May 2011
1 post
March 2011
1 post
Suspiros y Escalofríos
Se me acomoda alrededor del ombligo la frustración.
Se me acomoda como una mamba negra, el fuerte olor a pasado.
Hoy se me inundan las cejas de conmiseración, y vuelvo a abrir la boca: con los labios rotos y los ojos empapados.
Sí, si. El ombligo me duele también, y detrás de él los intestinos me chillan, dudo que me dejen de comer viva por dentro. Porque nunca jamás antes lo acepté, no lo...
February 2011
3 posts
whishawben:
“La Belle Dame Sans Merci” by John...
Opus 19-3, G minor
The mute musicians arrived on stage, moving instruments around making loud noises on a very quiet room. It was a large ballroom turned in to stage. Everybody sat around the musicians, while they say in the middle, at the center of the room with some heavy lights lighting their chairs and gadgets.
She was pleased at the mute and weird sounds, that made everybody uncomfortable, “get this thing going” everybody must be thinking. She enjoyed the annoying common little sounds musicians make as they set to play music. She liked feeling so eager, yet so irrelevant in a room filled with expectators.
She wasn’t ready, remember, she wasn’t ready for anything at all. For one travelling and prancing amongst the faces of the people sitting across her, to her far left she saw a wave of black thick hair, a small almost disappearing beard, bright blue eyes and round reddish lips. Beneath it all, some clumsy looking hands, sitting across bony looking legs, puffin up a pair of black slacks. The head tilted to one side, she couldn’t think of anything else, but this.
She caught a glimpse of some awkward looking shoes, twitching and moving back and forth with frantic desperation, “it” must be nervous, or anxious she thought. “It” was painful to watch, just as the music starting to sound was painful to hear.
So much pain, yet so much beauty bursting from it all. Pain bubbling at the brim of a fountain, waters flowing she imagined, waters pouring on her face, her body underneath a cool sudden burst of rain one afternoon she couldn’t remember well. All memories of passing happiness came rushing to the back of her mind. “This must mean something”, she heard an ethereal being whisper in to her ear.
The creature sitting across her didn’t show signs of life, beyond the twitching foot and the nervous hands. The eyes were gentle, softly but deeply looking at the stage. She couldn’t and wouldn’t gaze away from “it”. As far as she knew, “it” was there for her and for her only, and she was determined to live it all the way. Without being able to close her eyes to wet her iiris again and again, she felt as if she had somehow gained a sudden power to see further and deeper that her eyes allowed her, she felt as if coming out of her skin being able to watch beyond the stars on to the center of the universe.
She was not prepared for feelings, nor was she prepared to realize how unique this was to her. Only her, in that entire room would know about this moment, nobody else would ever know. That idea made her sadder than any other event ever could, the sadness of that passing feeling a feeling she wanted to hold on to was too unbearable.
The music was playing now, she only thought “what a marvelous soundtrack to this vision”, while feeling how her breath, how the movements of her respiration became coordinated with the rhythm of the music. In-out-in…out-out… while at the same time “it” became more at ease, she could tell his foot and hands had stopped convulsing while he sat back and put a slight smile on his face. “His”, there…she had said it. It had personality, it was real, it became flesh and bone all of a sudden.
She watched on, and became thankful to pain as a thousand tears appeared in her eyes, to end their short lives at her lap and at her fingers and lips. She listened to the music, which forced such fluids to jump out of her without resistance. She listened, she cried and she was content, “This must be satisfaction, this is what it feels like, its having something so real, living it all the way, yet being prepared to let go when its time, that’s what it is, so be it, I´m satisfied”.
The music kept pouring out, as did the waters, as did the beauty, as did the pain, as did time. And then, it was all over, or some thing’s were at least. Life, or some form of it carried on.
January 2011
1 post
October 2010
1 post
Te gasto la piel? te escribo los cesos? O mejor te guardo blanco papel, y nos miramos absortos, fijamente el uno al otro; Esperando que la maravilla suceda. Maravilla, qué sos? quién sos?
-Sería sentirme que hablo, sentirme que vivo en la tinta, que me vuelo suelta sin el peso de la cobardía, que despego los ojos del suelo, depreguntarmecomosería.
-la maravilla es tan simple tan sola, de...
August 2010
2 posts
“You all old fashioned and beautiful.
Me, all jittery and weird.
You´d talk,...”
– Piano concerto in e minor, op 11. II Romanze Larghetto.
June 2010
1 post
“http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U6YhqbgUEKQ”
– Hoy tengo que admitir que me penetra su memoria.
Me desean esos breves momentos donde no soy otra que alguien más, que me dejo intoxicar por la ingenuidad de una mortalidad no pretendida.
Que como él yo creo ser de tierra seca, quemada por el sol, turbia, pálida callada y redonda por el...
