Raquel's Room

Wednesday, 29 September 2010

Sef cultivation....Totally harmless guys!!

Hei London, did you know that is Wednesday night and all that you have to offer me is "The Devil Wears Prada", where Meryl teaches us than nothing in our closet is casual? Good to know. It makes exactly my point, because after having a look into the more increasingly annoying facebook site, I just realised that many people out there are only happy when they create controversy covered in an hallucinatory sense of intelligence!!
Oh...i love it!! People out there, in the net world, are getting so politically involved that it really makes me think that there is still hope. But later on I just find that all they repit in there is the same old boring story of conformism. Actually, their satus are just insulting, imbued with everything but inspiration or self determination. I guess that Habermas would still be happy to have all those useless opinions because, at the end of the day, what else is Democracy? God...Forgive me for what I am about to say, bu if the French invented the Enlightened Despotism...well...Three cheers for that!!
The truth is that all our brains are washed in the same machine. I am not so blind to see that. Still, I feel my patience running out with comments like...I don't' even want to write them down in here.
I guess that deep inside all I long for is a revolution and since the world is coming to an end, I don't see anything wrong with that.
I dream of a textual revolution to measure opinions in a real arena where rules are settle berofe playing. Yes, Of course there must be rules. Otherwise...It would be anarchy, and as much I feel attracted to that concept, I see a big potential power for destruction if we go into that line of thinking.
First rule...A difficult one: Respect. It seems to be very scarce nowadays and that's because everyone feels they are always right. Not just that; they feel the urge to tell how wrong the rest of the world is. Well,,,We all might be wrong. What about that? Too humble for them, I guess.
Everyone can cope with that uncomfortable thing called criticism. But sometimes, too much is too much, and there are some lines that, before being crossed, people who does it should really think twice about the reasons to do it and be prepared for the consequences. Of course there are always consequences.
Yeah, I guess I've got the second rule right here: Preparation, education. In my society is not a luxury. Actually it's affordable by the vast maority of population and self cultivation of the mind is truly necessary in order to create and contest deliberation.
Oh...It's just Wednesday night.
My country is on fire after the 7th strike in our young Democracy took place. For those who do not believe it, the right to strike is recognised by our Constitution.
Exercising that right is not done to annoy anyone, or being a pain, or disturb the peace and pace of a non stopping Capitalist system (Idealisms are off the table. We all know the goods and wrongs, and we also know how preferable is to live in the dark side of the coin because a way back is...rather impossible from this perspective. So, please, save the ovbious)
Exercising the right to strike is just an absolute privilege done on the basis of obscure perepectives of the future for us who have to walk it. To whoever disagrees with that I recommend a session of self cultivation and a bit of solidarity.
It's totally harmless guys!!!

Tuesday, 28 September 2010

More London of Mine.


You can see the whole world from up there and dive your senses in the flow where the sweetness becomes salt and the sky looses its limits.
And if we are meant to part, remember this. Remember this soul of mine, irrevocably in love with everythig you are and made me be. Do not forget my name and the time we shared. Maybe then this river of words, this speechless pain hanging on a thin hope of living together and be ruthless with the enemies of our passion will make sense.
Let's cut their heads with the sharp verb that brought us in and only when they have dissapeared from the face of the earth, let's build this planet again from our ideas.
Do not move to that galaxy in the Libra constellation. Stay with me. I promise I'll always take care of you. I'll dare to break the rules of the killing game of love. Take my word, mark it: I'l never let you down and I don't need any ifs...This is unconditional.

