Quizas hoy sea el dia perfecto para hacer resoluciones, dado que me encuentro a las puertas del 2010.
Una nueva decada que esta a punto de empezar. La que abandonamos magnana no ha pasado, sino mas bien volado como las oscuras golondrinas de mi tan amado Becquer. Y, esa si que no vuelve, asi que, Pedro, saca otro tema par Pe, uno que la pobre pueda defender bien con su propia voz, que lo del playback no vale.
A decir verdad (por primera vez) no pido nada.
Ya ves Noah....Quiero terminar el agno en tono positvo, que ya se que se me ha ido la esmirriada vena artistica a ese lugar en el que solo reinan los adjetivos melancolicos que conducen a las depresiones mas soporiferas.
Para mirar hacia el futuro con otras perspectivas es necesario entender el pasado.
En el mio no hay grandes conquistas...Pero he ido ganando pequegnas batallas. La guerra se me queda grande.
Espero haber hecho reir a unos cuantos por el camino. Lo cierto es que he disfrutado de la compagnia de todos, con sus mas y sus menos, y solo yo se cuanto los he hechado de menos cuando llego el momento de partir.
Los pequegnos baches han sido inevitables, porque en la vida, solo aprendes a levantarte si tropiezas de vez en cuando. Y yo creo que soy toda una experta en la caida libre.
Ya se...Mas de una vez me regozijaba en los bajones, y apagaba la luz del sol con excusas que solo a mi me valian. Debe ser el sindrome Romeo.
No es facil remendar muchos descosidos. Pero debo decir en mi defensa que siempre lo he intentado. Creo que me queda mucho por aprender; sobre todo en lo referente a mirar hacia adelante.
Que importa si quiero cambiar lo que ya no puede cambiarse. De que vale la espera que nunca te devolvera lo que has perdido?
Supongo que es hora de crear...Crear...Constantemente, hacerte de nuevo, una y otra vez, manteniendo la ilusion que a golpe de despechos emigro sin mi consentimiento de mis planes de vida.
Esa es otra, lo de planificar sin saber muy bien a donde tirar.
Para ayudarme en ese reto, miro a mis compagneras; a mis intocalbes, infatigables, valientes, admiradas, incansbes, irremplazables compagneras que me conocen mejor de lo que yo me conozco. Os veo crecer con una seguridad de la que yo siempre careci, y me dais fuerzas para seguir superandome.
No importa que haya perdido (en mas de una ocasion) al que en su momento crei era el amor de mi vida, o que el trabajo que hago no es con el que habia sognado o por el que habia y sigo luchado, o que mi hogar sean solo cuatro paredes en una ciudad que trata de engullirme sin piedad, pero a la que le doy la replica sin complejos, o que a veces los conocidos, a los que tan a menudo brindo mi amistad a ojos cerrados, vayan demasiado lejos y me hagan heridas que me dejaran cicatrizces de por vida.
No importa porque todo se supera, ya que tengo la dicha de encontrar al final del camino un hombro y un dicho en el que creo; un dicho que dice que lo que bien te quiere te espera pacientemente hasta que tu estes preparada para encontrarlo, lucha por estar junto a ti y no te deja marchar.
Claro que se que tengo que poner de mi parte, que eso que busco o que me espera en algun lugar no lo encuentrare por arte de magia.
Para empezar, voy a cambiar este cansino tono gris, solo por verte sonreir. Solo porque los comienzos merecen la pena.
Mis resoluciones???...Mantener la curiosidad intacta. Sognar sin que me venza el miedo. Saber que no amo en vano, y no dejar nunca de sentir que es posible.
Raquel
FELIZ 2010
Wednesday 30 December 2009
Sunday 20 December 2009
Un lugar que podría ser cualquier lugar...Pero es único.
Paseando junto al río, me vienen a la memoria las tardes sin compromisos, las horas que, gobernadas por nuestra curiosa impaciencia, nos parecían interminables y abarcables para disponer de ellas a nuestro antojo.
Ahora que parece que todo ha cambiado tanto mientras que lo más importante permanece incorrupto por el paso del tiempo, empiezo a entender el idioma de los árboles, que son más viejos y más sabios.
Los atardeceres delienan esas montañas que solían establecer los límites de mi mundo. Su secreto ha sido desvelado: lo que subyace al otro lado no es tan distinto, aunque todavía me sigue intrigando sobremanera y su descubrimiento alienta mi empeño y me desmorona cuando echo de menos este rincón, este paisaje, este lugar en el que todo tiene sentido y en donde las voces interiores se acallan y me dejan encontrar la sintonía con el mundo.
Ese mundo ajeno que un día me pareció tan misterioso, se derrite ante mi deseo de explorarlo, y yo me veo incapacitada para hacer oidos sordos a semejante súplica.
Este mundo que gira, que levanta y destruye muros constantemente, que a veces se nos escapa en un suspiro... Este mundo se desvela ante mis ojos, ante mi mirada atenta que aquí si puede otear las estrellas que dibujan mi destino y me marcan el rumbo.
Al compás silencioso de la fuerza de gravedad que reclama mis raíces, vuelo a ras de suelo para engañar con mentiras piadosas los reclamos de mi sangre por beber de la fuente de la que emana.
Mi misma sangre que en su día se sublebó y me empujó a emprender un largo viaje con tan solo el pasaporte y el recuerdo por acompañantes, me traiciona de vez en cuando ante los vientos gélidos y límpidos del Norte al que pertenece. Comprende y anhela, permanece y cambia. Nativa e intrusa, se cuela por mis venas y atisba el escenario que nos rodea...Siempre desubicada y caprichosa, aquí sabe que tiene un lugar para ser.
Cuesta reconocer lo que ha hecho de mi la ausencia de este rocío, de las tardes púrpuras al borde de la corriente dulce. Pero la estabilidad de este mundo que siempre será mío. devuelve el equilibrio a mi alma vagabunda, los sueños a mi cabeza descarrilada y el color a mi pálido rostro.
Se trata de un acto irracional, de un pensamiento no forzado, de un tener sentido sin necesidad de explicaciones ... Algo que se parece bastante al amor que tenemos o tuvimos, que deseamos o con el que ahora mismo construimos un futuro menos incierto. Un tipo de amor leal, incondicional, de esos que siempre están ahí.
Y ahí permanecerá cuando nos hayamos ido, lo que nos recuerda cuán parte del todo somos, qué pequeños en nuestras ansias de grandeza y que afotunados de tener un paraíso al que allegarnos de vez en cuando a beber de su perenne manantial cuando el desierto de la vida nos parece interminable.
Y justo ahí, aquí, continúa existiendo esta amistad que, tezudamente, se resiste a sucumbir al paso del tiempo que hace que dos se conviertan en tres y uno se quede penstivo y agradecido de ser testigo y formar parte del cambio que cambia todo menos a nostros.
Raquel
Ahora que parece que todo ha cambiado tanto mientras que lo más importante permanece incorrupto por el paso del tiempo, empiezo a entender el idioma de los árboles, que son más viejos y más sabios.
Los atardeceres delienan esas montañas que solían establecer los límites de mi mundo. Su secreto ha sido desvelado: lo que subyace al otro lado no es tan distinto, aunque todavía me sigue intrigando sobremanera y su descubrimiento alienta mi empeño y me desmorona cuando echo de menos este rincón, este paisaje, este lugar en el que todo tiene sentido y en donde las voces interiores se acallan y me dejan encontrar la sintonía con el mundo.
Ese mundo ajeno que un día me pareció tan misterioso, se derrite ante mi deseo de explorarlo, y yo me veo incapacitada para hacer oidos sordos a semejante súplica.
Este mundo que gira, que levanta y destruye muros constantemente, que a veces se nos escapa en un suspiro... Este mundo se desvela ante mis ojos, ante mi mirada atenta que aquí si puede otear las estrellas que dibujan mi destino y me marcan el rumbo.
Al compás silencioso de la fuerza de gravedad que reclama mis raíces, vuelo a ras de suelo para engañar con mentiras piadosas los reclamos de mi sangre por beber de la fuente de la que emana.
Mi misma sangre que en su día se sublebó y me empujó a emprender un largo viaje con tan solo el pasaporte y el recuerdo por acompañantes, me traiciona de vez en cuando ante los vientos gélidos y límpidos del Norte al que pertenece. Comprende y anhela, permanece y cambia. Nativa e intrusa, se cuela por mis venas y atisba el escenario que nos rodea...Siempre desubicada y caprichosa, aquí sabe que tiene un lugar para ser.
Cuesta reconocer lo que ha hecho de mi la ausencia de este rocío, de las tardes púrpuras al borde de la corriente dulce. Pero la estabilidad de este mundo que siempre será mío. devuelve el equilibrio a mi alma vagabunda, los sueños a mi cabeza descarrilada y el color a mi pálido rostro.
Se trata de un acto irracional, de un pensamiento no forzado, de un tener sentido sin necesidad de explicaciones ... Algo que se parece bastante al amor que tenemos o tuvimos, que deseamos o con el que ahora mismo construimos un futuro menos incierto. Un tipo de amor leal, incondicional, de esos que siempre están ahí.
Y ahí permanecerá cuando nos hayamos ido, lo que nos recuerda cuán parte del todo somos, qué pequeños en nuestras ansias de grandeza y que afotunados de tener un paraíso al que allegarnos de vez en cuando a beber de su perenne manantial cuando el desierto de la vida nos parece interminable.
Y justo ahí, aquí, continúa existiendo esta amistad que, tezudamente, se resiste a sucumbir al paso del tiempo que hace que dos se conviertan en tres y uno se quede penstivo y agradecido de ser testigo y formar parte del cambio que cambia todo menos a nostros.
Raquel
Saturday 5 December 2009
Rienda suleta
Es aburrido lo de retirarse voluntariamente durante un tiempo para buscar algo que nunca se habia perdido.
Pero tambien es enriquecedor, porque en la ausencia de uno mismo, siempre se encuentra algo nuevo.
Como si de una isla de todo menos desierta se tratase, ese lugar al que es bueno peregrinar de vez en cuando, te devuelve a los origenes que tan facil es perder de vista cuando las circunstancias son mas fuertes que la voluntad.
La marea termina por devolverte a la playa que un dia pensaste no volver a pisar; y descubres sin asombro que tus huellas estan intactas en la arena tostada.
Las aguas marinas de mi oceano, queriendo imitar a la noche en su belleza y misterio, respetaron mi recuerdo, y los vientos, nunca en tregua, luchando entre ellos quien sabe que violenta batalla, no aplacaron las ansias de mi bandera por ondear orgullosa en el horizonte.
Mi botella, medio llena, aun guarda el elixir del olvido con el que en el pasado jugue a evadirme y hoy me sirve para celebrar el regreso al presente. Al aqui y ahora.
En este planeta que no se cansa de parir a cinicos y a hipocritas; en esta tierra de mentiras disfrazadas de verdad, donde tambien existen besos interminables como las noches de Serezade, como el tormento de Verlaine...
En este pais de donde partieron barcos repletos de convictos desterrados, condenados al olvido y al trabajo de sol a sol en una plantacion destinada a proveer de azucar y tabaco a la ya por entonces vieja Europa...
Aqui, en esta Europa en donde no desfallecen las ansias de acomular lo inservible, ni la torpeza de deshacernos de lo unico que tiene valor. Donde las palabras juegan a tener sentido, pero siempre nos dejan a medio camino entre lo que es y lo que puede ser.
Aqui, donde los reyes son de papel, y las doncellas duermen con dragones mientras los caballeros de la radiante armadura relatan sus penas en terapia de 3 a 6.
Estoy aqui. En tierra de nadie y de todos. En tu territorio, ya conquistado, por el que cruce como caballo de Atila, deshaciendo tambien tus nudos gordianos que ya no suscitan deseo de ser desatados.
Solte el lastre de mis miedos; los vuestros ya no me quitan el suegno, si es que algun dia lo hicieron.
Pero tambien es enriquecedor, porque en la ausencia de uno mismo, siempre se encuentra algo nuevo.
Como si de una isla de todo menos desierta se tratase, ese lugar al que es bueno peregrinar de vez en cuando, te devuelve a los origenes que tan facil es perder de vista cuando las circunstancias son mas fuertes que la voluntad.
La marea termina por devolverte a la playa que un dia pensaste no volver a pisar; y descubres sin asombro que tus huellas estan intactas en la arena tostada.
Las aguas marinas de mi oceano, queriendo imitar a la noche en su belleza y misterio, respetaron mi recuerdo, y los vientos, nunca en tregua, luchando entre ellos quien sabe que violenta batalla, no aplacaron las ansias de mi bandera por ondear orgullosa en el horizonte.
Mi botella, medio llena, aun guarda el elixir del olvido con el que en el pasado jugue a evadirme y hoy me sirve para celebrar el regreso al presente. Al aqui y ahora.
En este planeta que no se cansa de parir a cinicos y a hipocritas; en esta tierra de mentiras disfrazadas de verdad, donde tambien existen besos interminables como las noches de Serezade, como el tormento de Verlaine...
