tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52934937201158369162024-03-12T21:21:03.397-06:00el huge (bilingual)A falta de spaces, here it is...el hugehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978327174995193118noreply@blogger.comBlogger30125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5293493720115836916.post-62461306018690704672017-12-28T19:06:00.001-06:002017-12-28T19:38:27.668-06:00Shades of perfectionA: This strange habit of yours of idealizing people as they go on performing the most mundane activities.<br />
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B: Choosing a book is not necessarily mundane.<br />
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A: I know, but you have just said that she looks so perfect as she goes through the isles. I mean, you don't even know her!<br />
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B: I agree with that. But, look at her! She does look perfect. The light coming through the windows makes a perfect match with the shadows and specks of dust around her. The way her hair hangs from her scalp, half curly, half straight, as she tilts her head to see the books on the lower shelves. The natural, calm stare in her eyes as she reads through the titles.<br />
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A: Ok! I'll give you that we are at an angle from where everything combines in order to create an almost mystical ambience to her surroundings. But then... Why even look?<br />
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B: What's wrong with looking?<br />
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A: I don't know! It seems like you have almost envisioned a whole life with her. Like you could practically aim to start a relationship based on the perfection you, and only you, have seen from a particular place you happened to be drinking coffee at a library!<br />
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B: Woow! I never said that! I just said she looked perfect!<br />
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A: My point precisely! Perfect for what? For you?<br />
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B: Well..<br />
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A: So, what you are saying is that just because she looks just the way she is supposed to look, out of mere library design, you can practically predict what your life with her would be like?<br />
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B: I wouldn't dare predict anything. I just stated what she looked like to me. It has been you who dared see beyond what I said. How deeply do you think you know me?<br />
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A: Well, you now seem guilty about it all...<br />
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B: I'm not feeling guilty. I just regret having shared anything at all.<br />
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A: Why is that?<br />
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B: You seem quite upset about it.<br />
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A: Well. That's your reading through me as well. How well do you think you know me?<br />
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B: You're right. Is this then the way you usually make conversation?<br />
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A: No. I have to confess I was upset.<br />
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B: You're not anymore?<br />
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A: Not after I heard how you regretted sharing anything with me. I'm sorry. I just saw your gaze drifting away from me, and reacted like that. Couldn't handle myself.<br />
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<img src="https://i.pinimg.com/736x/fc/df/12/fcdf12ab3c0e48d7908ffc9a78fe5c93--library-bookshelves-bookcases.jpg" /><br />
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Spanish version <a href="https://elhuge.wordpress.com/2017/12/29/matices-de-la-perfeccion/" target="_blank">here</a>el hugehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978327174995193118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5293493720115836916.post-86630699808807569562017-09-10T08:13:00.000-05:002017-09-10T08:22:28.770-05:00Dear sadness<div style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 24px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
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.</div>
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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. </div>
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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. </div>
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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. </div>
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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. </div>
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Spanish version <a href="https://elhuge.wordpress.com/2017/09/10/querida-tristeza/" target="_blank">here</a></div>
el hugehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978327174995193118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5293493720115836916.post-87108771284957987742017-08-27T17:42:00.003-05:002017-08-27T18:04:57.043-05:00Lost souls<div style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 24px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
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.</div>
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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.</div>
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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.</div>