Monday, 27 September 2010

I'll be yours


Yeah, definitely London has an inch of Gothic spirit that surrounds the whole city, specially when the light starts loosing its summery brightness and surrenders itself to the power of the Autumn and its gloominess.
But I love every minute of it. I like watching the flowers die by the river bank. Well that's more of an imagined scene, as central London does not have many daises wanting to jump in the water of the dirty Thames. There are rocks, wasted cans of Coke, some single and souless shoes with open mouths and many birds looking for the unexitent fishes.
In the city, life is different. Nature tries to reveal itself, but it's left behind, it's silenced for the convenience of urban style.
Still many paths lead us to trees tha have seen it all: From the assassination of greedy bankers, street girls and lost travellers to the possesion of the desired body by the clumsiness of lousy lovers with no intimacy to share.
And all endure the pain of tattooed names that will fall apart, like the promises they so solemnly proclaimed to each other under the English moonlight.
That moon also seems different in this sky. I think that she just plays to deceive me. But I voluntarily fall in its trap. Tender trap.
So soon it's gonna be dark. And those sellers in Holborn will offer fresh oranges to the stressed cashiers with their double shifts at Sainsbury's, to the exhausted mums and the idealistic students worried by their 60s and 70s.
Ah...All that noise in the dark, in the cold of another winter to come. And I miss it so badly. My lips breaking, my hands shaking, my bones dancing the icy ballad between blankets where I get warmed up by dreams of you...Always you. Because you've got magic in every corner f yours, in every green space attacked by crazy drivers who want to make it home to their loneliness and TV.
I found your magic long time ago, when I was only a child who thought you were the most beautiful and scariest thing I've ever seen. And none tought me how to control the fire you are gifted with, so I keep on burning at your wish.
I keep on living in this crowded road, in a room with a poor view to an always busy shopping center, to a world in which I don't believe, but I accept for my convenience.
And out there is no that bad. Actually we just need a bit of your rain, a few of your drops falling slowly, bringing back the ocean where they come from so I can swim in the streets again, like we used to.
And that blue-eyed boy of dark hair, son of yours, is smiling at me in a dialect I finally came to understand.
I guess that I am tired and all I am asking for in here is for your permission to belong. I want to belong to you. Couse maybe you are the place I can called mine.
And only if you let me, I'll be yours till tomorrow sets us appart and someone else claims our hearts.

Thursday, 23 September 2010

Sexy boy

Good God.
Gorgeous is around. This is such a pathetic story about a stupid crash that is taking me some time to assimilate. Still I am writting about it. Definitely, I have to give up Coca-Cola. Those bubbles are damaging my already damaged brain.
I could be his.... I am gonna try to be kind with myself for once and say that I could be his older sister to have anything serious with him. Taking off the sinful implications of the metaphorical relation I just mentioned I am going to keep shit simple here: He's hot like hell. And he makes me feel like Madonna. No, not like a virgin. More like a bitch .
Anyway, his body is somewhere near and what am I doing about it? Well, pretty obviously, I am just writing about the moral implications of having sex with someone who has recently turned .... ad has not a clue how Deep Purple sounds and maybe thinks that Oasis are too old fashion. I am doing all this while I listen to Kerrang radio.
Well, it's only Thursday. I don't think that things would change that much if it was Friday or any other day of the week for the matter.
I might be bored, and there's nothing on TV apart from the episode of The Inbetweeners that I already saw.
I recently got addicted to this programme. I imagine that, in the case I have kids in this country, they will look like these pricks. Sweet. No...The word I am looking for is scary, hahah.
I guess, in case I decided to have kids in the UK, I would send them to Galicia as soon as they had school holidays. First, because my mum would buy them the plane tickets (:D). And secondly, and most important, (though I guess in that future the price to fly wont be that expensive, as there will be some sort of futuristic trasportation more environmentally friendly and even faster than planes...In the future I am thinking of teletransportation would no longer be a Star Trek thing...)I would love them to have that northern accent we got in that far corner of Spain that Romans called the end of the world...Gosh they were simple those Romans. And too lazy to swim the ocean. uffff...there was more guys...Much more.
What I was talking about? Oh yeah...the viking..and my kids...mmmmm... This is getting Freudian. I am thinking of the weird connection. I don't think that I want the viking to be the father of any of my little ones (specially because I won't see myself in prison for corrupting under age youngsters, though I cannot think of a better reason why to be be in prison for) I guess that, deep inside, I see him like a little boy...Bollocks!! Jesus Madonna, how do u do it?! HOW?! Not need to say. We all know. That was rethoric.
And here I am, having dirty thoughts regarding the Blondy and also calculating how many days per year my parents could enjoy their grand children.
And the scary part of all this senseless talk is that I see my future here!! Probably I love this country more than I think but I have no idea why. Well, of course I know, but I must keep it secret.
And if my boy, in that blurry future I saw in my crystal ball, decides to wear black skinny jeans and a hat, I'd will explain him that there was once someone called Pete Doherty to whom he looks like (and I'll like it!!). The creature will know who Pete is, because...Well, basically because he won't have a choice. No way!! hahaha.
Poor thing; he doesn't even exist and I am already deciding his wardrobe, discography, library, even Uni...ufff...I guess he's lucky not to be here. But maybe one day...
For sure, the young Blondy wont contribute with his genes for the cause. Save them for someone more conventional, sexy boy (trainspotting song in the backgorund. Once per month I am diabolical!!)

