Elephant

This has got to die
This has got to stop
This has got to lie down
With someone else on top
You can keep me pinned
It's easier to tease
But you can't paint an elephant
Quite as good as she
And she may cry like a baby
And she may drive me Crazy
'Cause I am lately lonely
So why'd you have to lie?
I take it I'm your crutch
The pillow in your pillow case
Is easier to touch
And when you think you've sinned
Do you fall upon your knees?
Or do you sit within your picture?
Do you still forget the breeze?
And she may rise, if I sing you down
And she may wisely cling to the ground
Cause I am lately horny
So why would she take me horny?
What's the point of this song?
Or even singing?
You've already gone, why am I clinging?
Well I could throw it out, and I could live without
And I could do it all for you
I could be strong
Tell me if you want me to lie
'Cause this has got to die
This has got to stop
This has got to lie down, down
With someone else on top
You can both keep me pinned
'Cause it's easier to tease
But you can't make me happy
Quite as good as me
Well you know that's a lie

Damien Rice

He liked elephants.
I also like elephants.
Good luck they are.
But that is not the point. At least in this particular song.
So bleed. Bleed.
Because life makes you bleed. As well as love.
What´s the relation between life and love?
And I´ve sinned and lied and I know.

and this has to stop.

don´t be shy

Don't be shy Just let your feelings roll on by
Don't wear fear Or nobody will no you're there
Just lift your head And let your feelings out instead
And don't be shy Just let your feelings roll on by On by
You know love Is better than a song
Love is where All of us belong
So don't be shy
Just let your feelings roll on by
And don't wear fear Or nobody will know you're there
You're there, you're there
So don't be shy Just let your feelings roll on by
And don't wear fear Or no one will know you're there
You know love is better than a song
Love is where All of us belong
Belong

cat stevens.
the year is coming to an end and here we are.
all of us in this strange falling apart space amidst the chaos of the day.

a whole new soundtrack for this scary sad sarcastic musical in which we live in. New songs, new friends.
Others have gone from starring to special guests and others where simply just taken out of circulation.
But, the fat lady hasn´t sang yet.
So don´t get too excited about the credits.

no hope

Where once was lightNow darkness fallsWhere once was loveLove is no moreDon't say goodbyeDon't say I didn't tryThese tears we cryAre falling rainFor all the lies you told usThe hurt, the blame!And we will weep to be so aloneWe are lostWe can never go homeSo in the endI'll be what I will beNo loyal friendWas ever there for meNow we say goodbyeWe say you didn't tryThese tears you cryHave come too lateTake back the liesThe hurt, the blame!And you will weepWhen you face the end aloneYou are lostYou can never go homeYou are lost You can never go home

gollum´s song. for the split personality of all the ones living inside of me.
merry x-mas!

I know it´s gonna happen someday

Come sail your ships around me
And burn your bridges down
We make a little history, baby
Every time you come around

Come loose your dogs upon me
And let your hair hang down
You are a little mystery to me
Every time you come around

We talk about it all night long
We define our moral ground
But when I crawl into your arms
Everything comes tumbling down

Come sail your ships around me
And burn your bridges down
We make a little history, baby
Every time you come around

Your face has fallen sad now
For you know the time is nigh
When I must remove your wings
And you, you must try to fly

Come sail your ships around me
And burn your bridges down
We make a little history, baby
Every time you come around

Come loose your dogs upon me
And let your hair hang down
You are a little mystery to me
Every time you come around

you are coming down.

The ship song. Nick cave and the Bad Seeds

Must be the season (good grief, it´s the end of the year)
but since it seems i´ll stay giving birth to Fobos and Demos a.k.a. chaos and destruction, my two precious girls, why not a little bit of healthy hopeful darkness courtesy of Mr. Cave (hold your breath you girls).

I still don´t know if I will departure for the foggy heights in the middle of the jungle, but, actually, I am not doing that bad.

Day by day, kiddo. You just need to ease things a little bit day by day.
And maybe, (just maybe, probably not, after all, this is reality) one day you´ll be there to see the sunrise.

And i´ll be alive for another day.

it is true

well, there you go
click in here

Ruby tuesday

She would never say where she came from
Yesterday dont matter if its gone
While the sun is bright
Or in the darkest night
No one knows
She comes and goes

Goodbye, ruby tuesday
Who could hang a name on you?
When you change with every new day
Still Im gonna miss you...

Dont question why she needs to be so free
Shell tell you its the only way to be
She just cant be chained
To a life where nothings gained
And nothings lost
At such a cost

Theres no time to lose, I heard her say
Catch your dreams before they slip away
Dying all the time
Lose your dreams
And you will lose your mind.
Aint life unkind?

Goodbye, ruby tuesday
Who could hang a name on you?
When you change with every new day
Still Im gonna miss you...

Oh, i know it´s not fair. but i´m not afraid of cliches and i´m currently running a 40 degrees fever, so i´m not setting my expectations too high. i don´t want to be witty or full of inspiration.

just a tought. a little something.

i hope he still misses me

To an athlete dying young

The time you won your town the race
We chaired you through the market-place;
Man and boy stood cheering by,
And home we brought you shoulder-high.

To-day, the road all runners come,
Shoulder-high we bring you home,
And set you at your threshold down,
Townsman of a stiller town.

Smart lad, to slip betimes away
From fields where glory does not stay,
And early though the laurel grows
It withers quicker than the rose.

Eyes the shady night has shut
Cannot see the record cut,
And silence sounds no worse than cheers
After earth has stopped the ears:

Now you will not swell the rout
Of lads that wore their honors out,
Runners whom reknown outran
And the name died before the man.

So set, before the echoes fade,
The fleet foot on the sill of shade,
And hold to the low lintel up
The still-defended challenge-cup.

And round that early-laurelled head
Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,
And find unwithered on its curls
The garland briefer than a girl's.


AE Housman

I might not be around to visit you this year. But it is also true that I still think of you. And that it might be a fact that is stopping me from taken notice when others have left.
But I can still see your last smile. That last smile that you took to hell.
Happy 1st of december, Baloo, kiddo is still around thinking she can change the world and she is taking care of sissy (as much as i can)
Colin was speaking to me about you the other day. The beatiful lady who is sense asked me to tell you that she still remembers your potato bread. She also said she sees you now and then, walking down the street, in every young man´s face.
Now we´ve brought new people to the house, as you saw yesterday. but you would´ve liked them. I saw your father. And hug him. I am sorry, but i´ll not be seeing you soon, because I am going to live. Somebody needs to stick around to pick up the pieces of broken glass you´ve left everywhere.
With love,
kiddo

In case anybody was wondering

I like being anonymous. I like my blog. I like having a kind of diary where I can post my thoughts, my everyday issues and my dreams. That´s why is half fiction, half reality.
And I truly feel i don´t need to justify my stories in any way. What I write in here is as private as if I had a little leather book inside a box with a lock. If you come and open the book and read it it´s at your own risk of getting to know a little bit more about myself, or stay wandering if it´s real or not what you´ve just read. And even if it´s NOT real, you might not like what you´ve read. Sometimes I mix things that just happened with events that needed some air from years before. Sometimes I´ll write completely fucked up just arriving from a party and post whatever comes into my mind, ortography and grammar lost. Because that´s when the moment felt right to do so. And there wil be times when I write and give voice to the thoughts of others, just because I they wanted to be written.And I don´t use names when i write something that ACTUALLY happen, because I like to feel that EVERYTHING in here might or not be true.

as i´ve said, i like being anonymous.
Here i am free and i don´t need to answer to anybody´s expectations.
so if you want stories with happy endings, go and read the Reforma.