En este pais de donde partieron barcos repletos de convictos desterrados, condenados al olvido y al trabajo de sol a sol en una plantacion destinada a proveer de azucar y tabaco a la ya por entonces vieja Europa...
Aqui, en esta Europa en donde no desfallecen las ansias de acomular lo inservible, ni la torpeza de deshacernos de lo unico que tiene valor. Donde las palabras juegan a tener sentido, pero siempre nos dejan a medio camino entre lo que es y lo que puede ser.
Aqui, donde los reyes son de papel, y las doncellas duermen con dragones mientras los caballeros de la radiante armadura relatan sus penas en terapia de 3 a 6.
Estoy aqui. En tierra de nadie y de todos. En tu territorio, ya conquistado, por el que cruce como caballo de Atila, deshaciendo tambien tus nudos gordianos que ya no suscitan deseo de ser desatados.
Solte el lastre de mis miedos; los vuestros ya no me quitan el suegno, si es que algun dia lo hicieron.
Friday 4 December 2009
Changing Gender discourse from "once upon a time"...
> Date: Fri, 4 Dec 2009 08:56:58 +0000
> From: noreply@guardian.co.uk
> To: rolli2006@hotmail.com
> Subject: [From: Raquel Nogueira] Feminist books for five-year-olds
>
> Raquel Nogueira spotted this on the guardian.co.uk site and thought you should see it.
>
> To see this story with its related links on the guardian.co.uk site, go to http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2009/dec/04/feminist-books-five-year-olds
>
> Feminist books for five-year-olds
>
> Can you radicalise young children in a few easy reads? Viv Groskop gives it her best shot
>
> Viv Groskop
> Friday December 4 2009
> The Guardian
>
>
> http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2009/dec/04/feminist-books-five-year-olds
>
>
> It all started with my son, Will, stamping his feet and saying he didn't want any girls invited to his sixth birthday party. Girls, he declared, are boring. At the same time I noticed my daughter, Vera, who is three, carrying a handbag and lip gloss. Will was demanding his first football kit, Vera was swooning over princess paraphernalia, and I suddenly realised that it was time for a gender stereotyping intervention.
>
> Children know what they are supposed to like from an early age. For girls, it's princesses, ballet, fairies, parties. For boys, it's adventure, space travel, fire engines, pirates. Until now, my two have been young enough to do their own thing ? Will has enjoyed baking cakes, Vera has pretended to be Luke Skywalker. But the older they get, the harder it is to resist the pink-and-blue divide.
>
> Can books redress the balance? We often read Captain Pugwash and Asterix ? but there are no girls in those stories. I was happy with Babar until Celeste became pregnant with triplets and never came out of the nursery again. In Peepo the mother is always ironing. Of course, there are some successes for both boys and girls. Ludwig Bemelmans' Madeline is a wonderful tale of convent girl derring-do, with lots of boy characters, too. Julia Donaldson's books (The Gruffalo, The Smartest Giant in Town) are great fun, but not exactly politically inspiring. I wanted to find something feminist, subversive. The Female Eunuch for five-year-olds.
>
> Bring on Jacinta Bunnell's colouring book Girls Are Not Chicks, published in the UK this week. The New York-based author first had the idea for feminist books for children when reading bedtime stories as a nanny. "I found myself editing the words so as not to pass on a sexist message," she says. "In most children's books the girls have pretty frocks and bows in their hair, so I would turn it around ? call the boys by girls' names and vice versa."
>
> In the US "anti-princess reading lists" have appeared, pioneered by the websites Mommytracked.com and Bitchmagazine.org. There are now books for three- to eight-year-olds with a specifically feminist agenda: Call me Madame President, Girls Think of Everything, Girls Will Be Boys Will Be Girls.
>
> Feminist author Natasha Walter is intrigued but cautious. "My mother wouldn't buy me Enid Blyton because she said her books were too racist and sexist," she says. "But I don't think you need to read in a feminist way to become a feminist." With her own daughter she reads Catherine Storr's Clever Polly and the Stupid Wolf and Roald Dahl's Matilda. Both Walter and fellow feminist writer Susie Orbach pick Pippi Longstocking as one of the best reads for children.
>
> So Pippi seems a good place to start. But can a three-year-old girl who wants to marry her daddy, and a six-year-old boy who hates pink, really be radicalised in just five easy reads? Time to find out . . .
>
>
> Pippi Longstocking By Astrid Lindgren, illustrated by Lauren Child (?14.99, OUP)
>
> Pippi's mother dies on the first page and her father is lost at sea. Oh dear. But left to her own devices Pippi goes on adventures, tells tall stories and is superhumanly strong. Utterly magical ? but a bit too sophisticated for my two. The story is long and there are very few pictures, although the children loved the Lauren Child illustrations.
>
> Will: "It was rubbish. It's stupid. I like Mr Nilsson [Pippi's pet monkey] and the father who was washed overboard and the mother who is up in heaven. Actually, no, it's not rubbish. It's really funny."
>
> Vera: "I think I loved it. It was beautiful. Pippi is beautiful."
>
>
> Girls Are Not Chicks By Jacinta Bunnell and Julie Novak (?7.99, PM Press)
>
>
> Some of the pictures and captions in this colouring book are funny. A woman riding a tractor: "Who says girls don't like to play in the dirt?" Two ballerinas dancing: "No one wants to fight the patriarchy alone. Make friends." But I'm not sure whether the messages are really for the amusement of children, or adults. One caption reads: "When she stopped chasing the dangling carrot of conventional femininity, she was finally able to savour being a woman." Try explaining that to a three-year-old.
>
> Will: "This book is for girls."
>
> Vera: (scribbles intently)
>
>
> Princess Smartypants By Babette Cole (Puffin, ?5.99)
>
>
> A riotously subversive read. "Princess Smartypants did not want to get married. She enjoyed being a Ms." Princess Smartypants keeps giant slugs as pets and challenges her geeky prince suitors to roller-disco marathons. When one of them finally wins her over, she kisses him, intentionally turning him into a toad. "When the other princes heard what had happened to Prince Swashbuckle, none of them wanted to marry Smartypants. So she lived happily ever after." Excellent. Although, interestingly, the children seriously struggled with the idea that anyone might not want to get married.
>
> Will: "I liked it when the prince turned into a toad. It will be my most favourite story ever."
>
> Vera: "I want Smartypants! I want Smartypants!"
>
>
> The Pirate Girl By Cornelia Funke (Chicken House, ?5.99)
>
>
> Molly is in her boat, sailing off on holiday to her granny's, when she is kidnapped by Captain Firebeard and his vicious band of pirates. But they chose the wrong girl. Molly's mother is Barbarous Bertha and when she comes to rescue her daughter she brings her own ferocious crew. Brilliant ? although I worried slightly about the male pirates. At the end they are forced to polish Barbarous Bertha's boots 14 times a week. Punishing the oppressor is not true feminism, it's just role reversal. Still, this was the most successful read and I would recommend it to anyone.
>
> Will: "This was even better than Princess Smartypants. It's the best story in the whole world. Write this: I really like boats."
>
> Vera: "My favourite [character] is Molly. And her mum."
>
>
> Adventure Annie Goes to Work By Toni Buzzeo (Dial Books, ?10.31 from Amazon)
>
>
> Adventure Annie dresses up every Saturday in her superhero costume and has adventures with her mother. But this Saturday her mother is called into work because an important document has gone missing. It's up to Adventure Annie to save the day and locate the folder under a pot plant. Yep, that really is the entire plot. The children were confused by the strange dearth of incident.
>
> Will: "I hate it. I hate curly hair and Adventure Annie has curly hair. And I don't like her cape and her shoes because it's pink."
>
> Vera: "I'll have the pink cape and the pink shoes. [Pause] I like Molly the pirate."
>
> Verdict: You can't teach gender studies to small children in a day, but you can make a start. They have already demanded Pippi Longstocking and Pirate Girl again ? and again. Lessons that they have learned? The existence of the term "Ms", which prompted a heated discussion. The idea that marriage is not everyone's idea of a fairytale ending. And that women wielding cutlasses are just as menacing as men ? possibly more so. Overall, I think, Professor Greer would be proud.
>
>
> If you have any questions about this email, please contact the guardian.co.uk user help desk: userhelp@guardian.co.uk.
>
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Friday 20 November 2009
Franco is dead!!! Well, 34 years ago that's what Spaniards were cheering about...Today, we have a new brand President for Europe...Federalism in the house of Brussels! National Sovereignty IS NOT DEAD and is compatible with the construction of the EU. Fr
> Date: Fri, 20 Nov 2009 10:44:57 +0000
> From: noreply@guardian.co.uk
> To: rolli2006@hotmail.com
> Subject: [From: Raquel Sertaje] Profile: Herman Van Rompuy, Belgium's Mr Fixit
>
> Raquel Sertaje spotted this on the guardian.co.uk site and thought you should see it.
>
> To see this story with its related links on the guardian.co.uk site, go to http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2009/nov/19/herman-van-rompuy-eu-president
>
> Profile: Herman Van Rompuy, Belgium's Mr Fixit
>
> Ian Traynor in Brussels
> Friday November 20 2009
> The Guardian
>
>
> http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2009/nov/19/herman-van-rompuy-eu-president
>
>
>
>
> Herman Van Rompuy, Belgium's centre-right prime minister, pulled off the coup of a long political career tonightby ascending to the post of president of the European Council, the new summiteering role established by the Lisbon treaty.
>
> Known as Belgium's Mr Fixit for his low-key, patient work behind the scenes struggling to hold a fractious country together, Van Rompuy won the bad-tempered contest for the role by making friends and influencing people.
>
> He has been a fixture in Roman Catholic and Christian Democratic politics for decades, but he shuns the limelight, appears ascetic and austere, and prefers to conduct his politics away from public gaze. Derided by British Europhobes as "Rumpypumpy", the obscure embodiment of an elitist EU mafia bent on demolishing the nation state, Van Rompuy owed his extraordinary triumph to strong support from Berlin and Paris and to the fact that he has not been around EU summits long enough to make any enemies.
>
> A classicist and economist by education and an alumnus of Belgium's ancient Catholic University of Leuven, Van Rompuy is a committed European federalist, a position that suits the core and oldest EU member states, but raises many eyebrows among east Europeans, Scandinavians, and, of course, the British.
>
> "Europe has no use for iconoclasts, the old continent is crying out for calm steadfastness," De Standaard, the leading Flemish newspaper, writes tomorrow of the unlikely victory for Van Rompuy. "He will soon be the first president of Europe. Never in his wildest dreams could the Christian Democrat have thought the best was yet to come."
>
> Van Rompuy has been prime minister of Belgium for less than a year, summoned last December by King Albert II, to try to salvage a country plagued by tensions between Dutch-speaking Flanders to the north and Francophone Wallonia to the south.
>
> Previously, the king had employed Van Rompuy as the key intermediary cajoling the two alienated halves of the country into shortlived coalitions.
>
> In an EU that prizes consensus, compromise and operates as a supranational coalition of different countries, interests, and political forces, Van Rompuy's talents for persuasion and conciliation look to be his prime qualifications for the job of chairing EU summits and trying to harmonise the EU agenda. His appointment frustrated those eager to show greater European muscle abroad by giving the job to a household name like Tony Blair. The criticism is that in an international crisis, Van Rompuy does not have the stature to stand alongside Barack Obama, Vladimir Putin, or Hu Jintao and that Europe will be relegated to the second division of international powers.
>
> Van Rompuy enjoys a reputation for self-deprecating wit. The appearance of modesty is said to mask steely determination, sharp intelligence, and strongly held views which he seldom reveals. He does not suffer fools and can be withering in private about political opponents, say Belgian sources.
>
> Van Rompuy writes haiku in his native Dutch, and speaks French, English, and German. He is said to take himself off to a monastic retreat once a month. He is credited with easing the tensions which were threatening to tear Belgium apart last year, although he has accomplished that simply by putting off some of the biggest decisions which are the sources of the rancour.
>
> In his prime role as chair of EU summits, he is likely to be more the servant of European national leaders rather than their master, another factor in his success.
>
>
> If you have any questions about this email, please contact the guardian.co.uk user help desk: userhelp@guardian.co.uk.
>
>
> guardian.co.uk Copyright (c) Guardian News and Media Limited. 2009
> Registered in England and Wales No. 908396
> Registered office: Number 1 Scott Place, Manchester M3 3GG
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> The Guardian Public Services Awards 2009, in partnership with
> Hays Specialist Recruitment, recognise and reward outstanding
> performance from public, private and voluntary sector teams.
>
> To find out more and to nominate a deserving team or individual, visit
> http://guardian.co.uk/publicservicesawards. Entries close 17th July.
> ---------------------------------------------------------------------
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> the sender and delete the e-mail and all attachments immediately.
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> Guardian News & Media Limited is not liable for any computer
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> Guardian News & Media Limited
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> Number 1 Scott Place, Manchester M3 3GG
> Registered in England Number 908396
>
Wednesday 11 November 2009
Obrigada Elli!!! This is really good!!!!
