A and B

Hermano B (alegre): Caminé diez kilómetros desde mi casa hasta aquí. Me siento muy bien.

Hermano A (gritando y esquivando el abrazo): Ya lo sé, maldito inconciente. La única razón por la que dios te ubicó en esta familia fue para que te pusiéramos una correa como a los perros. Ven y abrázame donde no te pegue el sol.

Hermano B (con el corazón roto): Está bien.

Hermano A (visiblemente enfadado): ¿Por qué te viniste caminando?

Hermano B (con plena conciencia de su simple verdad): ¡Porque quise!

(continuará...)

___________________________________________________

Brother B (joyful): I walked ten kilometers from home to get here. I feel pretty good.

Brother A (yelling and walking away from the hug): I know, you freakin' irresponsible bastard. The only reason why god brought you to this family was so that we could put a leash on you like a dog. Come and hug me where the sun won't hit you.

Brother B (with his heart broken): Alright.

Brother A (obviously pissed): Why did you walk all the way here?

Brother B (with a full awareness of his simple truth): Because I felt like it!

(to be continued...)

Sin título (No title)

Musas tintinean los cascabeles que cuelgan de sus vestidos a las rodillas con lentejuelas blancas y plateadas. El sentirse inspirado tiene sus vaivenes. Son tan delgadas y tienen cuerpos tan firmes. Son tan invitantes. Cualquiera quisiera abusar de ellas. Entrar en grupo vikingo rastrero, cual estampida de bisontes violadores, y tomarlas a todas de ambas muñecas con una sola mano inmensa de hombre de mar y zarandearlas a un tiempo. Las rubias, las pelirrojas, las morenas, las bellas, las de piernas grandes, las altas, las menuditas, las de grandes senos, las de frente amplia, las de gran personalidad, las tímidas y las de grandes ojos expresivos. Contusiones. Raspones. Fuerza. Lucha. Exterminio. Generalmente -si es que esto se puede hacer de manera general- las batallas contra tales divinidades son aún más certeras y extenuantes que cualquier pelea callejera, cisma o guerra.

Hoy me propuse asesinarlas a todas. Hoy quise simplemente tomar los dones que me fueron obsequiados y usarlos para desmontar la belleza de cualquier paisaje. Después de todo, me los dieron. Yo no luché por ser músico, no luché por tener cierto talento para escribir, para componer, para enseñar, o para comprender... Hoy las quería ver muertas, tendidas frente a mí a un lado de un río enturbiado de lamoso lodo viejo y vil. Hoy exijo y demando de la vida que se me dé lo que quiero y nunca más lo que me sea menos complicado. Hoy hago un reclamo por fuerza. Por ser un macho potente y lleno de brío, furioso y empecinado, alegre proveedor, ceñudo protector, señor en mi páramo. Conmino a los poderes del universo a que me hagan el mejor en aquello de lo que me he prendado por ser y hacer. En lo que soy. Con justeza y autoridad convoco a todas las deidades, a los demonios y a los charlatanes a concederme mi único anhelo. He dejado de ambicionar la atención de los ávidos. He usurpado la necesidad de mi alma y la he comprimido en una bola con forma de suspiros. Y al fin, ahora, con absoluta certeza en el dicho de mi seguridad, he proclamado: Maduren musas, deslíguense de mí, busquen a alguien que realmente las necesite, satisfagan la insaciedad de algún otro genio, hijas mías, corran sin llorar y sin voltear siquiera a ver mi silueta por vez última parada sobre la cima de mi contoneada colina, porque mi búsqueda ha terminado y, por entre las cegadoras luces que me convierten en difuminada sombra desde la distancia, estoy en paz...