PS. Darcy, dear, it´s a fictional character full of prejudice written by Jane Austen. The novel is called Pride & Prejudice. I wonder if any of us can relate to those characters.

I was awake that night

He saw her sleeping.
he was about to touch her face with just the tip of his fingers but then she moved in her sleep.
So he didn´t.
next day she woke up, took her things and went away.
they run into each other ocasionally, now and then.
And everytime he wonders what stopped him from touching her.

Today Vivian died. actually it was yesterday´s evening. and i feel sad. and bad, becasuese i`ve actually been thinking of calling her. seeing her. see how she was doing.
and I didn´t.
too much work. too much deal too to deal on my own.
but now she´s dead.
and i grive.
but i am not allowed to.
i feel i don´t deserve it. and this is not about me. this is about her children. the first time i lived the story of two brothers. one fancied me but never got the balls to do anything about it and the other one frek out in the last minute.

Oh, and this is just the tip ofthe iceberg.
wait until i tell about the other brothers and my ex husband who happened to appear with his wife and my ex, who just´ve broked up with what used to be my best friend and today comes free and single to me.
not to mention my best friend ever, who wants to marry me.
or one of my good friednds who is going out with a girl 8 younger than him.

Or the fact that my boyfriend of six months just broke up with me.

Beacuse I am too intense

well, again, fuck off. hope you fing the cute little missy you are looking for.
jajajajajjajaajaja no really. hope you die a slow painful death and that the rest of your days are half as miserqable as mine are.

and that one day you learn that an intense woman is not a defect.

it means that i can experience live twice, hundreds, millions of times more clearly than you.
So fuck you.

And yet another day

I´m still here.
But taken again a couple too much of the stuff.
I am sick.
really sick
Not only in my brain and heart, but sick in the way doctors says "operation" and "quimioteraphy"
I might not reach my 30th birthday.
It´s terribly silly, but right now I wish I knew what love and being loved is.
I´m a little scared, my anger is bigger. That´s the only reason I know I won´t die. Beacuse it has never been easy. Not even dying.
But I´m here. I have my doubts. I guess in the bottom of my heart, against all reason I´m waiting for Darcy to come and take away the pride from me.
So, could somebody tell me I´m pretty?

Marathon of the week

The Bell Jar
Girl Interrupted
prozac nation

Curiuosly, people tend to think that when you suffer from bipolar disease or cronic depression you shouldn´t read about those subjects. Nothing farther from the truth. While Girl and Nation are funny best sellers, the depth of Plath´s story, the tale of a girl who is supposed to be a great promise and slowly and in a very subthe way falls into depression is magistraly ilustrated, and pardon my dorkiness, it feels good to know you are not alone. Sleeping pills, oh, dear big mistake, it´s very hard they work. I wouldn´t have the courage for the oven intent, as Sylvia´s finally was able to succeed in doing. And the sea image sounds scary. I´ll guess i´ll give it another try to the sleeping pills.
I wish, wish, so strong somebody knows that the jewel I lost was blue as well.

Boys games

It can be clinical.
It´s really not a question of thinking good and happy toughts .
And by the way, spare me the part about all the people who are suffering more than me.
I´ve worked with indigeneous communities where women hide the bruises their husbands gave them while they come for a consult for yet another pregnancy. I spent months working with children from the street, who are high all the time because the "mona" keeps them from being hungry. I´ve actually slept in the street in order to gain their trust. I´ve gone to jails and sat side by side with a murderer who offers me shrimp quesadillas. I met once a beatiful great man who likes leaving in the comanche territory. Beirut. He writes to me when he gets hold of a computer and has time to spare some lines from his regular job at the Guardian. I´ve worked with the people from the garbage, cities ann mountains of junk until the only way you can see the sun is looking up, because you are surrounded with garbage. My other dear great friend is from Israel. He is jewish. And he is a documentarian who is trying to explain why his country is destroying beirut. He is a tough big guy. But I can read in his last mail the desesperation growing in his heart.

When I was 11 years old, just a kid, i still had the child´s spark in my eyes. Since my parents where working all the time (I could just copy paste this last phrase) my summer holidays i spent them at school. But not at the cool british colleges, full of country side and berries and classmates and books. Sigh. noup. Summer classes where the kind where they would treat you like you where showing off when you finished the ridiculous stuff they put to do in like, five minutes.
One day I was alone at one classroom, all the teachers polishing their nails and drinking coffe and this fellow classmate came in. I wasn´t really paying attention to him until he grab me, hit me and knocked me over one of the school benches and stuck a blade in my throat.
He push it hard in my neck, his whole body on top of me, his face against mine.
He asked me "who you like better, me or the other one?" At first I didn´t understand and was unable to provide an answer, to which he grew angry and stuck the blade deeper in my throat.
Finally I react it and gave what seem the right answer. He finally let me go. He put the blade close to my eyes and told me to remember.
And I have.
I know how to break a guy´s nose and I´ve done it. I´ve never ever being caught again off my guard without the right thing to say to a man.
The teachers at the school said it was my fault. For being alone.
That day I learn a lot about male behaviour.

And my depression keeps growing and growing.

Happy days

No, I refuse.
I object
I don´t cuncur
All of you, you happy I´m glad to be alive, my life is great, and benjie and jimpi are doing incredible and miki is learning futbol and i´m lost in my poetic sea of books.
NO
All of you I´m more ethereal than life and I speak in low soft voices and think only deep thoughts and give my dear profound friends little pats in the back.
NO
Great to have you out there. This shit of a world probably needs all of you inspiring happy people.
But as the argentinian say "no me toquen las pelotas".

pain is still growing inside of me and the days are getting colder and colder. So, yes, my name is pain, my blood is revenge and I am full of rage. The disease growing inside of me and don´t expect me to be happy and smile while my little muscle known as my "chicken heart" grows more and more alienated.
Please, spare me of you happiness.
Unless you are willing to share it with me, don´t rub it in my face.
And if you are about to go new age on me and tell me about my bad karma, please stop.
been there, done that.
look for someone else to save.

Mi propio día de muertos

Mi abuela venía del norte del país. Grande, con cabello rizado y lentes de fondo de botella ortodoxos de abuelita, realizaba su papel a la maravilla: te recibía con un enorme plato de comida (deliciosa), te daba un consejo y te acomodaba el cabello. Cuando yo estaba chiquita mis papás trabajaban todo el tiempo y ella venía a cuidarme en las tardes tras el colegio. Me preparaba sopa de pollo con garbanzos y me dejaba jugar con los ojos del pescado que habríamos de comer más tarde, niña mórbida atada por el asco y la fascinación a una infancia que se le escaparía muy pronto. Cuando la visitábamos en su casa, al final, siempre a escondidas, abría su monedero y sacaba unas monedas que para mí se convertían en el tesoro que algún príncipe recibiría algún día. Nunca conocí a su marido. Murió de cáncer, cuando mi madre todavía era casi una niña. Ya soy bastante mala leche con los vivos por lo que me abstengo de juzgar a los muertos, allá ellos con sus huesos y sus tumbas. Pero si sé que mi abuelita cuidó, como pudo, a sus cinco hijos y los sacó adelante y vivos, también como se pudo. Pero también me cuidó a mí. Me enseñó a preparar tamales norteños, secreto que sólo ella y yo compartimos y nunca le contamos a sus hijas, que envidiosas nunca me creerían. Me llevaba a misa cuando yo todavía creía en algo y también cuando el cinismo y el desencanto habían reemplazado a la fe. Me enseñó a usar su máquina de coser y aprendí que nunca hay que regalar objetos filosos, siempre hay que intercambiarlos por algo, como hacen las gitanas con la lectura de mano. El mundo de una anciana se juntaba en una extraña curva con el de una solitaria y precoz niña que se aburría muy rápido. Sus hijas no lo saben, pero la abuelita se sentaba y me contaba de los tiempos de la vieja hacienda y la inundación y el largo camino a la ciudad de méxico, donde tantos sinsabores vivirían. Mitad recuerdos, mitad añoranzas crecí rodeada de los muertos y la muselina de la juventud de mi abuela. Creen que no me acuerdo de esos años, pero si me acuerdo. Creen que junto con todo el resto de mi niñez olvidé las historias de mi abuela. Pero siempre queda algo. Siempre fui una niña obstinada. Tímida, pero obstinada.