From: estrogurski@hotmail.com
To: rolli2006@hotmail.com; deborahiovine@yahoo.com; aliocean@hotmail.com
Subject: RE: [Raquel's room] OH NOOO...not Brasil...Another Uni where I wouldn't be admitt...
Date: Wed, 11 Nov 2009 12:53:37 +0000
hey Raquel
I think you'll be able to understand portuguese...
please see attachment!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=snjPDpDg2Pk&feature=popular
Saturday 7 November 2009
thanks Robb!!! like your Kantian vision of things!!!
Date: Wed, 4 Nov 2009 15:05:00 +0000
Subject: Re: [Raquel's room] RE: Blurring identities...Is this a secular society or what??...
From: rob.loggie@googlemail.com
To: rolli2006@hotmail.com
To be 'educated' under the watchful eye of religious symbols is a contradiction in terms. It is the displaying of a religious symbol in a place of education that constitutes an infringement of human rights.
I, therefore, agree with and like the idea of the 'domestic sphere' but if by 'domestic' we mean behind the front door of the home what do we do about the interface between the 'personal' and 'public' spheres and the wearing of crucifixes, skull caps, hijab and burka?
Unlike France, (and strangely enough, the USA, when its constitution was first drawn up - it was in the mid-1950's that Congress added the phrase 'one nation under God' to the Pledge of Allegiance) the UK is not a secular state and has an established religion with the head of state as the head of that religion which therefore becomes almost a state religion (c.f. Iran).
The implication that is usually drawn from this is that displays of that religion's symbols on the person and in public places is to be accepted. However, in terms of multiculturalism and human rights it might therefore follow that the display of all religious symbols in the personal and public spheres is to be accepted.
A follow on from this is that if the established religion has the accepted right to establish its own places of education so should any other religion; hence the proliferation of faith schools as encouraged by Blair (for his own covert/personal reasons?) in which, of course, religious symbols abound.
Which (almost) brings us full circle to the Italian school situation.
The answer? The disestablishment of the church, the declaration of a secular state and the abolition of all faith schools (oh yes, and the abolition of the display of any religious symbols in schools).
Apologies for the length, I didn't mean to write that much!
Rob
Wednesday 4 November 2009
Wow...replying to the controversies...and Rob..Thans a lot for the comment!! No worries, you can write as much as you like. I love to see people interested in these things!!! THANK YOU GUYS!!!
From: rolli2006@hotmail.com
To: aliocean@hotmail.com
Subject: RE: Blurring identities...Is this a secular society or what??!! Everyone needs something to hold on to...INTERESTING!!
Date: Wed, 4 Nov 2009 19:12:16 +0000
Well...I was trying to explain that either in a Religious or Secular society, we are gonna be governed by some sort of creed...and the ones with power, will be the ones dictating what it's right or no...So, when the Romans gave to the lions that bunch of revolutionaries that were destinied to finish the Empire off, they did it fighting with Reason in their mouths. So did the Church when it sent many to the bonfires for preaching science...
This historical moment is marked by the very same dilema of ideolgcal clashes, with the particularity that right now, state and religion are going through a divorce, instead of getting married!! And, of course, the arena is not so bloody morbidus.
European kingdoms and the birth of the State were UNARGUEBLY and highly influenced (and impossible to understand without) by the power of the Catholic Church, and succesive wars were fought in the name of God (when we now know tha that was just a nickname for POWER!!)
The project of the EU that you and me are building right now must try to embrace all nationalities and cultures, and be respectable to their identities and differences. But, are we the citizens matture enough to embrace a Community which higher scope is based on SECULAR DEMOCRACY??
I'd love to see that. Ant I don't think we should fear to loose what we are.
I agree it's inevitable to want to hold on to what experience and tradition has dictated as the pilars of our identity, but this one IS NOT FIXED. It's fluent and moves with us, with our efforts to change for the better, and the global village that the digital revolution of the 21st century has helped to create is a good example of it.
Probalby because I am Spanish, and because my country heritage its deeply rooted in cultural hybridity (though 500 years of Catholic rule had made some forget that we once lived in peace with msulims and Jews in the same territory. Our country wouldn/t have been the same with their influnece), I am quite sympathetic towards the idea of the Europe is being created.
I don't see it as a totalitarian project which political aim is to transform us all in one-dimmensional citizen (if Marcuse allows me to borrow the term).
I am less pesimistic than that. I think we should encourage the idea of a place where freedoms and rights are protected by a superior idea of a secular democracy.
And the USA (very religious orientated (in God they trust)...It's just somthing to have in mind to build our own path in a different way.
Sunday 1 November 2009
to the conquest....
I didn't open the newspapers today, and the world stopped esixting; it was just me and my friends, runing under the rain in a grey London, trying to avoid the deep pools that were formed in the streets, and swering against the wind that fought our strength to keep the umbrellas straight.
Sunday mornings bring a strange tranquilty to central London and they make me feel out of place. I find myself missing the noise I know I will abandon someday for a quieter horizon where I can free my sight without the tall towers stopping my view.
Sunday mornings are different without the noise of a distant church calling for devoted prayers to gather in the house of God. In here is all about recent made coffe that will never have the taste I want.
In London life is made of shots that pass to quickly, and when things slow down, is when the cold turkey starts to make its effect on my mind.
Will I get used to the time in its normal dimension, without the plans, and the anxieties waking me up at 7 in the morning?
Will I learn once more the implicit rules that you have to absorb when you change of scenario?
Is my curiosity still stronger than my common sense in order to start all over again the incredible adventure of discovering new flavours, new personalities, new cultures?
My will says yes, it is. But my eyes look tyred, dissapointed.
But, like a song I love says "When everything is lost, the battle is won, with all these things that I know".
So maybe it's time to try once more, as I feel I have nothing left to loose and many more things to learn.
And, yes, my dreams are there, untouched by the pass of time, daring to face it without fear, holding me until the pain from the last fall dissapears, whispering to me "never mind. Keep on moving"... waiting. They will always be waiting for me. How could I think I had the right to let them down?
They are the ones who will never abandon me...
The absenta woke them up; she woke me up and condemned me to be restless till I find the place... That place where ideas and reality converge.
And I will conquer it.
Sunday mornings bring a strange tranquilty to central London and they make me feel out of place. I find myself missing the noise I know I will abandon someday for a quieter horizon where I can free my sight without the tall towers stopping my view.
Sunday mornings are different without the noise of a distant church calling for devoted prayers to gather in the house of God. In here is all about recent made coffe that will never have the taste I want.
In London life is made of shots that pass to quickly, and when things slow down, is when the cold turkey starts to make its effect on my mind.
Will I get used to the time in its normal dimension, without the plans, and the anxieties waking me up at 7 in the morning?
Will I learn once more the implicit rules that you have to absorb when you change of scenario?
Is my curiosity still stronger than my common sense in order to start all over again the incredible adventure of discovering new flavours, new personalities, new cultures?
My will says yes, it is. But my eyes look tyred, dissapointed.
But, like a song I love says "When everything is lost, the battle is won, with all these things that I know".
So maybe it's time to try once more, as I feel I have nothing left to loose and many more things to learn.
And, yes, my dreams are there, untouched by the pass of time, daring to face it without fear, holding me until the pain from the last fall dissapears, whispering to me "never mind. Keep on moving"... waiting. They will always be waiting for me. How could I think I had the right to let them down?
They are the ones who will never abandon me...
The absenta woke them up; she woke me up and condemned me to be restless till I find the place... That place where ideas and reality converge.
And I will conquer it.
Monday 26 October 2009
SHUT UP LITTLE SHITTY SOCIALIST...HOMBRE POR DIOS....Ayyyy Jose Mari...que te pierdessss....Thi s spanish shopping at its best!! ENJOY!! JAJJAJAJA
From: roussealonso@hotmail.com
To: rolli2006@hotmail.com
Subject: FW: mira que bo
Date: Mon, 26 Oct 2009 21:48:58 +0100
POR FAVOR, MIRALO.
TE IMAGINO Y TODO, MIRÁNDOLO.
http://www.elintermedio.lasexta.com/seccion/ver/articulo/0/seleccionado/124332
Vive toda la experiencia de Messenger con Orange desde tu Blackberry ¡Descúbrelo!
Entra al Nuevo Canal Motor y descubre por qué los coches más rápidos sólo aparcan en MSN. Nuevo diseño, más completo y abierto a tu opinión. ¡Nuevo Canal Motor!
Thursday 22 October 2009
Do u really think that these kind of people condemn themselves as soon as they open their minds?? WISHFULL THINKING!!!!
> Date: Thu, 22 Oct 2009 09:01:08 +0100
> From: noreply@guardian.co.uk
> To: rolli2006@hotmail.com
> Subject: [From: Raquel Jagg Jagg] BBC is right to allow BNP on Question Time, says Mark Thompson
>
> Raquel Jagg Jagg spotted this on the guardian.co.uk site and thought you should see it.
>
> To see this story with its related links on the guardian.co.uk site, go to http://www.guardian.co.uk/politics/2009/oct/21/bbc-bnp-mark-thompson
>
> BBC is right to allow BNP on Question Time, says Mark Thompson
>
> Censorship is decision for ministers not broadcasters, insists corporation chief
>
> Mark Thompson: Keeping Griffin off air is a job for parliament
>
> Robert Booth
> Thursday October 22 2009
> The Guardian
>
>
> http://www.guardian.co.uk/politics/2009/oct/21/bbc-bnp-mark-thompson
>
>
> The BBC's director general, Mark Thompson, today robustly defends the corporation's decision to invite the BNP leader, Nick Griffin, on to Question Time, and challenges the government to change the law if it wants to censor the far-right group.
>
> Writing in the Guardian, Thompson says ministers would have to impose a broadcasting ban on the party ? as Margaret Thatcher did with Sinn F?in in the 1980s ? before the BBC would consider breaching its "central principle of impartiality".
>
> Griffin was not asked on to the flagship current affairs show out of "some misguided desire to be controversial", he says, but because it is the public's right "to hear the full range of political perspectives".
>
> He adds: "It is a straightforward matter of fact that ? the BNP has demonstrated a level of support which would normally lead to an occasional invitation to join the panel on Question Time. It is for that reason alone ? that the invitation has been extended."
>
> In what appears a direct challenge to the cabinet ? including the Wales secretary, Peter Hain, who has argued vociferously for Griffin's invitation to be rescinded ? Thompson says: "The case against inviting the BNP to appear on Question Time is a case for censorship ? Democratic societies sometimes do decide that some parties and organisations are beyond the pale. As a result they proscribe them and/or ban them from the airwaves."
>
> Referring to the ban on Sinn F?in in the 1980s, he says the BBC opposed the move by the Thatcher government, but abided by it. The corporation would similarly abide by a decision to proscribe the BNP.
>
> "My point is simply that the drastic steps of proscription and censorship can only be taken by government and parliament ? It is unreasonable and inconsistent to take the position that a party like the BNP is acceptable enough for the public to vote for, but not acceptable enough to appear on democratic platforms like Question Time. If there is a case for censorship, it should be debated and decided in parliament. Political censorship cannot be outsourced to the BBC or anyone else."
>
> Thompson says the BNP will be challenged tenaciously on the programme.
>
> Hain described Thompson's position as "plain wrong". He said: "He is dodging the fact the BNP is a racist, fascist party in complete contradiction to the BBC's own equal opportunities and anti-racist policies. The BBC are in total denial about their gifting of a massive early Christmas present to the BNP. This is probably the worst decision the BBC has made in recent times."
>
> Following an emergency meeting last night, the BBC Trust rejected appeals against Griffin's invitation to appear on the programme, saying it was "a question of editorial judgment".
>
> Griffin, who is an MEP, arrived in London from Strasbourg and will begin preparations for the show at a secret location this morning before travelling to Television Centre by car in time for the planned 6pm recording. The BNP is so concerned about its leader's security that it explored chartering a private helicopter to get him to the studio, but was told by the BBC there was nowhere for it to land. Anti-fascist protesters are planning a rally outside Television Centre with members of the broadcasting union Bectu.
>
> Griffin told the Guardian he admired Thompson's "personal courage" by inviting him. He described one of his fellow panellists, the Conservative peer Lady Warsi, as "a token Asian Muslim woman" and, in a message to supporters, said the debate was his chance to "take on the corrupt, treacherous swine destroying our beautiful island nation".
>
> He predicted it would be "political bloodsport" when he faces Warsi, Jack Straw, the justice secretary, Chris Huhne, the Lib Dem home affairs spokesman, and Bonnie Greer, a black American playwright and critic who lives in Britain.
>
> Ben Bradshaw, the culture secretary, said: "I have always thought we have to take the BNP on. I have always thought they condemn themselves as soon as they open their mouths. In a democracy where they have elected representatives not just at European level but at local level it is very difficult for a broadcaster to exclude them ? We should not give these people the opportunity to claim they are being gagged."
>
>
> If you have any questions about this email, please contact the guardian.co.uk user help desk: userhelp@guardian.co.uk.