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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 <u>one</u> becomes undecided. For two hearts to wind out dead to each other, all is needed is <u>one</u> of them bringing up excuses. Only <u>one</u> to stop committing. Or that only <u>one</u> starts giving conditions to love, or decides ceasing their loving.</div>
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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.</div>
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Spanish version <a href="https://elhuge.wordpress.com/2017/08/28/almas-perdidas/" target="_blank">here</a></div>
el hugehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978327174995193118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5293493720115836916.post-36402233037682022332017-07-10T13:15:00.000-05:002017-07-10T18:34:37.638-05:00To change is to disappear<div style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Bitstream Charter', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 24px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
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.</div>
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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.</div>
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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.</div>
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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.</div>
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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...<br />
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Original Spanish version <a href="https://elhuge.wordpress.com/2017/07/09/cambiar-es-desaparecer/" target="_blank">here</a></div>
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el hugehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978327174995193118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5293493720115836916.post-77508753911121714822017-06-14T21:51:00.003-05:002017-06-15T05:18:38.236-05:00The last animal of fire<div style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Bitstream Charter', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
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.</div>
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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... </div>
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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...</div>
el hugehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978327174995193118noreply@blogger.com0Merced Gómez, Ciudad de México, CDMX, México19.3663017 -99.193366419.3512407 -99.2136224 19.3813627 -99.1731104tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5293493720115836916.post-81283753609182615522013-02-05T09:19:00.001-06:002017-04-21T12:01:37.486-05:00Circle drawTo dwell in one's mind, to live in its unlimited silence. Swinging with the winding meadows of one's very own soul, worn weary, worn out. To not be able to turn around, or to come out. To find fault with everything within, and not be able to mend any of it. <br />
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To change perspective. To bring different visions about. To fiercely hurt that which can not be undone, but that can be traced, hunted, and, finally, wounded. Never killed. <br />
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To kindly remind ourselves that it is not changing that we need: It is profound awareness of what we actually are, so we can shine. So we can at least help darkness into clarity, into misted garments of pale, dim light. <br />
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To roar. To cry. To bear and tear. To heal. To become healed. To appease. <br />
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To let others lean. To let others sing. Sing out. To let them do. To let them, for a time, dwell in their minds as well. And find their hearts within.el hugehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978327174995193118noreply@blogger.com0Instituto Tecnológico Y De Estudios Superiores De Monterrey, A.C. Paseo del Tecnológico 751, Ampliación La Rosita Torreón, Torreón25.516519 -103.397702tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5293493720115836916.post-54279579666525282182010-01-13T16:05:00.005-06:002010-01-15T11:37:00.979-06:00SometimesSometimes I wonder why the urge to write is more strident when my heart is torn.<br />At times I turn back and feel that there's nothing to write related to what I was before.<br />I'm dead since I let go of the things that I once shared, the feelings that blew up within the paragraphs that I here I used to baste.<br />I chose to kill myself and be happy, live and transcend on other plains, on other lives.<br />I regret not.<br />I accept it in the most humane manner, I live it in the most mundane way.<br />Caressing moments and late nights.<br />Intesifying the lines of indelible roads.<br />I contemplate myself and I know I'm everyday older, stronger and less prone.<br />My nose is a hook.<br />My eyes glittered, but now they're sombre.<br />I'm falling from a cliff manufactured with a permanent levity.<br />I have ceased growing.<br />I hide my introspections from the people I love, so as not to hurt them.<br />I'm water.<br />I rain and then steam away.<br />I sometimes run without aim because I'm pouring everywhere...<br /><br />Sometimes I wonder why the urge to write is more stident when my heart is torn.