Sunday, 19 September 2010

Otogno

Se huele en el ambiente que el verano esta en sus ultimas. Ya no viene esa brisilla caliente que te acaricia la piel mientras te intentas escapar de los ruidos de la ciudad.
Aunque las chicas inglesas rehusan guardar la minifalda y sacar las medias del armario, lo cierto es que yo ya no me atrevo a salir de casa sin el abrigo. Supongo que dentro de muy poco tendre que agnadir el resto de complementos: bufanda, guantes...
Si no fuera porque me da pereza esperar 9 meses la llegada del proximo verano, me gustaria prolongar esta estacion, con sus incitaciones al chocolate caliente, a las reuniones de amigos que se escapan del frio y se refugina en un pub a pasar la tarde, a la luna clara sobre un cielo limpido de borrasca y todo lo que evocan las mantas y los libros esperando a ser leidos al cobijo de un fuego lento.
No se de donde viene esta nostalgia por los colores del Otogno pero hoy me desperte agnorando mi montagna desprendiendo ese olor tan mio a flores presumidas besando el rocio.
Echo de menos el paseo del rio cuyas aguas van bajando las temperaturas de las rocas que se esconden bajo sus ondas dulces y arrastran hacia otras orillas a las hojas que se despiden del arbol para ver el mundo.
Si me concentro, puedo escuchar el viento que me llama y me busca. Yo, que tambien le quiero, le hago navegar el cielo para encontrarme a un oceano de distancia, mojando las puntas de mis dedos en las plamas de la lluvia que cruje bajo mis botas nuevas.
Y juntos sognamos a vivir esta vida que nos hace complices en todo los actos que cometemos. Y juntos aprendemos a volar sin alas, adentrandonos en un nuevo dia que promete y proclama un nuevo mundo.

Saturday, 18 September 2010

I am still here

I think I am getting there slowly. You see? A sunny day in London can change anything. And while all those believers go to Westminster cathedral in search of truthness and spiritual comfort, I sit in the computer room at Birkbek, try to finish my article about palstic surgery and listen to Mick Jagger and one of my favourite songs ever.
"Shine a Light" is all about earthly trouble and moving your ass out of the shitty hole where you are sitting, look around or above and remove the flys from your increasingly deadly meat. This melody prompts to shake the sadness off your body and mind to praise the Lord for another day at planet earth. Rock mixed with gospel, raping the fakeness of the parabole in the mouths of the hypocrites, elevating your soul while talking about dirtiness, suffering, drugs and drunkness.
It's revelaing because it basically talks about a paradise that belongs here, in the kingdom of women and men who struggle to survive one more day, 24 hours more in the madness of dispair, gobal warming, rushness and loveless life.
But here it is...a voice and a guitar, a shared vision of the world that kills the lonliness and makes me believe, building this unconventional faith that comes for free and refuses to be imposed.
Sing it loud till yo believe it, till you recover the faith in your dreams, in yourslef, till the lie becomes a true again and you find the road of no way back.
It is enough for me that music can change the reality in which all have worked so hard for me to accept it with not a word of protest. But as Mr Affleck would say, I am still here. And that's my curse, not yours. But I am willing to accept it.

Thursday, 16 September 2010

Tomorrow is a dream away.

