Sunday, September 10, 2017

Dear sadness

Be welcome again.  I know you had been waiting for your chance.  And now at last you have settled in after lost calls that were found after the earthquake and among hurricane clouds.
Truth is I missed you.  Not like when one yearns for the lover that is gone, but like the memory of that which I become when you are here.  Powerful senseless habit.  Dear sadness, however, I would rather that you not be, that you not show the confidence that you show.  I would opt for you to listen to my guts as they rustle, and to how your presence detriments me.  Maybe then you could start collecting some taste of compassion.  

Image:  Aldo Monges


















I would love to be able to have you mixed up with fury, anger without a reason and without mercy.   But reality is that we needed to finally get together, it was now time that you invaded me with your anxiety attacks after one or two hours of poor sleep.  It was now time that you became this nuisance, with your bland necessity that ages and then is reborn lush every time I open my eyes in panic, realizing that I have forgotten to breathe.  My heart is closer to its last beat thanks to you, so powerful and, at the same time, so wilted. 
Dear sadness, I shall be at your mercy for a time now.  A glorious time of obscurity within failure.  Infamous lapse without foundation during which I shall try to give an explanation to my falls and to the shattering of the world I used to live in.  Interval at which I shall outline a glimpse of understanding toward the very life that is escaping me.  Thanks to you I know I am human, I understand that I am alive, right here and now, without need of further evidence other than my words, my silence, and the torrent of my blood that gets slumped each time you accumulate until you become anxiety.  
Dear sadness, my old friend, be welcome.  Understand that I am accepting you because you are beautiful in essence.  You remind me that losses are such because once there were dreams.  Stubborn, you invoke in my mind moments of emotional wreck because, at some time in the past, my heart and somebody else's had conjugated rhythms to form harmonies as beautiful and spontaneous as whole universes.  You let me comprehend that you are temporary and situational.  Circumstantial.  And, in your visit, as long and uncomfortable as it may be, I'll allow myself to bless you, since I know that, when I finally shake you off from my now broken and muted unfolding, at last, peace will come. 

Spanish version here

Sunday, August 27, 2017

Lost souls

My brother is a wise man.  Many times I find him odious, but truth be told he has got my admiration as far as life situations and experiences, mostly in all this wisdom he carries around, but that generally never uses.  Hence his barren, lonely existence.
Yesterday he was telling me how the Greeks had actually written everything there was to write.  Since the Greeks, there has been nothing new.  Everything that has been written, everything that has been said can be identified without problem as a byproduct of Greek thought.  Except for love.  Greeks never philosophized about love.  But for that, humanity required situational attributes that only the experience of centuries could provide, since everything we experience, in many ways, passes on in memories throughout the generations.  The pains of the heart, the passionate love, the warmth in one's muscles as one becomes a participant of a full surrender to the other.  The envy and jealousy made to come, in many a chance thoughtlessly, by the one we love.  The very same obsession and even the very feeling of being possessed by feelings that are impossible to get a hold of.  Centuries had to go by for someone to be able to write the only thing that still needed to be written.  Finally, William Shakespeare gave it to us.  He granted our kind with a brutal understanding of incomprehension itself.  He gave us all the right to set out on restrictionless loving, with outbursts and ravings, with the desperate and euphoric surrender that only can be supplied by those who suffer from spasms and panic attacks in lieu of the momentary loss of that only person that sets them on fire like dragon flares.
It is so easy -says my brother as he lights his cigarette- for two souls that have found each other to give themselves away in the deepest of ways.  All that is required is both wills.  That is all.  And there will not be a force in the universe that prevents them both from finding, loving and interweaving each other's fates together.  Montagues, Capulets, whomever there may be, and as widely they may be distributed within the universe shell.  If the wills of both are there, distance in all of its shades will matter nought, and absolute hatred will not transcend above them.  Nothing will stop them both from loving, given that is their wish.  If that is what they truly want.  Two souls will overcome all obstacles in order to get to the experience of being, in unison.
Sadly, it is easier for the most intrinsic bonds to fade, get destroyed, and eventually turn into nausea and dark, painful oblivion.  Because, for that to occur, all is needed is that, from both, only one becomes undecided.  For two hearts to wind out dead to each other, all is needed is one of them bringing up excuses.  Only one to stop committing.  Or that only one starts giving conditions to love, or decides ceasing their loving.
My brother is wise, and he tells me all of this with gleeful loud voices, since that is the way he makes actual conversation.  Little does he know that this thing he is sharing with the joy of recent discovery is too painful to be heard.  I look into my watch, and make up that I have to go now.  We say goodbye, and I walk crying to the nearest subway station.


Spanish version here

Tuesday, July 18, 2017

I forget your face

I wish I could see you so bad.  And, in my desire, all of me goes dire.  My body trembles and starts losing heat.  My eyes go numb, and my breathing shortens.  My brain slowly loses itself, and my heart starts trying to take command of a vessel that has long been uncontrolled.

