This title won't be "goodbye".

Writing to all or writing to no one. Sometimes internet can be this way, specially regarding to blogs. That's probably one of the reasons why I write (besides the enormous degree of concealing and hiding). So, this time I just want to write about the wonderful world of personal relationships and how I'm trying to understand them.

Today I saw a T.V. show in a cultural channel. One of the interviewees said "I love just the way I learned to love". Probably that's a very simple statement, but it made me think about it. You actually have to figure out how to love people. And this is by no means limited to romantic love. Friends and family included, this is actually a very important issue, that very often is ignored.

People learn by watching their parents, their family, even the T.V. They aprehend paradigms and rules which, when applied, might not be the best ones.

Why I write this? Well, I want to shed some light on my own confusion. Confusion that ensues when I don't know how to act (or react), how to approach, how to show or deal with my feelings. And all of this in one evening. Months ago I had certain thoughts. I may be more cautious (or fearful) since then. But everytime at least for me, seems to be equally stunning. Even if I don't have any clue of what I really feel. Nevertheless, I feel something. Guess that's a good thing.

What do you feel?

Goodbye 2.

Already spoke about goodbyes. I don't like them. In my childhood, I was faced with many goodbyes that probably defined in some way or another my life. Those goodbyes probably weren't spoken at that moment. I realized years later. Then I had to face the death of my beloved ones. What's wrong or weird with that? Everybody has to face it...Well, probably you never realize the power of goodbye until you're faced with the most definitive of the farewells: death. And after that, the fear came. An increasing fear that the few people I care about would leave, either for a while, or permanently. The innocence was shattered.

So...I don't like goodbyes. That probably means that I don't like change either. And I'm probably not the only one. Most of the people don't like to think about change. They want to establish routines. Predictable and boring, nevertheless, safe and reassuring.

And this rant is about what people dislikes the most. Having to deal with the imminent changes, things that are out of our control. People leaves, people changes and that is scaring. It is scaring the thought of struggling with everyday thoughts and projects, and suddenly have to cope with an alteration on the rest of the world.

I hate to say goodbye, because it is exhausting. People try to establish bonds with other people, grow friendships, romantic relationships, family. Then, an instant is all that is needed to cause a great upheaval. You found yourself grieving for the past, for the state of things as they were, while trying to move on.

Such is the frenzy that humans are subjects to. Build his dreams upon moving sands...And all of it is pointless and senseless. Though, we still go on. Or at least try...

En busca del tiempo perdido.

¿Bastante altanero, no lo creen? Y lo peor: es altanero en dos sentidos. Usurpar el título de una obra famosa, por una parte y tener el atrevimiento de pensar en la posibilidad de gobernar el tiempo, poseerlo como quién posee una mercancía, dominarlo como a una máquina a la cual le damos instrucciones. 

Aún así, posiblemente este título sea consecuencia de una añoranza que también tiene dos caras: el deseo de hacer algo más que simplemente mirar hacia atrás mientras se es arrastrado sin remedio hacia el futuro, o mejor dicho hacia el presente, con el rostro mirando hacia el pasado, de espaldas a la oscuridad de lo que esta por venir; la otra faz, tratar de hacer algo con los fragmentos que arrastramos con nosotros, reconstruir un presente con los mosaicos del pasado. 

Suena un tanto melancólico o derrotista, pero, por mucho que se intente simplemente mirar el instante casi inexistente llamado presente, la gran marea del pasado siempre vuelve, tal como lo hace el oceano, que por momentos parece replegarse en sí mismo, para sorprendernos cuando no lo esperábamos de vuelta. Mientras tanto, delante del presente, pero fuera de una visión pura esta la indeterminación que llamamos, futuro, el porvenir.

Pero el llamado del pasado es ponderoso. Pero no siempre es consistente. Sobre todo si los recuerdos, al contrario de lo señalado por Proust, no saben hacer reconciliaciones. Parece como si el presente, el yo actual que trata de reconfigurarse, fuese arrastrado de nuevo por una pesada ancla de preguntas sin respuesta, de peleas sin sentido, de arrepentimientos, de la mezcla contradictoria de amor y odio, añoranza y deseo de olvido.