March 2010
8 posts
WatchHis eyes are not too big, they only seem to have a life of their own, by a huge steel pulse of magic framing their smiling contour. Always they seem to be very humid, just a little worn out and tired, a quality that makes them glow.
After all that time, soaking in the coming and going waves, daylight and moonlight all collide in his gaze.
Just shyly hidden behind his neon tropic hair.
If there...
the abnormal & the unwanted
El tiempo parece medirse por concepto de distancias emocionales. La distancia que viene con la confusión también, de perder registro de los días. Se olvida lo que “un momento” determinado se sentía, cómo se sintió.
El tiempo se mide por emociones.
Conmigo viene Legión, Pazusu no tiene tiempo de prestarme sus demonios, con los míos basta y sobra. Para mi Legión, el temor no deja de...
"Enamorada de El Salvador de Roque, de la casa... →
Estoy a un paso del movimiento estelar. Como de costumbre. Acá, tomando sobros de sosobra, todo lo que puedo recordar, todo lo que parezco querer recordar, es el pájaro azul de ayer. Y yo, maldiciendo a los mil mundos y el pajarito que se me arrima, y me baila. Corrí a como pude entre cada salto suyo. Hasta una gran plaza Ixchel. Y se venía, se contoneaba. Yo le corría detrás dejando una estela de...
Estrategia & Instrucciones para...
_No más de 30 mins consecutivos de mi más reciente playlist
_No más de 45 mins diarios de reflexión sobre LatinoAmérica
_No más de 6 tasas de café diarias
_Dejar de sentirme plagiada por otras mentes más elocuentes (Buckley, W. Anderson, A. Trocchi, S. Bellow, VU, etc) * recomendación: ponerme papel aluminio en la cabeza on a daily basis, para evitar que cineastas talentosos me roben lo que callo.
_Dejar decreer dirigir una película, un corto o una escena como si el pan de cada día fuera un escenario.
_No más zamba del Ché, (por sobre todas las cosas dejar de llamarlo San Ernesto de la Higuera)
_Evitar atar las cosas al suelo, el cielo o el mar
_Tomar los 8 litos de H20 requeridos por día
_Aceptar que me puedo replegar en mí misma de vez en cuando, no tengo que socializar
_Mitigar la actividad mental y la obsesión con alguna droga de prescripción o ilegal
_No más dudar, si no sentir la "intensidad de las dudas y la luminosidad de las oportunidades"
_No pretender fumar como Bogie, leer como Margot, reirme como lizzy, preocuparme como Lelaina.
_NO mirar por un tiempo prudencial mi librero. Si lo hago, Debe procederse con audifonos enraizados en los oídos para no oír las blasfemias que me gritan los libros sin atender.
_Por nada del mundo recodar la gabardina negra larga del Brittish Museum, pero si la risa por tomarle una foto por el partenón griego: buen momento "CLOSER/JELO ESTREINYER"
_No ver la escena final del episodio V, de Star Wars, mucho menos el motivo musical que la acompaña.
_ No ver a Sir Lancelot en Holy Grail, corriendo a salvar al principe cantor Herbert.
_No darle importancia a eventos en mi vida como Golders Green. Es perfectamente normal, que una parada interesante durante un viaje sea un cementerio o dos, ocasionalmente.
_No repasar mi lista de cosas favoritas * Al menos cada 6 meses (la nariz de mi perro, el sonido de la pintura en un rodillo rozando una pared, la manera en que Yann pronuncia la "G" en francés)
_Ante la frustración repetirme calladamente (adopción de una posición fetal es opcional) "Have not held motion on the palm of my hand"
_No permitir recordarme que no toco ningún instrumento musical con frecuencia o disciplina
_Recordar que la técnica "beetlejuice-beetlejuice-beetlejuice" y/o "bloody-mary(3veces)", no se puede aplicar a mi deseo de devolverme en el tiempo y vivir entre 1950 y 1981.
***hasta un punto de resguardo prudencial de la demencia auto-destructiva y amable***
http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/s/Hey+Nonny+Nonny/1...
“CERTEZA Nº1”: La única forma de ser mejor, es vivir en la FICCION, &...”
– El afán, premisas:
1. Querer ser mejor y hacer grandezas: la gloria y el dolor que esta búsqueda produce
2. Solo esta búsqueda nos mantiene vivos
3. Nunca alcanzarla, conllevará a algún nivel de infelicidad
“cada cual se esfuerza, cuanto está a su alcance, por perseverar en su ser”...
Hormonas&Licor
Soy una mujer como todas?
Soy todas, como mujer?
Como soy? Mujer, y como mujer todas.
Mujer, Mujir, jerez. Mu..jerez.
Licorcito de mujidos.Llenas a reventar de intoxicación.
Nosotras intoxicantes y algo vaches ?
Desorbitantes y regurgitantes?
Así somos las mujeres, mujidoras de ”mues” y jerez.
...