Date #341b422u4 great hotel on Reforma, nice tall guy, australian, dinner, drinks, the works. he says I'm beautiful, the red in your hair is so cute! I say ok. we have a nice time. 655 songs on the ipod, 36.8 straight days of music, and on the taxi home I hit play and Pictures of You starts playing.
el nuevo amante es imperturbable y remoto como las nubes en este cielo tan octubre y tan azul. pasa lista como general despótico y no tiene el menor reparo para indicar, señalar, corregir y reprender todo lo que no es de su completo agrado. hablamos y hablamos desde extremos opuestos de su prístino y perfecto sillón, escuchamos música, él me reta un poco, yo lo mando a volar, me pone nerviosa y él lo sabe. eso le hace pensar que él gana, lo cual a mí tan me parece curioso como me tiene sin cuidado; es mejor siempre dejar que él piense que va ganando, a menos que sea estrictamente necesario demostrar lo contrario. nos caemos en gracia el uno el otro a pesar de que somos tan distintos, a él le escandalizan mis distracciones y mi estado de caos y llamas perpetuas, yo le hago burla por ser un pequeño dictador intolerante.
este nuevo amante es frío y contenido, sin diminutivos ni hadas transparentes, no se nos pierden demasiadas caricias entre los embates y mordiscos nocturnos y el reservado beso de despedida por la mañana. sin embargo esta mente calculadora no es insensible, sabe jugar sus cartas, me planta enfrente un plato de comida caliente y observa con cierta diversión mi aturdimiento ante estos cambios, que un chico me sirva de comer para variar. de la misma manera muy serio se levanta y gruñe de ida y vuelta del clóset para envolverme en un suéter y me dice que debo comer más dulces o me voy a quedar pegada al piso este invierno.
todo esto a mí me viene muy de perlas, me gusta este guey un poco indiferente, un poco lejano, yo me callo y lo observo, le dejo hablar, luego él me deja hablar, ninguno de los dos siente la necesidad de fingir o forzar absolutamente nada más de lo que ya está ahí. para mí esto está más que bien, porque estoy demasiado exhausta para saber o querer explorar lo que siento. sólo quiero seguir y estar bien.
today I missed you so horribly, to be honest these days I spend more time being angry at you than actually missing you, although I do that too, today was the worst though. standing there with the music washing over me, feeling the beat of the bass in my temples and in my heart, and I felt frozen in the midst of thousands of people, my skin broke out in goosebumps, with every cell of my body aching for you to my terrible annoyance, because I knew that moment belonged to you and me, to us, you weren't there, instead somehow it was just me and so cold, and that was just WRONG. but then again, there's no other way, for we're both sinners... aren't we? and there's just no salvation.
this dream never ends you said this feel never goes the time will never come to slip away this wave never breaks you said this sun never sets again these flowers will never fade this world never stops you said this wonder never leaves the time will never come to say goodbye this tide never turns you saidthis night never falls again these flowers will never die never die never die these flowers will never die this dream always ends i saidthis feeling always goes the time always comes to slip away this wave always breaks i said this sun always sets again and these flowers will always fade this world always stops i said this wonder always leaves the time always comes to say goodbye this tide always turns i said this night always falls again and these flowers will always die always die always die these flowers will always die between you and me it's hard to ever really know who to trust how to think what to believe between me and you it's hard to ever really know who to choose how to feel what to do never fade never die you give me flowers of love always fade always die i let fall flowers of blood
he enters left, she enters right. they meet at the center of the stage.
He: hey I like you She: yeah, you don't look bad either He: wanna make out? She: ok, but this isn't serious are we clear? no way in hell.
next scene, two days later, Him and Her are making out on couch. He: I like you. She: I like you too. He: I love you. She: fuck off, you don't expect me to really believe that. He: I do love you! look, a flower. Shee: OH MY GOD I LOVE YOU TOO!!! FOREVER and EVER and EVER and EVER
act ii
He sits on the couch while She paces around the living room. She: if you ever were to leave me, I'd never be myself again. He: I would NEVER leave you, never in a thousand years, never in a million years, not even if you sent me away, not even if you said ENOUGH, coz I LOVE YOU so much. because you're Mine. MINE! She: I am, for I love you so much, so much He: yeah, me too. now how about a sandwich. She: I love you so much it hurts. He: there there, give us a kiss and stop being intense.