Hace unos años, tendría yo unos 17, mi abuela sufrió una embolia que la llevó al hospital del cual nunca saldría. Todavía unos días antes había hablado con ella por teléfono y de pronto me cuentan que esa señora que a sus 82 años iba y regresaba caminando a todos lados estaba en una cama y que estaba paralizada de la mitad del cuerpo. Toda la familia se congregaba afuera del hospital, a mí nada me decían, "no se vaya a impresionar la niña" y no me dejaban enterarme de lo que los médicos explicaban, me daban largas. La familia se turnaba para entrar a verla y me decían que todavía hablaba pero que estaba muy mala y que el pronóstico no era bueno. Empezamos a vivir a la espera y una noche tuve fiebre, calor intenso y sudores fríos que me corrían como lágrimas por las mejillas y la espalda, me levanté y caminé en mi cuarto con el corazón latiéndome violentamente en el pecho y no paró hasta que llegó el alba y con su cambio de marea me ayudó a tranquilizarme.

Ese día cuando llegué al hospital me enteré que ese día ya no había despertado y entonces insistí en entrar, ya no sirvieron los ruegos y cuando me encaré frente al doctor y le ordené dejarme entrar terminaron por acceder. Mi abuelita yacía en su cama, en coma, empequeñecida, pero todavía con sus mejillas rosadas, de abuelita gordita del norte, de una raza de mujeres hechas para ver morir a los imbéciles de sus hombres a edad temprana, mujeres con pudores impuestos por la sociedad pero con vidas que desafían las de cualquiera de las anorexicas actuales a las que la SUV y la póliza de seguro protegen contra eso que ocurre afuera de la burbuja de cristal llamado vida. Leí su historial y noté el "no resurrección". Pedí al doctor de turno que me explicara. Me senté a su lado y le conté de mis sueños, le puse loción de naranja en las manos y mojé con agua de azahar su pañuelo para que su frente estuviera fresca. Rezé la oración que encontré junto a su cama, por ella, para que no se sintiera solita. En sus manos estaban sus escapularios así que arreglé sus uñas (le gustaba la manicure) y luego dejé entrelazados sus dedos para que no perdiera su pequeño último tesoro. Mi mirada se encontraba en todo momento en el monitor cardíaco que pulso a pulso me indicaba los rastros de vida de mi abuelita, chayito. Así, abrazadas nos quedamos un rato hasta que de pronto me sobresaltó una pequeña alarma proveniente del monitor. Asustada, apreté su mano y pedí más tiempo, no era justo, quería robarle unos minutos, unas horas, una vida a la muerte. Mientras más fuerte apretaba su mano, su corazón volvió a latir a su ritmo normal y algo de color bailó atrevido en sus mejillas. Y entonces me dí cuenta. Todo este tiempo me había estado esperando. Su única nieta. Y ella ya quería descansar. Pero no sin decirme adiós. Su cabeza estaba en mi regazo cuando le murmuré al oído "adiós abuelita, te quiero" y en ese momento su corazón dejó de latir. Acudieron los doctores y las enfermeras, revisaron su historial, tomaron el pulso por última vez y dictaminaron la hora de la muerte. Salí para avisarle a mi madre y sus hermanas, quienes se abrazaron y fueron a dar la noticia al resto de la familia. Yo me quedé en el cuarto con la enfermera y ayudé a

amortajar el cuerpo de mi abuelita, que yo creo debe hacerlo alguien de la familia y no cualquier desconocido. Me guardé para mí sus escapularios y vi que estuviera bien sujeta la venda del rostro para que su carita se viera bien en el sepelio.

Durante el funeral, en el que había de todo, señoras desconocidas llorando a grito perdido, dizque familia que sólo buscaban regodearse en el sufrimiento de otros, me di un momento para abrir el féretro y colocar en sus manos sus reliquias religiosas. Toda mi familia me recriminó porque no lloré durante el funeral y el sepelio. Todavía hasta el día de hoy cuando hablan de ella me hablan como si yo no la hubiera conocido y me recriminan que no la extrañe.

Pero si la extraño. Ella me quería. Y si lloré. Mucho.

Después han venido otras muertes. Mi trabajo me ha llevado a trabajar con muertos y ya sus rostros pálidos me conmueven menos que las historias que tras de ellos ocultan. Vi la sonrisa en los labios de Arturo, las mejillas hundidas de Miguel, el rostro solemne de Monedero. Y muchos más más. A veces pienso que demasiados. Algunos hasta anónimos son.

Pero de mi abuelita me acuerdo en paz. Nos llevamos las dos a la tumba un último secreto y tuvimos tiempo de despedirnos y en los días de mucha pena nos acordamos la una de la otra y nos reconfortamos y cada una desde su lado de la muralla cuida de la otra.

one more day

I´m still here
one day at the time

storm

It´s been raining.
Lots.

My own life

After the 35 grams

life after yourself
but here you still are...

all my little secrets
every little cut, every little tremor

my poison
my blood

everything. i left.

i just left.

my pain. neverending.

nothing changes, everything is different.

It´s been seven days, it´s been twenty-eight years.

I should start speaking about you. all of you.
my pain continues.

so is my life.

tempus fugit

you don´t believe me.
you think I wouldn´t do it.

you think i´m just trying to draw attention to myself

but i´m not.

i actually don´t want to draw attention to me.
when i go, i will go silently. on my tip-toes. trough the window.
I already took 35 mg of the stuff.
little by little i´ll find the right dose.

and i´ll slip into oblivion.

Munch.
Despair.

When you are weary feeling small, your tears, i will dry them off, times get rough, and friends can´t be found, like a bridge over trouble waters i will lay me down.

Please , I just close my eyes.
My game is dangerous. But I can´t trust no one.
I need someone to ease my mind,

I´ve taken one,
and a half.
maybe another one. or two.
that´s not enough.
so i´ll still be here for the next round.

God, why I ruin everything.
I´m not worthy
I´m scared of heights.
I am not making it to my thirtieth birthday.

Breve es el tiempo

I believe things can change. I believe things are going to change.

That´s what he said while the man was sticking the blade into his guts.
Blood, lots of blood came out.
He lied there in the bottom of the alley. A small thing curled up.

Things are changing.

Maybe is time

I don´t need your sympathy anymore.

Your bad moods. Your pitty. I don´t think you are so cool anymore.

Now I know you are not that smart. When you slept with her you hurt me. But know I´m fine.

All those times you took advantage of me. Everytime you made me feel not worthy.

For every single moment i was in my mind holding the knife i despise you. For every scar that runs over my body has a different name. A different pain. But you are not worth any of it.

Because you are out.

I´m sending you away.

