There’s no sex in your violence…

Sixty percent of the people can’t have a ten minutes conversation without lying at least once, and it seems to me such a percentage might be even higher. As many probably have known, these days have been very newsworthy for anyone, yes, I know, but for Venezuelans too. And this is because of the battle of pictures. I mean well, for good but it is what is, many pictures proving to gather the greatest crowd ever, either the government or the opposition: drones, videos, slogans, jokes (especially jokes) and so…  But this post is not about crowds, it is about those countrymen who set (or think they achieve so) on fire the online world showing big strength and rage by posting tweets and cursing on facebook. I just think, because I was listening to Bush Everything zen, that actually there’s no sex in such violence. 

According to a dictionary rage means, among some other things, a burning desire; a passion.  And Zen is the name of a Buddhist philosophy based on powering thoughts. Perhaps this big collective wish, that so many times becomes a bitch impotence, just maybe,  for a while and not for certain, but hopefully; it’s canalized by these posted feelings which won’t become real actions because it is just a matter of faith and not exactly a matter of truth… I don´t know… Perhaps…

Mal de golfília…

Pues ya nos vamos. Sí. Después de tanto trajín, tanto esfuerzo tonto; nos vamos. Una pancarta anunciando una pronta inauguración se desteñía; tal vez por el sol,  por el tiempo, por albergar otra promesa incumplida… y es que a eso  nos hemos acostumbrado: a la idea de un futuro, lamentablemente sin presente. No es posible pensar que algo ha de ocurrir si aún no empieza. Está bien, pero; pero nos prometen empezar, y eso al final es lo que significó la palabra: anunciar un algo por hacer, más no necesariamente cumplirlo. Es quizá nuestra esperanza puesta fuera, porque sabemos que no haremos nada al respecto; la que nos lleva a creer, con fe, en lo que nos prometen, y sobretodo creer; que por prometido, habrá de cumplirse. Luego queda esa suerte de arrebato; tal vez de frustración, tal vez de tristeza, de rabia, puede ser: de que no nos cumplieron, para entonces empezar a criticar, a opinar, a practicar la autocompasión y el autodesprecio, para luego volver a la rutina, amargados, producto de cada espejo humano que nos susurra a base de apenas gestos: ¿y qué prometiste tú?