10.25.2012

Y nada mas que la verdad

Vuelvo al tema de la verdad. Es un tema sobre el cual converso a menudo conmigo misma. Me pregunto la hora, me saco plática, me invito una copa, me hago
preguntas triviales del tipo "¿Y a ti te gusta la carne bien cocida o medio cruda?" "¿Ya escuchaste el nuevo álbum de Guillermo de Poitiers?"  "¿Qué opinas de la guerra de las Malvinas?" Pero al final siempre termino filosofando sobre profundos tópicos que no con poca frecuencia me dejan tirada en la calle en estado febril, esto debido a la resaca del pensamiento, también conocida como la cruda de los dilemas morales.


Un ateo en un juicio de vida o muerte pone su mano sobre la biblia y jura en voz alta que no dirá nada más que la verdad. Esto, desde luego, no significa nada para él. Le hacen cierta pregunta y sabe que de su respuesta depende su libertad y acaso su vida, su futuro, su lugar en este mundo. Pero no está para análisis. Una serie de traiciones y mentiras lo han llevado injustamente frente al tribunal de la Inquisición. ¿Qué podría inventar de último momento para salvarse? Está harto de inventos y de leches. Dice la verdad y nada más que la verdad. Es encerrado pero es libre.


Este pequeño cortometraje mental (evité entrar en detalles para no desviarme, pero el juez era un monstruo verde de dos cabezas girando perpetuamente) no debe tomarse como un ejemplo demasiado literal. No es una defensa fanática de la verdad. Uno no puede (ni debe) decir la verdad siempre, porque podría herir innecesariamente a alguien, perder su trabajo o morir como un idiota. Tan solo es una metáfora de aquella famosa enseñanza cristiana pero sin la fe: "La verdad os hará libres". Porque sí, yo creo que la verdad te hace libre.


Se tiene la tonta idea de que si dices la verdad te van a palmear el hombro y todo será felicidad y amor. Entonces suele suceder que el fulano que cree eso dice un día la verdad respecto a algo y se encuentra con algún reclamo o decepción, ninguna palmadita en el hombro. Y como es un genio de primera este fulano, concluye que la verdad no sirve para nada, que está sobrevalorada, que hay que mentir siempre. Justo como los Leonardos da Vincis que se comportan como una mierda con todo el mundo porque una vez fueron amables con alguien y les respondieron con una grosería.


Uno no dice la verdad para que lo feliciten o lo quieran. Eso es como esperar que te den un premio por tirar la basura en su lugar o no atropellar a alguien. Uno dice la verdad porque es la verdad y punto. Tal vez si dices mentiras podría irte mejor y podrías recibir las palmaditas en el hombro que tanto quieres, pero son mentiras, mentiras al fin y al cabo, y punto. La verdad puede doler.


Sobra decir que no estoy hablando de las mentiras del arte, la imaginación, la ficción y todo eso. Tampoco hablo de LA verdad sobre cuestiones en las que no hay UNA verdad. Hablo de la vida, de los hechos, de lo tangible, de lo que eres, de aceptar que hiciste o sientes algo. Hablo de esas verdades y de esas mentiras.


Creo que es muy importante ser honesto con uno mismo. La gente que miente sin cesar y además se cree sus propias mentiras es gente que ya no sabe ni quién es y me da muchísima tristeza y lástima. Yo no pienso en la verdad como un "valor único" a la Televisa, sino como la tierra que hay bajo nuestros pies. ¡¿Qué sería de nosotros sin la tierra bajo nuestros pies?! Está ahí y no puedes evitar que esté ahí. Puedes ignorarla u olvidarla, pero tarde o temprano caerás de bruces y entonces sí que no podrás ignorarla.


Nick Hornby lo dice mejor que yo:




“We all spend so much time not saying what we want, because we know we can't have it. And because it sounds ungracious, or ungrateful, or disloyal, or childish, or banal. Or because we're so desperate to pretend that things are OK, really, that confessing to ourselves they're not looks like a bad move. Go on, say what you want. ... Whatever it is, say it to yourself. The truth will set you free. Either that or it'll get you a punch in the nose. Surviving in whatever life you're living means lying, and lying corrodes the soul, so take a break from the lies for just one minute.”