Your jealousy. I know your fears, your little man frights.

I know you are a coward.

and I am taking off the skin you forced me to wear for such a long time and I´m leaving only mine. Thin and fragile, but mine.

When the blood runs down your legs you know that after a moment the pain will end.

It was the same with you. Now I can wipe you off and there will not be any sign of you.

Only I will know.

Thank you. After you, nobody will tamed again. I am a better version of me.

Thank you. Now i know what it feels to cry for a broken heart.

I learned something from you.

You won´t recognize next time we meet .

I will not say hi to you ´cause there is no point in it.

You will not know my face anymore.

I´m already starting to forget some of your names.

I forgive you

I cheated on you

I have no use for your forgiveness or memories.

Keep them

I already buried my own.

bloody is the taste of my mouth

You´ll never know.
I long for beauty so much.
I cried for a whole day, until I started to choke, not being able to breath, tears stucked in my throat.
The man has come again in the middle of the night. I was too afraid to say anything . He touched me. He made me dirty. He did nasty stuff to me. I just kept crying.
That man it´s me.
You need to stay focuzed. If you focus on one thing eventually you´ll be able to stop hurting.
You will not feel your cold sweat.
Your own breath breathing down on the back of your neck.
you´ll stop feeling.

And then you will smile. And say thank you, and very kind, and how do you do and that´s very nice. And your family will love you, and your bosses will adore you and everyone will think you are such a cute pretty thing.
And you will keep smiling because you don´t want the man to come back.

You wish you could be beatiful,
soft skin, big eyes, thin hips.
but you are not.
it´s only you in the mirror.

but the important part is that you are trying.
And that will keep away the big bad man inside of you.
hidden.
so he doesn´t hurt others.

maybe if you are lucky he won´t hurt you again.

remember the bruises?
the humilliation?

I´m scared again.

I´m laughing again.
I have the power, I can cut, hit,
I will destroy this body.
I will break me. that way he won´t be able to do it.
I will take away that pleasure from him.

I hurt myself when I was twelve.
I was humilliated in front of my whole classroom at six.
I was excluded at fifteen.
I didn´t have any friends when i was four.
My cousins always made fun of me until I was sixteen.

But all of them are dead. The man has come and has killed them.
rape them, tear their insides out.
eat their flesh and made his domain on their flesh.

but then he comes to collect.

If you don´t fight him he´ll be softer.
I´ll keep the door close.

drive sex

M was arguing with some other woman, probably about something silly and superficial. The other woman was very angry for a very unfair reason. She was shouting and her eyes were bursting with rage. It was not HER fault, M was trying to explain herself to the other. And then the other woman took a knife, a thin sharp knife and sticked it inside M´s vagina. M couldn´t move, the cold of the object deep into her. The other woman was grinding her teeth, telling M that she was in her power now.

All of this is not important.
it´s a dream.
the important part is when you have the knife inside your vagina.
the rest might be true, or maybe you´ve changed it for it to make a little bit of sense.
The knife.
if you move only one inch it pierces you.
slish slash
it cuts your flesh, that secret private place.
your legs show thin lines of blood
the moment when the woman grabs you and sticks it inside.
you can feel it going in.
cutting, breaking.
the strange object and your whole body rebeling against it, but you don´t move,
you are afraid that if you move, you´ll be cut into a thousand slices, like some ready for sushi fish, your vagina cut into thin, delicate slices. your womb turned into death.

again, none of this is important.
only the knife inside your vagina.

war week

welcome to the machine-pink floyd
dead man dead man-bob dylan
genocide-rage against the machine
do the evolution-pearl jam
imagine-john lennon

the end of my mind

I hear things. when i´m washing dishes or reading the newspaper. watching tv. suddenly there they are. first come the images and then i can hear them. no relation to what i´m doing. it just happens.
and i see horrible things. i can listen to the death, the suffering, of people i know, of strangers. sometimes they might be memories. other times i´ve never seen them.
they are breaking me. painfully.
they are telling me i am guilty, unworthy. ugly. stupid. stupid.
i don´t know who i am anymore. i´m beggining to loose my memory and sometimes i can´t separate truth from fiction.
i think i´m going mad. crazy. amok.
i am crazy.

five for this week

The way I live-simian
Far away-muse
Hate-cat power
Everybody´s gotta learn sometimes-beck
I´ve seen it all-björk

lost battles

Oh my god, he walk in and there I was, eating chicken soup out of a plastic bowl, with a baby wrapped around my leg screaming "mommy, mommy!". He looked at me and smiling said hi, probably thinking how hard it is to be a mother. How uncool. sigh. cut to. he enters the store and starts speaking with pretty younger coworker.

He says that he feels that sometimes I kind of look down on him. Like maybe I feel he is too young for me.

Somebody told him that I had said I liked him. He smile and said: "Oh, really?"

After dancing and talking and drinking he tried to kiss me. i had been thinking of that the whole night, but I had to stop him, It wasn´t the right time, i mean what if the next day neither of us remember anything of it? and i really like him, so...
next day I found out he had gone to the other party with cute 20 years old.

He looks up, and he says "uh, you know, you kind of have nice breasts" heard that? "kind of" oh for fuck´s sake.

I saw him across the room, dark and handsome, but I couldn´t find the courage to go and say hi.

I asked him what was going on, and he answered back immediately: With me not calling you anymore? I have to say, I was surprised that he wanted to address the issue right away. But then he was like Oh nothing I´ve just been very busy and you haven´t called me either. Remember, he is the one that says that he is there with me, but not really there.

I know he thinks I am kind of a "free spirit" or something. And he also knows his friends like me. But he also knows how big a girl I can be sometimes. So when he kissed me in the balcony, with light-reflected-on-water-forming-strange-shapes in the wall, I thought he knew what he was getting into. Cut to. I arrive and he introduces me to his new girl. An actress. And he later looks at me and says wow, you could cut the air with a knife.

I mean, he knows my ex plays in that band, why did he mentioned he had seen them? And then I didn´t ask for him. I just asked how it was. And he breaks into shouting and storms off the bar, "the problem it´s me, I never learn, but one of these days" and he spends the next 15 minutes criticizing every man I know in the world, with me standing there under the rain trying to explain to him, until I find out that idon´t have anything to explain to him, so I turn around and go back to the bar. Obviously he goes after me just to be the one with the last word, and he goes without saying goodbye.

When I arrived to the pub I was with my girlfriends, and we where drinking and just being silly and we started joking and stuff. And actually, I was happy to see him, it had been quite a while. He was happy to see me too.
Why?

He said "I thought we were over that stage of our lives". I thought that too.
He asked for the onehundredmillion time if I had really gotten married. I know he likes that idea because it makes him feel we are even.

He is so stubborn.

He is so grumpy

He is so egocentric-big-egomaniac

And he can be a pig

He called at one o´clock in the morning on a Sunday to ask what I was doing. I was sleeping. He said get up and come here. Like that. I say no. he insists. I think of the last years. I stay in my bed.

He said he had been thinking of that since the first moment he saw me that day.

He was jealous because he thought that the one I liked was his friend. And I did.

I remember very clearly the first time I saw her.

He wants to get revenge.

he, they, don´t love me. they want to have me just as their prey. but i am also a hunter.

i want him to stay, but I wish he wouldn´t stay all the time.
fragmented, little pieces trapped into a crashed mirror, after each one the reflection of a tired woman. who is she?