I can't get over myself..but I wonder if out there is there anyone else left to love.
I guess that is very tiring trying all the time to keep on trying but I can't leave right now. There is still one more year ahead and from here it looks pretty difficult. And after that the incognito... But a bit of suspense never killed anyone.
In days like today I miss going back home and having my mum asking me how am I. Things look busy back in Spain. When I called home this evening she sounded very happy and went on and on about the painting in the house...She loves these kind of things, and it felt just wrong to spoil her moment by talking about the office job, the stress at Uni, the English weather/food.
I don't' even try with my father. His TOC is getting obviously worse though harmless. Still, is complicated trying to maintain any serious conversation with him. Our realities do not coexist in the same universe and I wonder when that started to happen. I used to think he was the cleverest man on earth, but when I grow up, things started to fall into a "realistic" perspective. Or so they seem. But I guess I am wrong. As my granny says, when u'll have our age..
She always complains that she cannot hear properly, but she never misses a thing I tell her.
She's always right regardless her complains and stuborness. I wonder how was she at her 31's. I am sure she was much better and settled than I am now despite the times were harder. I don't understand why all has to be difficult when it shouldn't. It should be so easy. I mean...All looks pretty shit!
Maybe today is just one of those days when no matter how hard you try to put things right or how many sugars you put in that coffee....Still bitter. The dark clouds do not let me see the sun.
But tomorrow is a dream away... And it's time to sleep.

Wednesday, 15 September 2010

Un lavado de cerebro o un aumento de pecho...Hay alguna diferencia?

Antes de ir a dormir tenia que contaros lo que ando leyendo por los mundos de internet que, da la casualdad, son mis mundos.
La inseguridad es un rasgo mas de nuestra sociedad desquiciada y me voy a arriesgar a achacar el exceso de ella a la presion que ejercen los medios de comunicacion en la percepcion que tenemos de nuestra persona. Cuando hablo de persona me refiero a nuestros cuerpos. Y, direis vosotros, A caso se pueden separar amabos conceptos? Pues, por estragno q parezca, mi teoria es que en un preocupante elevado numero de casos, la respuesta es si.
Y he ahi lo complejo del tema sobre el que estoy buscando informacion: cirugia plastica.
A muchos nos sigue pareciendo algo asi como ciencia ficcion o una practica lejana en el espacio, solo apata para l@s div@s de Hollywood o l@s segnorit@s de alta sociedad de hobbies muy sofisticados, pero la verdad es que cada vez mas ciudadanos comun comunis se someten a ella. Los numeros no mienten y las estadisticas son espeluctntes. Aqui tampoco se nota la crisis.
En resumidas cuentas, el objetivo de someterse a un afilado bisturi (bueno, la practica mas comun en la del "bottox" que no requiere andar a tijeretazo limpio en el rostro) trata de sentirte a gusto contigo mismo. Lo preocupante, al menos desde mi punto de vista, es que la busqueda de la perfeccion tenga que pasar por quirofano.
Si Darwin viviese a dia de hoy, diria q la evolucion de las especies depende de una operacion con la que nos evitamos el jugar a la loteria de la naturaleza. Esto es hacer trampa, claro esta, pero todo sea por perpetuar los genes.
Los humanos siempre hemos estado obsesionados por perseguir y reproducir lo bello(de sobra sabemos como han cambiado y cambian continuamente esos canones). Pero parece ser que la frustracion por no conseguirlo ha hecho mella psicologica en las mentes (supuestamente avanzadas)del siglo XXI. Lo fascinante del asunto es que la solucion a tamagno dilema parece estar, no en nuestro interior, sino en el control absoluto sobre el mundo exterior y nuestro poder de transformarlo a nuestro antojo...por un modico precio.
Esto supone el restar un punto menos para el azar. Queremos y podemos...Si tenemos plata para amortizar el capricho, por supuesto.
Lo preocupante es que, cada vez mas, damos por hecho que el someterse a una liposuccion o aumento de pecho (por mentar solo algunos ejemplos)es algo totalmente normal.
Claro esta que en algunos casos las operaciones se hacen con la finalidad de mejorar la salud del paciente. Pero son los menos. Triunfan las ganas de elevar nuestar autoestima, de sentirnos mejor con nosotros mismos o, simplemente, de parecer mas jovenes.
Hoy en dia el lema de Adolfo Dominguez, "la arruga es bella" parece no satisfacer a las masas avidas de centrifugado y planchado.
Que os parece? Da el cuerpo perfecto la felicidad? Que significa ser perfecto? Hay solo un modo de conseguirlo? Cuales serian las alternativas?
Supongo que eso de preguntarme por las alternativas quedaria descartado con un credito de 8000 libras con el que podria conseguir un par de tetas nuevas.
Claro que yo soy de la vieja escuela; a mi me ensegnaron que hay que estar contentos con lo que se tiene. Algunos dicen que esto apesta a conformismo. Para mi, es sentido comun y una dosis de autoestima natural sin silicona agnadida.
Lo demas lo veo, sin pretender ofender a nadie, un lavado de cerebro.