En mi caso soy mi propio confesionario; cada cierto tiempo me siento un rato conmigo y me digo "Bien, es hora de sincerarnos sobre algunas cosas". A veces duele o tengo que reconocer que siento o me pasa algo que es vergonzoso o no me conviene. Por ejemplo, cuando acepto que tengo miedo o celos o que quiero mucho a alguien que creí que ya no me importaba. Pero al final siempre es lo mejor. Es lo que te hace legal. Es algo que te hace libre y te hace tú y nadie te puede quitar. No hay nada que puedas hacer para que los demás sean sinceros contigo o sean sinceros en general. Nada. El mundo está lleno de mentirosos y no puedes remediarlo. Lo único que puedes hacer es sentir la tierra bajo tus pies y caminar.

2.16.2009

I pray

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I deep down on knees in pray that you are fine on this day and week and month in PM. I woke up and went to buy some food for our pets and I wonder whether its that time again. It is a good day and week and month in PM, are you fine? I pray deep on knees and hands that you are fine, I make you fine. Sometimes I walk around dragging my feet along the carpet to work up enough static for the next person I touch. I sit and fold my hands in my lap, stare ahead while thinking of the Stop, Breathe and count to three commercial and how angry it used to make me. Did I mention that Maria Bello has decided to contact me on myspace because she finds me intriguing? Tomorrow I want to wake up in Thailand, knock on a random door and ask if I can stay there. I've been drinking a lot more these days. Oh God, I don't want to become an alcoholic. Maybe I should stop over analizing that. Today is a beautiful day and week and month in PM.

2.01.2008

Love me

if you are beautiful enough, smart enough, creative enough, talented enough, someone will always love you, even if it is in a sycophantic, shallow way.

but I am not that pretty, not that smart, not that gifted. my faults will never be overlooked, forgiven. I will never get that "get-out-free" card. I will always be an embarrassment, a disappointment. I will always be viewed as lazy, crazy, worthless, simple-minded, spoiled, ugly, not-worth-loving, repulsive. I will always make people take on that tone of voice and I will always make people want to break things, say hurtful things.

and it is so sad because I am no different than anyone else, really. essentially. I am no different in that what I want is to be loved/feel deserving of being loved.

I want someone to love me no matter how awful I am. I don't want love to be contingent upon outside factors like, "did you do x today?" or "are you going to stop being crazy?" or "if only you could cook more like your sisters". if that's the only kind of love being offered to me, then fuck it, I changed my mind, I don't want to be loved at all.

10.08.2007

Less



Less never has been, is not, & never will be MORE.

Today, the picture above, describes my mood at the moment.

7.11.2007

Summation of things

People say that where we are currently in life is the summation of all the miscellaneous things that have happened to us or upon us throughout our lives (whether self-imposed or not), everything from the mundane to the wild and eccentric.

What if whoever says that is wrong, at least for some of us?

On the grand scale of things, 99% of the people we encounter are pretty fleeting. We are just a momentary diversion in their lives and vice-versa.

Maybe where we are currently in life is just where we are currently in life, and nothing more. Maybe, at any given point in time, we can go back and include and omit different factors from our pasts to create a different sum, or state of being. And maybe that accounts for the way we change... maybe even what or who we change into.

If you subscribe to either theory, it's hard to escape yourself... whether that's a good thing or a bad thing, I have no earthly intimation.

At least, that's how I feel about it right now.

1.03.2007

Friends

The best of friends are those which you never need to say anything in order for them to know you need a hug.

9.04.2006

Familiarity

I won't say I've never felt like this before.
But there is something oddly
refreshing about her.
and I am utterly enthralled.

7.07.2006

Reminder



Never forget.


(thanks to grow-a-brain for the link)

6.30.2006

Mini dialogo

Ella: "Dormir contigo me hace no querer dormir sin ti"
Yo: "em.... *cough* *cough*"

Despues de una larga pausa sin respuesta alguna

Ella:"Z-Z-Z-Z-Z-Z-Z-Z"
Yo: "Hasta la proxima"

And I don't know...