___________________________________

Muses twinkle their jingle bells which hang down from their knee-high dresses with white and silver sequens. Feeling inspired has its swings. They're so thin and they have such firm bodies. They're so inviting. Anyone would want to abuse them. To burst in as a creeping viking herd, just like a rapist bison stampede, and to grab them all from both wrists with only one immense hand of a man of the seas and to toss them around at a same time. The blondes, the red haired ones, the brunettes, the beautiful ones, the ones with big legs, the tall ones, the tiny ones, the ones with big breasts, the one with wide foreheads, the ones with great personality, the shy ones and the ones with huge expressive eyes. Bruises. Scratches. Strength. Struggle. Extermination. Generally -if such a thing could be done in a general fashion- battles against such divinities are even more accurate and exhausting than any street fight, schism or war.

Today I intended to murder them all. Today I simply wanted to grasp the gifts I was granted and use them to dismantle the beauty of any landscape. After all, they were given to me. I didn't work my ass off to be a musician, I didn't struggle to have a certain talent at writing, composing, teaching or understanding... Today, I wanted to see them all dead, lying in front of me next to a river made cloudy with old and vile mud. Today I claim and demand from life that I be given what I want and never again what is less complicated. Today I call for strength. To be a potent and full of energy male, furious and determined, joyful provider, frowning protector, master over my moor. I summon the powers of the universe to make me the best at what I have become pinned by for being and doing. At what I am. With justice and authority I call all deities, demons and charlatans to grant me my only wish. I have left aspiring for the attention of the avid ones. I have usurped the need of my soul and I have compressed it into a sigh-shaped wad. And at last, now, with absolute certainty upon what I say about my assurance, I've proclaimed: Mature, muses, unlink from me, search for someone who really needs you, quench some other genius' unfilling, my sweet daughters, run without crying and without even turning to look at my silhouette for this time last standing on top of my swaying hill, because now my own quest has ended and, amid the blinding lights that turn me into a blurry shadow from afar, I'm at peace...

All is so easy

Sometimes I get so desperate from being so busy. Physically, mentally and emotionally. My job, my fianceé, my no-moneyness, facebook, my classes, the material, the powerpoint slide shows, the final exams, the students, the principals, my bosses, the commitments, my debts, the grades, the extraordinary exams, the championship that's coming, my car, her dog, my mum, my siblings, my friends, Santos, the amount of minutes in my mobile, my clothes, my room, the not-working washing-machine, the people around us, our wedding, the photo shoot, the reception, the feast, the money, the guests, the godfathers, the ring, the proposing evening, the bridal shower and the bachelor party, the presents, my neglected live spaces, my equally neglected blogspot sites, my net friends, los tres coyotes, the freaking suicidal stupid man, the waiting, the nerve, my always showing a good face, the uninvited suddenly appeared, the invitations, the flower arrangements, the video shoot, the Summer vacations that come without a single dime, my eternal search, my pawned bass guitar, the cousins, the uncles, the aunts, the family, my unableness to ask for things -whatever to whomever-, my constant need to always eat in solitude, the concerts I'm not going to, my college buddies, the trips, students who love me, students who hate me, my Michigan diploma with honors, my recognition as the best teacher in front of the dean and all, the wine, the canapé servings, the waiters, the bar-tender, the TV, the fridge, the air conditioning system, the biweekly coffee that turns out to be into dinner for five at applebee's, our munchies, my empty wallet, the sacrificed music with a goosebumpy smirk, the loss that it involves, the death rasping breathing that it promotes, my stress-caused belly growth, my smile, the writing, the reports, the parents of my students that come to visit just to get to meet the teacher of their creatures, the monthly parties made to celebrate all the birtday people, my bad thoughts, my good thoughts, my intransigence of heart that keeps on not listening to my good sense which takes millenia to be aware of my emotinal state, the politics, the flattering, my car wrapped with the local team's flags, my library fines, the books, my computer, the quaranteened applications, the Trojan horses, my nephews, Nicholas, the repairs on our new house, the real estate agents that won't stop getting me through hell just to sell, the payroll receipts, my original birth certificate which says I'm a woman due to a typing mystake, the fucking heat that whips my city, the fence that shall be erected, the window protections, the house widening, the date in which it'll be given to us, the paper signing, the delays, the down payments, the honeymoon, the vacations, the days that we won't we working, the thoughts that just won't stop bothering, her depilation, the make up, my hair that just won't allow any control, the motor oil leak, the translations, the invitations I get to play with other bands, the curtains, the furniture, the trousseau, the dinner, the packages, the bride-shows, the prices, the discounts, my dirty little mind corners, my paranoia, my expectations, my eagerness, my need to get rid of everything and just go on with chaos, my urgency to have order, my family, the balance, the computer payments, internet, the events, the lawn, the lizards, the bridges being built throughout the city which take five minutes each from each of my commutes, her hands, her eyes, the feeling of drunkedness that they cause on me, the lack of concentration, the bouquet, the wedding band, the church, the garter, the lab tests, the civil wedding, the bride magazines, the time that's left and barely lets us make it, her PMSings, our Tuesday's movies, the endless leaflets, tryptichs and bulletins that are now like my car's inside tapestry, the disorganization, her waist, the countless assholes that keep hitting on her knowingly of the fact that she's soon getting married, those mother-fuckers, my laughter, mi vice, her posture, the salads we both make, our ignoring the past, the vampires, my castle on knighthood, my vasals, my songs, my need to sing and yell, the talks, the judgements and prejudices, the emotional charge, the music-knowledge tests, the fact that I winded out being Han Solo on my Star Wars personality test, the value of being, her lips, my restlessness, her father who won't even talk to me, my father whom I won't even turn to look at, our powerless mothers, my unquenchedness, my lack of inspiration, my ego, my libido that demands, my extremities that search and only in her they find my truth, my fate, my punishment, my struggle, my heaven, my grace and my peace...