No es el pasado la firme base sobre la que se asienta el presente...más bien es la arena movediza, cieno del cual emergen, impredecibles, recuerdos que te gritan, desconciertan. No es más que una reafirmación del pasado personal, fragmentario, a veces intempestivo. No importa si no es el presente...también eres el pasado.

Envy.

A generally recognized sin in many religions. The thing is, it's hardly a sin, since for sin I consider a VOLUNTARY act that has an evil motivation and/or consequence. But envy can hardly be classified by those standards. Of course, there can be actions which are generated by envy, but there are a lot of instances where the envious person doesn't act or even say a thing. In such case, envy wouldn't be a sin, but a self-suffering, caused by a feeling of inferiority in respect to other person, and the wish for the other to become deprived of some quality or fortune, so he can be inferior too (or, at least at the same level as the one who wishes that to happen).

Let's make an easy comparison with another sin: gluttony. The glutton wallows in the pleasure caused by food, but, unless there is an organic or psychiatric disorded, it is a completely voluntary act. He can choose between giving up to the pleasure caused by food. But also has the choice to moderate himself and have a greater well-being.

The envious, on the other hand, has limited choices. As envy seems to be a passive feeling, he can try to ignore it (such act will not stop the feeling), get distracted with something else, or even try to act upon the subject of his envy (which will worsen things).

When the envious chooses the better course of action (concealing or ignoring his feelings) he does not hope for the best, but actually tries to minimize the damage, which nevertheless is made to him, regardless of what he does.

As it is put on this example, envy is pretty much an annoyance with varying degrees, and pretty much a human trait. Probably has to do something with trying to improve oneself in response to the traits present in other individuals. Sadly, it also fucks pretty much everything in human relationships

Running 'round leaving scars.

I also may have chosen "Scar tissue that I wish you saw". But as usual, that's not the point. I write this because I need to express something about the incessant struggle of all human beings. Even if not every human being is aware of it (lucky them). But for those of us who are aware, it can be a good thing to talk about it once in a while, taking care of not falling into and endless wallowing in self-compassion or self-defeat. As Quinn (yes, Quinn!) Morgendorffer once said: isn't this all pairing together a cruel joke from God, the Nature, the fate? And what does this provokes? that everyone go running 'round leaving scars.
Have you been ditched lately by your friends because there were something or someone more important that you? Have you ditched a friend because there was something or someone more important than him or her?
Probably yes. And that is disgusting, painful, cruel. But somehow, even if that fact is recognized, everyone does it, probably on a daily basis.

Everyone tries to rebuke him, but probably Sigmund Freud wasn't that mistaken. We cannot be like dogs, in the sense that is impossible for us to relate to each other in terms of pure love or hate. We somehow mix them up and start tearing ourselves apart. Well, not necessarily, as we can be hiding everything and creating a hyper-structured life and behaviour to fool ourselves and "function" in the net of conventions that we call social relationships. That, and drugs, alcohol, neurosis, and the aptly named "30's, midlife, name-it, crisis" keeps us from falling apart at an early age. Well, some of us.

By the way in this love-hate relationship, I love-hate Christina Perri Songs.

That said, goodbye.

Over-(pick your suffix, but I'm thinking of thinking)

"You should think that carefully".
"Think about it".
"Deep thinkin'".

And the problem regarding all these afirmations, or general advices, is that they can pretty much fuck up everything when thinking becomes overthinking. Blasting your brain out with the supposedly careful consideration about one decision, issue, task. And yes, general advice consists in examinate with precision, rigor, and enough time how all the facts may or may not affect the outcomes, and how will they affect them.

However, as humans (and this is only an opinion) we became in extreme confidents on how our rational behaviour can solve or problems. Indeed, as "rational" beings, that's one of our most useful tools. Thinking help us to make choices, as we cannot rely totally on instincts. Also helps us to build an entire world for us to live in, as we seem to be ill-prepared to exist in raw nature. Nevertheless, when we rely, or better said, try to rely completely in reason, we make mistakes, took bad decisions, and ask ourselves "why did this happen?".