And I don't know how much longer I can harp on about being lonely before all my bone marrow turns to silt or concrete and I forget what social interaction ever really felt like. I don't know how much harder I can hanker for some company before I start speaking in strange tongues and terse riddles and entertaining thoughts of a v. watery suicide. And the only thing I can think to do is sell all of my pop records and bolt for somewhere. Save just enough money for a desposit on some east-facing bedsit where I might swing my legs out over the sash windows whenever the weather is mild, and tack tongue-and-groove up all over the lowermost half of the bathroom. And I'm so enchanted by this idea of sweet city living that I keep buying things and squirreling them away in boxes under my bed; a new Tord Boontje light fitting, a set of six old sideplates, a sort of ceramic chopping board with little strawberries on it. And I am so hellbent on this idea of making a run for it that I can think of absolutely nothing else but big sturdy mixing bowls and madeleine pans and milk jugs and enamelled colanders and fancy glasses and rolltop bureaus and duckdown cushions and winter quilts and those wires that stretch from either end of a fire escape and on which you air all your smalls and delicates. I want to make friends! I want to cook for company! I want to meet a girl and have syrupy clinches with her in amongst the pots in the pantry! I want parquet throughout and to rely entirely on my stereo and to keep a bottle of creme de cassis alongside the vintage scrabble board and go from strength to strength to strength. I want comrades! Likeminded folk! I want us all to amass there after hours and bellow things out into microphones. I want to share secrets while stashed under the coathooks and forever be frequenting all the local borough fleamarkets. I want to have books spilling out from near enough everywhere, and to always have a bunch of stock or snapdragons or dahlias or sweetpeas or spiraea or camelias on either the sideboard or the nightstand.

Time


There is a time for writing, and for sitting. For being patient. To find a mate, yourself, your true place in society: any kind of commitment or dedication that is not divulged from the depths of inner self-worship; the need to be wholly yourself in your own imaginative circular being. Tracing it, you meet point a. A is infinite, and b is a question. So you question it. Society does not need you if you do not want it, and who wants society lest they acknowledge themselves a part of that society? so you go to work every single day, you wake up, you work and turn to your own god, whoever that god may be (and god, god-there are many), love him;her, pretend to be in their likeness, for what better way is there to approach life without first being the benefactor of life? I have lived many days in this likeness, painting my own face on the face of others, only loving myself, selfishly. Selfishly I have made my way through this world, hatching from a long-sitting egg. it is now about settling down and being yourself, being your own true self, and knowing who you want to be. Some find it and some do not, some dig it from the ground and others are watching it as a kite, flying-high, kite-flying it high, and others, others are waiting, and making the most of what they can in their downtime. And that ring is a quest, if I've ever seen one, and that quest is Great. It is the most important, and I have heard it preached to me like I have heard the first wakening call of light, raising just above the ground, welcoming me into a beautiful world: I hear it still. And then I want to marry, perhaps, for a multitude of reasons, if only for self-preservation, and that self-worship is real. It is a real factor in what is being said and done, if only to my own benefit. Who could I be without myself, or within the bounty of other. would they pour over into me a water from its spring graciously greeting the descending waterfall with its heavy plummeting rain-hard-steal Giving, giving like the first time you decided to love(that sharing of faith becoming a dividing factor in who you are, and how you chose to be--if you ever got that far).

6.13.2006

Girly me....

I hate writing about the good because then I feel so girlie, so silly, so trivial and so vapid. If I were to say, "I miss her" even though she's merely inside the house, while I am in the other room, does that not make what I say, or the meaning behind it, so much less? Isn't it better to write about fire and brimstone and death and destruction, decayal, denial, illness, hopelessness? as though the good, the happy things, are so much less. Simply because they are, as in, they exist as they are, in a sort of lowered state, lowered meaning closer to the whole, closer to god, closer to being unable to be deconstructed. This isn't making sense. No one really pauses to ask themselves, "why do I feel happy right now?" but we do pause to ask, "why am I so sad? and how can I remedy this?" happiness does not require reflection. It just requires breath, acceptance. So, no, I'm not going to write about the good moments; I'm not going to try to bastardize them by pitifully attempting to reproduce them on the page. See how limp all of this is? how empty? how could it compare? you cannot word laughter. You cannot word a smile. Show, don't tell - isn't that what we're supposed to do as writers? but how can you show a smile on the page? how can you show something so concrete? even with things like chairs, doors - the only thing you can do is tell, really. "There is a door. It is painted pale green; the paint is chipping and the knob is rusting." I'm not showing; I'm telling. The only things that can be shown are the un-showable. Mental states and thoughts - the only way to reify such things is to write them; by giving them words they become concrete, they are shown.


