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...

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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