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...

La virtualidad tiene sus realidades...

Schopenhauer ve al odio como placer que a diferencia del amor, que llega de repente, la gente se toma su tiempo para odiar. Algo así dijo. Para Wilde la crueldad tiene su lugar entre todos los  placeres y así; en cierta forma: se complacen algunos en esa suerte de éxtasis coctelera en sentir odio y ser cruel. A alguien le leí una que vez que no somos aún peores debido a que, aunque no lo crean, nos reprimimos la crueldad; y si consideramos a los dos ilustres que acoté, tal vez sea así: cuántos placeres no se reprimen; el orden social en sí es enarbolado a base de placeres reprimidos, así que, por qué no: podrían ser aún peores los que nos gobiernan, es más, en este momento se deben estar reprimiendo: cómo no quisiera más de uno que por estos lados hubiese una suerte de ISIS; claro, no tan radical, ni tan bien financiando, porque de ser así sería una amenaza, y más que amenaza lo que quieren es un pretexto, pero sí, cómo no se  quisiera un grupo de tipo subversivo para soltarles todo el cloro, o de lo que sea que sean esas bombas, por toda la ciudad. Así, de una vez por todas, empezamos a temerle como quisieran ser temidos, a hacer lo mismo que hacemos ahorita pero de mejor gana, sin acudir a tanto medio digital a hacer pataletas… eso quisieran, pero por ahora aún no lo tienen. Todavía la gente aunque sea a punta de tweets manifiesta su descontento. No se toman las calles porque no guste cómo se es gobernado, no parece funcionar así, pero bueno, la virtualidad tiene sus realidades, y el odio y la crueldad también son placeres reprimidos en quienes lo sufren, y no siempre el que sufre sufrirá; como tampoco siempre el que hace sufrir, sufrir hará. La voluntad anda por ahí, como el éter ese del registro akáshico; ese que dice que todo por ahí anda, y que uno sólo tiene que tomarlo…  

Made involved

An eye for an eye only ends up making the whole world blind, Gandhi said but, it’s not about taking revenge, nor standing for an ideal. I hardly think so. I believe when two fronts, two ways of seeing something such as political perspective, for instance, somehow agree at their clash: if I want to rule over many, obviously there will be some against it, I have to count on that, It is the purpose of a conquest, because that is what it’ll be at the end: a victory on one side and a defeat on the other. Afterwards, logically; the tension: what’s taken must be kept as much as what’s to take must be conquered. I just wrote it a pair on lines back: a clash is an agreement between a pair of counterposed stands. For those who never wanted it, never cared of, because they do not feel identified, don´t understand it or just don´t sympathize; for those ones, for those it will always be a problem. Let’s take a look at the recent events at Aleppo for example. What about the people who just live there and don´t want any trouble? What about them? They don’t choose, they’re just there and just for being, only for being; they must face consequences of some other’s actions. This is not an eye for an eye thing, no, this is a problem all over the world: two sides fight and the rest is made involved… 

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?

Tiempo perfecto

Lack of sanity has exceeded in its reasons: one doubt willing not to be sureness and another one wanting not to be exposed. You didn´t mean to avoid the answers, I’ve just found stubborn questions…  

My lips, unsuccessfully, dare pretend you here: I still close my eyes. The awakening put an end at every day I´m having. Nobody realizes it but it’s pertinent to keep it in mind: my words haven´t been taken from You still… 

The future, certainly, lacks of certain moments. Some perfects of the tenses have changed my present: I had told you, I had given myself to you… And from those perfects which now they’re present: I have been left in the past…

Versión en español

For a second job…

It was a gray morning. The rain took everyone’s prayers and put them on the ground. Not. On the streets. Streets full of holes. Holes understood as scars. Scars of this city. A city with nothing left but holding on. Just like people waiting on supermarket´s lines. Lines for food. For a second job. A job born from the chaos. And by the way: such a chaos brought to establish order. Yes. An order. A convenient order. So we all go and watch TV, read the papers, complain, and complain again until we begin to hope. Finally. Hoping for a better tomorrow and tomorrow is today. And today it’s raining and the morning was gray… But this is not just a sad feeling. Nope. Among the events of the day people still find a better look, a fancy place to gather (and yes, still complaining) but there are some who laugh, upload pictures of a nice lifestyle, even with these news, with these politicians. So I wonder if it may be our wonder; if this is a beauty I don’t understand because I spend too much time staring at elsewhere ones. I can’t help it. The concept of beauty and wonder I grew up with is far from this one. But I get this sort of a kind. Chaos: when is induced by power, it is just a beautiful thing…