Happiness differs from sadness in such a way. Happiness is a smile, or the slight turn of the lip during a smug smirk, or how the hand holds a cigarette. Even something slightly less solid - perhaps an unexpected word, dropped casually in conversation as though it is nothing special, though both knowing it is special. ((Words, afterall, weaken the knees. Tell me we're symbiotic and see if I don't melt.)) Happiness is the sound of a voice cracking under the pressure of too much whiskey and too many cigarettes. It is windchimes and warm winds and train whistles carried through the midnight air from downtown. It's running to the tracks to see the caboose pass. It's bike-rides at 7am when the morning smells of pen-ink and oranges and everything is still slightly damp from the pre-dawn drenching. It's anais on the road and JC on the radio, windows always down. It's cooking dinner, eating on the couch, watching law & order: criminal intent and making half-jokes about how if they ever put Vincent D'Onofrio's character in glasses it would be over.


But sadness, sadness is different because it's not so concrete, unless you choose to make it so - a cut, a cry, a fit. The sadness permeates all. It is like the tao - it is, it isn't, it's there but un-graspable. It's present, but you can't hold it, can't smell it. You can say, it's my feeling worthless, it's my body, it's my stupidity, but that's not the sadness, that's only desperate manifestations of it. In a way it is akin to how protestants see the wine and the wafer as representations of Jesus' blood and body, while the catholics see them as Jesus himself. The consumption of a metaphor versus the consumption of a corporeality.


Am wondering: is this good enough? Is this what you wanted?


A resounding no no no.

Sex


I have the sex drive of a typical teenage male.
Right now: I am not having sex.
To add insult to injury- the people next door... are.
Fuck everyone.

Wrapped




if there was ever to be one person to tame me, it would be her with her jarringly quiet ways. one who could clip my wings, one who could cage me. if there was ever to be one person to shut me up, bow my head... have me apologize to anyone. if there was ever one person with the ability to make me compromise, comply, listen, and submit myself... it would be her. if there was ever to be one person i would desperately wait to the ends of the earth for... if there was ever to be one person that could never hurt me but make me feel still-lake-calm, it would be her. if there was ever to be one person to have me completely, my entirety, my soul, my trust, my being, it would be her. the idea, the entity, the compassion... my entire life would be turned upside down... my entire life already has...

5.10.2006

Let us go, you and I


I'm not too sure how to begin this. Honestly, I'm not sure what beginnings and endings are anymore, or if it is a cyclic revival. There is a city with 'streets of insidious intent' growing and dying with every breath I take, and I don't know how to fill, nor whether to empty. It's like the moment you decide not to immerse yourself in living but rather in life, how do you make the transition without stumbling?


All I know is [and it bereaves me to be learning and relearning the same thoughts and people all the time] all I know is -- it seems that the more I let the rain fall, the more the floods want to tear me down. I don't like the deceptive feeling of invincibility; to my constraint, it's a mere decoration on Achilles' feet.


Do paths cross because feet guided them, or do we all walk with our eyes on the gravel?I was counting the earthworms after a rainstorm, these tiny creatures crawling away from home when the opportunity comes only to find out that they were better off, there's nothing to quench your thirst when you're not where you want to be. And when I saw the sky beneath my feet I wondered if we were meant to live backwards all this time.I'm still wondering.


Aide said to me, "It's not because a song has an ending that you can't enjoy it while it plays" and I was reminded of all the songs I write on my hands and my walls and my heart, the same songs that fill my lungs with stormy water from the Atlantic when I wanted was to be pacific -- and I think she's wrong.I want those songs to end now.

4.25.2006

And the point of this charade is....