Spanish version

Regarding how Ariadna finally accepted that witches do exist

Which freaking witches? She thought as she saw Daniela's sent mail's subject. You're the witch, she told Daniela from here in Mexico all the way to the west boundaries of downtown New Zealand's capital. She, being here, with all the sense of decency that only solitude without her best friend's vacation brought up, and Daniela being there in paradise showing off her being able to send stupid mails.

There was a boy that had been looking at her since a while ago, sitting two tables away from her. The guy chit-chatted, smiled and laughed with a friend of his whose face she couldn't see. The crossing of a glimpse of hers with his definite beholding baffled her at first, but then it came strangely over her just like the fixed gaze of a lover in obviously contained insanity, in such a way that, a little while afterwards, she knew that she herself was feasting her eyes with waves of glimpses over the screen of her laptop.

Daniela's mail was one of those chained things. Poorly written and so commomplace now that internet was so concurred. Everything seemed too annoying and lacking coherence for the friendship level that she and Daniela had managed to grow. In fact, it was thinking in their friendship that she decided to read it all.

She read a little bit here and then she looked up. He wasn't looking anymore, but his body language was too obvious. He had opened his legs so that she could see deep into his Jamaican bermuda. Blond. Impressive aqua green eyes. His hair seemed to keep a perfect balance with tidiness even though they looked as if they hadn't even been a bit watered for a couple of days. He was shaved, though.

Suddenly, he looked back at her now hiding less and she, stupidly, went back to reading her witchcraft mail. Make a wish, she could read while she scrolled the text. You've got 10 seconds. The stupidest thing was that most of those silly chained mails even had a countdown from 10 to 1 so that the readers would concentrate in whatever they wished for.


Do you want to know what Ariadna wished for? Click here!

REVENGE

Revenge does not grant relief in itself.
It is mostly the fact of our now being aware of our being able to act in a more despicable way than that who has damaged us.
It is the fact of knowing ourselves as being worse human beings than those who trespass against us.
It is believing ourselves as justified to do wrong.
It is having ceased being afraid because we know ourselves to be superior to the hurt that may be inflicted on us.
It is to wield a banner that gloriously, overwhelmingly and proudly leads a retinue that now has taken a strong hold of life and comes back home...
To hell...