Crowded house

Since the afternoon she had spotted him. She alredy knew the code and was able to read the signs. Not that they where that hard to understand.
It felt good.
The hunter was back.

days of rain, sun, rain. i miss my little sunny spot, where i can lay drinking ice tea, a book, swinging in the hammock, milla jumping back and forth the fence, bbq´s while malade y maladie jump around naked taking pictures of each other.

The renaissance artist has parted to the highlands, to his summer retreat, put on your hunters and take long walks in the hills with your faithful dog next to you, so a son of bush´s country is staying with us, using the dark scot´s bedroom.

A son of the perfid Albion and the Empire is the new permanent member of house d of dames & dragons. NOW it´s offcial. sigh. boys.

And we are expecting another product of the land of hamburgers and nukes, who will arrive with his wife for the summer. and i have my fingers crossed. for them not to be psychos. or for them to be so. i can´t remember which was.

so this is summer. i actually like summer. but away from the city.
i think of sea breeze, caipirinhas, a good book, the feel of sand under my feet...
but well.
one of these days
these are the days
ja!

top five
These are the days-10,000 maniacs
La ciudad de la furia- soda stereo, (version unplugged)
smells like teen spirit-nirvana
coffee & tv-blur
for real-tricky

Summer letters

I still think of you. I do.
I wonder where you are now.
I actually miss you.

Todavía te busco entre la gente. Cuando manejo. O caminando.
Espero verte aparecer en cualquier momento.
Casi un accidente.

I still believe I will find you.
So I leave this stupid notes everywhere. For you.
Just in case you find one of them, so you would know I am here.

Para que cuando encuentres una de esas notas, estas cartas, palabras, pelo, sangre, sudor,
sepas que soy yo, que estoy aquí.
Y que seguiré dejando estas pistas, este rastro que sólo tú puedes leer.
El único a quien no he abandonado.

The only one for whom I sit and wait.
You.

I need a candle
I need a wish
I need a fairy tale with a happy ending
I need a dream that doesn´t wake me up at night
I need a day for the living
I need a warm spot next to me
I need a chance
I need you

birthday letters

My birthday was the third of june. I was away from home. And it seem I was going to have a horrible day. But something changed. By casualty i ran into somebody. And he took care of me. And I found some friends. And they don´t care if i don´t wear designer clothes or if i am not a catholic or i am the daugther of the previous marriage. And i felt proud of my father. he was happy. he glowed. and i was happy for him. but it hurts. the be the other. to be the one who spend her childhood alone. i am happy he has a new life, a new beatiful girl that is worthy of his love. i just wish he could understand that i am ok with it, but i don´t want to see it. that i don´t want to know all the things he can give to her, all the love he has for his new wife. because i never saw him love my mother. we never went on fun trips, i never saw him holding hands with her. i never saw him compliment her or told her he loved her. and it´s ok. it was their lifes and he was a good man to her and she tried to make him happy. but even if as a grown person i understand they were not able to love each other and that life moved on i do,n´t need to see it. my mother is alone, as she is going to die alone, her life stopped the day he left. it shouldn´t be like that. but it is. and she is my mother. as he is my father.

and he feels sorry for me. and he is ashamed of me. and i wish it could be different. but it can´t.

and i am happy for the way his life is going. he said to an audience that dreams come true. i believe that. but not my dreams. i am lonely in my heart but i know i am not alone. i am trying to remember it. every day. but as far as my dreams come, i´ve lost hope. but i am ok. i will be ok. i am living.

i had fun on my birthday. and everyone called to say they love me. and i got a birthday present. and someone said I am beatiful.

my father is happy.

and maybe someday i will be too.

actually it´s easy,

it´s not the result of a mind challenging puzzle or the thousand voices of an army lost in oblivion.

It´s even obvious, which makes it trivial, (I hate vulgarity, triviality, mediocracy)

I am crazy.

not in the we live nowadays in a crazy world full with stress and that has change the people´s perception of sanity.

really crazy as in take your rainbow pills dear,

we don´t want you to upset the rest of the kids right?

And no, it´s not cool, so forget about the wonders of being different.

I´ve become paranoic.

I´ve become obssesive.

I´ve become an addict.

and i am not happy and i want to hurt everything, everyone, starting with myself.

slish slash slish a little cut here slash a little cut there

if you do it in your legs it´s easier to explain them

if you do it in your wrists you´ll have to wear bracelets to cover them up

if you do it with your nails you can say it´s a scratch

if you do it with a knife is more painful

so, are you looking for pain?

or humilliation?

or sick sick sick behavior?

yep, that´s me, that´s what i´ve become.

lonely, full of rage, betrayed by myself

let me tell you a little of a story there was this girl, beatiful wide eyed curly hair girl.

she lived in an apartment and she was never allowed to go out. In the mornings she went to school and from there she became a ghost, hidden in her parents office, doing homework, laying by herself. A sad little ghost. She created imaginary friends, she read, she imagine what the outside world will look like. She had a little problem, because she would get bored at school very easily. Her teachers punished her for finishing work too fast. And she grew bored, punished. The others girls laughed at her. She was the other. And a little seed began growing inside of her, tick tack, little by little, branches leaves spreading in her body. crazy crazy Her parents told the little gril that was ok, it was good to be different, super cool yei. And told her to not have a chicken heart. So she learn to conceal her thoughts her feelings. To pretend to be daddy´s girl, mommy´s favorite baby. To be clean cut A grade nice boring stupid bitch everyone expected her to be. Until the jungle inside her grew too much, digged to far into the darkness of her heart. And she exploted. dark trees, clouds, blood, dead babies, storms, snakes and worms, pain pain pain pain, everything went out . And then they told her she was crazy, that it was her fault. They advice to stay home, hidden, so she wouldn´t bring shame to the family. to write happy things, because the world is so bright and full of wonderful things. to not feel sad angry depressed disapointed bored helpless. When they saw the marks in her legs they told her to stop doing it because it looked "ugly", not girly pretty. When they saw the marks in her wrists they said to stop doing it because it distressed them. And she grew, dark circles under her eyes, ugly hate rage death.

There is no turning back.

Once you´ve gone too deep into the waste lands.

When you are an empty field.

When you are a lost sorrow.

When you breath death

The reality is that you are not dying, you just want to, but at the same time you do not know how to do it (trust me, is not that easy)

And half of the time you wonder if you REALLY want to die, or if it´s just another one living inside you the one that does. Because you never know, if your toughts are yours, or if it is the illness.

After the shakes, you will be able to breath again.

Waiting

My nerves are bad tonight. Yes, bad. Stay with me.
Speak to me. Why do you never speak. Speak.
The waste land. T.S. Eliot

it is not easy to let go of the stream that gives way to life
the strings strongly sealed
a million reasons
open eyes that will not close

but neither is easy the body that refuses to move
organs fighting helplessly
brain, soul, spirit
all gone
and death, only death is there

five

cry ´til the morning. richard ashcroft
fade into you.mazzy star/jarvis cocker
suzanne.leonard cohen
shadowboxer.fionna apple
hunter.björk

Semper idem

And the sixth sorrow
Is the fox´s sorrow
The joy of the huntsman, the joy of the hounds,
The hooves that pound
Till earth closes her ear
To the fox´s prayer.
The seven sorrows. ted hugues.

And I wish that I was a happy guy,
average boy walking home from school,
watching from the bridge the trains gone by,
playing in the park.
To sit in the garden to see the leaves fall
and pretend they come to greet me
instead of bringing despair.
But my name is pain and my blood is revenge
and I am not a happy soul
that shines, it is otherwise,
I am the burden of myself,
glasses crashing
empty pockets
bitten nails.
It is not that I don´t have hope
it´s just that it ain´t enough
to shake the blues
and make me see the sun.

