domingo, 22 de octubre de 2023

Second page VII

 

I’m escaping. I’m lost in the music I’m playing, not trying to forget, don’t get me wrong; I want my pain right where it is. It’s just a little eyes-closed trip to nowhere, to the sound of the music, to the vibes I never sense but at some point I would like to, perhaps not too much. Not too often, of that I’m sure. But it’s true, I would like to. I’m getting so used to this negativity that I feel guilt when I imagine that. What is that? Wonder on. Evocate. Picture it to see if it becomes true. I was thinking about those people; that couple who came four years ago. I thought of some others too. How their stories start looking the same. Social media does that. The impulse of being part pushes, and pushes hard on everyone to have them addicted. It is amazing how people take their time for granted over the futility of fake news, or trends, that will soon pass, and won’t give them back their time. Time is the currency of life. There is no a single form of achievement, or memory, not linked to time, either as chronology, or as number of iterations. There is time and times, in English. Spanish is different in that perception.  Perception is also a valuable asset in life. We are losing sharpness on it, every time we leave; this virtual consensus, the capability of figuring something out. Another aspect we are taking for granted. Contemplation needs space. Contemplation needs us for time and perception, and we are giving them away for the comfort of a cherry pick pleasure. A cherry pick pleasure indeed may cause long-term consequences. Every time we grant a moment of our own, just to spend more minutes on scrolling down,  brain loses something,  anything. It is just not the same anymore.

 

Have you ever felt like saying something but you can’t just find the right words? Can’t you at least come up with any right word at all? Have you felt this way? It might be that something was taken from you. You lost it that time you spent so much short laughing on the screen; short smiling. Now the void makes you sad. Confused. I know some about that confusion. I was talking to someone and, during the conversation,  every example I made for, let’s say,  explain myself better, it was all about an Instagram joke, or a trend, something always according to some media. There is this clip from the nineties: Something’s Always Wrong. Back then,  it was about TV and Marketing calls. It was so innocent,  now that I see. They were trying to expose, in a way, how the market embraces every corner of interest, to a point that there is, in this case; was, nothing unavailable for purchase. That was then. That was before. Consumption has escalated to further and higher levels. It’s not just what I want to buy, and how do I get debts for it. It is the change of perception. The new reality.  The post-truth era. One day, I was talking to a sort of friend, and he told me something like: New Media; that’s how he calls it, New Media found its way in by bringing up our adolescent era and appeal to a nostalgic sense of a better moment. As adults, we are supposed to be up to the new challenges that come with the age. In the new media, those challenges are reduced to debts. That way, people could think it’s more worth it a spectrum of memories rather than present with future projects.  So they make room for it, and such room is fed with a massive wave of content and trivia, also with all these invitations and interactions, so people can not only boost images from the past, but also ask others to do it as well.

 

I’ve finally found a few minutes early in the morning for a coffee and some contemplation. The sound of the birds and the trees feels as the wind is directing this orchestra; definitely a different kind from the one at work. There is this picture in which you can see the clouds getting ready for their amusement: the passing of light and the sunrise dress. Fauna can tell. Not so sure that we can too but we try, and try, either here, or anywhere else; anytime, all the time, is the important thing to consider. I have time. I have time today, at least now. I pour myself as words into this paragraph, in an attempt to become a message, an idea, a wish I can make happen eventually. Words of hope: I would like to be that, although my sensitivity pushes, always pushes, for words of desire. Desire. Where do you hide it? What are we going to do with this? We see, we want to touch with our eyes. We want to place a sigh right where our minds ask us to be. We must be but, always but, we must be but we don’t know how. That’s why we wish and lie, lie behind our serious gestures, lie through our politeness, lie through our tough attitude… and confess in silence when we are alone. Some people claim they do as will: complain when they should, be gentle when they think they should, argue when they think they should, and touch when they feel like they should. I have a mix of feelings over that. I’m not sure if I admire or despise that. I can’t tell what would I be projecting exactly by experience it,  if it is projecting indeed, or it is just some misdirection to my own disorders. I’m not a lazy person but it is hard for me to maintain an argument,  I mean, I tend to let it go despite I may be right at it. The thing is that I get tired of needing to prove it. Sometimes I keep quiet because I sort of foresee that the other person won’t matter going further with whatever argument he wants to fight for. That need to prevail is exhausting to me, so I give up and accept it even when I know I’m right. What’s being right, anyway? In Spanish, being right has more to do with holding a reason; kind of like carrying some weight, it’s more a possession than a declaration of existence. When someone is right in Spanish,  that person has, or holds, the reason. Actually  Have absorbs Hold in this case, but for translation purposes,  let’s put it as Hold. Something similar occurs with Falling in Love. In Spanish you don’t fall, you, let’s say, enlove, to come up with a word for it. So being right and falling in love, have another taste when changing de language,  for example.