His tears were made of stone

During that masterly dream, Manuel glimpsed until the death of his epiphany that the only transcendental thing he could possibly scribble in his eternal and boring autobiography would be having conceived children.
After so many studies, provings, tries and errors, ambiguous and secular experiences.
Several, none, all and the only one.
Decisions, some erudite and other ones anger-sheltering.
Reactions, contempts, absolute or pleading intentions to hurt and even to kill.
Or to love.
How different could they ever be?
The most sincere of his words told him that depressed was barely a nickname, a sentence to define, a blurry state that just wouldn't end up his poisoning.
He wasn't twenty-five yet and he already felt as having reached the top of his capabilities.
He was aware of his being common, austere, plausible and definitely one-handed.
Just a man.
Mr father.
One more.
He felt like crying.
His eyes wouldn't respond, though.
Nothing did, since his soul dryness was turning him into a statue.
He hungered for being released from the chains that now skewered him away from life.
But at trembling, he proclaimed that nothing was now under his control, if it ever happened that anything was.
So drifting.
No pride.
Lacking of a peaceful backwater.
So much love, so much work.
So lusty.
So fun within the sin that in its moment was almost barbaric and arrogant but that by today was left worse than degraded.
Merely common-placed.
Less than that.
Just another series of stupidities.
A totalitarian stain.
That turned him almost into an animal.
Nothing now.
Only boredom.
And no tear whatsoever.

Imbecil...

Why?

That who eternally seeks, by universality devotes his life to seeking. He rarely finds.
Who has found never lost what he's encountered. He's always known where it was.
Who has arrived just as he promised didn't get lost on the way. His essence is spotless.
Who has been found was waiting for his being looked for. His need has defined him.

That who always knew himself has always been what he is.
He exists.
He guides.
He chooses.
He does not touch: He feels.
Lives.
His value goes further away from what simple mortality represents.
His joy resides in everything that there is, everything that is surrounded by his presence.
The truth is that his happiness does not matter, though.
He does not search it, he does not claim for it, does neither frivolize nor idealize it, doesn't yearn for it.
Why?

invited

Books I've read the last months:
.
1.Alvin Maker Jr I. - Seventh son of a seventh son (Orson Scott Card)
.
2. Disciplina Inteligente (Vidal Schmill) - I don't like reading this sort of things, but I had to because of work.
.
3. Complete tales II (Isaac Asimov)
.

Music I've recently been hearing:
.
1. RUSH
.
2. DREAM THEATER
.
3. Diego Torres - haha, this one is not from work, I admit it. I really like it.
.
4. Los toreros muertos
.
5. Laco Tayfa
.

Movies I've seen recently:
.
1. American gangster.
.
2. I am legend.
.
3. Ratatouille.
.
4. 27 dresses

Monday afternoon

Unemptying. Filling back. Little by little. With your own beat. With your veins. With your legs. I elevate my structure and I fit it into your song. Beautiful piece of intact future. Of ever growing palpitations that from this moment forth shall rule and stick us together. Rhythms that even without simetry display our symphony and turn us into this which we are after orgasm. Heating calm fire light. That grants and softens our peace...


Spanish version

Espacios

Jonás was his name and, like everyone or like no one, the whole of him was an enormous cetacean due to all he carried within. Pondering were all of the meaningful figures that wandered inside his stomach. Memories, wounds, recalls, beautiful moments. We can't go on being stuck in here, said all to each other. All of them agreed on this, however none could simply go away. There was a memory of her lost mother that kept clinging there trying to heal his stress-related heartburn. The images of his wedding and his first happy days with his wife smoothed the pain caused by his stomach ulcer. And so on. Jonás himself sometimes talked with his organs and apologized for the work overload or thanked them for their always punctual and efficient duties. His heart seemed particularly praiseworthy to him. Always in a constant struggle with the nervous system. Blood flowing and electricity thundering here and there.