act iii
Him and Her stand confront each other at the center of the stage. She: ENOUGH! sod ye, all and every lying conniving piece of you, you never loved me and you were just using me! ENOUGH!! He: ?????? what the fuck, everything was just fine yesterday. She: well not anymore, my eyes are OPEN now, your time's up buddy, and I DON'T LOVE YOU ANYMORE! He: well, That Is It. I know I said I'd never ever EVER leave you, that I loved you, that I'd be there for you, that you could count on me, but what the hell. you've said enough TWO WHOLE TIMES, so there's really nothing humanly left to be done. have a nice life then! I shall now just go and die/get married/have babies/sleep around with someone else. (he fucks off the right end of the stage).
She: well, all alone and fucked up again. he said he loved me, but there he goes, not one single look back. to think that I thought I'd die if he wasn't around... but you know what? that was cack. I'm fine. (She skips off the stage right, humming a tune).
so what's the name of the play?
a) the story of my freaking love life in three acts b) sartRe: hell is other people, c) ENOUGH!! that she said twice d) other (specify)
or in other words
lily has sure had enough of the cure; but she still loves her pink dress. love, g.
I think I would be either a) killing myself, or b) very exalted in the altitude of my person-ness, or in short being horrible either way, if work hadn't already plugged every single sinapsis I have available now --granted I've killed many during the years. so I haven't had much choice but doing the johnnie walker and propelling on.
so in the end, are these architectures, pretentions.... or eyelash problems?? stop the WOOKIE! WOot!! pirates all aboard!
(by the way, shopping is stupid, not a single decent looking black hoodie in the whole town..... but I managed my coveted underwear catharsis, that marvelous moment when I am the new owner of pretty new underwear, that has NEVER been touched, looked at, clawed at, not to mention removed by/torn by any guy. then I feel clean & pure again, like I can... maybe look at a happy couple on the street and not evoke SHARK WEEK in the discovery channel or wish for angry pitbulls to tear me apart in 80 agonizing bites.)
while I'm free, a memory:
B: R, top five musical crimes perpetuated by stevie wonder in the 80s and 90s. go. subquestion: is it in fact unfair to criticize a formerly great artist for his latter day sins, is it better to burn out or fade away?
(of course, this is on I Just Called to Say I Love You, High Fidelity.)
oh baby here comes the fear again the end is near again a monkey's built a house on your my back and I can't won't get anyone to come in the sack and here comes another panic attack ph here we go again
de nuevo, está cabrón, la neta, todo es bien difícil, quiero luchar por ti pero no sé si es lo correcto, ¿me explico? gran parte del tiempo te siento tan, tan lejos....... lejos como en siberia, en alaska, en el remoto japón; en un país lejano, con comunicación esporádica y breve; pero días como hoy me hacen darme cuenta de cuánto te amo, cuánto no quiero dejar esto, cuánto no quiero que renunciemos a lo que tenemos, que lo que tenemos es real, sin importar lo razonable que sea simplemente olvidarlo y dejarlo ir.
ya vi que en mi intensidad yo lo que deseo es que tú quieras hacer algo al respecto, pero me doy cuenta que no lo harás (al menos no ahora, ni pronto), de nuevo es mi decisión, lo cual me caga porque odio que sea mi responsabilidad, más que nada porque sé que tiendo a tomar la decisión errónea, no tengo la menor ecuanimidad, me pongo intensa y me siento aislada y vacía y erosionada sin ti, un desierto sin emociones, excepto por la sensación de dolorosa soledad, ojalá pudiera pasar semanas y semanas sólo con la idea de nosotros en la cabeza, sin dudar, sin desear, ser zen y esperar tranquilamente a que todo fluya, pero simplemente no sé si puedo, creo que no, mi corazón y mi mente son dos animales salvajes que aunque intente no puedo controlar, y que les encanta hacer la guerra entre ellos; cuando mucho logro engañarlos, solaparlos por horas e incluso días seguidos cuando tengo suerte.