>
>
> guardian.co.uk Copyright (c) Guardian News and Media Limited. 2009
> Registered in England and Wales No. 908396
> Registered office: Number 1 Scott Place, Manchester M3 3GG
>
> Please consider the environment before printing this email.
> ------------------------------------------------------------------
> Visit guardian.co.uk - the UK's most popular newspaper website
> http://guardian.co.uk http://observer.co.uk
>
> To save up to 33% when you subscribe to the Guardian and the Observer visit
> http://www.guardian.co.uk/subscriber
>
> The Guardian Public Services Awards 2009, in partnership with
> Hays Specialist Recruitment, recognise and reward outstanding
> performance from public, private and voluntary sector teams.
>
> To find out more and to nominate a deserving team or individual, visit
> http://guardian.co.uk/publicservicesawards. Entries close 17th July.
> ---------------------------------------------------------------------
>
> This e-mail and all attachments are confidential and may also
> be privileged. If you are not the named recipient, please notify
> the sender and delete the e-mail and all attachments immediately.
> Do not disclose the contents to another person. You may not use
> the information for any purpose, or store, or copy, it in any way.
>
> Guardian News & Media Limited is not liable for any computer
> viruses or other material transmitted with or as part of this
> e-mail. You should employ virus checking software.
>
> Guardian News & Media Limited
> A member of Guardian Media Group PLC
> Registered Office
> Number 1 Scott Place, Manchester M3 3GG
> Registered in England Number 908396
>
Tuesday 20 October 2009
Not scared of what forever might bring
I could smell his desire from miles away.
I saw the warning fire in his gaze crying at me to come closer... It was too obvious when I almost touch him this afternoon, whilst we were waiting for the traffic lights to go green and we both looked like wax statues melting in our own warmthness.
We felt the weight of the feelings crushing our shoulders and we found ourselves desperate to let them free and demolish the airy walls that kept us appart .
The will of our lips was stronger than us, than a thousand stupid prejudices against our natural law of falling for it, in the sun light, like vampires who were no longer scared of the day light....
The eager exploration of thirsty fingers looking for forbidden oasis of pleasure, discovering a hidden terrirory in a, never again, too foreign skin, wre followed in their pursuit of land for the rest of our limbs.
We fall drank from the inhalation of uncountable mounings, prelude of a conquered extasis.
And we awake soared by the rutine of the game that we could not stop playing.
We, settlers of Paradise, swore to each other to never get expelled from it by a God bigger than this feeling.
We decied to accept whatever pusnishemnt we might have to face in order to have one more second of fearless pleasure.
And if we expected too much, we gladly welcome the fire of eternity for our earthly foolishness.
As forever would be too boring with nothing to remember.
I saw the warning fire in his gaze crying at me to come closer... It was too obvious when I almost touch him this afternoon, whilst we were waiting for the traffic lights to go green and we both looked like wax statues melting in our own warmthness.
We felt the weight of the feelings crushing our shoulders and we found ourselves desperate to let them free and demolish the airy walls that kept us appart .
The will of our lips was stronger than us, than a thousand stupid prejudices against our natural law of falling for it, in the sun light, like vampires who were no longer scared of the day light....
The eager exploration of thirsty fingers looking for forbidden oasis of pleasure, discovering a hidden terrirory in a, never again, too foreign skin, wre followed in their pursuit of land for the rest of our limbs.
We fall drank from the inhalation of uncountable mounings, prelude of a conquered extasis.
And we awake soared by the rutine of the game that we could not stop playing.
We, settlers of Paradise, swore to each other to never get expelled from it by a God bigger than this feeling.
We decied to accept whatever pusnishemnt we might have to face in order to have one more second of fearless pleasure.
And if we expected too much, we gladly welcome the fire of eternity for our earthly foolishness.
As forever would be too boring with nothing to remember.
Sunday 11 October 2009
Saturday 10 October 2009
el resultado,,,,mas o menos esto
Las cosas se ponen interesantes. Perece ser que Venus esta en la casa de Marte, lo que genera la combinacion perfecta para que mi espiritu derrotado salga ahi afuera y se coma el mundo...Bueno, al menos eso es lo que dice mi horoscopo del pasado lunes.
En mi opinion, Venus, que es mi regente, se ha quedado con Marte fornicando en la casa de Jupiter, al que siempre le ha ido la marchita, y todos juntos se estan montando una orgia cosmica mientras el mundo se sigue volviendo cada vez mas loco; o mas cuerdo, quien sabe.
Ya en la epoca en la que los griegos estaban filosofando a cerca del significado de la vida y demas paridas que me tuve que aprender para las terceras preguntas del examen de selectividad, los dioses del Olimpo pasaban olimpicamnete de nosotros.
Les impotabamos un carajo, vaya.
Y al universo, sumergido en su mision imperialista de hacerse con mas territorio de la nada, se le olvido que se habia dejado atras, en una galaxia muy, muy lejana, un pequegno planeta repleto en su gran mayoria de seres mezquinos como tu y yo.
Perdona que te te incluya en la definicion de mezquino, pero es que de vez en cuando es bueno que alguien, aunque sea solo yo, te baje un poco esos humos que te gastas con el dinero de mama y papa.
Solo cuando las cosas se ponen interesantes, parece que le encontramos un sentido a la existencia; o la menos nos preocupamos por buscarlo.
El resto del tiempo lo pasamos dando tumbos de aca para alla, pretendiendo enteder, pretendiendo engagnarnos a nosotros mismos para hacer feliz a nuestra pequegna conciencia a la que retenemos amordazada la mayor parte del tiempo en el cuarto oscuro de nuestra memoria para que nos deje dormir tranquilos.
Si no somos suficientemente fuertes para ello, las pastillas de colores son de gran ayuda, y la drogas de disegno el camino mas facil hacia el escapismo.
No culpo a los adictos...Son los mismos (salvanodo muchiiisimas diferencias) que en la antiguedad preparaban las "pociones magicas" que usaban para entrar en trance y acercarse a "dios", que por aquel entonces no era mas que el aspecto incomprensible de la naturaleza; ese espacio al que la mente humana es incapaz de llegar...
Y entonces vino la diosa razon e intento poner un poco de orden sobre tanto caos, sometiendo a todo cristo bajo el imperio de su ley. Incluso el protagonista de la Biblia acato sus condiciones; la razon le otorgo un status quo que le daria autoridad sobre el resto de los inmortales.
Que seria de nosotros sin nuestras supersticiones?? El matrimonio entre razon y fe se convirtio, por arte de estartegia, en nuestro estilo de vida.
El caso era combinar y reducir estos dos elementos a un ente comun con el fin de someter mas a gusto y a las anchas de unos pocos a la mayoria, a la que por entonces, se consideraba objeto de dominacion.
Es una cuestion puramente administrativa en donde la regla principal es reducir para simplificar...
La ciencia le ha dado mucho palo a este tipo de oragnizacion que hemos dado en llamar civilizacion. Algunos mezquinos como tu y yo, la han usado para sus fines, dandole nombres innombrables, como si de un nuevo fenomeno se tratase...pero eso es tema para otro debate...
Los que se nominaron (con nuestro permiso) duegnos y segnores de esta civilizacion, lograron salirse con la suya por unos cuantos siglos, pero les salio el tiro por la culata cuando las mujeres hambrientas de Paris se arrojaron a las patas del caballo del despota y las cabezas empezaron a rodar... El problema debia ser cortado de raiz...Sin embargo, la semilla plantada se arraigo con fuerza en las entrgnas de la mente, en las ansias de libertad pariendo la revolucion...Y el resultado...Bueno....mas o menos esto y el nuevo album de Coldplay (toma guigno a al cultura Pop)
to be continued....
En mi opinion, Venus, que es mi regente, se ha quedado con Marte fornicando en la casa de Jupiter, al que siempre le ha ido la marchita, y todos juntos se estan montando una orgia cosmica mientras el mundo se sigue volviendo cada vez mas loco; o mas cuerdo, quien sabe.
Ya en la epoca en la que los griegos estaban filosofando a cerca del significado de la vida y demas paridas que me tuve que aprender para las terceras preguntas del examen de selectividad, los dioses del Olimpo pasaban olimpicamnete de nosotros.
Les impotabamos un carajo, vaya.
Y al universo, sumergido en su mision imperialista de hacerse con mas territorio de la nada, se le olvido que se habia dejado atras, en una galaxia muy, muy lejana, un pequegno planeta repleto en su gran mayoria de seres mezquinos como tu y yo.
Perdona que te te incluya en la definicion de mezquino, pero es que de vez en cuando es bueno que alguien, aunque sea solo yo, te baje un poco esos humos que te gastas con el dinero de mama y papa.
Solo cuando las cosas se ponen interesantes, parece que le encontramos un sentido a la existencia; o la menos nos preocupamos por buscarlo.
El resto del tiempo lo pasamos dando tumbos de aca para alla, pretendiendo enteder, pretendiendo engagnarnos a nosotros mismos para hacer feliz a nuestra pequegna conciencia a la que retenemos amordazada la mayor parte del tiempo en el cuarto oscuro de nuestra memoria para que nos deje dormir tranquilos.
Si no somos suficientemente fuertes para ello, las pastillas de colores son de gran ayuda, y la drogas de disegno el camino mas facil hacia el escapismo.
No culpo a los adictos...Son los mismos (salvanodo muchiiisimas diferencias) que en la antiguedad preparaban las "pociones magicas" que usaban para entrar en trance y acercarse a "dios", que por aquel entonces no era mas que el aspecto incomprensible de la naturaleza; ese espacio al que la mente humana es incapaz de llegar...
Y entonces vino la diosa razon e intento poner un poco de orden sobre tanto caos, sometiendo a todo cristo bajo el imperio de su ley. Incluso el protagonista de la Biblia acato sus condiciones; la razon le otorgo un status quo que le daria autoridad sobre el resto de los inmortales.
Que seria de nosotros sin nuestras supersticiones?? El matrimonio entre razon y fe se convirtio, por arte de estartegia, en nuestro estilo de vida.
El caso era combinar y reducir estos dos elementos a un ente comun con el fin de someter mas a gusto y a las anchas de unos pocos a la mayoria, a la que por entonces, se consideraba objeto de dominacion.
Es una cuestion puramente administrativa en donde la regla principal es reducir para simplificar...
La ciencia le ha dado mucho palo a este tipo de oragnizacion que hemos dado en llamar civilizacion. Algunos mezquinos como tu y yo, la han usado para sus fines, dandole nombres innombrables, como si de un nuevo fenomeno se tratase...pero eso es tema para otro debate...
Los que se nominaron (con nuestro permiso) duegnos y segnores de esta civilizacion, lograron salirse con la suya por unos cuantos siglos, pero les salio el tiro por la culata cuando las mujeres hambrientas de Paris se arrojaron a las patas del caballo del despota y las cabezas empezaron a rodar... El problema debia ser cortado de raiz...Sin embargo, la semilla plantada se arraigo con fuerza en las entrgnas de la mente, en las ansias de libertad pariendo la revolucion...Y el resultado...Bueno....mas o menos esto y el nuevo album de Coldplay (toma guigno a al cultura Pop)
to be continued....
Tuesday 6 October 2009
my heroe
Slow days in the endless row of the impossibility to follow the easy philosophy of Bryan.
I don't want to slow down. On the contrary, I feel like riding a bike at 200km/hr and don't think that in the next bend of the road I am going to loose control and kill myself.
I want to loose control. I need to die to keep on living, to stop counting the breaths, the seconds that are now louder than ever and mean few more than nothing.
I don't give a damn about the way you feel. I don't give a shit about you, or about the fucking demnads of the rest of the world. Nobody has asked for your help, for your never ending boooooring excuses and your lack of enthusiam. Stick all that up you know where.
I guess I had enough of it. I can't believe I had thought that time could change those things into something more promising, less conformist.
So time does not fool me anymore.
This is about me. About the overwhleming weight of the question: And now what?
Actually, it's been always about me. The rest was just an excuse to scape for an instant from the flood of words that I couldn't keep under control. It's been a while since I am not in charge of them.
They had took over, they assult me in my dreams, and I am not willing to stop it.
I am throwing myself into them...
And those 2 girls...Jumping of a bridge...Flying for two seconds before leaving this world behind. So how was the fall? Did it hurt to say goodbye? I am sure someone must have loved you if you'd stayed!!!
Stop crying now...
You are not here to denfend your arguments, and I am sure they were far too many for me to do it on your behalf.
I'd never been so selfish to have made you stay... though if you had give me the chance, I would.
It's absurd to think about this, as the present doesnt have the power to give us back the lost time, the missed smiles, the warmth of a pair of unforgattable eyes... It just supplies our anxiety with regret. An unbearble regret.
All its gone now. Death made your wish come true and drove us appart...for ever.
And in here, today, missing it's only my fault. There's no room for guiltyness....Our hearts never were religious enough to keep that sort of feeling.
I just remember you the way you were. The way we were... and I am glad for that, so I don't worry for anything else. Everything else can go and fuck itslef because: Who said there were no more heroes??
