and the slogan becomes a song…

I was having a little chat with some coworkers. One was saying about English importance: the treaties, the way to get in touch with the world, the advantages and, in general; all those things we’ve been always told but not so many cared. The interesting thing was what the other one said:  why English? That’s a language I won’t be submitted (and it won’t be necessary to write what else he said)

I pictured some scenarios in my head: let’s take this guy and sit him over a chair with power, let’s say he will be named a minister or a director: what kind of management would it be his? The possible answers of this question actually remove you from any doubt. It would be nefarious, just as it is Venezuela nowadays.

We’ve been living the time of free market and globalization; something opposing will hardly reach a common good. The only way a government controlled market may work is by sponsoring perceptions through alms; you see: I set up an insult, something that makes minds feel rather than understand, so perceptions get open through this sort of offensive feeling via, which also make them get eager, eager for an explanation, and the explanation comes, an archetype: there must be someone, someone evil, evil from abroad; and now I get why I’ve been poor, why wealth is a concept for frustration, then I start summarizing: what do I really want, or need? What the government gives: a box with several products so you don’t get hungry, but remember, this is not just to solve hunger, it isn’t. This is a struggle against the enemy, an enemy who imposed English and a wrong concept of wealth. I don´t know what’s wealth anymore. Wealth is what government tells, so you better start paying attention to its words, so its words become a slogan, and the slogan becomes a song…

What about now? Alms have been reduced because Oil price crumbled. Now the song is about production: what such a thing could be if you first told me I wasn´t responsible for who I’ve been? 

Now that I’m aware my ignorance was planted by the enemy… I just wait for my box of food.

Power is power, Cercei said.

Would there be really those Akashic records…

A man starts scratching around his knuckles; there are so many mosquitoes flying by. Some thoughts are finding a way to stay inside his head; they don´t want to become words so the man keeps them silent until they turn into oblivion. But oblivion is not a place, nor a circumstance, it is more like a period, a hold on period in which some other urges take charge of the man’s thinking. That’s when the problem might take place: A thought stays in oblivion usually when it’s companioned by a feeling. That’s why when the man, let’s say, gets over; he actually thinks he’s forgotten whatever he never said… but he felt, felt it the same way when he believed he forgot, and remembers again, and now frustrated. Not because what he should have said but because he’s realized that every time such a feeling takes over, those thoughts will wonder in is head again… How might you be preventive from feeling? We think we get consciously in an upper way by consuming new experiences so we let go past thoughts… We’re not. Feelings don’t attach thoughts the way thoughts do it with the feelings. In other words: You may feel the same at different, even controversial, situations (Thoughts I mean) and such memories (thoughts I mean) will never bring along a different sense from the one kept in oblivion with… What do you remember? Perhaps more accurate: How do you remember it?  How can you stop bringing these thoughts?

yous

There comes a time in which you’ve finally accepted it. The thing is start living with it. I’m not sure if it’s my case yet, I believe, in spite of my acceptance, there’s more to learn still, but I´m trying, and that’s what moves these words to be part of a message; this message: I’ve said more than once there’re several yous inside every person you interact with, and that those yous are not entirely made by yourself but the impression of – let’s call them – ‘carriers’ may have about you: friends, spouses, family, whoever you interact. A sense of uncomforting shows up before your feelings when you try really hard to look cool to the carriers; you role play a funny, tough, cool, burnout, wealthy, and whatever archetypes you come up with to establish some sort of connection with those people you care. I’m writing it again: those yous are not entirely made by yourself, maybe not made by you at all. Time goes by, fast and slowly and you start feeling dumb, mocked, lied, and don´t know exactly why because you try different, but then you begin to understand. You’re not that funny, nor tough, nor burnout at all; wealth is a political matter, at least here in Venezuela, therefore it’s not up to you, and definitely: you’re not that cool. I’m not writing this to make anyone feel bad about it. This is not a manifesto for rejected, no, it is not. This is a simple exercise of consciousness with a simple affirmation: caring is a one way street. When you care, or love, do it as you do have faith: with no expectations. Feel free to embrace senses and enjoy them; not because of someone, but because of yourself instead.  Value grows high when you realize there’s nothing to prove, and if it’s about improving, let it be as an inner command, because inner commands make you better despite carriers’ images of you. It seems to be impossible, and it is probably so. The concept of value tends to be built, in part, according to the influence of the people around; again: friends, spouses, family; carriers. I call them like that because they carry inside an image of every person they know individually, just like you and me do. We’re carriers ourselves, but not of ourselves, if you know what I mean; and I think you do. Let’s picture a mirror, you see your reflex, but we’re talking about the reflex according to image of yourself; I might not be seeing you the same way regardless we both stand in front of the same mirror. The same happens to you, and now I am easy at it: I don´t know how do I look from your eyes facing the mirror, but I know for sure that’s not entirely me; therefore, If you’re sure your are not those carriers’ yous, You start focusing and begin to identify inner commands. The ones that tell you it is fine to have a blog and post how you feel and what you may learn from it…

along, at least...

Thoughts are always wondering until they find a head to be in, so they can finally become message, be heard; understood. A friend o mine was walking once up to work and a little rain started, not so hard, but long enough to make some puddles at the street. She was facing down, so she saw herself, her reflex, her worried expression because it was getting late for work. She didn´t talk but... she realized, because the rain made her so, that a big carelessness has covered the streets of this city: so many holes that cars hardly drive, so many people walking sad and counting their steps like there’s no reason to look up; to face towards. Such negligence is not only the government's but we're all to blame.

We're all to blame is also a song she was listening with me the night before. She's not the protesting kind, she's more careful at her appearance. Yes; that kind... that morning it was different, she did not dressed up properly, probably because she was late and because she was late she was careless, and then the rain, the puddles, her reflex and the thoughts. Tomorrow she's joining the protest. She says she's tired of the way we are ruled, the way these people spend nation's money and how narrow chances bias have become. It happened basically in a couple of days and just over a little rain, maybe over a music song. It’s hard to tell. Thought are always wondering until they find a head to be in, so they can finally become a message. They might have been waiting in the clouds that morning when nobody looked up, so they decided to show themselves as water from the sky and people saw them as their own reflexes, my friend in this case, and I've got the message from her, from the song: I am to blame as well and I shall join her tomorrow; to complain along, at least...