<br /><br />______________________________<br /><br />Click <a href="http://hugiehuge.spaces.live.com/blog/cns!B46207AC1BB4101A!3190.entry">here</a> for original Spanish version.el hugehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978327174995193118noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5293493720115836916.post-48519467699478360162009-01-17T13:11:00.004-06:002009-01-19T11:50:25.110-06:00BlissA character. A small piece of flesh made alive by its very own will to remain. It's ranking its life upon the sole esence within which it moves and flows. All the time, something is leaving from it like smaller fractions of jelly matter and, at the same time, it grows thicker and firmer as it gains vital space. No other thing flows or exists around it. It's moving without propelling amidst some kind of liquefied semi-bubbly substance in which nutrients seem to overexist.<br /><br />It is growing in size and conciousness. It's starting to feel more and more. It senses its own existence and its own will. "I want to be more," it thinks, even though it really doesn't know where that need might be driven from. And then puzzlement comes: "What am I, anyway?" "What's this thing I'm surrounded by?"<br /><br />And then, as an answer to a question that hasn't yet been made, a whole set of new fibres start emerging from tis embodied being. New experiences, new ways of sensing the fullness of its vast environment. It's enjoying now. It's gone into a state of supreme bliss. It's so overastonishing that thought has totally left. Abandonment to joy simply nullifies and smoothly blasts away any thought pattern.<br /><br />For now...<br /><br />_____<br /><br />Un personaje. Un pequeño pedazo de carne hecho vivo por su muy propia voluntad de permanecer. Califica su vida conforme a la esencia dentro de la cual se mueve y fluye. Todo el tiempo, algo se separa de él como más pequeñas fracciones de materia gelatinosa y, al mismo tiempo, se siente crecer más grueso y firme al ganar espacio vital. Ninguna otra sustancia fluye o existe en derredor suyo. Se mueve sin propulsarse por entre algún tipo de sustancia licuada y algo burbujeante dentro de la cual hay demasiados nutrientes.<br /><br />Crece en tamaño y en conciencia. Está empezado a sentir más y más. Siente su propia existencia y su propia voluntad. "Quiero ser más," piensa, aún cuando ni siquiera sabe de dónde semejante necesidad podría venir. Y luego llega el ofuscamiento: "¿Qué es lo que soy?" "Qué es esto que me rodea?"<br /><br />Y luego, a manera de respuesta para una pregunta que ni siquiera ha sido formulada, un emergente juego de fibras comienza a surgir de su ser corporal. Nuevas experiencias, nuevas formas de sentir el lleno de su medio tan vasto. Ahora lo disfruta. Se ha instalado en un estado de supremo éxtasis. Es tan sobrecogedor que el pensamiento se ha ido completamente. El abandono al gozo simplemente nulifica y tersamente destruye cualquier patrón de pensamiento.<br /><br />Por ahora...el hugehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978327174995193118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5293493720115836916.post-9213368589948175142008-07-01T15:47:00.002-05:002008-07-01T15:54:30.010-05:00A and B<span style="font-size:180%;"><b>Hermano B</b> (alegre): Caminé diez kilómetros desde mi casa hasta aquí. Me siento muy bien.<br /><br /><b>Hermano A</b> (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.<br /><br /><b>Hermano B</b> (con el corazón roto): Está bien.<br /><br /><b>Hermano A</b> (visiblemente enfadado): ¿Por qué te viniste caminando?<br /><br /><b>Hermano B</b> (con plena conciencia de su simple verdad): ¡Porque quise!<br /></span><br />(continuará...)<br /><br />___________________________________________________<br /><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><b>Brother B</b> (joyful): I walked ten kilometers from home to get here. I feel pretty good.<br /><br /><b>Brother A</b> (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.<br /><br /><b>Brother B</b> (with his heart broken): Alright. <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />Brother</span><b> A</b> (obviously pissed): Why did you walk all the way here?<br /><br /><b>Brother B</b> (with a full awareness of his simple truth): Because I felt like it!<br /></span><br />(to be continued...)el hugehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978327174995193118noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5293493720115836916.post-37228412280785427352008-06-22T21:19:00.002-05:002008-06-22T21:53:17.663-05:00Sin 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.<br /><br />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...<br /><br />___________________________________<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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...el hugehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978327174995193118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5293493720115836916.post-71182392635618373722008-06-01T11:24:00.005-05:002008-06-01T12:07:21.181-05:00All is so easySometimes 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...<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><a href="http://hugiehuge.spaces.live.com/blog/cns%21B46207AC1BB4101A%213066.entry">Spanish version</a><br /></div>el hugehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978327174995193118noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5293493720115836916.post-52511089985512465062008-05-13T00:31:00.004-05:002008-05-13T00:58:07.860-05:00Regarding how Ariadna finally accepted that witches do exist<span id="ctl00_MainContentPlaceholder_ctl01_ctl00_lblEntry">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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><br />Do you want to know what Ariadna wished for? Click <a href="http://cuadernodenotasdelhuge.blogspot.com/2008/05/de-cmo-ariadna-acept-al-fin-que-las.html">here</a>!<br /><br /></span>el hugehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978327174995193118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5293493720115836916.post-68238004002210579352008-03-26T01:16:00.002-06:002008-03-26T01:27:20.543-06:00REVENGERevenge does not grant relief in itself.