I don't want to slow down. On the contrary, I feel like riding a bike at 200km/hr and don't think that in the next bend of the road I am going to loose control and kill myself.
I want to loose control. I need to die to keep on living, to stop counting the breaths, the seconds that are now louder than ever and mean few more than nothing.
I don't give a damn about the way you feel. I don't give a shit about you, or about the fucking demnads of the rest of the world. Nobody has asked for your help, for your never ending boooooring excuses and your lack of enthusiam. Stick all that up you know where.
I guess I had enough of it. I can't believe I had thought that time could change those things into something more promising, less conformist.
So time does not fool me anymore.
This is about me. About the overwhleming weight of the question: And now what?
Actually, it's been always about me. The rest was just an excuse to scape for an instant from the flood of words that I couldn't keep under control. It's been a while since I am not in charge of them.
They had took over, they assult me in my dreams, and I am not willing to stop it.
I am throwing myself into them...
And those 2 girls...Jumping of a bridge...Flying for two seconds before leaving this world behind. So how was the fall? Did it hurt to say goodbye? I am sure someone must have loved you if you'd stayed!!!
Stop crying now...
You are not here to denfend your arguments, and I am sure they were far too many for me to do it on your behalf.
I'd never been so selfish to have made you stay... though if you had give me the chance, I would.
It's absurd to think about this, as the present doesnt have the power to give us back the lost time, the missed smiles, the warmth of a pair of unforgattable eyes... It just supplies our anxiety with regret. An unbearble regret.
All its gone now. Death made your wish come true and drove us appart...for ever.
And in here, today, missing it's only my fault. There's no room for guiltyness....Our hearts never were religious enough to keep that sort of feeling.
I just remember you the way you were. The way we were... and I am glad for that, so I don't worry for anything else. Everything else can go and fuck itslef because: Who said there were no more heroes??
Friday 2 October 2009
I know I will miss the summer and all its bright colours, but tnight I want the winter and all the power of its darkness to fall upon me.
I pray every night for the cold wind to come and cut my pale face; to tangle me with him upon the wild waters of an ocean that seems too wide for me to cross...
And in this promise of prompt nights that soon will become reality, I want to never fall asleep.
I'm planning to stay awake to receive the distant sun and chalange him in his pretention of taking over the moon.
I am so in love with her and all her charms... Maybe I meant to be Romeo, fooled by the beauty that was always better when it was dreamt.
Like him, I also feel betrayed when the day light shows off by the window and the sun breaks the spell of security and reclussion in someone's arms...
Oh Romeo! You should have drove your car far away whilst you could, because you knew her eyes would be the death of you.
In them you were brought to live and in them you would find your grave.
No hay amor sin vida, ni vida sin amor... De que nos sirve este libro en blanco ahora que solo quedamos tu y yo?
Nos sobran los motivos para partir y sin embargo, tozudos como somos, desafiamos al destino que nos ha condenado de antemano y sin remision.
Y estas pasiones desbocadas, solo desembocan en penurias. Y nuestars almas, malditas por una vida que no sognamos, no se rinden facilmente; no encuentran el limite que sofoque este vacio de todo, menos de ti.
Tuesday 22 September 2009
My Persepolis
I was born in Spain.
In 1979 my country pledged for a change which would put behid a turbulent past that everyone seemed ready and willing to overcome.
In 1979, 4 years after the dictator's death, Democracy was more than a promise. Freedom, a dream cherised by the witnesses of a bloody civil war and the sons of a 40 years long dictatoriship, had become a reality.
I was born into "Occident". I guess that what my parents have dreamt of a that Occident was something different. I guess they were naive; or fed up with all the shortages they had lived with...
I only knew of the scarcity by my grandmother stories of her youth. I was lucky enough to have grown listening to those stories that gave blood, names and a place to the map of my existence.
With them, I made sense of the meaning of my being. They were the glue that put together the pieces of the jigsaw that conected me to the defeat, the mistakes, the fight and the hopes of what I now proudly call my people.
"Forbidden" was for my previous generation a provocation that they torn to pieces at any single attempt to be imposed uppon them.
I was born in a thirsty country that had thrown itself into the search of modernity.
In the 80's, Spaniards were in a rush to catch up, to open our senses to the world that, for so long, had been denied to us.
We were the exotic country of Hemingway's "Fiesta", of bullfighters that made Greta (the most beautifull animal alive) to fall in love from head to toes with them. We were still that and, willing to keep it, we wanted more.
We were the Picaso's characters rising from the ashes of darkness and Dali's dreams waking up in a sunny bed where eveyone was invited...
Pedro came and ended up with the black and white. He filled everything with colour and rescued our alter egos from the peril of becoming grey europeans. He made it clear even to us: We were different!!!
I was born 30 years ago, when the lines were still not so clearly shaped and the brave ones like my mother and my father, started to welcome the changes not knowing where they would lead, but determined to don't go back, to give me and my generation a better tomorrow.
DID I FORGET THAT?
I still have the letter my father gave me in the airport when I freely decided to leave the nest.
Maybe he knew his job was done and that mine had already started and I was too young to understand.
He knew that the ups and downs would come and he was aware of the impossibility to protect me against them. And I know (and it burns) he hoped thatI could fulfill some of his dreams.
He put on me that load and some days it doesn't let me breath...
I don't know if I am a dissapointment for him, for my people or only for myself.
Because some times I feel so tired... And I loose perspective, and...
This not forced emigration it's harder because at times I forget what I want and that makes me feel so bad, so shallow, so petit burgois, so....Grey european. And fuck that!!! Though...which are the alternatives??
I don't forget who I am and I'm not planning to do that.
Knowing the past makes it complicated; Like if everyone, included myself, iwas expecting something soooo damn good from me... Not knowing the future adds excitement to the present, but this blur...it's too blur.
Scapism it's just boring. Nevermind where you want to run. They always find you.
Besides, scapism makes me feel guilty. Everything I do or say makes me feel guilty because who the fuck am I to change anything? I am the fucker who won't give you the pleasure of watching me surrender...
I know who I am... Or at least, I'm trying to find out.
In this Occident, we are the privilege poor people who still have the time to do that.
Sunday 20 September 2009
Draft of manifesto
I don't believe in the hidden truths that float in the universe and can be found everywhere.
I don't think there are patterns that, if followed, would help us to understand and unveil the secrets of nature.
There are not similitudes in the performance of an action, but infinite ways and possibilities of carrying on with it; and every time we do it, we build a microcosmos of movements in which our own our cells respond differently to the same stimulus. Results, depsite appearence, are not always the same.
I believe in human mistakes. Anomalies are the product of them. Chaos reings above the persecution of order.
Order is an utopia, a goal that turns our souls into prisions, our ideologies in absurd creeds, our freedom in tyranny and our daughters and sons into soldiers without a cause.
And if there is no cause, there is no reason why.
With no reason there is no purpose and not right or wrong.
Our human nature is made of too many contradictory ingredients.
I doesn't matter for how long we have been mixing them in the quest of finding the perfect combination that can give us the confidence to call ourselves superior creatures.
It's not a problem of definition but a conflict in establishing the questions, of a wrong starting point.
Like with everything else in life.
Maybe today is the perfect day, and I am missing the point because I'm focusing too hard in tomorrow, trying to picture it, to follow the simple set of rules that could lead me to it.
Those rules make sense for all of you but not for me.
Resistance.
But, still, not a clear definition of my wrongs. Or my rights.
Post modernism is hanging in all the walls of my world and clearly has swept away all the convictions. It has left me motherless, womanless, humanless.
I am living in a theoretical world without paradigmas that help me to analyze it.
This chaos suits me by now because i don't want to understand your reasons. I don't have time for them.
Darkness is safer; not so cold. A shelter from the purchase of standarization that you force us to fit in.
Personal manifesto:
1. Independence with no revenge and no regrets.
2. No universal definitions. Democracy is not despotism of the ones who dictate the rules.
3. No rules, but no destructive anarchy either.
4. Construction of meaning from a new perspective where is room for every point of view.
(personal note: ....Fuck...I am falling into relativism. Manifestos should give some space to solve this problem...the problem that every human mind has different definitions of what is good and what is not and the imposibility of pleasing every single will)
5. Creation of spaces, of platforms of discussion and change. Don't fear the reaper.
Too liberal... I don't want to chop any heads or spoil precious blood. hmmmm....
Let's start again
I don't think there are patterns that, if followed, would help us to understand and unveil the secrets of nature.
There are not similitudes in the performance of an action, but infinite ways and possibilities of carrying on with it; and every time we do it, we build a microcosmos of movements in which our own our cells respond differently to the same stimulus. Results, depsite appearence, are not always the same.
I believe in human mistakes. Anomalies are the product of them. Chaos reings above the persecution of order.
Order is an utopia, a goal that turns our souls into prisions, our ideologies in absurd creeds, our freedom in tyranny and our daughters and sons into soldiers without a cause.
And if there is no cause, there is no reason why.
With no reason there is no purpose and not right or wrong.
Our human nature is made of too many contradictory ingredients.
I doesn't matter for how long we have been mixing them in the quest of finding the perfect combination that can give us the confidence to call ourselves superior creatures.
It's not a problem of definition but a conflict in establishing the questions, of a wrong starting point.
Like with everything else in life.
Maybe today is the perfect day, and I am missing the point because I'm focusing too hard in tomorrow, trying to picture it, to follow the simple set of rules that could lead me to it.
Those rules make sense for all of you but not for me.
Resistance.
But, still, not a clear definition of my wrongs. Or my rights.
Post modernism is hanging in all the walls of my world and clearly has swept away all the convictions. It has left me motherless, womanless, humanless.
I am living in a theoretical world without paradigmas that help me to analyze it.
This chaos suits me by now because i don't want to understand your reasons. I don't have time for them.
Darkness is safer; not so cold. A shelter from the purchase of standarization that you force us to fit in.
Personal manifesto:
1. Independence with no revenge and no regrets.
2. No universal definitions. Democracy is not despotism of the ones who dictate the rules.
3. No rules, but no destructive anarchy either.
4. Construction of meaning from a new perspective where is room for every point of view.
(personal note: ....Fuck...I am falling into relativism. Manifestos should give some space to solve this problem...the problem that every human mind has different definitions of what is good and what is not and the imposibility of pleasing every single will)
5. Creation of spaces, of platforms of discussion and change. Don't fear the reaper.
Too liberal... I don't want to chop any heads or spoil precious blood. hmmmm....
Let's start again
Tuesday 15 September 2009
the Heart of Darkness (part 2)
London expands and contracts itslef pushed by the incesant movement of people living inside this huge scenario where life passes by with no contempt for those who can't manage to keep up with its speed.
There are plenty of londons existing simultaniously in a space where different realities share the same name that brings them together.
And all of them collapse in a colective imagination that should know better by now than things are not always what they seem to be.
Neighbourhoods are built in here according to welath, colour or even nationality, creating a complex babel similar to the one depicted by Alejandor Ganzalez Inarritu in his latest film.
London is a tower of humanity where everyone of us live together without knowing or listening to the person that is next to us. No matter how needed this person could be or how lost.
We judge by the appearence, we decide and conclude without hesitation, no matter how wrong we could be. Civilization has tought us that is always better to keep it safe.
Prevenion taken to its foremost limits develops into an almost inhuman independence, into a coldness towards the possibility to reach empathy.
In comparison with the South, the center of London is almost artificial; it's a tourist resource where even the air feels fake.
Its beauty doesn't allow us to penetrate into it. It's jut there, for us to walk by, only in the surface, warning us that to go further could break the spell... A beautifull apple with a worm inside.
And so the frontiers are not jus phisical, but also psycologycal. We fear to cross them and loose our uniqueness.
It's funny how the memory of a city tells us about the places that used to witness "better" times: an endless forest became squares and traffic-packed roads, whilst buzzing streets where left to the oblivion by citizens eager to move on just to end up buried in a better soil.
The darkenss comes from within; it is a human desease, not a place's handicap.
The external appearence will eventually dissapear, but our fears will be stronger than our human shells or than the walls of a city; they will challange our faith in progress and they will stop us from let it happen.
We are so far away... We keep it safe, divided by the unnatural limits that we imposed on ourselves...We keep distance and create spaces where things are good, not so good and bad.
We label them with a power that is far away from be supernatural.
Who gave this power to us? Who has taken it from us? That's a very easy question. But it takes some courage to accept the answer, to digest it, assimilate it and do something about it.
Aren't we all Dorian Grays keeping the ugliness out of sight?
We must be aware of how pathtetic we are pretending to be inmortal, pretending not to know and giving credit to our forced ignorance.
But, oh... we know it's there.... Just one stop away.
And the worst about this incapacity to comunicate and comprhend, it's that we know we can do something about it.
There are plenty of londons existing simultaniously in a space where different realities share the same name that brings them together.
And all of them collapse in a colective imagination that should know better by now than things are not always what they seem to be.