But to tell you the truth,
dark and cloudy as I am
I believe I am a dark star
that can bright in the night.

Just this once

Desde mi vitrina observo tu ventana,
distorsionada, páginas de lluvia entorpecen la mirada.
Uno, dos, tres,
son días o semanas,
que desde mi lugar observo,
quieto, al acecho.
Pero tus cortinas nunca dejan entrar el sol,
nunca dejan entrar la lluvia,
sólo el marco como referencia.
Me imagino lo que haces ahí dentro
y me pongo tus zapatos
mientras le doy un gran trago a la botella
que siempre guardas,
escondida, apenada.
Te observo mientras trabajas,
mientras juegas,
mientras eres el niño de mi infancia perdida.
Y me visto de azul, fragmentos plata como cristales y diamantes
que se estrellan y penetran salvajes
pero me convierten en la estrella de mi propio espectáculo.
Y cae la noche y la luz nunca se enciende,
nunca estás
y no puedo soñar con el mismo cielo que tú.
No sé donde estás.

Beatiful girl

You wake up, open our eyes and realize that you are a boy who wants to be a girl trapped in the body of a woman.

When you are tired of just being one of the boys

and you try on old clothes and in new clothes

but nothing fits,

your hair is a mess,

your skin doesn´t have the ivory quality it used to,

and no one has brought you flowers in years,

or taken you to the cinema,

or gone to pick you up at work.

But at the end of the day you just want to be beatiful.

And that someone else thinks that you are beatiful.

My marathon suggestions

My own private Idaho
Priscilla, Queen of the desert
Hedwig and the Angry Inch
Breakfast at Pluto´s
Tarnation
Happy together
Velvet Goldmine
The Rocky Horror Picture Show
My beatiful laundrette
Love and human remains

All the shiny and beatiful

I guess we´ve already been here before, and you might start joking about my need to save all the hamsters in the world, but think that when we are gone all the beatiful creatures will be around.

www.thepetitionsite.com

I miss you

This weekend a couple of friends went to a wedding in the country side. They were staying in a fancy hotel-club. They were sitting in the lobby on the second day and this host comes and tells them that one of the guests had complained that they were induring on "inappropiate behavior". They were holding hands.
They are both men.
Everytime I hear things like these my heart sinks deeper.
Silly stupid people.
Hate
With their churches and their pride and their morals.

Everytime I hear stuff like these...
and I write this today because I´ve been thinking of you. I dreamed with you a couple of days ago.
and it reminds me of you because I am so full with anger and I know that you would have been outraged as well, but at the sight of me becoming the wounded elephant destroying everything on its path you would´ve put on one of your silly smiles and hug me and tell me about all the beatiful stuff that there is out there. And you would have cooked your famous strudel and said funny things and at the end of the evening you would´ve let me rest my head on your shoulder. And I would believe you. that there are beatiful things outside.
Silly boy.
How could you?
I am the one that keeps dreaming of you. And I also have to dream for the both of us, silly selfish boy, I´ve grown up, and you will always be a tall, dark, silly boy. The Jackal is about to finish engineering, baby sis is doing her master, my film has been screened...
Let me tell you about beatiful things.
How could I care about them if they were not enough to keep you here?
lay there, under the shadow of that tree, your eyes closed, I will keep writing.

house d is mourning

Baby Sky died.
one of tiger lilly´s babies. the little gray one.
and even if life is like that and mother nature knows better, it still hurts.
and leaves your heart feeling wet and sad.
Poor Eleanor has tears hidden behind her eyes
and she thinks I can´t see them
but I do.
and i mourn for her.
and i would liked to know how to reach and shake sadness away.
but i do not know.

The five of the week

midnight radio-Hedwig and the angry inch

it´s a fire-Portishead

jackie-Placebo´s version

wish you were here-Pink floyd

say hello to heaven-Temple of heaven

it´s time to die

He was looking for a secret place to hide away his shame.
His boredom
his lost battles
his dreams
his loneliness
his lack of personality
his being a looser a winner his ugliness his being handsome
his bret easton ellis and his jane austen
his being on top
getting fucked in the ass
his bright mornings
his last sunset

he was a dark star starting to fade away
and who would be soon gone away for good.
And nobody knew his name.
He has stop eating.
That is only the beggning. Soon his body will start hurting.
Chest
Stomach
Head
Legs
Arms
then he will know he is ready,
and the night will close his eyes.

Top five of the week

common people- Pulp

where are you know when i need you- The Waterboys

acrobat-U2

it can´t rain all the time- Jane Siberry

hurt- nine inch nails

Sant Jordi

We proudly announce that this week´s food will be sponsored by the Orfeo Catala de Mexic, who kindly gave us a little bit of encourage after writing for them a romantic slightly tacky short story. It is a shame that most of the award we already owe it to then thousand different charity groups, who´ve been supporting us lately.
sigh, sigh, sigh

Agradecimientos

We would like to thank the trust "Sisters of my mother" who so kindly helped this week with their charity to buy Milla´s food.

So let love come to my side

How can I stop my heart from being in such a despair. I move and get up, and talk and do as I am supposed to, but cannot sit listening to this haunting beat that goes on and on, without stop, without a breath, just tormenting me, this voices in my mind, whispering, telling me all the wrong things, and I walk and i pray for this torture to come to an end. To these days stop being so long, so much light covering me while this treacherous wind plays with my skirts and wouldn´t let me at ease. This secret crave that I cannot name, myself being my own traitor, the tears running helpessly down my cheeks, just wanting to scream, feverish and covered with shame, oh lord! let there be a word for this, to describe the sacred hours I´ve spent running away from thy glory and choosing instead to have them here, laying, sighs and mourns, without knowing how to call it. Please, let it come to me soon, that I wish not to keep living in this state and rather spend one minute of glory and passion next to it than this heavy eternity of calm peace.

Do not turn your back

Stop patronizing me, because maybe sometimes I might be a scared girl running away from the beasts outside, but more often i will be running away from myself and there are times when I am actually the dragon. So stop believing that i will be up for it, always, trusting and faithful. please do not confuse my flag, my loyalty, with being just another one of your girls.

and i am one big angry cunt, who just have had enough.

as i saw in some movie recently, "the bites of these bitch are harder than the barks"

The five of the week

exit music (for a film)-Radiohead

release- Pearl Jam

carrickfergus-The chieftains

who are you-Tom Waits

sonet-The verve

Charity

Milla's food is sponsored today by the kind donatives of the Eleanor Community for starved doggies.
Last's week where the result of the generosity of the Perfida Albion association.
We are a non lucrative group whose aim is to keep feeding Milla, Sandokan, Tiger Lilly and the babies that are to come.
The next thing will be start feeding the memebers of the house D of Dames.
sigh...

Solitude

This is how I feel
i keep writing
but nobody replies

Top five of the week

I don´t like mondays-Tori Amos
Anarchy in the UK-Sex Pistols
Where is my mind-Pixies
People of the sun-Rage against the machine
Señor matanza-Mano Negra

Indifference

Presumptuos man! the reason wouldst thou find,
Why formed so weak, so little and so blind?
Alexander Pope

yesterday she wanted to go to the movies, spend sometime hidden in the darkness, enyoing being anonymus and go for a while where other men and women are, experiencing life trough art and cinema. She went with her dear painter, friend who is playing a strange part in her life these days. They went to see Capote.

life and rage, facing the beast that is inside of us, our true self, what separates us from him, the fact that when you had the knife you didn´t stick it into someone else´s guts, but your own flesh, cut, cut, cut, wide open, bleeding, but the blood is yours and you don´t wake up in the morning covered with the blood of some teenage, or your mother. but you are still so full of rage, but there is a difference, the two of you are the same, but there is a difference, when you look into each other´s eyes and you can see the dark abysm that´s behind them, the monster hidden in his heart and you feel shivers down your spine. you know who is guilty and who is innocent, the one that it is still inside jail, and you are helpless and doný know how to help him. and it´s been so many years fighting these lost battles, leaving the fire of your soul behind. and you are the beast, the demon, with your selfishness and your hypocrisy and your turning your head to the other side. but there is a difference. and before you loose what´s left of your sanity you need to find it.