<br />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.<br />It is the fact of knowing ourselves as being worse human beings than those who trespass against us.<br />It is believing ourselves as justified to do wrong.<br />It is having ceased being afraid because we know ourselves to be superior to the hurt that may be inflicted on us.<br />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...<br />To hell...el hugehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978327174995193118noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5293493720115836916.post-20814381594160409242008-03-22T10:22:00.004-06:002008-03-22T10:42:34.184-06:00His tears were made of stoneDuring 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.<br />After so many studies, provings, tries and errors, ambiguous and secular experiences.<br />Several, none, all and the only one.<br />Decisions, some erudite and other ones anger-sheltering.<br />Reactions, contempts, absolute or pleading intentions to hurt and even to kill.<br />Or to love.<br />How different could they ever be?<br />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.<br />He wasn't twenty-five yet and he already felt as having reached the top of his capabilities.<br />He was aware of his being common, austere, plausible and definitely one-handed.<br />Just a man.<br />Mr father.<br />One more.<br />He felt like crying.<br />His eyes wouldn't respond, though.<br />Nothing did, since his soul dryness was turning him into a statue.<br />He hungered for being released from the chains that now skewered him away from life.<br />But at trembling, he proclaimed that nothing was now under his control, if it ever happened that anything was.<br />So drifting.<br />No pride.<br />Lacking of a peaceful backwater.<br />So much love, so much work.<br />So lusty.<br />So fun within the sin that in its moment was almost barbaric and arrogant but that by today was left worse than degraded.<br />Merely common-placed.<br />Less than that.<br />Just another series of stupidities.<br />A totalitarian stain.<br />That turned him almost into an animal.<br />Nothing now.<br />Only boredom.<br />And no tear whatsoever.<br /><br />Imbecil...el hugehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978327174995193118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5293493720115836916.post-43540806891452332692008-03-16T13:14:00.002-06:002008-03-16T13:28:18.300-06:00Why?<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">That who eternally seeks, by universality devotes his life to seeking. He rarely finds.</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Who has found never lost what he's encountered. He's always known where it was.</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Who has arrived just as he promised didn't get lost on the way. His essence is spotless.</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Who has been found was waiting for his being looked for. His need has defined him.</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span> <span style="font-weight: bold;">That who always knew himself has always been what he is.</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">He exists.</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">He guides.</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">He chooses.</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">He does not touch: He feels.</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Lives.</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">His value goes further away from what simple mortality represents.</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">His joy resides in everything that there is, everything that is surrounded by his presence.</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The truth is that his happiness does not matter, though.</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">He does not search it, he does not claim for it, does neither frivolize nor idealize it, doesn't yearn for it.</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Why?</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></div>el hugehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978327174995193118noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5293493720115836916.post-65820272706484093062008-02-22T09:09:00.003-06:002008-02-22T09:12:22.549-06:00invitedBooks I've read the last months:<br />.<br />1.Alvin Maker Jr I. - Seventh son of a seventh son (Orson Scott Card)<br />.<br />2. Disciplina Inteligente (Vidal Schmill) - I don't like reading this sort of things, but I had to because of work.<br />.<br />3. Complete tales II (Isaac Asimov)<br />.<br /><br />Music I've recently been hearing:<br />.<br />1. RUSH<br />.<br />2. DREAM THEATER<br />.<br />3. Diego Torres - haha, this one is not from work, I admit it. I really like it.<br />.<br />4. Los toreros muertos<br />.<br />5. Laco Tayfa<br />.<br /><br />Movies I've seen recently:<br />.<br />1. American gangster.<br />.<br />2. I am legend.<br />.<br />3. Ratatouille.<br />.<br />4. 27 dressesel hugehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978327174995193118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5293493720115836916.post-36138324875629306272008-02-05T22:44:00.000-06:002008-02-05T22:55:40.728-06:00Monday afternoon<span style="font-size:6;"><span style="color: rgb(192, 80, 77);font-family:Tahoma;" >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 t</span></span><span class="label-list"><a href="post-edit.g?blogID=5293493720115836916&postID=3613832487562930627#" class="clickable-label" onclick="BLOG_selectLabel(this); return false;"></a></span><span style="font-size:6;"><span style="color: rgb(192, 80, 77);font-family:Tahoma;" >hat 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...