This house has no coffee maker. I wanted to go on a caffeine binge last night but there is no coffee or a coffee maker.
And our mistakes help make us who we are. Well, at least the way that we handle our mistakes. And the way that we file our mistakes. There are those who say, "I did this, had a really bad turn-out, and I will never do it again." But then there are those who arrange their mistakes in a favorite-to-least-favorite fashion. I like that second filing system, and that is how I arrange mine. Perhaps touching a hot stove is in my list of least favorite mistakes, but that does not necessarily mean that I won't do it again.
Look, the point is, no one is perfect. Sometimes it only takes something bad to happen once for us to be taught our lesson. Other times, it takes longer. Nothing is black and white, nothing is absolute, allow people to learn and develop at their own pace. An iron fist does not help anyone, and I wish that everyone would stop trying to exercise control over their peers. I'm sure that sometimes it is out of love, but rarely does it help. A nudge in the right direction is good, but for one to propel themselves in that direction.. Well, it must be of their own will.
And while we are all struggling to survive, mistakes can shed new lights on things. One doesn't learn until he/she fucks up -- that is how I see it. I know that I have been told about so many degrees of hurt, but I was never able to speak about such feelings myself until I had experienced them. Get out there and find out. Experience things for yourselves. Don't live through others -- live through yourself, because who else do you have to live for?

It is what it is


"I was born when she kissed me. I died when she left me. I lived a few weeks while she loved me." -A lonely place

A good night's sleep is non-existant. Sleep, I've forgotten what you feel like. I wore make-up this morning to work, after months and months of not. I wish that I could refuse to make the same mistake twice, a strong forceful gesture. Instead I tiptoe and hope that everything will work itself out to my advantage. I'm a fucking joke and it's written all over this journal. I'm exhausted but the above flowers made me smile. I have no idea how long I stood there. Looking. Thinking. It must've been a few minutes before I realized what I was actually feeling at that particular moment.
Okay, I thought. Here you are. You are here. And you move forward because that's the way it works; that's the only place you can go. You keep going until it stops hurting, or until you find new things to hurt you worse, I guess. And that is the human condition, all of us lurching along in our own private miseries, because that's the way it is. Because, I guess, God didn't give us any choice. You grow up, I remembered Tonantzin telling me. You learn.
When I like something, I like it all the way. I can't help it, it's just the way I am. I have tried (and failed) so many times to alter this part of my personality, and I cant. When I'm in, I'm all in, and thats all there is to it. So if I like you a lot and I call you too much or try too hard or look at you weird when we are together, I am sorry. Well for clarification: I am only sorry if this makes you uncomfortable. I'm not sorry for genuinely liking you a whole lot. That part shouldn't make anyone uncomfortable. It should be flattering if someone thinks you're really special.
I went to Aldo and bought 3 tags from their Youth Aids campaign. I had bought them for Meli, Miriam and one for myself but I felt bad and ended up giving Miriam's to Meli's gf whom I'm not too fond of anymore. I shall buy Miriam one when she comes back.
I miss those duvalin kisses I would get. I'm sorry Ms Bic Runga but you are spending all night with me.

Where are your muthafuckin' manners?

You can add "chewing with your mouth open or talking with your mouth full" to my long list of pet peeves. I took my guy friend out to dinner since he helped me a lot when I moved. It took a lot for me to not get up and leave. I wanted to run out of there during us eating salad.

*Elbows on table the whole time (no biggie but you should know better)
*Napkin never made it anywhere close to his face
*Chewing with his mouth open
*Talking with a mouthfull of steak (my jaw dropped when I saw chewed up bloody meat)
*Mashed potatoes all over his chin
*Kept staring at everyone around us

Not only that, he reaches for MY water to taste it because his tastes "funny". I slapped his hand so hard that it scared him. NOBODY that eats like an animal is gonna touch my drinks or food. I don't think I ever want to be seen at a restaurant with this fool! It's no wonder he can't get a fuckin' date! He wants ME to set him up with my friends. After last night, it's a definite "hell no" every time he asks me to set him up.

I'm so glad we went to Outback Steakhouse and not my favorite restaurant Maggiano's. I don't think I would've been able to show my face in there if I had taken him there.

4.01.2006

Oh little heart of mine

"I left as empty as I came."

Free Image Hosting at www.ImageShack.us

I watch her and I can't stop but feel warm inside. I'm falling in love or lust or something. Don't ask me with whom or what. I haven't got a clue. Just that I'm falling and I'm falling much to quickly and the ground doesn't look so soft.
These days, all I'm doing is just not trying to get my hopes up.