sin embargo, sé que en algún momento estallaré y cometeré alguna tontería, me largaré a la Indochina con tres dólares en el bolsillo, me iré de escudo humano o me lanzaré en amplia parábola al viaducto, en fin, quemaré en definitiva mis naves, porque ya no querré pensar, ni soñar, ni desear, ni esperar más. porque voy a preferir ponerle yo un punto final a todo, en vez de seguir aislando un presente muy real a costa de un futuro incierto, un futuro que no puedo vislumbrar siquiera, ya no digamos palpar o ponerle nombre, teléfono y dirección, esas cosas cotidianas que son tan tontas, pero que son lo que constituyen y forman una vida común.
lo que intento decirte es que yo realmente no necesito que estés aquí todo el tiempo, ese realmente no es el problema en este caso, pero ayúdame a encontrar la forma en que yo pueda estar tranquila, o un punto donde yo pueda encontrar un balance, una forma de estar bien,
o quizás no la haya, pero tal vez sea terca durante aún algún tiempo.
-- the other day I dreamed that my mother, brother, and I were waiting at a table for you and your lot, a family reunion, as it were, you showed up all happiness and smiles, oh la dee la, except you were with your wife, and carried a baby in your arms. 'I had a child, did you hear?' you said with that big smile, and I answered yes, I heard, except I heard you had a boy, and that you're holding is clearly a girl, all curls and bows and little dress. either way, I walked away from the table even though everyone called me back, since I clearly had nothing to do there. the really whacko part is that throughout all this, we both had the same hairdo, and as usual it probably looked better on you.
** what drives me bugshit about you is that you really buy all that crap you tell me. in your heart of hearts, you really believe this is a tragic story about a true heart and an untrue bitch, instead of the incredibly tiresome story of the guy who won't commit and panicks into believing anything. even that he's still in love with his ex, who's a bitch everytime she points out they didn't really have a very good relationship at all.
## about you, sometimes I really wish things could be different, that I could love you so we could set out to find a rock to comfortably decompose on, grow lots of plants, build lots of crap, and possibly have maybe blonde, definetely insane, if not very tall children. but you can't command the heart they say, and the fact is that I don't love you and I never did. I tried enough to know for sure.
::: you're cruel to me and... I sort of like it. then hate myself for it.
update: since I never seem to acknowledge good things, I wanted it to be on the record that the ipod, my own, my precious, works wonderfully this morning and all it wants to do is rock.
thanks siddharta and the power of visualization, everyone should try it.
now I'm off to see if I can visualize myself a little trip to europe...
I think I'm starting to get a glimpse of it, of what life has in store, like my brother that day when I showed at the police station to pick him up, sitting there with an open cheekbone and a spit out or swallow struggle with a few loose teeth. I tried really hard to make it sound sweet when I hugged him and said "welcome to your twenties... everything gets very complicated, very fast." this was on the afternoon of his birthday, after a crash and a brawl and a police injunction propitiated by one of the countless assholes that populate this round blue earth.
well as someone put it last saturday at a pool party under the spinning monsoon, the main difference between being twenty and being thirty is... boredom. ssdd; same shit, different day. as I sat on a low wall, surrounded by fog, I took in the scene around me; there was talk about new mortgages; the right way to train the eight-month-old boxer such and such adopted with the girlfriend, cause you know, after umpteen years dating they've decided they can commit to at least that much; a roundtable on kundalini vs ayurveda on the right.
on my side, I mulled over my twelve month cigarette quit and realized that was boring, too. I'm so glad I've quit, I'm glad my dad saw me quit before his passing, quitting is good for you, the fucking peaches, personal growth, blah biddi blah,boring. I would have poked myself in the eye when I was twenty one, had I met myself. then gone on and read the rest of On The Road, and then, probably, go topple from the low wall to my death. being as it were, I remained there and was bored and thought a lot, about would bes, has beens, ought to bes and should have beens...
top 5 new DVD on my gym's fancy new projection screen, or Scuse me While I Holler: "gay, NOT!!": 1. Great Divas of Pop (for a second I thought they had included an elton john video and almost applauded, but it turned out to actually be a video of Pink) 2. Madonna Confessions Tour 3. Beyoncé Live at Wembley 4. Gwen Stefani (yes, LIVE) 5. Metallica & San Francisco Symphonic Orchestra --for the hardcores
I keep thinking, I should write more and then I just don't. I guess I'm probably not the first wannabe who just collapses under the amount of time it takes to actually write things down, as opposed to just having an ongoing dictation in my head. my problem is that I am uncapable of short and sweet, which means that I get run over by my complex compound ideas, and I try to mash them over with badly overinflated runon sentences... which takes up a lot of time.