<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://hugiehuge.spaces.live.com/blog/cns%21B46207AC1BB4101A%212865.entry">Spanish version</a><br /></span></span>el hugehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978327174995193118noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5293493720115836916.post-57704161609451603662008-01-27T11:07:00.000-06:002008-01-27T11:55:15.526-06:00Espacios<p>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.</p><p><br />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.</p><p>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.<br /><br />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 " "</p><p></p><p></p><p><a href="http://hugiehuge.spaces.live.com/blog/cns!B46207AC1BB4101A!2858.entry">Spanish version</a></p>el hugehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978327174995193118noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5293493720115836916.post-32378471197718745752008-01-06T15:09:00.000-06:002008-01-06T15:38:49.998-06:00That 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://hugiehuge.spaces.live.com/blog/cns%21B46207AC1BB4101A%212836.entry">Spanish version</a>el hugehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978327174995193118noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5293493720115836916.post-82640738454834866272008-01-02T13:43:00.000-06:002008-01-02T13:50:27.634-06:00You and I<div style="text-align: center;"><img src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/84/265881340_0943cdd5c7.jpg?v=0" alt="" height="375" width="500" /><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">You and I<br /><br />Light poles that entwine...<br />I'm a sun...<br />I shine...<br />I've faith...<br />I've got strength and drive...<br />And all I give to you...<br />I share...<br />Easy, without rushes, it's all yours...<br />In this new start...<br />Within this original glory...<br />Within this unedited challenge...<br />That transports us to eternity...<br />Both shining...<br />With a new light...<br />Clear flash communion...<br />Displayed upon infinity...<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="No se puede mostrar la imagen “http://www.findingmrright.net/images/bridge_and_stars_big.jpg” porque contiene errores." src="http://www.findingmrright.net/images/bridge_and_stars_big.jpg" /></div><br /><img src="file:///C:/Users/huguito/AppData/Local/Temp/moz-screenshot-3.jpg" alt="" /><img src="file:///C:/Users/huguito/AppData/Local/Temp/moz-screenshot-4.jpg" alt="" />el hugehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978327174995193118noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5293493720115836916.post-32514092561505918982007-12-20T19:49:00.000-06:002007-12-20T20:23:29.138-06:00The trees<div style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> <p style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;" lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">There was a time when the trees grew with their boney and crooked branches only and exclusively up. The scientists looked at such wonder with faked awe and said that the Apocalypse was very soon to come. Religious people came close to the trees with peace and study in their faces and gave all kinds of explanations related to botany. It was the fall. The remaining leaves fell and the branches were left completely shelterless as the wild animals ran off the frozen trunks in order to go hide on the other side of the horizon, into the sea. The branches finished then their straightening when the Winter ended. Spring made the insects come back and they all became plague. Harvests were destroyed, animals sacrificed and food was compressed. The youth came out to the streets to announce the end of the world with enormous banners and protest yelling aimed at the Creator. Children and professionals left out pencils and, at seeing themselves disabled at erasing, they wrote with electronic keyboards, without mistakes. Summer came and all the trees were now over two meters high. A year had passed and man still could not understand the why of nature's behaviour. Churches began to give and forgive people's sins on the squares, which were left without plants since they had to cut everything down for everyone to fit in. Scientists started to study the trunks and branches with real eagerness, and they realized that they were more normal than ever. So, every person on Earth that was not linked to science or religion started to lose their faith in evolution and creation when they realized scientists and priests were getting rich at their expense. So, one day, they simply threw them into the void. The following day a true Spring began and people came out into the streets to work and live in peace, without using more than was needed and thinking only about the future with patience and wisdom. From the trees leaves sprouted, branches bloomed and flowers gave abundant fruit. And then said God: it is amazing that these poor men require so much in order to understand that science and religion should consist only of being happy.<br /></span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;" lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"> Written in 1991</span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt; text-align: justify;"><br /><span style="font-size: 12pt;" lang="ES-TRAD"></span></p><br /><a href="http://hugiehuge.spaces.live.com/blog/cns%21B46207AC1BB4101A%212807.entry"><br />spanish version</a><br /></div>el hugehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978327174995193118noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5293493720115836916.post-31738133982355810022007-11-24T12:09:00.000-06:002007-11-24T12:51:56.665-06:00The greatest giftShe gave me a smile<br />in my old and sad face<br />in my forgotten and dry body<br /><br />She turned my day into sun<br />my anxiety into relief<br />and my cold into goosebumps<br /><br />She wrapped me in her arms<br />for a scarcely eternal second<br />for a moment<br />my heart at last without hollows<br /><br />And here I am<br />after such a long time<br />knowing that all, all,<br />everything compiles into a hug:<br />simple as that...