Illness

He felt the worm inside of him. He could actually listen it, crawling inside his body, trough his muscles, trough his organs. He was on his bed again, incapable of moving, staring at the walls, its white whiter than the white of his blood shot eyes. There were no answers and he couldn´t tell the origin, he just knew the sickness, the nausea, the perpetual feeling of rotting, of dying whilst being in a limbo between his life and his real death, walking in the thin line of his last memories and what he could consider real. He knew he was imagining things, that the creatures inside of him didn´t exist. He said this as he saw something moving under his belly skin, something long and sneaky, going up to his chest. He tried to stop it, push it away. But in the very end he knew it was useless, there was no way he could stop it. He closed his eyes and laid his body down.

relax, let yourself go, tomorrow you won´t remember anything, and the blood covering your hands and body will have no meaning. Another life won´t make a difference.

Illness

He felt the worm inside of him. He could actually listen it, crawling inside his body, trough his muscles, trough his organs. He was on his bed again, incapable of moving, staring at the walls, its white whiter than the white of his blood shot eyes. There were no answers and he couldn´t tell the origin, he just knew the sickness, the nausea, the perpetual feeling of rotting, of dying whilst being in a limbo between his life and his real death, walking in the thin line of his last memories and what he could consider real. He knew he was imagining things, that the creatures inside of him didn´t exist. He said this as he saw something moving under his belly skin, something long and sneaky, going up to his chest. He tried to stop it, push it away. But in the very end he knew it was useless, there was no way he could stop it. He closed his eyes and laid his body down.

relax, let yourself go, tomorrow you won´t remember anything, and the blood covering your hands and body will have no meaning. Another life won´t make a difference.

The thorn in your eyes

Do not close your eyes,
do not turn your head.
This child is your child, my child
and we have failed in making
a better world for him.
The shame is not aids or wars or money,
We are the shame,
and until we do not recognize how far into the dark holes of our lonely hearts we have gone, the eyes of this child, of all children, will be set upon us, reminding us that we are not worthy of them.

But death shall have no dominion

I grieve for thee my friend, you who are next door, you whom I never see, you who will never open your eyes again. And I grieve for me.

Top five of the week

like a friend-Pulp
red red red-Fiona Apple
babe you turn me on-Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds
tear in your hand-Tori Amos
times of trouble-Temple of the Dog

Tribute to brit pop

And the day was full with anger
and all the scars in my body started to itch
my lips were dry and numb.
Blood was under my nails,
a sour taste in my mouth
and all the toughts in my mind had gone wrong.
From my hidden place I see the world,
how far and dark it is for me.
And in the middle of my own solitude
I wonder when there will be another velvet morning for me?

Bloqueo de escritor

Rayos y cáspitas, pardiez y recontrapardiez, en mis muertos más frescos y en la hostia, en la puta que lo parió, exclamo fatalidad con el sudor perlando mi frente y llevo mi fina mano enguantada hacia la daga oculta en mi pecho, desgarro la batista que cubre mi piel, me aferro al arma y me presto a batirme en duelo con este adversario pérfido y temido.
Y esta es sólo la línea argumental. Falta el guión completo. o sea.

By the way

Athos, Porthos, Aramis, d´Artagnan...
The three musketeers...
sometimes is good to go back to the clasics

Milady

Well darling, it seems like you didn´t know me.
Yes, i can be a bitch.
Hello big news.
But I am not a baby or a spoiled brat
And frankly my dear,
you are the bitch.

The death of D´Artagnan

After all these years.
As if she didn´t know her.
Her code, her flag, the things for what she lived for. Friendship. One for all and all for one.
And she broke the code.
She left her friend alone. She turned her back and left her when all she needed was five minutes of a place where she could feel warm, to know she had come back home. To reach out and find a hand that wouldn´t let her go. But when she turned around she had already gone. She was alone in her room, by herself.
And from that moment on nothing was going to be the same.

Last rites

all the world just stopped now so you say you don´t want to stay together anymore let me take a deep breath babe if you need me me and neil`ll be hangin´ out with the dream king Neil says hi by the way I don´t believe you are leaving cause me and Charles Manson like the same ice cream I think it´s that girl and I think there´s pieces of me you´ve never seen maybe she´s just pieces of me you´ve never seen well all the world is all i am the black of the blackest ocean and that tear in your hand all the world is danglin´...danglin´...danglin´ for me darlin´you don´t know the power that you have with that tear in your hand maybe I ain´t used to maybes smashing in a cold room cutting my hands up every time i touch you maybe maybe it´s time to wave goodbye now time to wave goodbye now

Between life and death

And death shall have no dominion
And death shall have no dominion.
Dead men naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.
Dylan Thomas

Since she was a small girl she grew up surrounded by death, the thin line between existence and beyond being broken in front of her eyes too often.
today a man died.
And the world feels like a smaller place.
She is running as fast as she can, into her fears and pain, from them, all being one.
He taught her about feelings, how to perform on stage, about teather, what it ment to translate words into images.
And now he is dead
and the clock has stopped
and when it resumes its march
there will be a bigger empty in the place where we all keep record of ourselves.
Because she admired him and had the honour of him sharing some of his time with her.
But that doesn´t really matter.

In the myth of your first death our deity
Was yourself resurrected.
Yourself reborn. The holy one.
Day in day out that was our worship-
Tending the white birth-bed of your rebirth,
The unforthcoming delivery, the all-but-born,
The ought-by-now-to-be-born.
Ted Hughes


She danced and drank and talked and laughed. And she was up for the task set upon her by herself. She was a lady after all. One of the boy´s maybe, but a lady. So when she saw her she smiled and listened to the compliments made by her. She looked at her trampy black-heels and leather outfit and decided it was not worthy to make a fuss about it. That girl was decided to fight for what she thinks is hers by right. And she decided it was not worthy.
So she went to sleep that day alone. And she was happy.

The Last Days

He is shuddering, eyes wide open looking up to the sky, numbness spread all over his body. He lets his thoughts wander around, he is too tired to try to gather them. He feels the pain coming back and back again, like waves splashing against the cliffs. He tries to touch his face, but there is no sensation at all. But he doesn´t try to fight back. He knows it will all end soon.

Tear in your hand

She waked up suddenly and desoriented. She didn´t know where she was at first but little by little she recognized the familiar objects of her room. She felt the sour taste of a nightmare. She got up and went to the bathroom to wash her mouth. She went back to bed, feeling nice and clean, free of undesired objects.

So she said good-bye to him.

Why can´t women be like me?

The Damian Hirst exhibition. OK why not?

No. Really. Like, it is ok, but are you seriuos?

Well, yeah, I DO like art and stuff, but maybe we should stay and watch a movie.

Well why don´t you go by yourself, I am making a protest against the use of animals in tortured ways.

Please, don´t make me go!


And that´s the way it is.