Sunday, 12 September 2010

restless. Everything is better when you are not around.

Have you ever feel like this? I am feeling restless tonight. I guess that I am still under the effects of having recovered my faith. Just when I thought all was lost, that all the trains had passed by. Till yesterday I had always thought that I was too late or too early; at the end it was just me remaining in the station while everybody else had taken the perfect catch and was waving at me from a dirty window. Me in the platform. Me under the rain. Me in the distance. Me pissed off. Me waiting.
Countless times I thought that it wouldn't happened again, but of course it did. Nonetheless, from a while now, that again seemed to dissapear for my dispair, leaving me a bit lost and fucked up.
But it's over now. It only took a pair of black skinny jeans, a packet of L&M, some pounds in my wallet, a glass of water I took with me to entrance A block 520 seat 200 and a stadium exploding in extasis to the "Resistance" to find the way back to the road of dreams.
That shitty road I adore. Nevermind how I much and hard I had spoiled it for myself or how many times I had hit it. Poor thing. Apparently we can't leave without each other. She has a complex. So do I...So what? We can handle this broken heart and laugh at it now. Come on...Bring on the next one! we are ready for it. It might hurt like nothing else hurts, but maybe life is worhtless if I don't know. If I know he doesn't know.
Yesterday, when I was seing the future right in front of me, the past knocked at the door. How funny can be a name in th screen of a mobile phone when it comes too late. I am not gonna denayed it happened but let me bring you the news: you can go where you came from, because you are not wanted. At least not in my life.
It's funny how relativity makes all thing weightless and forgettable. It dones't bother me at all all that your eyes had lost the light. I am not here to rescue you.
It might be a paradise for all the dead feelings I wanted to keep to linger in them and that you managed to murder. Go on, rescue that.
So now if you think I am still right there where you left me... help yourslef, keep on dreaming; I hope you open your eyes and don't regret it bacause I don't but I won't.
And the memories and looking at the old pictures stopped killing me long ago. Baby, I have tea with them now. And I don't miss at all your company in my little party. Guess who's getting blue now?
That kiss yo gave me froze me to a death I had to pass in a distance that swollowed me like an ocean, taking everything with it. My imagination kept me awake at night, sending secret messages to the moon. I even learnt to pray to God who seemed to be somewhere else but not in that tiny room full of lonliness. Now I know that I have to be pleased that God was too busy by then.
You want to do this again? Come on baby...You have to be kidding me. No offence but...You never were up for the game anyway. I like slow and intense fire. You were only smoke.
And so life goes on an I never though I would say this, but is so good.
It's good to see that curiosity still keeps me on. Apparently it killed the cat, but somehow it always managaes to come back. It's restless.

Wednesday, 8 September 2010

Muse

All those songs. All that music and upheaval. All the dusty roads leading towards a destiny written on the strings of a guitar. And the lyrics coming like a perfect testament for a never dying rock 'n roll: glamorous, rebellious and provocative.
Your music is beautiful like the origins of any Revolution that calls for freedom and equality, that seeks the fall of all the absurd walls that set us apart, forbidding forbidness.
Your music is, like all music, a celebration of life, of the unique moment that we share and never comes back.
The past that lays behind us, took us to the place where we are now. It also inscribed in our souls the beginning of the end. We were meant to be for each other, to live forever in these lines that hang around, playing with their immortality in which we won't feast.
And when "play" reveals to me the perfection that exit in the universe, I come to understand the purpose of all those things I didn't understand before. Light is shed over the shadows in which I wanted to dwell. And I still want to, though if I have you and your catchy rhythm... the farewell to arms will be a pleasant one.
Now that the battle has ceased to be...I have time to be. I can, once again, give myself to you, looking for absolution in an apocalyptic time.
This is a time for change and permanence, for I finally found what I was looking for. And it wasn't' here. Real life is not that obvious. But it wasn't that far either.
Maybe the object and the means of it changed, but the answer always remained the same: RESISTANCE.

Monday, 6 September 2010

Cinema Paradiso.

