Shapes

 

My white tree, our tree, the three of us against the world, against the intromission of social media.  

Lullabies played out from the TV. We’re in different times now. So lying is our super power after all. Maybe not lying, but making up stories, perhaps the kind of those we tell when we flirt, when we have a crush on who we are talking to. Seduction, there it is. You become noticed among many by the seductive power that lies upon your story. An immigrant story is not really the seductive kind, unless you are on campaign. So this is a swing state, I learned that today. It’s different.  It’s just different.  Chávez changed us. I’m going to say he changed our generation over politics, and I know there are many out there denying it but it is what it is: A Venezuelan sees a politician and he automatically expects charisma, verbiage,  and theatrical strong sentences like life were a stage to recite hollowed verses that then can’t just ever be fulfilled. We think a politician has to promise like a poem, like a song we learn by heart and sing it over and over to those who stand against,  and what for? Everything has to be a Caracas-Magallanes match, everyone needs to sense the victory, even it means misery. We have to win, and we have to celebrate it, so we have to be louder rather than right, and more aggressive rather than precise. Welcome to the third world drama. Here we are, making our third world statements. You guys can learn something if you take a good look at us.  

 

Brain rot. Yes. That’s how it is called being self-intoxicated from too much low quality content on social media… And the time we lose at it, how should we call it? Caifanes has this song titled Quisiera ser alcohol,  in which we could infer he was in love with an alcoholic, so he wishes he could be alcohol, so he can be inside of her. That could be a song for Leaving Las Vegas, where she wets herself in liquor, aiming to get his interest.  I guess I wish I could be a cigarette: quisiera ser un cigarro; cigarrillo, Spanish and its differences. I wish I could be dragged, slowly, but more importantly, and above all, I wish I could get the same interest. I’m tired. It’s other kind of interest what I’m getting; the kind I don’t like. CareCredit, oh boy! Smile is expensive and so it’s getting old. Let’s keep resisting.  We have kids to look after.  I had time for words today. This is good. Unself, here we go. We have to make it to this point where we get to be able to become what we experience, so we can choose to experience something good, and when it gets bad, then choosing the lesson learned from having been there… Surrender your ego like Queen’s song. Watch your child, stay there just looking at him, just feeling how the information is getting transferred. Don’t say a word, just let it happen.  That will be your place in the future, a sort of unself place, get ready because it’s coming. Unself we’ll be, and thus we’ll become tomorrow’s art, tomorrow’s energy.  Let’s just stop staining our visions with Instagram posts or social media hatred, it’s not our hatred anyway.  You can’t be part of that fiction…  and it won’t matter how bad your desire of belonging may be. I know it’s easy to fall into one of those pre-made archetypes around, like the immigrant type, for example, and it doesn’t have to be your case: that’s not you, or you don’t need to be it, we can always transcend and be more, be different, and enjoy the journey.   

 

By the way,  what If each one of us is living in their own time frame? Perhaps my life is more about the time I’m living and that’s why we can’t understand each other, you are living yours and we can’t just sync them both. The moment I left Venezuela my time got detached as well. Everything you got from me is no longer our present. We can catch up, of course. We can keep in touch,  but our present time has changed, so the beats in our lives. It could mean we start feeling different, and we might become memories finding frequencies to tune in once in a while.  

My white tree, our tree, the three of us against the world, against the intromission of social media.   

I have just found out this thing about colors. Colors are reality. So this is where all the mysticism on black and white pictures come from; they are more able to relate with the oneiric,  so they can be stored in your memory along with your imagination, so the pictures change – they may change, I mean – let’s say, they get customized by your thoughts and the language, the words you use to put a meaning on it. All inside your head while you’re brushing your teeth, or while  choosing the clothes you are going to wear today. Colors bring you back where you have no design, where you accept and carry on. We want more time in our designs, we feel like we need to shape and frame and store it  all in our heads as an asset, our assets.    

 

The light, the light is the source of the stories, stories turned into myths and legends. Contrasts give us perspective, in life, and pictures. Lines, lines such as wrinkles in a drawing, in a piece of paper, and even in a smiling face; they give us depth. They provide us with further, with beyond, we need to stare at them and be quiet, perhaps we get to learn how to read them.  

 

This room is different.  There’s no lamp hanging from the ceiling.  There’s no lamp at all. The light comes mostly from the TV and from the bathroom when the door is open.  I have been thinking about my obsession with the opinion in social media, the absence of weight or sustainability every time we feel the impulse to speak our mind. It doesn’t matter who I follow or who I block, I always get a clown from my country posting stupidity at its best. But don’t get me wrong, I love stupidity,  and I end up wasting my time on these coins as well. What bothers me is that I don’t get to chose my own clowns, that I am grouped along with a bunch of people I would never make friends with, and yet we will always be considered the same, and I can’t stand it. Social Media is, after all, a very accurate representation of what we think a mass dictatorship is, and yes, we live in it, and yes, it controls us, and yes, it dictates our steps on how we spend our time, our money, and eventually how our thoughts flow inside our head. What are your thoughts on your daily basis matters? We have to process them first through the social media path, then we think, then we answer,  then we comprehend.  

 

My white tree, our tree, the three of us against the world, against the intromission of social media.