If we try to consider every little aspect of decision making, we miss the big picture and fail to consider the other sides of our own well-being. It may not seem reasonable to make a trip, try a new dish, do something new, but in fact, that may bring us joy, snap us out of routine and boredom. And even if a decision is supposedly made up considering just facts, emotions can be actually biasing the choice. Fear to change, extreme desire to a change. clinging on to something.

We are always bound to our passions and emotions. Reason is just a part of us. Guess the only good advice that can come from these musings is: try to balance. Thinking, acting, feeling. Juggle with them.

Excess and Lack.

I don't know why waiting rooms have this annoying illumination. Whether is a hospital, an office, a school, the driver's licence department, an airport or bus terminal; all the waiting rooms must have uncomfortable chairs, eye piercing lights and, if you're lucky, bad smell and great potential of boredom.

And also, the hiding possibility of deception. Usually, the situations in which you have to be waiting in such compartments, are the ones when you can be extremely nervous, expectant, hoping for something: the health of a beloved one, a swift journey, a job or a place at school.

Yes. Being there is not pleasant at all. And yet you have to do it very often. But it becames a bit harder when you feel ill prepared, even if you have proven to be good. Nevermind, you're not what they need. You're plane already took off.

It doesn't matter if you search through your notebook, reading the highest thoughts of the greatest mind, knowing that you have commited to them, learned them, hoping to reach them in their all-glowing virtue. The facts are: you need to do something: drag yourself into the world of sycophancy, to beg for a few coins while you try to not be crushed by the weight of the thoughts you set so high upon you.

Acting like if your maxims where to be universal laws start to become meaningless. Also the abiding of love. The power of virtue. Even the striving to persevere in life. All starts to fade out and then you wonder if discovering such thoughts wasn't a big mistake, if it is really that ignorance is bliss.

But there is no turning back. The blessing or course cannot be lifted. The first moment of commitment with such ideas was a crossroad. The road has been chosen. And somehow it is neccesary to figure out, how to walk it...

Otoño

Goodbye.

Today, a dear friend of mine asked me why I was saying "Goodbye" on some instant messaging service. I was reluctant to admit my motivations to him, so, that's why I am writing them on the internet, so everyone can read them. Last week, I realized that every second, every day, even if we don't notice it, we say goodbye. To the sun at the dusk, to a fleeting moment when it passes, to our present when it becomes the past. All the people we see through the day...we say goodbye to them.  Every part of our life passes through us, so, wether we like it or not, is a farewell. Most of these are forever indeed. But the magic, and/or the tragedy, is that we don't know that. And we may never knew. Great affairs usually take all of our attention, be at their beginnings, or at their endings. At that moment, we do realize the magnitude of goodbyes. But, what about every moment and little event, the sum of that line we call life? We are always parting. Until we part definitely.

Verano

Stately, plump...

Yes, I know, I used the very beginning of one of the greatests books in literature's history. Yes, it is a probably futile scam to lure some unwary readers into this swirling vortex of... oh nevermind. Actually I wanted to write about the topic that I know the least: human relationships. Certainly, as self-ostracism seemed to be the chosen lifestile (at least in spirit) for a while, I cannot talk about the wonders of human bonding at any level. Notwithstanding, positive social interaction proved more satisfying than complete alienation, even with the worries and fears that timid people usually feels when proved against such interactions.

But people are like atoms, they collide, are driven off, and also, repel. Or maybe an atom wants to collide and join another which doesn't. When you're under the effects of strong feelings, the ability to discern wether you're right or wrong become supressed. One one hand, you may think about the rightness of your feelings and/or actions. On the other hand, the outside perspective might be completely different.

It becomes hard to think about yourself. As a matter of fact, you, yes, the person who always acts "right" may be wrong, may be making someone else uncomfortable.

