Learning to stare

Susan Sontag talks about the impossibility of pictures to be imbued with significance if we look at them out of a political context.
The message that particular pictures try to transmit, and the reality they plasm are highly charged with a meaning that does not arise from them, but from the outside world they capture.
I understand that what she is trying to explain is that nothing escapes politics or ideology.
Since we born, (if u have born in the same part of the world as I did, not meaning Spain but anywhere in what we call Western developed societies) we perceived and interiorice the meaning the world through images as much as words.
We construct our identity around reflection of "us" opposed to reflections of "the other", we learn beauty and build desire, we dream of lands where we'll probably never set foot in and we sollow the pill of reality that certain publications and organizations make us believe in.
The past is illustrated so vividly that we have the feeling we lived there once. The present is constantly changing, and we forget to live in it as we are constantly preoccupied with freezing the moment with a digital gaze that makes us claim that we were there. No proof, no certainty, not reality, no existence.
And this is the modern stress of being and looking and appropriate a multiplicity of spaces where we want to be at the same time. But Impossible, despite we have the means to reduce it to more comprehensible terms, still remains impossible.
We are allowed to play with the organization of the world and choose what we want to consume before going to bed. That's what many understand for freedom nowadays. Quite reductive and simple understanding of the term, but rather acceptable if you want to be a conformist.
Or we can learn, which is always more challenging. I mean, learn to look with our own eyes. It takes a great effort and many disappointments, but it is worthy. We might not scape this world that some built and designed for us, but we can deconstruct it at our wish by simply putting a question mark at the end of every statement formal authorities do.
I guess that the way we look at things is as important as the way things "are". If there is a ultimate meaning lying under everything with a form under the sun, we should question it before taking it for granted. We should try to read its soul, just for fun, just for once, and challenge the authorship of authors to find some truth before it gets killed for good.

All yours.

Why not aiming for the stars? What is in there for us to loose? Oh, stop it, let's do that list any other time because today the weight is for someone else to carry. Today is a time for us, for what we want, even if we still don't know what it is.
Look at our world, how it crumbles, and I don't want to see this. I don't want to burn in this lack of appetite that has contaminated everyone I used to know. I am meeting new people now because in this city you run out of chances and choices. I am fucking tired of finding the same over and over. I migt be boring, but the rest of the world is dull (one of those days).
I remember that poster I bought myself with a few pounds in some shop in Cambridge. My favourite rock starts sit on a table full of rotten fruit and meat prompt to decay. In a gloomy atmosphere they look relaxed and cool, dressed in glamorous and furry scarves, tight jeans and pirate hats. Totally rebellious in their Brit 60's looks. They transmit the idea that their kingdom doesn't belong to this material world where everything gets wasted before you have the chance to try it.
I just couldn't stop staring at that blurry image of spoiled kids wasted in drugs and alcohol who played to be beggars, but played their instruments for no king, laying some lyrics on a piece of paper that became my bible. I know I am cursed for worshiping false gods. But they never asked me to. They just sang the road to my perdition and I chose to believe and follow.
Once I drove a rented car to the cliffs of Moher and I looked at the Atlantic Ocean in its blue eyes.
Back then, the threat of Food and Mouth disease disturbed the Irish air and economy, falling upon humans that were forced to pay for their mistakes of creating a bubble of abundance in search for profit, transforming possibility in chaos.
But for me, the only thing that polluted the air that impossible beautiful Celtic morning was a song from the Joshua Tree album. Ireland was just the beginning of the world. I could hear the songs of the emigrants that chose the path of the sea to escape misery mixing with Bono's gospel voice.
I wished I could swim with them to a new land.
This search for freedom, not yet completed, lead me to a room in Russell Sq. Still the music surrounds it all.
It's funny how some say that freedom is overrated when it's the only thing we can hold on to. All the rest is an illusion, labelled with brands we happily pay for.
All the rest is you and me writing down our dreams in a piece of wet paper. So I remove myself from the reflection of us in the mirror and I leave it all to yourself. Enjoy the view.

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!!!

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.

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.

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!!)

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.