Where are you now?  Where is your mind, where is your heart?  How can I possibly have a glimpse at what is going on within your thoughts?  How could I appease your inner, sudden explosions?  But then, why would I even have any say?  Why would I even feel entitled to help?  If our time has been so little.  If our time has practically been no time at all.  How dare I?  Why should I? 

And then, when I am more calm and feel like I can think better, I come to the conclusion that even our very little time, as timely lame as it may be, has been outwittingly meaningful.  As truthful a love as the most.  As essential and beautiful.  

But then, even with this calm made out of sensible thinking, I am still not able to see you.  And I turn into the embodiment of despair.  Because I realize that, the more I need to see you, the more I forget your face.  Why does this even happen?  How does it even come to occur?  It must be a stupid mind trick, one of those things that happens when you think you need something.  Like when you constantly think "I need money", and your life turns into that.  So you become poor.  

I turn to my social networks and look for your photographs, I find them, but I have no peace.  I think you, I pray you, I write to you, just like this, but your face is not the one that I want to bring into my mind right now.  Because the face that I am forgetting is the one that is right in front of me when we are as close as book pages, the one I caress disguised in fixing your hair, the one I can kiss so tenderly.  So close.  The face that I can talk to with voices of the soul, so cheesy, yet so honest and true.  The face that I am so in love with because of the inner light within your eyes.  The light that so many can see when we shine together, but that only I can actually touch.  Your light, your face, your eyes, your cheeks, the corners of your mouth as you smile, your chin, your hair, your life, your soul, your heart portrayed in the transparency of your expressions.  

How?  Oh, how, dear God!  How could that ever disappear from my head?

Thursday, July 13, 2017

Our song

I wonder if you would make a song about how you feel when you're with me.  Not a song.  A piece of music.  On piano, maybe.  I wonder if, at some future point, within our soon-to-be new home and time, you would just start playing what came out of your fingers inspired by the idea of us, being firmly joined at last.

This is my dream.  A dream of togetherness and closeness.  I wonder if I would need to ask you to play your feelings for me, or if it would just start from your own hearty need.  I think about that future time in which we become us again.  So near, so perfect.

I am yours now.  I wish nothing but to sing along with songs of so many intensities, so many hues and trends.  I am your song already.  I feel nothing but the harmonies that our living waves create around us, and expel into infinity.  I crave nothing but the melodies through which our paths go by.  The music of our hearts playing for the enjoyment of the universe.




Monday, July 10, 2017

To change is to disappear

I am change.  I am the spinal cord of what you so vividly yearn for, and at the same time of that which you are so afraid of.  I am all of your opportunities soon to come, and I am all of your losses.  You look at my face, but you are never able to predict me.  I am unbearable and endless fire.  I am your soul that suffers because of your heart that can never seem to finally comprehend.  I am your burning eyes.  I am your body that yells, and that winds out accepting that, without me, you just cannot keep being.  Because, as I am construction, I am also erosion, I am pedantic intransigence overflown by the passing of time.
I am change, and it is because of me that you disappear by the little.  I am dethroning you, without you being aware of it, and from whatever joy in your soul there will be nothing but remains, feeble memories without connection.  I am the contrast between what you think happened and what actually occurred.  I am an infinite bunch of interpretations and perspectives.  I give you moments of enlightenment, so that I can then disrupt your conclusions.  And in lieu of this I, in my pure capriciousness, am forcing you to vanish.  So that you stop being you, so that you stop thinking so much about yourself.  For you to try at least at moments to put me in your agenda, so we could happen to meet, talk, understand each other, and die together with no trouble amongst us.
I am your cowardice.  I am your teachings.  I am your fascination.  I am each time that you tried to help someone understand, each moment that you achieved conquering love, each feeling that turned you into an unscrupulous, shameless creature.  I am that piercing moment that made you a hero to the eyes of that who most mattered.  I am you, but tomorrow.  I am you, two seconds after your heart has been ripped apart.  I am you, without the pieces of your soul that have been killed.
I am change, and thanks to me, you disappear all the time.  You cease being.  You cease understanding. You behave as if you had just been born, and as if you already knew how life is supposed to work.  I am your wasteful spendings, and your encounters.  I am your contexts and epiphanies.  I am your undermined life turned into and infinite void.  Unbearable solitude.
But I am also that who gives you freedom.  I am that who inspires and provokes your most gorgeous thoughts, your most extravagant ideas.  Your kindest behaviors and your most considerate compromises.  I am your bravest attitudes, and your best moments of care and loyalty.  Your love conversations until the whole world just seems to not be there anymore, and your eyes finally close.  I am your most tenacious attempts at learning.  I am your body which, amidst intangible processes, never ceases to be born.  So you are right to always be feeling like this.  I am your healing heart, I am your ever emanating beauty, I am your soul as it shines the most.  I am the moment of that first kiss, I am that infinite instant of unconnected nervous ends at last feeling together.  I am your life.  I am your desire.  I am you...