Even if this events are true, there is another part of the equation. You can control your actions, but I don't think is possible to control how you feel about someone. This can help on achieving an ethical behaviour, one in which you actually act motivated by the good. But it also leads to a heavy emotional turmoil.

So, I made a great discovery: human relationships are complicated. ¬ ¬

So long...

I hate the new blogger editor....

And that's not the main topic I shall be discussing right now. Actually, the change is what bedazzles me. Nevertheless, change is permanent...isn't it right? Actually, certain metaphysic postures would deny it, but there aren't many followers of those postures. Because, even if Zeno denied it, change, even if it might be an illusion of our minds, is always present.
Present might be a fleeting non-existant time. We may just as well be stranded in some continuum of moments between the vastness of the past and the unknown future.

But now what? How to overcome such questions?

I really don't know, and neither know why am I writing this. May be just another wise word from some man that used to confront hard questions on life...

"Love hopes all things -and yet is never put to shame". S.A.K.

Dune

Sadly, desertification is a common issue nowadays, mainly because of reckless industrial developments and climate change.Nevertheless, and even if I had seen the dunes before, watching them again was an experience that I would only describe as fascinating and breathtaking. Abouth a month ago, just for a few minutes and not exactly close enough to actually feel the sand, but the dunes, the desert, there is something about it that a meadow full of flowers cannot arise. In all its bare nudity, it shows itself. Quite the expression of a radical and natural honesty.

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.

κάθαρσις

The sun keeps going on its way on the sky, from dawn to sunset. Stars come out. And somehow, inside the persons, strange forces act. Some upon them, some caused by themselves. Others, because an external cause. What happens when the pressure from inside and outsides overwhelms the will -will to live, will to fight, will to resist-. It happens that the barrier is shattered, and every piece drop like a rain of tears, fragments. κάθαρσις that's the word when such a breakdown happens. Purging. It indeed looks like a purge. Things that used to be stagnating and creating a lot of pressure are suddenly released. μετάνοια and should come together, so all the shattered pieces can be rebuilt...or better said, regrown.

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

Otro año más desde que Sauron fue derrotado.

Siete.

Supuestamente 7 es un buen número. De nuevo, es dificil de creer que ya son siete años escribiendo esporádicamente por aquí. Buen Aniversario.

Mend, amend.

Last post was about questions (aren't they all?). Well, the question was about if it was right or wrong to have some feelings about a particular situation. No. I guess it was about the lack of a correlative or counterpart: having some efects with no apparent or plausible cause. Cause, cause, causation. What is the cause of "X"? In that particular post, the goal was to express or figure out the cause of the feelings of loneliness, sorrow, dispair, hopelessness. And, despite of my efforts, I couldn't delve enough in Kierkegaard and his imaginary friends to find out what was going on. And that is how these days have been, tinged with darker shades of gray, and ocasionally a shy green or yellow. So, the world, the people, the weather. It doesn't matter how they are. Even if people always look for objectivity, the most important factor for everyday life is how things appear to people. Somebody with allucinations doesn't worry about the world that is, but of the world that appears. A joyful individual takes his/her problems in such a different way than a depressive one. And no, I'm not talking about the simple concept of "point of view". I am talking about the world as a whole, given to the particular individual. When we can find some common points where it is possible to join and make connection. But nevertheless, the particular way in which the world is presented makes possible, somehow, the lack of comprehension between persons, where the joyful doesn't think even possible to look at the world in the way the melancholic describes it. Clearly a lack of empathy, but not in the common use of the word ("to put oneself in the shoes of the other). As I am trying to learn, empathy is way more than that. And between its characteristics, one of them is the ability or capacity to look the world in the way another does. Well, right now, this has become some sort of digression. Still haven't found why the feelings of loneliness, anger, hopelessness, etc., do exist without an apparent cause. Just reached a path where they can be exemplified and how they are part of that "world that is given" or "world that appears". At least is an advance, isn't it? Not really sure about it, maybe the causes are so evident, and that's because they remain hidden. If you look to much, you are concentrated on the pursuit, instead of on what you're pursuing. So long, until next post.