Neighbourhoods are built in here according to welath, colour or even nationality, creating a complex babel similar to the one depicted by Alejandor Ganzalez Inarritu in his latest film.
London is a tower of humanity where everyone of us live together without knowing or listening to the person that is next to us. No matter how needed this person could be or how lost.
We judge by the appearence, we decide and conclude without hesitation, no matter how wrong we could be. Civilization has tought us that is always better to keep it safe.
Prevenion taken to its foremost limits develops into an almost inhuman independence, into a coldness towards the possibility to reach empathy.
In comparison with the South, the center of London is almost artificial; it's a tourist resource where even the air feels fake.
Its beauty doesn't allow us to penetrate into it. It's jut there, for us to walk by, only in the surface, warning us that to go further could break the spell... A beautifull apple with a worm inside.
And so the frontiers are not jus phisical, but also psycologycal. We fear to cross them and loose our uniqueness.
It's funny how the memory of a city tells us about the places that used to witness "better" times: an endless forest became squares and traffic-packed roads, whilst buzzing streets where left to the oblivion by citizens eager to move on just to end up buried in a better soil.
The darkenss comes from within; it is a human desease, not a place's handicap.
The external appearence will eventually dissapear, but our fears will be stronger than our human shells or than the walls of a city; they will challange our faith in progress and they will stop us from let it happen.
We are so far away... We keep it safe, divided by the unnatural limits that we imposed on ourselves...We keep distance and create spaces where things are good, not so good and bad.
We label them with a power that is far away from be supernatural.
Who gave this power to us? Who has taken it from us? That's a very easy question. But it takes some courage to accept the answer, to digest it, assimilate it and do something about it.
Aren't we all Dorian Grays keeping the ugliness out of sight?
We must be aware of how pathtetic we are pretending to be inmortal, pretending not to know and giving credit to our forced ignorance.
But, oh... we know it's there.... Just one stop away.
And the worst about this incapacity to comunicate and comprhend, it's that we know we can do something about it.
Sunday 13 September 2009
The Heart of Darkness (part 1)
Bus trip towards the heart of dakness...
It's just another boring Saturday morning, and with my camara that eventually wont leave its case, I head South.
Once more I queue oppossite Russel Sq tube Station and I find all these tourists, doznes of impersonal faces that look all the same, taking their wallets out to start another tyring day walking the streets of central London, looking for another cool picture to hung up on fucking facebook, so all their friends (and people they have there and don't even know) will go green with envy when they see the Big Ban in the background...Wowow....Big deal.
I pull out my Oyster Card from the pockt and I top it up with 5 pounds. My Oyster is always short of money, which is kind of funny, because I barely travel around by tube. I love walking.
So I start the journey.
I wonder where all these people that are in the train that is heading towards me are going at 9 'clock in the morning?!
I have to push my way in, saying a couple of menaingless "sorry" and another couple of "excuse me" (can you move ur fkng ass?? Obviously I omit that part...Freudian repression they call it. Well it's necessary to live in society. I will go back to that one)
I take my mp3, start it up and let The Killers ride with me towards Victoria.
Once in Green Park someone says in megaphony that Victria Line and Jubilee line are closed today, so I call Sandra and she manages to give me another route...
I swear a couple of times to let my frustation out, I look at the Ritz and I think of all the fuckers who are having a suite that would cost me 6 months salaray...But the sun is shinning. The summer is almost over, and it's good to enjoy a perfect blue sky before the winter ruins it all.
So I try to calm down despite I am now 20 minutes late. But Sandra says she will wait for me; she makes me feel guilty for my irritation and anger agains the transport system in this urbe.
I tranquilize myself and I go back towards the noisy and polluted city that inhabits under London.
Now, I have to concentrate in reaching the Northern Line and, after more people slowing my pace, one more station closed, one raplacement bus, 1h20m later... I make it to Brixton.
It's just another boring Saturday morning, and with my camara that eventually wont leave its case, I head South.
Once more I queue oppossite Russel Sq tube Station and I find all these tourists, doznes of impersonal faces that look all the same, taking their wallets out to start another tyring day walking the streets of central London, looking for another cool picture to hung up on fucking facebook, so all their friends (and people they have there and don't even know) will go green with envy when they see the Big Ban in the background...Wowow....Big deal.
I pull out my Oyster Card from the pockt and I top it up with 5 pounds. My Oyster is always short of money, which is kind of funny, because I barely travel around by tube. I love walking.
So I start the journey.
I wonder where all these people that are in the train that is heading towards me are going at 9 'clock in the morning?!
I have to push my way in, saying a couple of menaingless "sorry" and another couple of "excuse me" (can you move ur fkng ass?? Obviously I omit that part...Freudian repression they call it. Well it's necessary to live in society. I will go back to that one)
I take my mp3, start it up and let The Killers ride with me towards Victoria.
Once in Green Park someone says in megaphony that Victria Line and Jubilee line are closed today, so I call Sandra and she manages to give me another route...
I swear a couple of times to let my frustation out, I look at the Ritz and I think of all the fuckers who are having a suite that would cost me 6 months salaray...But the sun is shinning. The summer is almost over, and it's good to enjoy a perfect blue sky before the winter ruins it all.
So I try to calm down despite I am now 20 minutes late. But Sandra says she will wait for me; she makes me feel guilty for my irritation and anger agains the transport system in this urbe.
I tranquilize myself and I go back towards the noisy and polluted city that inhabits under London.
Now, I have to concentrate in reaching the Northern Line and, after more people slowing my pace, one more station closed, one raplacement bus, 1h20m later... I make it to Brixton.
Sunday 6 September 2009
Just a Wishful Thinking
The first time I leaft it was a very strange sensation.
I wasn't quite sure if a good bye was an appropiate farewell, because a part of me wanted to hold to the belief that nothing would change whilst I was away. That was an irrational wishful thinking, of course.
When the day of leaving behind everything known to me came, I felt for the first time the inevitable weight of time on my shoulders, and I knew its touch would never abandon me; I knew that it will hound my soul and body till the end.
I looked at the tree in the backyard. It was a melancolic view of all the years I haven't noticed how important it was for me. It was a review of myself growing up unconsciously, happily ever after, so unaware of this feeling that it was tearing me appart.
Not asking for any acquiescence, things that had always been so familiar, began to become a threat to the stability that had reigned my world.
None had tought me how to face a reality that before had seemed so untouched, so fixed.
I'd wish to whisk this girl off to Neverland. Instead, my cases waited in the car that soon would drive me away from the house that was my entire world. Every room a country, a memory, a scent of unforgettable and priceless moments.
And now, after all these years, after all my thousands of lives getting mired into the search of a better "this", I realised that "this" is still shapeless.
I've been tugging it along all this time amongst my trousers and skirts, my lipsticks and expensive perfumes. Amongst all my books that encoded several ways of describing it, but gave me no answers.
So I guess this is not it.
Between loops and dashes, I've sewed a quilt full of the names that made me change route when at some point I thought the time had come to settle down.
For some reason, this city does not want to fall at my feet. She laughs at my pretention to purport to be a conqueror who subyugates her to my will. But she resists proudly and defiant. She only makes my desire grows stronger. And I like her because of that.
I think I still want to understand the limits (if they exist) and all the mistery of my darkest Miss Hyde.
So I tilt my chair backwards whilst writing these words, I look up trying to draw with my imagination the stars that are outside there tonight and I aknowledge the ups and downs, the controversial acceptance of a defeat and the confussion that that defeat has drove me in, because I know I've said and done many wrongs.
But, I am just a human.
That does not justify my slackness, but it moves me, because my imperfection it's reluctantly willing to become something else.
I wasn't quite sure if a good bye was an appropiate farewell, because a part of me wanted to hold to the belief that nothing would change whilst I was away. That was an irrational wishful thinking, of course.
When the day of leaving behind everything known to me came, I felt for the first time the inevitable weight of time on my shoulders, and I knew its touch would never abandon me; I knew that it will hound my soul and body till the end.
I looked at the tree in the backyard. It was a melancolic view of all the years I haven't noticed how important it was for me. It was a review of myself growing up unconsciously, happily ever after, so unaware of this feeling that it was tearing me appart.
Not asking for any acquiescence, things that had always been so familiar, began to become a threat to the stability that had reigned my world.
None had tought me how to face a reality that before had seemed so untouched, so fixed.
I'd wish to whisk this girl off to Neverland. Instead, my cases waited in the car that soon would drive me away from the house that was my entire world. Every room a country, a memory, a scent of unforgettable and priceless moments.
And now, after all these years, after all my thousands of lives getting mired into the search of a better "this", I realised that "this" is still shapeless.
I've been tugging it along all this time amongst my trousers and skirts, my lipsticks and expensive perfumes. Amongst all my books that encoded several ways of describing it, but gave me no answers.
So I guess this is not it.
Between loops and dashes, I've sewed a quilt full of the names that made me change route when at some point I thought the time had come to settle down.
For some reason, this city does not want to fall at my feet. She laughs at my pretention to purport to be a conqueror who subyugates her to my will. But she resists proudly and defiant. She only makes my desire grows stronger. And I like her because of that.
I think I still want to understand the limits (if they exist) and all the mistery of my darkest Miss Hyde.
So I tilt my chair backwards whilst writing these words, I look up trying to draw with my imagination the stars that are outside there tonight and I aknowledge the ups and downs, the controversial acceptance of a defeat and the confussion that that defeat has drove me in, because I know I've said and done many wrongs.
But, I am just a human.
That does not justify my slackness, but it moves me, because my imperfection it's reluctantly willing to become something else.
Monday 31 August 2009
Venga ya!!
Venga ya! Me dije un dia. Ya esta bien de tanta espera en la sala del olvido.
Quizas he estado buscando la accion que tando anhelo en lugares equivocados. Esta masturbacion teorica a cerca de los pasos a seguir para llegar a una meta que cambia de contorno continuamente ha de llegar a su fin. Hoy mismo. No se le puede dar mas tregua al pasado que solo hace de lastre, que nos retiene anclados auna situacion que despreciamos porque no nos ennoblece, sino que nos humilla y degrada.
Todos los objetos que me acompaganron en mi viaje original han quedado anquilosados, desmejorados por el paso del tiempo.
Los obstaculos de los que muchos me hablaban fueron vencidos con teson, lo que no quita que otros se cruzaran en mi camino de tal modo que, en su momento, llegaron a distrosionar mi vision de la realidad en la que todavia creo fervientemente.
Todavia nadie me ha conseguido alejar de mi suegno.
Soy testaruda y me ha costado aceptar la realidad y el peso de lo cotidiano; pero mi naturaleza tenaz no se rinde tan facilmente ante la evidencia de los que quieren que el mundo sea bueno solo para ellos.
Soy mujer, y se de lo que estoy hecha.
No soy quien para generalizar, pero puedo decir bien alto que nadie me ha ensegnado la naturaleza de mi ser.
No he tenido que declarar ninguna guerra para defenderla. Mi territorio lo resguarda mi voluntad y mi fe inquerantable en ella.
Mi libertad no se rebajara a los designios o mandatos ajenos. Y si un dia subyugan mi cuerpo, mi espiritu jamas claudicara a los deseos de poder de entes mezquinos.
Nuestra imaginacion creo el mundo y los que la interpretaron lo echaron a perder.
Nuestars entragans cobijaron y alumbraron esperanzas que otros sometieron al yugo de la opresion.
Nuestro rol ha sido infravalorado en nuestars batallas sin sangre en las que la victoria sigue detrminandose sin llegar a definrse. Cuan dificil dar gusto a todos por igual.
Que naturaleza caprichosa nos creo ta diversos?
En que cabeza cabe tanta locura? Quien conoce el secreto del equiibirio?
Quizas he estado buscando la accion que tando anhelo en lugares equivocados. Esta masturbacion teorica a cerca de los pasos a seguir para llegar a una meta que cambia de contorno continuamente ha de llegar a su fin. Hoy mismo. No se le puede dar mas tregua al pasado que solo hace de lastre, que nos retiene anclados auna situacion que despreciamos porque no nos ennoblece, sino que nos humilla y degrada.
Todos los objetos que me acompaganron en mi viaje original han quedado anquilosados, desmejorados por el paso del tiempo.
Los obstaculos de los que muchos me hablaban fueron vencidos con teson, lo que no quita que otros se cruzaran en mi camino de tal modo que, en su momento, llegaron a distrosionar mi vision de la realidad en la que todavia creo fervientemente.
Todavia nadie me ha conseguido alejar de mi suegno.
Soy testaruda y me ha costado aceptar la realidad y el peso de lo cotidiano; pero mi naturaleza tenaz no se rinde tan facilmente ante la evidencia de los que quieren que el mundo sea bueno solo para ellos.
Soy mujer, y se de lo que estoy hecha.
No soy quien para generalizar, pero puedo decir bien alto que nadie me ha ensegnado la naturaleza de mi ser.
No he tenido que declarar ninguna guerra para defenderla. Mi territorio lo resguarda mi voluntad y mi fe inquerantable en ella.