I've been feeling good these days, the lens shifted once again and I'm not seeing everything askew (or: shit) anymore, or at least not all the time. I've been trying to extend my social web, but so far it's mostly been an exercise of my imagination, that is, in my head I make plans and pretend I'm doing stuff, like going to see a friend's dance festival, or going to a party with friends, but when the time comes, I always end up saying something like 'meh. I think I'd rather stay home and work on some comparative history' (i.e., watch season 1 of Rome and ponder on just how tall and rough Titus is.)
this weekend though, it looks like interesting things might happen outside the scope of my hollow head; M and I might go out of town on sat for another edition of Boy's birthday.
last time I was there, donkey's years ago, we had a huge psychodelic brawl, I got thrown into the pool and one of my favorite watches was ruined, we danced on the counters, and did naughty stuff in tents, had a grand old time, surely; early next day, drama unfurled like a new rose; while everyone screamed and flapped their arms in efforts for conciliation, I took Jack Kerouac's On The Road from a shelf, sat on the shade with some beer and gatorade (to prevent from crumbling into a pile of hungover dust) and read about half before the drama was fully wrung out, explored, discussed, analyzed, and forecasted. oh and we found out we weren't too nauseous for lunch anymore.
that wasn't too bad, except for the drama part that still gallops into these days, as dramas are known to do. who knows, with a bit of luck maybe I'll finish reading On The Road at last this weekend.
ayer, por el tercer wyborowa con ananá (no nanica), por fin me senté a escribir sobre aquello que me daba vueltas, ya con algunas ideas sobre discurso, narrativa y recursos, comparativas, etcétera; pero para mi desconcierto, me di cuenta que mi hermano agarró y lo escribió primero, libre adaptación de detalles, por supuesto, pero el sentimiento era el mismo.
así que in perplejis profundis, ya no escribí nada. más bien encontré más joyas.
* upon sunblock: you do need to apply on your butt, otherwise you end up with a pretty tan and a baboon's ass.
* upon harry potter (SPOILER YOU'RE WARNED): all good, all great, but why did the good ones have to die, and the twats survive? fred gave excellent laughs, while ron managed, in seven books, to be about as useful (and funny) as a hole in the yeyunum.
* upon death: they say ashes to ashes, dust to dust, they never talk about the amazing quantity of ground bone, that sinks right to the bottom of the ocean.
* upon stephen king: oh come right out and say it: how many ghost writers do you have? what other explanation is there for one book being good, then next three utter shite?
* upon vodka: even if it's for free, there's a point you want no more. then you order beer.
* upon grass: there is a reason I smoke it all the time. because then I have no horrible dreams, which dutily haunt me since we got here on sunday and I'm weedless cause I'm too sissy to bring it on the plane.
* upon a/c: the only way I can get a cold in the caribbean, cause they insist in keeping arctic temperatures when indoors.
* upon love: it hurts everyone, all the time; not just you and me, not just now.
ayer cosí un botón por primera vez en mi vida, casi. bueno, recuerdo que alguna vez en la secundaria tuve que entregar un trozo de tela con botones de varios colores y tamaños para la clase de manualidades... pero estoy casi segura que mi abuela los pegó todos, porque yo nunca di pie con bola. continúa la limpieza el día de hoy, con una buena esquilmada al jardincito, algo que quería hacer desde hace semanas y curiosamente terminó haciendo alguien que no vive en la casa... vergüenza me debería de dar. mi teléfono está suspendido por flagrante exceso de pago, llevo días cargando un cheque para pagarlo pero no he reunido las suficientes sinapsis para 1) cobrarlo y 2) pagar mi saldo. ahora debo vivir incomunicada, y así he de pagar por mis pecados.... que son muchos. mea culpa, mea culpa, mea culpa.
dejando el drama aparte, vivir la vida tal como es simplemente no es viable. todos tenemos que apretar culo y sonreír grande. escoge tu veneno. llámalo tu salvación, tu adicción, tu maldición y tu consuelo más sincero; probablemente tus seres queridos lo odian, pero tú sabes que es lo que te salva. lo que te permite seguir adelante sin levantarte por las noches a degollar a los incautos.