Original Spanish version here

Saturday, June 17, 2017

The grammar of our intertwined lives

I repeatedly read our conversations.  The fact that now people can talk in written form gave me that.  I scroll back to the beginning of one of the latest days, and I just read on.  Through our words, phrases and clauses.  Full sentences from our hearts hanging out there from the cloud.  Even that seems perfect about us.  When we are close, we talk, we dance, we sing.  When apart, we text, one way or another, no matter what.  And either way our hearts are there.  So I remember and I read.

I repeatedly read our conversations.  It is a luxury of our time that no one seems to appreciate.  When I write to you, I can really think what I want to say.  Not for long, though, since the talk should flow.  The good thing is my written words are not always what first comes to mind, which in our situation could not always be right.  My impulses could not be ignored if I were seeing you right at the moment that I'm writing to you.  The soul that I lay onto my writing would just be lost and replaced by its firey thirst of you.

I can't stop.  I can't handle the fact that you are leaving, because you are in my mind whenever my lungs empty, whenever they try to reach for air, but my heart occupies too much space now for them to be filled with what is out there.  How could you leave, if you're carved here within?

I repeatedly read our conversations and experience the beauty of your feelings and your spirit.  And I wish I could tell you so many things, and I wish I could tell you how crazy you are driving me.  How desperate I get when I see that you are typing, and then deleting your thoughts.  Your beautiful thoughts.  None of them should be erased.  And I feel so lost then, because I do the same.  I type something, erase it, write it again, rethink, and finally write only the thing that is right to be said.  Silence comes.  We think, we appreciate, we feel.  And then, one of us just winds out losing it and says the words, the words that we really want to say, the words that we really want to hear from each other.  I love you.  I love you.  I love you.  I can't stop it.  It is so right, it burns.  It is so big, it weighs overwhelmingly.  It is the strength we both have, and it is the path that should be followed.  You said once that I will find someone I deserve.  But the truth is that whatever happened to us in previous or even present times of our lives brought us here and now.  If I have been through what I have been through, it has been for me to get to this point, to these reckoning days, and deserve and claim nothing, nothing, but you...

I repeatedly read our conversations, feel their pace, feel their cadence and their soul, the grammar of our intertwined lives, and I cry mercilessly with confused tears...



This text was originally written in English.  The translation to Spanish is here.

Wednesday, June 14, 2017

The last animal of fire

The last animal of fire, in his lonely, dark cave, slept dreaming without thinking since, in his animal quality, his cerebral traits were somewhat limited.  He was dreaming with the last time he made love, and the last time he saw a female still alive.  In his dream the world was a monumental embrace of fire and coal, and his dwelling was tainted with a redness that did more than live, it bubbled with a gleefulness that dyed the air with enormous sparks.  He had already convinced the female that this was a nest worthy of their progeny.  He let her get installed at the warmest site of the crater that he had suffered so much to conquer.  He had expelled and rejected dragons with so many beautiful shades in their scales that he could not remember them anymore.  She, his partner, seemed to be at peace in the spot he had chosen; however, he knew that soon she would start to get violent to the extent of releasing flame gusts through each one of her pores.  It was the natural process.  But he would wait and keep her right.  He would withstand the physical touch of her skin turned into embers, and would keep her in her place with cuddles and subtle hugs wrapped with his wings.  He would bear all of this for love.  Her horns penetrating his neck, and the last flare from her mouth coming into his the way explosions do.  And only then, with her being exhausted and frankly soothed, he could, with the little strength he would have left, end the act of love.  Then, for an instant, for a magic moment of ecstasy that would not last more than a second and that would not be repeated for years, they would both at the same time become beings with blood cold and barren.  Lonely beings keeping company to each other at the moment of that which for dragons is an actual explosion.  To be together and be one with each other for an eternal instant at which the future would be perpetuated with their seeds.

All of this was still imagination within the dream of the last animal of fire.  He came back from his daydream within his oneiric unreality and contemplated once more how his partner was getting comfortable, knowing that this was the peace before the storm of the courtship soon to be consummated.  He looked at his dragoness and found her beautiful, just at the time that a flock of men, behind her back, came out of the back part of the crater under the mountain with their evil yearning for extermination.  The animal of fire, scared as he was before the view of what was approaching, started flying immediately towards his loved one to protect her now that she was defenseless within the aim of the human spears, but he never reached his destination...  

He woke up in the cold darkness of his cave with his wings extended towards an embrace that just wrapped on thin air.  Anguished and upset, he did not try to explain what had just happened, but he continued searching for his dragoness with his eyes, knowing that he would not find her, since in this wretched shelter no female would ever lay their gaze.  He then kept quietly monitoring in search of threatening men, but he did not find them either.  Soon after, he quit, and stabbed the wet, earthy ground with his chin, and -even when in his animal quality he had no awareness of his having dreamt and remembered- without knowing what that stabbing pain was that ripped from his heart, he became sadness invaded, and two confused tears added moisture to his eyes to vaporize at the touch of his scaled skin, love forgotten...