Mi libertad no se rebajara a los designios o mandatos ajenos. Y si un dia subyugan mi cuerpo, mi espiritu jamas claudicara a los deseos de poder de entes mezquinos.
Nuestra imaginacion creo el mundo y los que la interpretaron lo echaron a perder.
Nuestars entragans cobijaron y alumbraron esperanzas que otros sometieron al yugo de la opresion.
Nuestro rol ha sido infravalorado en nuestars batallas sin sangre en las que la victoria sigue detrminandose sin llegar a definrse. Cuan dificil dar gusto a todos por igual.
Que naturaleza caprichosa nos creo ta diversos?
En que cabeza cabe tanta locura? Quien conoce el secreto del equiibirio?
Sunday 30 August 2009
Become, be part...BE.
Once upon a time, in a place which name I still remember, there was a boy whom I've met whilst we were both travelling around a small planet. He might have been from there. I don't know if he never told me or if I forgot to ask him.
He liked to draw ... he liked to dream...This reminded me of some character I used to admire when I was a little girl. This boy, for some reason, reminded me of this character whom I think he had a rose that loved him very much.
She cried hersef to death when he decided to abandon her to see another world that was not enough to imagine.
And he could not possibly have imagined that the world he dreamt to discover would be the way it was.
This boy I've met told me the story that had been told many times before him by people who also shared the same or similar expectations. A story about broken dreams, unfunfilled hopes, time consuming willingness which ends up in sorrows...
He told me about a world he dreamt of and about the person he wanted to become in this world.
I said to him that becoming it's a painful process, but it's a natural one too.
The shaping of our thoughts come to us from the outside; we let it enter conciouslly, and unconciously, we'll never be the same. Or it might be the other way around.
You don't become artificially. Only idiots who play to be gods do that. Only insecurity can be the mother of such an enterprise.
I said to him that becoming is not a plan for life. Accepting the way things flow inside you, it is.
He wanted to master nature. He fooled himself, for nature was not made to be a man's slave.
We both were so young by then.... Maybe full of blood, ignorant of how that stream that run towards the ocean of our souls was prompt to dry.
We were the same and time turned the similarities in unreconciliable differences we didn't know how to save.
I abandoned him. I left him with the doubt and his self pity. I could not save him. I refused to pay that penitence that forced me to watch our love die. How could he aksed me to witness that?
Our place in the world wasn't cursed. We used to call it home, at times paradise. Indeed it was. And we spoilt it by letting our frustations in.
By themselves, they never found their way out. By ourselves, we couldn't satisfied our desires for more of god knows what.
By myself I found a way I never had imagined that could exist.
That road was so lonely and cold and many times I felt tempted to go back and throw myself in those arms that once had meant the world to me because they were my fortress, my pillars, my comfort... They were part of me. I was that body once.
For many nights I felt limbless without him inside me. I felt lost without the scnet I used to follow in the dark that always guided me towards him.
That road was tasteless whitouth his lips and the flavour of his mouth.
But... one day.... All those things stop having meaning. I supressed it from them and founded me.
I discovered the subjectivity of menaining, the tricks that our mind plays with to trap us in one way alley. I made the key of my freedom and named myself the Queen of my kingdom.
That boy I've met in that place which name I still remember, still wonders how the world is or how it's possible it is not the way he had imagined it to be.
He doesn't know he is to scared to find out.
But who isn't?
He liked to draw ... he liked to dream...This reminded me of some character I used to admire when I was a little girl. This boy, for some reason, reminded me of this character whom I think he had a rose that loved him very much.
She cried hersef to death when he decided to abandon her to see another world that was not enough to imagine.
And he could not possibly have imagined that the world he dreamt to discover would be the way it was.
This boy I've met told me the story that had been told many times before him by people who also shared the same or similar expectations. A story about broken dreams, unfunfilled hopes, time consuming willingness which ends up in sorrows...
He told me about a world he dreamt of and about the person he wanted to become in this world.
I said to him that becoming it's a painful process, but it's a natural one too.
The shaping of our thoughts come to us from the outside; we let it enter conciouslly, and unconciously, we'll never be the same. Or it might be the other way around.
You don't become artificially. Only idiots who play to be gods do that. Only insecurity can be the mother of such an enterprise.
I said to him that becoming is not a plan for life. Accepting the way things flow inside you, it is.
He wanted to master nature. He fooled himself, for nature was not made to be a man's slave.
We both were so young by then.... Maybe full of blood, ignorant of how that stream that run towards the ocean of our souls was prompt to dry.
We were the same and time turned the similarities in unreconciliable differences we didn't know how to save.
I abandoned him. I left him with the doubt and his self pity. I could not save him. I refused to pay that penitence that forced me to watch our love die. How could he aksed me to witness that?
Our place in the world wasn't cursed. We used to call it home, at times paradise. Indeed it was. And we spoilt it by letting our frustations in.
By themselves, they never found their way out. By ourselves, we couldn't satisfied our desires for more of god knows what.
By myself I found a way I never had imagined that could exist.
That road was so lonely and cold and many times I felt tempted to go back and throw myself in those arms that once had meant the world to me because they were my fortress, my pillars, my comfort... They were part of me. I was that body once.
For many nights I felt limbless without him inside me. I felt lost without the scnet I used to follow in the dark that always guided me towards him.
That road was tasteless whitouth his lips and the flavour of his mouth.
But... one day.... All those things stop having meaning. I supressed it from them and founded me.
I discovered the subjectivity of menaining, the tricks that our mind plays with to trap us in one way alley. I made the key of my freedom and named myself the Queen of my kingdom.
That boy I've met in that place which name I still remember, still wonders how the world is or how it's possible it is not the way he had imagined it to be.
He doesn't know he is to scared to find out.
But who isn't?
Saturday 29 August 2009
with love and malice
Writing about this, not knowing what any of those things means, it's perhaps a bit pretentious from me .
I never recalled to be in posesion of knowledge, and therefore, having that in mind, the over powerfull tranquility of ignorance will give me its permission to talk freely; to be myself, not giving a damn about the possibility of being right or wrong. Nothing will ever again be measured according to those standards.
I am going to make my own rules because I am not longer scared of hurting myself by hurting you, as you never were.
But I am afraid I don't want to know any longer. That's a thrill it does thrill me no more.
I'll keep the secret to myself, since everyone seems so eager to know.
There's a price to pay for everything in this ridiculous reality, in this fake scenario where all of you perform a boring role it does not move me inside as it used to when I too believed.
And here I am, laughing at my stupid idea of looking for a bit of authenticity in all the lies they told me before and that I took for granted.
Right now the enlightenmetn seems so far from reach... Just another promise; another boring stupid promise that none will dare to keep.
Under the gun held by the truth, I confess my sins. I give myself to it, I open my eyes wide and scareless to find the pieces of my unbreakable heart hanging from the fifth floor where I'll jump from.
No net. No fear. plenty of emotions flying free.
I never recalled to be in posesion of knowledge, and therefore, having that in mind, the over powerfull tranquility of ignorance will give me its permission to talk freely; to be myself, not giving a damn about the possibility of being right or wrong. Nothing will ever again be measured according to those standards.
I am going to make my own rules because I am not longer scared of hurting myself by hurting you, as you never were.
But I am afraid I don't want to know any longer. That's a thrill it does thrill me no more.
I'll keep the secret to myself, since everyone seems so eager to know.
There's a price to pay for everything in this ridiculous reality, in this fake scenario where all of you perform a boring role it does not move me inside as it used to when I too believed.
And here I am, laughing at my stupid idea of looking for a bit of authenticity in all the lies they told me before and that I took for granted.
Right now the enlightenmetn seems so far from reach... Just another promise; another boring stupid promise that none will dare to keep.
Under the gun held by the truth, I confess my sins. I give myself to it, I open my eyes wide and scareless to find the pieces of my unbreakable heart hanging from the fifth floor where I'll jump from.
No net. No fear. plenty of emotions flying free.
Wednesday 12 August 2009
stage 1
Para que salir corriendo? A caso te ha contagiado la muchedumbre sus prisas de llegar a niguna parte?
Hoy soy una con la lluvia que cae a y se desliza por las fachadas de los edificios y por mi piel que la recibe a poros abiertos.
Dejo que se lleve toda la suciedad, todas las lagrimas que fueron en vano, las 1661 formas que tenia de amarte.
Pronto se despeja el cielo y de pronto cambia el rumbo de mis pasos, que nunca han sido fijos pero que ahora, por primera vez, tienen un proposito.
Corro sobre el asfalto queriendo degastarlo para resucitar el bosque que dormita soterrado bajo su gris tan monotono.
Me siento y recapacito sore lo que esta por venir. Lo que se fue, se fue. El pasado ya no me interesa. Lo que quiero de el, lo tengo aqui y se que no voy a perderlo. El resto no merece la pena; es solo una leccion que aprender. Quizas un recuerdo en el que columpiarme, pero del que no me voy a quedar colgando como una marioneta sin voluntad.
Soy tan libre como me proponga, pues no creo en los limites que se pueden romper con voluntad de hierro.
Quien quiera seguirme, solo tiene que hacerlo. No necesito que me regalen palabras que no significan nada.
Ahora, tumbada sobre este parque pronto a recibir el Otogno y su alfombra de hojas muertas, sonrio y me deshago en mil pedazos que se plantan en la tierra humeda que los toma gustosa.
Desaparezco en el verde en el que entierro los recuerdos de los que brotaran nuevas esperanzas la proxima primavera.
Recojo lo que queda de mi y renazco del fuego eterno. He decidido arder sin quemarme. He decidido dar paso a la pasion incontrolable, hermana postiza de la razon pura.
Vuelvo al camino del que nunca debi alejarme, deslizandome por el filo de un verso que te quiere mas que nunca pero que ya no produce mas poesia para ti. La reservo para un dia mejor.
Por arte de la magia que no se de donde proviene, vuelvo a tener fe en el paraiso del que jamas fui desterrada.
Alejandro no lo sabe, pero se lo digo yo: e paraiso es un lugar mental. Esta aqui, babe.
Hoy soy una con la lluvia que cae a y se desliza por las fachadas de los edificios y por mi piel que la recibe a poros abiertos.
Dejo que se lleve toda la suciedad, todas las lagrimas que fueron en vano, las 1661 formas que tenia de amarte.
Pronto se despeja el cielo y de pronto cambia el rumbo de mis pasos, que nunca han sido fijos pero que ahora, por primera vez, tienen un proposito.
Corro sobre el asfalto queriendo degastarlo para resucitar el bosque que dormita soterrado bajo su gris tan monotono.
Me siento y recapacito sore lo que esta por venir. Lo que se fue, se fue. El pasado ya no me interesa. Lo que quiero de el, lo tengo aqui y se que no voy a perderlo. El resto no merece la pena; es solo una leccion que aprender. Quizas un recuerdo en el que columpiarme, pero del que no me voy a quedar colgando como una marioneta sin voluntad.
Soy tan libre como me proponga, pues no creo en los limites que se pueden romper con voluntad de hierro.
Quien quiera seguirme, solo tiene que hacerlo. No necesito que me regalen palabras que no significan nada.
Ahora, tumbada sobre este parque pronto a recibir el Otogno y su alfombra de hojas muertas, sonrio y me deshago en mil pedazos que se plantan en la tierra humeda que los toma gustosa.
Desaparezco en el verde en el que entierro los recuerdos de los que brotaran nuevas esperanzas la proxima primavera.
Recojo lo que queda de mi y renazco del fuego eterno. He decidido arder sin quemarme. He decidido dar paso a la pasion incontrolable, hermana postiza de la razon pura.
Vuelvo al camino del que nunca debi alejarme, deslizandome por el filo de un verso que te quiere mas que nunca pero que ya no produce mas poesia para ti. La reservo para un dia mejor.
Por arte de la magia que no se de donde proviene, vuelvo a tener fe en el paraiso del que jamas fui desterrada.
Alejandro no lo sabe, pero se lo digo yo: e paraiso es un lugar mental. Esta aqui, babe.
Tuesday 11 August 2009
Untitled
Where are all the sunsets the Spring had promised me?
Boticelli used them to paint his Venus coming out of the sea like a pearl sorrouded by envious gazes. Since then they are gone.
I enjoyed them in a different life, when we played fearless with the fire of knowledge.
Back then we were mortals whose only sacrifices conisisted in letting the time pass by withouth being scared by the scars it printed in our skins.
We were not aware of the price to pay to become gods, untouched by the lightening, by the fear, by the uncomfortable despair of a good bye.
We did not sucumbed to the words of prayers who believed in an better life. We maintained our thoughts straight, even when everything around us looked prompt to fall under our feet.
We waited till the last moment, like those notes floating on the surface of the Titanic did before the last hope sunk with them in the long way down to eternity.
We waited till "The End" was too obvious, and the lights awoken us from the dream.
Sleepy we started to walk appart.
Perhaps it was meant to be this way.
Perhaps I won't find any more reasons to build up a better me.
I want to have faith in te words of my heroes and listen to them talking to me from their graves once more.
How many more times is this going to happen?
I don't dare to wish.