Do I have the right?

Let's start with a question: Do I have the right to feel alone? Loneliness is a feeling when someone is missing some kind of contact with others. It has a primordial feature: that condition is not voluntary, or maybe desired. On the contrary, solitude is a desired condition. (So sad, spanish doesn't make this distinction).

But, what is the origin of the question? Well, if you have people who you like to spend your life with, share bonds, have affection to them and even in that case you feel alone...Do you have the right to?.

What does it take to have that emptiness filled? Why does it need more than you already have to soothe that feeling?

I don't know, this post promised much at the start. But right now it faded away.

'Til later.

24 de febrero. Seis años

Y parece una vida entera.

Who knows, who cares?

Who knows, who cares. Why to ask these questions? Who cares what happened, even if it was just a tiny bit? If it happened, it belongs to the past. Who cares about the memories I hold, the shattered thoughts of those brief, but blissful instants? I shall tell. I know and I care. By now, I should have been over it. Sadly, that's not the case. Sadly, the longing doesn't go away. Neither the lack of power and will to look and accept what it is. Going for new ways to relate, meet new people. All of it sounds ridiculous and unfeasible. Specially when both things sound too hard, and to relate in a deep and caring way it's like an upway hill. Nevertheless. Life goes on. Or at least so it seems.

Lo que se pierde, lo que se extraña.

Cuando extrañas a alguien, ¿será como dice Proust, que no sólo extrañamos a ese alguien, sino a los sentimientos experimentados en relación a esa persona -tanto agradables como dolorosos-?
Últimamente me estoy volviendo afecto a dicha idea. Precisamente por las sensaciones en mí en virtud de los hechos, o, como dirían algunos, de la facticidad en la cuál mi vida parece estar entretejida.

Como escribí hace algunas entradas, el lenguaje parece expandirse hasta sus límites sin lograr por ello aprehender la cuestión. En este caso, el castellano. Por ello he recurrido a una palabra en lengua portuguesa: "saudade": un vago y constante deseo por algo que no existe y probablemente no puede existir. Esos son los hechos.

Pero existe un aspecto rescatable: la nostalgia por lo bueno. Aunque tristemente, la palabra nostalgia implica dolor. Y en ese dolor esta el extrañar, no sólo a la persona, ni a sus sentimientos, cualesquiera que fuere su alcance, por uno mismo; implica también extrañar nuestros propios sentimientos.

Que cosas...

El horror de las palabras.

The words represent an unspeakable horror (there were a lot of puns in that phrase). Lately, words don't heed my command. Every thing I try to write or speak becomes gibberish or a horrible mockery of what I sought to express. All my interior world (another phrase that I'm not fond of) remains trapped, as the infidelity of written and spoken language hacks through the very essence of it.

So, a problem of expression ensues. The possibility to communicate in a fluid, concise, and asertive way is hindered. The words simply cannot hold the being of the ideas and the feelings. Their simbolism is getting too limited, at least in my case. Words like despair, anxiety, unrequited, love, confusion, are just provisional labels. But, what could be the definite phase? As i said before, making up words is out of the boundaries of the languagues I supposedly command, and also beyond my intellectual and cultural skills. Nor I am some sort of Tolkien to create a whole language ex nihilo (as you can see, this use of a dead language was just a showy device).

Even if I say something over and over, the words appear mute. The feeling continue trapped. Reality is still there, impassable, behind a barrier that I can only scratch a bit. The words are horror because they cannot hold reality. They just aim at it, with more or less accuracy and success.

And in my present situation. Well, that's just another worry.

Instintos, signos, apariencias.

La pregunta es simple. En un momento dado, una especie de "instinto de conservación" (por llamarle de algún modo) compele o impide la realización de cierta acción. Sin embargo, a medida que la esperanza se desvanece, dicho instinto se reconfigura.

El mismo instinto, o quizás una reflexión ulterior (y digo ulterior en honor a un personaje) a su vez proponen salvaguardar algo: todo lo que pueda ser salvado, dadas las circunstancias.

