a lot of things, we can talk, we can share, even a little time so on.

And I feel sad...I know that might be selfish, because I want to know that person better...maybe share more time, thoughts, feelings, a friendship....but is painful, that I am also searching my own path, and I shall leave to find it too.

I'm sad, because when I started to dispel my loneliness, to find people in the world, to share my life, to share feelings, to share smiles, to share affection, to share tears and pains, to help....and then times go by, life goes on.....

It is sad to make a friend, just to watch that friend leave...

But....do whatever you have to do, to find your way...to be yourself, to pursuit your mission, to be happy, to be in peace.....

Mucho que hacer.

¿Lo estoy haciendo? Naaaaaaa. Estoy honrando a la sagrada actividad de la procrastinación. Carente de motivación quizás, o tal vez solo carente de ganas, me dispongo y escribo. Escribo, porque de eso si tengo ganas, mientras escucho la música que me reconforta medianamente esta noche, en los inicios de la primavera. Ahh la primavera, nada como el calor y la rinitis alérgica estacional. Recibiendo mensajes desde todas partes, los cuales no se si deba leer, o si acaso serán solo figuraciones de un subconsciente con demasiado tiempo libre, muy a mi pesar.

Así es. Muchos mensajes, y a su vez, nuevas y variadas situaciones angustiantes, que no todas son en torno a mí, sin embargo, las hago mías. Casi media semana laboral. Casi media semana de haber vuelto. Casi media semana de que otra vez te tengan por excelente o por incompetente, sin siquiera saberlo uno mismo.

Caramba, estoy escribiendo en la dulce lengua de Castilla, que ya no es de Castilla, de España, que ya tampoco es de España, sino que es de muchos países, entre ellos México, y que ya tampoco es de México, sino que es de cada quién, puesto que no a muchos entiendo, y si entiendo, es poco el entendimiento, o a veces, entiendo y entendemos de más.

Y es constante la búsqueda, puesto que si no fuera así, tal vez estaría muy contento, mediocrando la mediocridad. Pero no, estoy buscando, quizás de más, o quizás no lo suficiente. Y es así que me atrevo a escribir. A perpretar este texto, esta "entrada" como le llaman en ese Castellano que...blablabla.

Por eso me gusta poner mis fotos. A veces expresan más. Pero también se cada quién puede reflejar su ser en lo que fotografío. ¿Y acaso no en lo que escribo? Tal vez si. Esta conciencia global cada día nos alcanza más y más. Para bien, o para mal. No he tomado fotos....quiero tomar fotos. No tengo tiempo de tomar fotos. Ansío tomar fotos.

¿Buen fotografo? No hoy, no mejor que muchos, ni peor que otros tantos. Buena persona. No lo sé. Tal vez sea bueno, tal vez sea malo. Platón no me pudo dar la respuesta. Solo me hizo encontrarme con más preguntas. Kierkegaard hizo que buscar lo que soy se convirtiese en una máxima (y lo hizo con una sola frase). Sartre me dijo que dejara de quejarme, que siempre he sido y soy libre. Me duele la garganta y no he hablado. Me duelen los ojos y no he visto.

¿Qué es todo esto? ¿Sirve para algo, además de perder el tiempo que tendría que estar utilizando en labores más "productivas"? ¿Acaso sirve para arrancarles a mis lectores comentarios respecto a mi salud mental?

¿o es qué ni siquiera es necesario buscarle sentido u objeto, sino solo dejarlo ser?

Pensando.

Pues si aun sigo aquí. Aparentemente aun no es la hora de que deje de existir miserablemente. Pensando en las cosas que tengo planeadas para la semana próxima, de las cuales aun no realizó nada. No sé, no me he sentido con los ánimos de hacerlo. Incluso no se que caso tenga realizar dicho esfuerzo. Pero aún así, ronda por mi mente esa intención. Y me acabo de dar cuenta que sin querer en si, empecé a escribir (y en ambos blogs, ¡que impresión!). ¿por qué no digo que es lo que haré? Por dos razones: si lo hago, se verá aquí a su tiempo. Si no lo hago, no tendrá caso. Igual y es una derivación de otro proyecto que tenía pensado para año nuevo. Pero cielos. Parece que cada vez que quiero hacer algo un espíritu maligno me dice que no tiene caso. Tonikaku.

(Nightwish: Over the hills and faraway, Nemo, The Phantom of the Opera)

Por un instante

Realmente no se me ocurre nada mejor. Por un instante todas esas pequeñas gotas permanecieron suspendidas, estáticas, por un instante se detuvo el tiempo, la gente, el viento, el agua, la tierra. Solo por un instante, nada importó, más que ese único instante. No importaba nada más.