But I am sure I will.
Boticelli used them to paint his Venus coming out of the sea like a pearl sorrouded by envious gazes. Since then they are gone.
I enjoyed them in a different life, when we played fearless with the fire of knowledge.
Back then we were mortals whose only sacrifices conisisted in letting the time pass by withouth being scared by the scars it printed in our skins.
We were not aware of the price to pay to become gods, untouched by the lightening, by the fear, by the uncomfortable despair of a good bye.
We did not sucumbed to the words of prayers who believed in an better life. We maintained our thoughts straight, even when everything around us looked prompt to fall under our feet.
We waited till the last moment, like those notes floating on the surface of the Titanic did before the last hope sunk with them in the long way down to eternity.
We waited till "The End" was too obvious, and the lights awoken us from the dream.
Sleepy we started to walk appart.
Perhaps it was meant to be this way.
Perhaps I won't find any more reasons to build up a better me.
I want to have faith in te words of my heroes and listen to them talking to me from their graves once more.
How many more times is this going to happen?
I don't dare to wish.
But I am sure I will.
Sunday 9 August 2009
Thursday 6 August 2009
London (1)
I am only happy when it rains...And, despite I consider myself a believer in the bright side of life, my only colours are the black and white.
London is more than a place. It's a destiny, the start of a pligrimage for lost people who come here looking for shelter from their inside worlds, escaping or embracing reality in all its forms.
London has many faces, and it takes time to get used to its agressive "take it or leave it, but do not stand in my way".
A closed- up look at it has left me equally marvelled and disenchanted.
It's frustating not being able to grasp the speed that moves this enormous metropolis, which has spread inside me like a virus.
And I can feel it growing, taking possesion of me like an unborn child, sucking my life, transforming me into a different person.
Like books I have read, London has changed my vision of people, of their intentions and nature.
It has been quite a journey travelling around the believes and fears of a cosmopolitan community that regards London as its home.
The Japanese tourists do not take the load of humanity that this city oozes with its good an evil.
They just put their masks on to fight the desease than hangs in the tube, in the middle of busy streets, in the palaces with unwilling kings and murderous queens.
London is a multilingual expert lover. An affair with our wildest dreams and our basic insticts. An enormous bed that holds criminals and saints making love to each other with the lights on and their eyes closed.
This oracle might not have all the answers we are desperate to find, and we might remain lost during our stay.
But not lifeless objet has the power of becoming the engine of change.
A city means nothing withouth the role played by our aspirations in its construction and subsistnece. If it it lacks them, it's just a collection of buildings, of cars and stores, of impersonal faces.
This is just another scenario that will forget our names soon after we leave it.
Nevertheless, we still have the chance of making thsi moment inmortal by taking the revolutionary road of not being just the objects of change but the authors of it.
There are so many different ways of loving and living London, that this one is just a beggining.
Wednesday 5 August 2009
La produccion de sinceridad, ese mal tan necesrio para los adictos a las emociones fuertes.
He pensado que producir un pedazo de sinceridad es demasiado costoso hoy en dia, asi que voy a abandonar mi credo personal para sumergirme en la insoportable levedad del ser de los que solo son.
Voy a contaros un par de mentiras que construyan la imagen de lo que no soy, por la que inevitablemente sere juzgada por los que se consideran en posesion de juicio.
Dejare de lado un don del que carezco para saciar estas ansias de venganza en contra de todo en lo que jamas crei y que, a fuerza de desengagnos, ha pasado a convertirse en el pan mio de cada dia.
Dios, perdona mis pecados. Liberame de este valle de lagrimas.
Alma mia, dejame caer en la tentacion; no permitas que viva atada a lo que los demas piensan que debe ser.
Dame fuerzas para seguir por el camino de la perdicion y autodestruccion con la misma determinacion que solo se atreven a tener unos cuantos desaprensivos y con el unico equipaje del miedo a no tener miedo.
Espero que los que buscan gangas en el mercadillo de su cutre vida, encuentren las mismas insinceridades que ellos venden por un precio justo y razonable.
Y cuando el ataud pase factura a los que comerciaron con los sentimientos, solo unos cuantos gusanos dandose el festin en la carne pronta a pudrirse, seran testigos de lo poco que fueron.
Y aun queda mas maldad. Mucha mas. Las reservas de este recurso natural son desgraciadamente inagotables.
Para aplacarla, ya no bastan las palabras, ni las guerras santas. El amor que movio el mundo en su dia, tan solo y desprotegido, no se atreve a defender una causa en la que nadie cree.
Ya no me abruma la intriga de los silencios, ni la profundidad del misterio.
Al contrario: Me sobrecoge la simplicidad del mundo, con su cara falsa de arlequin, payaso lloron cuya tristeza no temina de convencer.
You must remember this...a kiss is just a kiss...no matter what the future brings, as time goes by...decia la cancion.
Y el tiempo, que no se puede vencer a si mismo, es mi dios esta noche.
El tiempo que trae el olvido a todos nosotros, el cual nos engullira tarde o temprano, con nuestras aspiraciones, suegnos, tristezas y alegrias.
Y asi, en este preciso instante, todo tiene sentido para no tenerlo un instante mas tarde que ya es ahora, y que ahora ya no es.
Desde ahora ya no es y... nunca sera.
Voy a contaros un par de mentiras que construyan la imagen de lo que no soy, por la que inevitablemente sere juzgada por los que se consideran en posesion de juicio.
Dejare de lado un don del que carezco para saciar estas ansias de venganza en contra de todo en lo que jamas crei y que, a fuerza de desengagnos, ha pasado a convertirse en el pan mio de cada dia.
Dios, perdona mis pecados. Liberame de este valle de lagrimas.
Alma mia, dejame caer en la tentacion; no permitas que viva atada a lo que los demas piensan que debe ser.
Dame fuerzas para seguir por el camino de la perdicion y autodestruccion con la misma determinacion que solo se atreven a tener unos cuantos desaprensivos y con el unico equipaje del miedo a no tener miedo.
Espero que los que buscan gangas en el mercadillo de su cutre vida, encuentren las mismas insinceridades que ellos venden por un precio justo y razonable.
Y cuando el ataud pase factura a los que comerciaron con los sentimientos, solo unos cuantos gusanos dandose el festin en la carne pronta a pudrirse, seran testigos de lo poco que fueron.
Y aun queda mas maldad. Mucha mas. Las reservas de este recurso natural son desgraciadamente inagotables.
Para aplacarla, ya no bastan las palabras, ni las guerras santas. El amor que movio el mundo en su dia, tan solo y desprotegido, no se atreve a defender una causa en la que nadie cree.
Ya no me abruma la intriga de los silencios, ni la profundidad del misterio.
Al contrario: Me sobrecoge la simplicidad del mundo, con su cara falsa de arlequin, payaso lloron cuya tristeza no temina de convencer.
You must remember this...a kiss is just a kiss...no matter what the future brings, as time goes by...decia la cancion.
Y el tiempo, que no se puede vencer a si mismo, es mi dios esta noche.
El tiempo que trae el olvido a todos nosotros, el cual nos engullira tarde o temprano, con nuestras aspiraciones, suegnos, tristezas y alegrias.
Y asi, en este preciso instante, todo tiene sentido para no tenerlo un instante mas tarde que ya es ahora, y que ahora ya no es.
Desde ahora ya no es y... nunca sera.
Tuesday 4 August 2009
Antichrist- A question about human nature.
Lars Von trier last film, in a very unique way wonders around a very profound and in some cases disturbing question, the question about human beings nature. Are human beings good or evil, black or white, pure or impure............ What is our nature? Very explicitly Lars Von trier presents what most people want to deny about human nature. He travels deep inside the unconscious and brings about all the dark and horrendous thoughts that a human being could have. Very shocking of course, for a society that encourage repression and believe perfection could be achieved. Consequently, people prefer not to recognize this dark and unconscious side. In fact, we feel disgust when is clearly presented to us, as Lars Von trier does, and instead try to fool ourselves and cover our eyes. Nevertheless, it is and will be there, it is part of our human nature and somehow it will always find the way to express itself, to be alive. I love the way the film leads a journey to the protagonist’s unconscious, by the way brilliantly performed. I would like to finish with an interesting thought found in Carl Jung’s book the undiscovered self: “none of us stands outside humanity’s black collective shadow. Whether the crime lies many generation back or happens today, it remains the symptom of disposition that is always and everywhere present -and one would therefore do well to possess some “imagination in evil,” for only the fool can permanently neglect the conditions of his own nature. In fact, this negligence is the best means of making him an instrument of evil”.
Friday 31 July 2009
HOME. Whatever it means. All that it means.
Lately there have been a lot of words hurting like sharped knives, getting through places inside of me that I never thought they existed.
There have been many questions that needn't to be asked.
There is a piece of land where I've learnt my lessons when I was a child. That is the land of my ancestors, where the North is found and revealed to me eveytime I go there.
It's a matter of heart and blood, of unquestionable aspects of my personality that bound me to it, that will always make me belong, no matter how lost or how far I am.
I am part of a breeze of air dancing above the mountains without name, of the rivers tha run thorugh them, of the ocean where the world dissapears in the dreamy and wild horizon to be melt into strange paradises and magical universes.
Impossible to explain what I am and how I am without you.
You, who are my inmortal mother, my beloved heritage, all that I own in this world, my biggest treasure.
Your name brings up the scent of some unforgattable mornings and many starry nights when once I thought I would conquer some dreams for you.
You, who helped me to cherised them, who gave me and many others the will and the wings to fly away.
We will always be in debt to you for letting us enjoy the freedom of loving you in the distance without regrets, without any complex for being your sons and daughters.
We build our pride from your heart, as you never demanded any blood, any unnecessary deaths in your name, any words you did not well deserved.
We are as you moulded us deep inside your forests, where foreing invaders didn't dare to enter for fear of loosing their minds, scared to death by the talk of the wolves in your misterious moonlight hours.
We learnt your language shaped by your incesant rain, warmed by your lively sunshine, sang by warriors who detested bloody battles, developed by working women to whom you gave the laws of nature and the duty to protect them agaisnt the tyranny of ignorance.
Your poets wrote the words and bonfires of joy and hapiness, of dairy legitimate fights agaisnt oblivion, made them inmortal.
We came to be what you always wanted us to be. How could not be grateful to you? How not to praise you for your modesty and patience, for your beauty and the comfort you gave us?
We never gave you up, not even in the hard times, when wood ships drove my people away from your soft shores that they kept on missing till their time came and found them wipping their sorrows in a carebean island, miles away from home.
Not even in the good times, when we leave you just to consolidate the pilars of being that you so firmly settled in us with no hate, but with love and comprehension, with the thirst to learn on the surface of this big map of the world you thought us to respect.
Despite my desbelief in borders and my embrace to a wider view of the world, there will always be a place I'll call home.
That's what you are: Home, whatever that means. All that it means.
There have been many questions that needn't to be asked.
There is a piece of land where I've learnt my lessons when I was a child. That is the land of my ancestors, where the North is found and revealed to me eveytime I go there.
It's a matter of heart and blood, of unquestionable aspects of my personality that bound me to it, that will always make me belong, no matter how lost or how far I am.
I am part of a breeze of air dancing above the mountains without name, of the rivers tha run thorugh them, of the ocean where the world dissapears in the dreamy and wild horizon to be melt into strange paradises and magical universes.
Impossible to explain what I am and how I am without you.
You, who are my inmortal mother, my beloved heritage, all that I own in this world, my biggest treasure.
Your name brings up the scent of some unforgattable mornings and many starry nights when once I thought I would conquer some dreams for you.
You, who helped me to cherised them, who gave me and many others the will and the wings to fly away.
We will always be in debt to you for letting us enjoy the freedom of loving you in the distance without regrets, without any complex for being your sons and daughters.
We build our pride from your heart, as you never demanded any blood, any unnecessary deaths in your name, any words you did not well deserved.
We are as you moulded us deep inside your forests, where foreing invaders didn't dare to enter for fear of loosing their minds, scared to death by the talk of the wolves in your misterious moonlight hours.
We learnt your language shaped by your incesant rain, warmed by your lively sunshine, sang by warriors who detested bloody battles, developed by working women to whom you gave the laws of nature and the duty to protect them agaisnt the tyranny of ignorance.
Your poets wrote the words and bonfires of joy and hapiness, of dairy legitimate fights agaisnt oblivion, made them inmortal.
We came to be what you always wanted us to be. How could not be grateful to you? How not to praise you for your modesty and patience, for your beauty and the comfort you gave us?
We never gave you up, not even in the hard times, when wood ships drove my people away from your soft shores that they kept on missing till their time came and found them wipping their sorrows in a carebean island, miles away from home.
Not even in the good times, when we leave you just to consolidate the pilars of being that you so firmly settled in us with no hate, but with love and comprehension, with the thirst to learn on the surface of this big map of the world you thought us to respect.
Despite my desbelief in borders and my embrace to a wider view of the world, there will always be a place I'll call home.
That's what you are: Home, whatever that means. All that it means.
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