Por otra parte, surge otra volición, un llamado a mandar todo al cabrón de una vez y para siempre, lo cuál tiene la ventaja de por fin dejar de guardar un sentimiento y un secreto doloroso en el pecho. La desventaja radica en la pérdida total de algo bueno, si bien no lo que las expectativas guardasen, algo provechoso, de suyo virtuoso (¡oh!).

Si, estoy hablando del más oscuro de los tópicos: relaciones humanas. Odio ambos conceptos: relación y humano pero en vista de las limitaciones del lenguaje creo que debo ceñirme. No soy alemán y no puedo inventar términos a diestra y siniestra. Además, estoy agotado. Soportar esta situación, hasta para el más comprensivo y/o estoico de los temperamentos resulta desgastante. Máxime para el de alguien tan susceptible de ser afectado por el pathos como he podido constatar en este último tránsito.

¿Qué queda? Soportar y, tal como dice la canción: sentarme a esperar...que se me pase y ya.

O probablemente ser lo más sincero posible y destruir todo. Tal vez ese sea el destino. Mi destino. Destructor y lastimero. Una disculpa por el talante "emo" de esta entrada. Al menos fue en castellano más o menos legible y hasta cierto punto fluído.

El sueño llama.

----EDICIÓN----

Fluído mis polainas, pero de eso hablo después.

Drag.

You're always ahead of the rest,
When I'm always on time,
You got A's on your algebra test,
I failed and they kept me behind,
I just gotta get off my chest,
That I think you're divine,
You're always ahead of the rest,
While I drag behind..

Lately this song from Placebo has been playing on my head. Besides the other issues that crawl in my mind, when the opportunity to try something new or improve on something comes, that sensation assaults my will and conciousness.

Think about "writer's block" applied to almost every aspect of your life. Or maybe, a negative admiration, a feedback which doesn't feed, but exerts your hopes of progress. Like if it wasn't enough with being a hopeless romantic (you can laugh).

As I wrote before, I attribute this to a disconnection. Or a misconception. Of the self, and the reality. The problem is: how to fix it?

Good grief!

And plain grief...

Just because I'm losing doesn't mean I'm lost.

This is the thought of hope that I would like to believe: just because I'm losing doesn't mean I'm lost. But I just got lost, and every door that I ever tried was locked. I am not going to post the entire song anyway. Just wanted to make a point using the words of someone who writes better than me. As I wrote this I don't know about my immediate future. My neglected obligations (pointless considering how easy they are), but what really pierces my mind are the pulses of my heart, soul or wherever the feelings reside. Sounds indeed strange that something which hasn't happened or going to happen at all can have such weight and power over the general state, the mood and even the body.

I just can look at the material signs of whatever happened inside me and feel a mix of emotions. I don't like it. It is outside of every logic to have an aspiration, a longing for someone who can't feel the same for you. What could be the best strategy: stay away, telling it? Probably there is not a best strategy. Last time chose the second one, and the outcome was desastrous, probably because of my lack of...control, temperance, good will? Don't know. I just remember what happened and it wasn't ideal. Stay away. Seems also equally hurtful. Would be easier if I could run away and stop the perception of that "someone". But I can't. I have to bear with the burden of day-to-day coloquial contact. And besides, I also feel the need of friendship. The problem is: it becomes almost unbearable. The suffering and the longing, just relieved a bit when I recieve a glance, a look, when my hand is hold, at a hug. I just want to forget. But as far as I can see, that is a difficult task. Most of my faculties are revolving around the issue, and even now, I think of the past and still hurts.

Right now, I don't know how to get rid of this. How to manage a productive living when I feel a tearing of the soul or spirit, a pressure in the chest, sharp needles. I really would have prefered to avoid any contact with you. But now it's to late. I'm twined, but it doesn't matter. The feelings I have may shatter against the wall of reality. So, probably that's why I'm considered a closed person. It's hard to care, to love, when that is going to waste...

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.