la sociedad podrá considerarlo un tabú o una virtud, dependiendo de la década y el color. el yoga y el vegetarianismo denotaban un carácter retrógrada a principios de siglo; hoy en día se les considera prácticas de los exitosos.
en mi opinión, todo vale, porque entre más feliz es la gente menos siente necesidad de joder a los demás. haz lo que te haga feliz, y procura devolverle algo al mundo.
si tú no cuentas tu historia, otros lo harán. imaginad todos ustedes la historia de su vida según la contarían sus personas más cercanas... léase tu papá, tu hermana, tu hijo, tu amigo, tu mujer. vean si la idea misma no les hace correr a tomar pluma y papel.
léase que ésta ha sido la semana de las historias: toda una vida de labor detectivesca en la investigación de mi padre, una tarea titánica y frustrante, años de especulación y comparación de notas desde dos lados de un mundo, arrojan un solo resultado. No hay monstruo, no hay gran misterio ni secreto, ninguna loca encerrada en el ático, sólo un hombre que guardó un fiero silencio durante 35 años por razones que sólo a él le quedaron claras......
ellos (nosotros) contarán la historia, y todos los recuentos terminarán con 'claro... debió haberlo sabido'. y todos asentirán, diciendo claro, claro.
todo es relativo, ¿eh? comencé este blog hace ya casi cuatro años, lo cual parece que fue ayer mismo por un lado, por el otro hace eones.... a veces se me dificulta reconocer, o recordar, a quien yo era entonces, lo que me importaba, lo que me alegraba, lo que me hacía llorar... de alguna forma, estos cuatro años --que no parecen nada-- han formado un abismo que yo ya no puedo cruzar, un abismo de la memoria que me hace contemplar a una extraña cuando miro hacia atrás. sin embargo, en entrevistas P cuenta que fueron casi seis meses de estudio, más un año de componer. ésta es de nuevo la relatividad, me imagino. porque suena mucho más razonable decir que fueron dieciocho meses de productividad, porque decir que en realidad fueron más de cuatro años de toila, comenzando más atrás que el origen de la memoria, cuatro años y toda una vida que se llevó el río.
y en buena hora, dirían algunos.... pero lo que los demás dicen también es relativo, porque los otros siempre dirán lo que ellos creen que quieres, o que necesitas, escuchar. el problema con esto es que a veces tu propia historia la cuentan otros, y entonces cambia.
así como cuatro años (o dieciocho meses, según tus fuentes) nunca se han sentido tan cortos, nunca una semana se ha alargado tanto como ésta, tampoco. Eso no me molesta, porque no quiero que termine, con todo lo horrible que pudo ser.
mi labor como ninfa de la cosmópolis comienza hoy mismo. en realidad pocas son las ganas que tengo de hacer las cosas, pero qué le hace uno; como ya dije antes a pocos les sale natural, la disciplina es difícil y sobre todo, los hábitos son de lo más difíciles de formar y de romper (preguntar a cualquier fumador o bulímico qué tan "natural" les salía eso de programarse el tiempo para fumar y provocarse el vómito en los primeros días), y en resumen,
esto de la ninfeidad funciona. comienzas a ver los círculos y rizos que convergen, y comienzas a verle los hilos a la marioneta. claro, porque yo no por querer ser ahora ninfa significa que ya lo sea, así que debo aplicarme a estudiar a las mejores ninfas que conozco, y robar tips de todos los demás es sus momentos de ninfeidad.
someone get me DRUGS. I become such an awful, grouchy person without them. everything annoys me. that's one of the primary reasons I took up the smoking. and my awful stomach, too.
not having money annoys me. my transfer not coming in --yet-- annoys me. being unable to really tool my computer annoys me. not to mention the cats, all of whom could use a visit to the vet, specially sandokan, who's repeatedly trying to knock up my leg warmers. I can't blame him, they're really nice and puffy, but... argh.
speaking of --sandokan and the kittens. he gets in the box and lies with them. sometimes washes them. often sits on top of them. I've seen them trying to play as well, and the part that worries me is when he launches a playful righthand blow and I only see the two furry balls flying every which way inside the little house and going iiiiiiiiyyyaaah.
lily doesn't seem to mind, but I'm a worry-mummy.
chicken and the fucking egg. I wish I could lay eggs.
top 3 of sunday afternoon & smoking resin 1. skid row -- little shop of horrors 2. caught out there -- kellis 3. evil -- interpol