Sometimes, Jonás realized that he -meaning his essence- was not in any of his organs. It was in those moments, as he floated in air without looking back or without allowing any physical sentiment, that he felt truly Jonás. He flew then. Suddenly a whole new series of ethereal appendixes like enormous rows sprouted from within his whale fins and everything turned into simply pure. He forgot nothing, but nor did he remember. His body was at peace: the ulcer, the small clots in his veins, the hereditary inkling from arthritis that would never develop fully just because he was a man, the callus that was turning into stone underneath his left food, the recurrent pain in his ears. The whole of him was a weightless little paper in the shape of a sperm whale.

When Jonás was at one, some of his memories managed to get one-way tickets to oblivion. They raised their tiny little thousand-shaped and varied-smoothed hands as if they were old-fashioned single virgins hopping and jumping to reach for the just-thrown-to-the-air bride's bouquet. They said "me! me!" And in the end some of them went away, leaving empty spaces for the others to fill at will, and others remained there sunk in envies and unevenness. They sent then messages to the brain that said "we're still here!" And the pain started once again. Jonás then went back to his litany of ailments and unprescribed medicine, and peace was then missed, longed for as beauty is needed when it's not there.

Then some day, cancer arrived and all, all of the organs without exception, started to fear a coming invasion. The stomach died and along died the rest of the organs and it was like so that Jonás died. With nothing else to say. Like everyone or like no one. His last thought was in fact a feeling. A moment of communion of his body in which all of the moments, memories, experiences, schemes, feeling and images of his life gathered together just to say " "

Spanish version

That good-byes might as well be welcomes...

That the new year, thought Martha. What's such concept to me? My planning of the year started some months ago, when I decided what I would do for the rest of my days, when I saw myself at last getting new calls from the alternate-dream makers and I told them no more. When my mind was so made and resolved to keep on its verdict.

She realized that she was thinking in Spanish with phrases in another language and remembered Sandra Bullock in Forces of Nature: "How can anyone decide which clothes they're going to wear for the next 25 years?" Well, she stated to herself, I can. Not only can I do it, but I also accept it with pride and devotion. With determination, respect, patience and worship that transmute the anger that was left by an absence that should never have been. Today nothing starts, she kept on thinking: Starting this year, my new years start in November, that's why I'm saying my goals started to take place one month and days ago. The world is beautiful when the appropriate decisions are taken. Unfortunately, it so happened that in order to know what was best, I first chose the wrongest. It hurts, but I'm working within myself so that it won't hurt anymore, so that my memory can be that of a gentleman's before his lady, and nothing may rise above the surface anymore.

Hot water. Lots of sugar. Well, not that much. A muffin. Raspberry jam. Small joys that now had a meaning. A duvet underneath which to lay her feet -and his too- and a light movie for both of them.

Martha rained serenely. Her whole self, with her thoughts and her recalcitrant heart that kept on pulsing with the images from her mind emerging from within the heat with tea smell. She burned. She roared. She flowed like a river at times overflown. Then she eased again. She trembled in tiny orgasms. As in little goosebumps made music by sighs. She let herself be drawn away as if being a desert sandstorm, and the closer she was to her expanded and abysmal goal, the wind that was transforming her into this storm slackened at last and let her lie on the ground she so truly loved and allowed her to be part of a new and humid land that happily permitted her to adhere. For her to turn into fertile soil where the most gracious and beautiful plants were about to sprout.


Spanish version

You and I

You and I

Light poles that entwine...
I'm a sun...
I shine...
I've faith...
I've got strength and drive...
And all I give to you...
I share...
Easy, without rushes, it's all yours...
In this new start...
Within this original glory...
Within this unedited challenge...
That transports us to eternity...
Both shining...
With a new light...
Clear flash communion...
Displayed upon infinity...