<br /><br /><br /><br />click <a href="http://hugiehuge.spaces.live.com/blog/cns!B46207AC1BB4101A!2765.entry">here</a> for the original Spanish versionel hugehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978327174995193118noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5293493720115836916.post-57581965966393443262007-11-07T10:58:00.000-06:002007-11-08T01:30:50.249-06:00A fableOnce, there was a simple ant that had desperately fallen lost into love limbo for a beautiful light moth. It came to happen that this ant's almost nightly work schedule allowed it to contemplate dawn while heading towards the huge hole that all of the ants had invented themselves, to the point that one day she saw the small light moth emerging as if bulleted in direction to the sky. What a sublime creature, said the ant. Marry me, it said. But the moth was too focused in her task of reaching the light, all the time insisting and trying to figure out some strategy to reach it.<br /><br />This story has no end. It's always the same, and it's made as if a mockery of any lost cause. Because the ant may as well invent herself some wings to fly, but it will surely not fly towards the light anyway. Because, even though in a moment of distraction the moth might turn her gaze to where the ant stares at her with awe, she will never see in its tender love-filled little eyes any other thing than a light even more radiant than any light bulb's, to which she's compeled to go. She'll try to understand it, grab it and almost swallow it, without realizing that what causes that light isn't but a reflection of herself through a stranger's eyes.<br /><br /><br />click<a href="http://hugiehuge.spaces.live.com/blog/cns!B46207AC1BB4101A!2729.entry"> here</a> for the original Spanish version.el hugehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978327174995193118noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5293493720115836916.post-7009453323802731062007-10-20T23:03:00.000-05:002007-10-21T06:23:47.921-05:00Nothing and everything to write aboutBusy.<br />Loooots of work.<br />Lots of stress.<br />Projects.<br />Headaches.<br />Porcelain has been broken at last.<br />But there're always more gods.<br />Impossible to concentrate when you're not working.<br />You ran over a donkey the other day just because of your being unfocused.<br />The following week your car almost rolls over with everything inside, including your friend.<br />You're still amazed to have come out of it alive.<br />Your actions do have true consenquences.<br />However, everything seems so surreal.<br />Another friend, almost lost.<br />The future settles itself and there's no other choice above holding it by where it lets itself be grabbed.<br />And now it seems you don't even know what to do with so much money you're earning.<br />But, it isn't that much anyway.<br />You just had gotten used to lacking it.<br />There are cycles to be closed.<br />Or you can just keep on rolling over.<br />September was truly an avalanache of more than memorable proportions.<br />Fortune's coming.<br />But the scale always keeps moving.<br />Always...<br /><br /><br /><br />click <a href="http://hugiehuge.spaces.live.com/blog/cns!B46207AC1BB4101A!2706.entry">here</a> for original spanish versionel hugehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978327174995193118noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5293493720115836916.post-8891640712073572192007-09-06T08:47:00.000-05:002007-12-20T20:33:38.982-06:00AugustThis August was good to me. It was a good friend, with its ups and downs, just like all friends. It hasn't been like other months that are quite disagreeable just by looking at them so prodigiously long with their 31 days and nights. I was infinitely impoverished. However, I had a lot more of work. My car was broken 3 times, but I got to remember the routes of all bus lines. I realized that the Torreón-Gómez no longer go all the way downtown. I got 3 new classes that I won't get paid for until November, but it doesn't matter because by then I'll be getting such a huge check that I'd rather not tell you since I might as well spend it all instead. I sent music kits of my band including CDs, DVDs and biography to only 4 record houses that are interested in our concept. I bought the Los Toreros Muertos compilation. My room has gone a true mess because of so many darn willinglessly-piled-up-and-conciously-forgotten papers. I finally was able to be updated as far as all my job reports are involved. Santos is the super-leader of the league. Shamra has elected me once again for their following anthology! That makes me real happy. I got invited to at least 3 completely different job projects. And I think I can do it all. One of my best friends, my brother in fact, is in big trouble and he's got me all worried about him, so much that I haven't slept well. But it's September already. And September is coming along as if it were an avalanche. August, however, has been like an awakening.<br />Like a reality check. Like once again spreading out my wings. As if, at last, being able to recognize the horizon afar... up from the clouds...<br /><br /><br /><em>Original Spanish version </em><a href="http://hugiehuge.spaces.live.com/blog/cns%21B46207AC1BB4101A%212594.entry"><em>here</em></a>el hugehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978327174995193118noreply@blogger.com6