All my flowers are weeping in the shadows, screaming for attention but too silent to be heard by the ears we have covered with headphones, pouring out vibrations we'll never understand. Words sometimes can degrade an emotion so greatly, I feel ashamed for the effort made. And all I crave right now is for someone to knock on my door, fill this empty space with laughter that we don't comprehend. Can we just pretend for a moment that our love is pure and undamageable? Hearing the tea kettle whistle melodies quietly into the air, we are everything. We are e v e r y t h i n g.

Oh, little heart of mine! Show me that you can still BE!

I am currently on passive aggressive mode.

I've been trying for so long to put my body into words, you know. I have been calling for leeches in my sleep to articulate the cells, the dichotomy of my blood count. I have been contacting the pentagon. I need codebreakers. I am sure there are messages scrawled underneath my skin. I am convinced that my pores form patterns. I have been writing until my hands fall asleep, hoping I can distance myself and find the answer. I have been waiting. You have known all along, haven't you. You are reading the bones in my spine. You tap out messages to my arteries in morse code. I am neither awake nor asleep. I am done looking. I watch you, pupils dilated. I am learning more about your skin every time you whisper. I have heard stories of men who lose their memory. Who wake up in empty buildings, relearning the way the sun sets in the sky. I count the stars every night to assure myself I will not forget. I wake up alone; but these things don't matter like they used to.

We sat around high tables, smoking cigarettes as people lingered and moved on around us. There's a girl sitting accross the bar staring at us. He asks me "do you know her?" and I reply "I can't see shit right now" as I take a sip of my cherry vodka sour. I look at her and she smiles at me. I can't, for the life of me, see or remember who she is. I immediately regret leaving my glasses on the dashboard. I take another sip of my drink and give up at the fact that I just do not remember her. My glasses will get out of the car with me wherever I go. I stand 4 feet behind her and I still can't remember her. Than I realize that my glasses are not the problem. It is my memory or should I say "lack of" it. I need to learn to remember names.

Round and round

We were laying in bed, her head on my chest and than she says "te quiero mucho". I hug her tight and say nothing. After a couple of seconds of silence which seemed like an eternity, she says "don't confuse "te quiero" with "te amo". I nod my head and say "I understand" and than I say "Me too". I have no idea why I did not say anything for those few seconds. I wanted the confussion.
I draw a heart with my name in it in blue ink on her ass. She does not wash that part of her ass for a couple of days and that brings a huge smile to my face. She makes me want to make cheesy love songs cds.

.

One day, in between the comings and the goings, the wild circles and the curvey straight lines. Sometime, in between the carousel rounds that you make in my life, without the benefit of cotton candy or caramel corn or corn on the cob and elephant ears and sweets that make one's teeth hurt and stomach do loopety loops on the roller coasters. After the ups and downs and the side to sides, the back and forths and the dirt in the air that just tastes like it should, the heat from the day that rests on shoulders and arms, the sweat that is between fingers as they clasp hands and hold on, because that's just how we are taught. To hold on. To be safe.
One day after the fun, after the excitement, after the everything while we hold hands and our fingers get slippery with sweat from holding too hard and you taste the dirt on my lips, and I taste the uncertainty on yours and you give me that look...

Would you take just a moment, just a few seconds, to explain to me why everything with you has to be so fleeting when it would be so easy for us to just hold on tighter, to keep it close, to make it stay?

Why?
Why can't I ever make you stay?

.

Booze, sushi bar, boobs and short skirts - what better way to spend your night?
After 10 drinks and the best sushi, we decide to go to Barroco. It's 9:30 and everything on lower greenville is dead. We walk to "The Cave" and sit on the couch at one of the daskest corners. I straddle her and kiss her. She bites my lip as I give her a kiss. Why do kisses taste/feel so much better when you've been drinking? Drunk kissing is so much better than sex sometimes. My hand rests on her crotch and we come to the mutual conclusion that, perhaps, we should be heading home and to a bed or floor. Kissing is just so much better at times. You can't fake a kiss.

.

There is no room for modesty when you are a liar.