It takes just a moment

Since now the hour is come at last,
When you must quit your anxious lover;
Since now our dream of bliss is past,
One pang, my girl, and all is over.
Lord Byron

He saw her walking away and he tought "What a moron, run after her and tell her you are sorry, run after that girl and don´t let her go", but he couldn´t stand up. He just stayed there, rumiating his anger, his bad moods. "I´m glad you asked" he wanted to tell her, but instead of that he had been rude and he could feel her looking at him, probably thinking he was an idiot. And he was.

The Human Seasons

Four Seasons fill the measure of the year;
There are four seasons in the mind of man:
He has his lusty Soring, when fancy clear
Takes in all beauty with an easy span:
Keats

She walks across the halls, trying to identify what´s there of familiar to her. New spaces and people, people, people. Students laughing and talking, signs and advertisements of events to come. The usual political propaganda, with a group of anarchy looking youngsters around, looking as if they have the key to solve all of the world´s problems, but she knows better. They are harmless anyway. She feels intimidated, maybe a little out of place. As she aproaches the classroom she hesitates for a moment, wondering if all of this is going to be worthy; the classes, the essays, the long hours sitting trying to write something that sounds remotely smart. And for how long. She knows that if she enters the classroom she would be making a comittment, not only to her, but to all the ghosts that stare at her from the dark. Becoming a student again. But now with a couple of extra years, a little bit more cynical and tired, very tired. She´s come a long way. She sighs and for a moment she thinks of the chain of events that stopped her the first time, the strike, her illness, long hours staring at nowhere during the night, hoping for a little break, the man... all of that comes into her mind. She longs for the years gone by, wishing to at least have a clearer recollation of what had happened. But it is useless, she has been given the gift and the curse of not remembering, at least, most of it.
Of course she´s being silly, and if she walks away from there she would be a coward, running away for the rest of her life, hiding behind an excuse that would justify her.
The thing is that she doesn´t want to be justified anymore.
She holds her breath and goes inside.

Of dogs and mates

She was a small, hairy, full of energy maltese dog. Her name was Negrita, which I picked up after a cuban novel I read as a child. The main character was this half breed black dog who runs away from her brutal owners and joins the "jibaros" , the wolves of the mountains. I guess that´s the spirit I tought she had.
My first canine companion were Akela and Gray Brother, two indian wolves who adopted me into their pack, after Bagueera the black panter paid with a buffalo for my life and Baloo, the old bear who teach the cubs the law of the jungle, spoke on my behalf. With them I went to the monkey city and fought the dholes, nasty dogs from the north. I learned about the holy men of India and colonialism and how, at the end, men must return to men. My second dog was a half wolf, half dog named White Fang. I met him as a child and he has been with me for more than twenty years, living adventures next to the Yukon and experiencing the hard life of the tundra. After them there has been a number of canines who have been my friends, from the ridiculous looking Benji to the mystical experience of Never cry wolf.
In this other side of reality, my first love was with Mariachi, a street dog who decided that he had finally come to find home living outside my building. He was black and brown, brave and tender, and he use to take long walks with me when walking around seem to be the only cure for a troubled mind. He would accompany me the two blocks to take the school bus and every afternoon when I got down of it he would be waiting there, looking cool, as an old soldier who knows enough about life to choose his own battles. I gave him food and medicine and he gave me love and companion. Eventually his hair turn gray and his sight wasn´t as good as it used to be. He would still pick up a fight now and then with other dogs, but on those last days he just prefered to lay in the shadow. When the time came for him to go the Walhala across the rainbow, he came to me and put his head on my legs, gave a big sigh and stay there, with his look fixed on me, maybe saying thank you for all the years, saying goodbye to go and fight another battles where the stupidity of human kind could not reach him anymore.
A couple of years before, Negrita came into my life, a small thing that fit into my hand and who would stay with me for fifteen years. When young, she used to run after sheeps in my aunt´s woodshed, lambs crying at this little thing who would bark and bite as she was a big shepard dog. She would came and sit on my lap during my long music listening sessions and kissed me when some tears escape down my cheeks, eventough she didn´t like hugging. She also loved to play and she became my mother´s companion, helping me to keep an eye on her.
Not long ago, I discovered a lump on her belly. No cure they said. A couple of months at the most. And so, she and I had a talk, and she went to sleep in my arms, and stay there all night, and next day I carried her to the vet´s. I hold her tight and watched as she slowly went to sleep, her breathing and pulse becoming more and more slow until finally they stopped. Now she is waiting for me, guarding the part of myself that she took with her, my child years, my teen´s, the part of my concience that she never let me forget, that showed me the meaning of loyalty and responsability and a safe place where you could always go. And I miss her.
So does my mother.

Now someone new is my life. She can´t take Negrita´s place, not that she intends to, but she is working hard to have a place in my heart. She doesn´t need to, though. In the moment I saw her for the first time I knew that I was destined to have the precious gift, the honour, of having a new friend. She doesn´t belong to any breed, and she has a very silly tail, and she is sort of a crack baby, hyperactive crazy thing. She wakes me up early, and she loves to chew G´s underwear, but everytime I look into her eyes the world seems a little bit like a better place, and you can´t help to believe that everything is going to be allright. And that might be true.

But then again, who does

I want neither

[From our love]
I want neither
the sweetness of honey
nor the sting of the bees
Sappho
I guess it´s pretty silly from an outsider´s point of view, but the thing is that when you actually are in the middle of a roller coaster ride, there´s no easy way out.
This man is not free, doesn´t want to be, but he also wants all, the oldest story told in human relantionships. He likes another girl, why, I don´t know, and i am not sure that there actually needs to be a reason, maybe she´s pretty, maybe she´s funny, who cares. Probably with her he sort of misses the thin line between a girlfriend and a friend, a buddy. And at the same time that´s what he doesn´t like about her. Or maybe I am just giving him more angles than he´s capable of, and he´s just your average prick.
But sometimes when they are playing the flirting scene he has this naughty boy look in his eyes and she looks so young and full of curiosity for a moment. And when he kisses her forehead and puts his arms around her and they lay there just listening to the thunder beating of their hearts, knowing that there are no tomorrows, no we will see with time, no holding hands in public and loving corny phrases, it seems almost perfect. But then the morning comes and the hard light of dawn hits them, and in her eyes you find an old woman, old as every women in the world, old as years and years and lifes that she might have lived before. And then she can´t recognize him.

Era una mañana

Era una mañana, Milla ya estaba levantada desde hacia rato y esperaba impacientemente a que su dueña se levantara y le diera de comer y la sacara a pasear. El resto de la casa estaba en mediana actividad, con F que habia salido como un relampago a cumplir con sus misiones de agregado cultural y con G que sufria de un penetrante dolor de oido, resultado de ser una niña mala. Los gatitos observaban desde las escaleras los movimientos de Milla, preguntándose que habían hecho ellos para merecerse semejante insulto, en forma de pelos, movimientos de cola y pedazos de ropa interior mordisqueada por toda la casa. Finalmente, ante la inminencia de las urgencias físicas, Milla tomó medidas drásticas, se armó de valor comiéndose unos pantalones olvidados en el piso y brincó encima de la cabeza de su dueña. Esta se levantó entre refunfuños, cabellos revueltos y la acostumbrada mala leche. Gruñendo, bajó las escaleras y se dispuso a cumplir con sus obligaciones. Milla miraba a prudente distancia, expectativa pero sonriente, agitando el rabo en un tonto movimiento circular, con la satisfacción del chucho que se sabe en el fondo la reina de la casa.