In some occasions I remember why I love the 7th Art so much. More than anything else, because it's inspiring and in a very weird and unexplainable way, it makes me feel happy or sad like few things else can do.
Without a doubt, cinema might be my first and definite love. It is also one of the first memories I have form my childhood: Peter Pan flying over Never land...and after that, an array of images developing inside me a passion from which I never get tired.
Cinema is a disease that grows in me the anxiety to be feed with more stories. It's ridiculous to never get enough, to wish for that moment to endure, like if it was a first kiss repeating itself over and over.
I confess I am addicted to the religious silence that invades the room the moment the lights go off. I adore the readiness to receive how others perceive and perform the world that can be, for an space of 2 hours, the way they've imagined to be. There are no rules in there. Actually all is a challenge.
Charles Chaplin can rotate indefinitely in the machine that devours him, Keanu Reeves can save humanity from the control of evil machines, Javier Bardem can see Galicia like Ramon always knew it was, and Robert Reford can show Meryl that both their souls belong to Africa and nowhere else.
And I can escape, learn, be in here and there, defying the law of physics that enslave me in the real world.
Every time I approach my favourite moments, they always look different. Time casts that spell on them; it touches them but it's unable to avoid their immortality.
I might like that above anything else. The possibility of capturing in a gaze how I used to be and go back to it to find it when the world around me tries to destroy it.

Saturday, 4 September 2010

Cuando David derroto a Goliath

Estan poniendo en Channel Four Un documento espelucnante sobre uno de los momentos que patento y convirito en relaidad el imaginario social mas temido.
Aquella magnana de Septiembre las cenizas hinundaron el cielo azul de una ciudad que por un instante interminable se quedo en un silencio de suspense, ahogada en el miedo de no escuchar el ruido de los sonodos familiares y tipicos que daban vida a lo cotidiano.
Ni tan si quiera hubo derramamiento de sangre. Se evaporo con las llamas de la verguenza de una inmolacion, de un asesinato a sangre fria que ningun Dios compensaria con un paraiso.
La magnana del 11-S, como ave de mal aguero, solo trajo dudas, una perdida violenta y un mundo pegado al tv que desde todas las esquinas del globo sintonizo al unisono con la gran manzana para reiterarse en una realidad que paracia demasiado ficticia.
Impotencia. Vulnerabilidad. Inmortalidad derrumbandose con los dos colosos que antagno dominaba el perfil de Manhattan, alzando con su ausencia la incertidumbre de un futuro que no volveria a ser el mismo. Con su desaparicion, crecio la sensacion de vivir en un peligro de cuyas manos ningun sheriff de buena o mala estrella podria zafarnos con una rumba de balazos al aire o una gran dosis de buena voluntad. Claro que las cosas tampoco mejoraron demasiado con jefes de gobierno obcecados en dar rienda suleta a sus delirios de poder y superioridad, obsesionado en impartir lecciones de "civilizacion" a pueblos "incivilizados".
David derroto a Goliath, y es uan leccion que todos tuvimos que aprender.
El 11-S supuso una bofetada a los oidos sordos. Un acto de ignorancia y fanatismo, pero tambien de deseperacion y frustracion.
Un acto injustificable por cualquier tipo de justicia, divina o terrenal. Que dios entendetia semejante atrocidad?
Desde entonces, Seguridad no seria mas un plus de tranquilidad en nuestras seguras sociedades occidentales. En una par de horas, se convirtio en una ansiedad, en una osbsesion, en un demonio suelto ansioso por encontrar un infierno.
El 11-S termino y dio vida a un nuevo equilibirio de terror caracterizado por la ausencia de un binario opuesto al que culpar, con el cual contrastar nuestros valores y creencias. Un opuesto que nos situase en el mapa de nuestar identidad para reafirmarnos en una existenca a la que pocos le encuentran sentido innato.
No se tardo demasiado en dar con un enemigo y del dia a la noche, se demonizo a un pueblo. la red de odio se infiltro en el sistema, desaestabilizando las mas firmes de nuestars convinciones.

Hoy, 8 anos despues de la tragedia del WTC, el mundo no es un lugar mas justo o seguro. Simplemente se ha acostumrado a lo que un dia parecio impensable e insuperable.
Una vez mas, hemos demostrado nuestra capacidad de adaptacion a cualquier habitat, fisico o psiquico.
Como si de una pelicula de Milos Forman se tratase, yo ya no se quien es el loco aqui.