viernes, 20 de octubre de 2023

Second page VI

 

The night came. It brought its band with it. Crickets, light bugs, frogs, the wind and the clouds. All moving around, watching the airplanes arrive and leave. Which airplane will give me this I am needing? At least  my kid enjoys them passing by, not now, of course, he sleeps. I go downstairs and take a walk. The moon is announced. Glow. I think again, look up and try to find an answer, but I got some other questions instead.  For instance, why are we looking for answers? Why this impulse for explanations? I always hear this expression: make sense. What if not? Is waking up early, spending ten hours everyday in a warehouse, the kind of things we state as make sense? It doesn’t really matter. It doesn’t matter because the sense making can turn into merchandise, to then pose at any sort of exhibition and  go available for purchase, and thus grant us the sense, a sense of any need now fulfilled.  That’s why we want, need, wish for and even have to,  pretty often indeed; go shopping. So it is something serious to feel like going shopping and not having money for it. How do we code that? How do we link such a feeling to any of our memories? Buying power might stand for as one of the fewest things you have to counter strike the sadness you can’t take out. Perhaps that’s why politicians love to sell the idea that poverty can be solved from the government, as long as real power gets confided through the illusion of choosing, mostly by an election campaign. We still talk about choosing,  about freedom. Free is an interesting word. The way I get it is a little different in its intention from the word we have in Spanish.  I tend to think it has more to do with the, let’s say,  bypass of an obligation: duty free, free ticket, rather than free life, free time. Even writing it is strange. We all sat in the break room while having lunch, telling us again, these never ending past glories. There is not much to tell about our present life. We look into this symbolic suitcase, where we store those precious moments we show through the talking.  I often remain quiet. I mean, my present is my son, which is my world.

 

There comes another sunset. A few bubbles for my lips. Some kids playing while these words take place. It is the soundtrack of the moment. A moment to look, to remember. Specially a moment to wonder. Am I getting any raise? Will I? The beer gets hot pretty fast. Faster than my ideas, indeed. The way the woman treated me today. Yes. Is it true that such rejection is actually over racist purposes? Will my children have to deal with it? I can’t tell. I was a tourist once. Now I’m a resident. Hope travels and expectations grows like any other tree. We become the gardeners of our beliefs.  Perhaps that’s why we should not take drags of our faith into smoke.  Our faith has traveled too. The smell. The decadence. A couple of what ifs with some why nots around. I’m not that old, you know. My hands never stops following patterns of imaginary beats. My mind is constantly evocating: songs, names, skins I would like to taste, glances I would love to catch; for myself, for my own amusement.  For my fingers to walk by, for my eyes to marble by looking closely. I have to take my glasses off to do that. I am officially stepping into that age when presbyopia and prostate testing are becoming part of any conversation I may have. Nevertheless I allow myself to draw this picture in my mind. I closed my eyes. I look up, and then I start placing these ifs and woulds, then I smile. All these while the notes of a great song is playing through my earbud. Yes, just one, and carefully. Boss may not like it. This is how I’ve found this bearable.  Too many days doing the same thing. Purpose must be solid. Mine actually is. This is just a let go moment. Break is over. Another moment for a few words. Anyone can guess where I am writing and why I have to put it on hold while I get back to work. A mix of scents some of them of good food. Meal time. Few voices saying something; anything. Several quiet glances, glasses off.  I wait. Some smiles over their phones. What could I girl be talking about that a smile is drawn on her face as she writes? Maybe it’s not about what but who, and who suggests somebody,  and somebody suggests that the person is not unknown, on the contrary, it must be someone special. We can affirm that such a smile takes place out of a compliment,  or a funny tale, an invitation, or a proposal. Is the smile a form of consent? We lost the baby, by the way. The one who was coming. I want to believe that he just didn’t want to be in this world. He brought me hope, he brought me faith. He was going to be a beautiful little brother, or sister. God bless you. Please tell God we were here eager to take care of you, to love you as we always will, to do the best for you as we do it for your big brother. Tell God we are sad. Tell God we’ll be waiting.  Another morning. I must have everything done. I woke up a little late. I’m going to be late for work. Grieve. I haven’t had time for it. Perhaps this is why I’ve been writing with this sad vibe so far: I need to grieve. I don’t blame you. You decided to stay with God.  Maybe someday we’ll meet and you will let me know. First break. I got this blurry vision. People are quieter. I guess it is early for them. The sounds of the machines once more: a beat popping up my concerns; what should I do with them? Procrastinate. Money is the only one resource it takes to sweep them away. What about the sadness? I’m keeping it. I want to grieve properly. I want to cry and wonder; to then wish I had, or wish you were,  but specially wish you hadn’t gone. I want to think, if possible, you’re still there, as the little soul I imagine you must be, giving us the chance to make you a new body, so you can join us.