lunes, 30 de abril de 2018

Patch up...

Patch up your wounds till they become scars or just bleed out...

Again you find me here, about to start my ramblings. In these last few months writing has clearly not been my priority, and it still ain't, but sometimes it's ok to let off some steam...

Things worth mentioning... I'd say about three twists have taken place in my life in these months, all of them aim-changing, and of course this became forceful adaptation at some crazy-ass Darwinist level I had not intended to acknowledge any time soon. But life is change right?
Not writing ritual today, sorry, not even incense filling my nostrils, I'm not in the mood for such mellow scents. I just miss the Highlands...

I wonder, and ponder, and think, and get tired, and think some more, and drink, and breathe, and smoke, and breathe, and I think, and think yet again... but some things have begun to change in me, I can feel it.
Some corners of anxiety have been scraped out, but it's a hard struggle, and there is no stronger opponent than oneself... and mine is a tough motherfucker all armed and armored ready for doomsday... we get by sometimes though... yes, in my lowest hours when defeat was the bitter kiss I felt on my tongue, it told me to either patch up my wounds and hope for them to become scars or just simply bleed out in my own pool of self disgust and denial... and man, having such a tough motherfucker by your  side sometimes is nasty business, but thanks for the help dude... though I still hate your guts for pushing me forward...

Oioioioi... there it goes again, this brain of mine... My latest questions to world are, or would be: am I to give up principles for existence? Am I to stand tall or stand aside? Should I let the current take me or try to sink my feet into the sand hoping to hold out when the next wave hits? Should I stop wondering or thinking and just let loose? Am I doomed to fall within the grasp of ancient patterns?
These and many more follow me, seek me out and haunt me... and still among all these heaps of inconsistency and painful existential doubts I seem to find something within to hold on to, hope if you will, stubbornness most likely... and the best part is that this... what-ever-you-call-it keeps me going with myself and with others. Of course, life is the most certain uncertainty, and accepting uncertainty and loss are two of the most difficult lessons we are faced with... and I have my doubts whether anybody is really able to stand the test, I'm guessing most people just pretend and go on about their business hoping the sticky tentacles of loss and uncertainty give them another break...

Honestly now, I don't know where I'm going with this... maybe I do... either way, it's none of your business. Wish me luck in getting fucked in the ass by life or getting shit-faced every once in a while after drowning in my own content and self pity while trying to save the world or some individual...

Today I choose to patch up my wounds, to stand tall. Tomorrow... I might choose differently... but not today.

"Before all things reborn again
You learn the painful breath of time
And through the bitter cold, with opened eyes
You'll find the strength to fight and stand upright

Gojira Born in Winter

martes, 9 de enero de 2018

Empty spaces

When the brain keeps on going, not to a single place but to many at the same time, no completion is found. A stop is necessary, but stopping does not imply ceasing to be nor to exist. Maybe a break is something necessary for the brain every once in a while, however, the ongoing struggle against reality, imposed by the outside, and the inner struggle, meet in a clash of titans, sometimes lasting for years.

I actually have no fucking clue what I'm writing about, I did a couple of minutes ago yet it all seems so futile. Weird year so far indeed... What are the signs? Are there any at all?
Change, ever happening, change, ever present... no water runs still...

Empty cups and full hopes, and in between music and thoughts and sorrow and greatness and nothingness...

Never mind my words, I guess this is just an exercise after so long a time without any written words...

I understand my self though, I think...

Down in a Hole by Alice in Chains

"Down in a hole and they've put all the stones in their place
I've eaten the sun so my tongue has been burned of the taste
I have been guilty of kicking myself in the teeth
I will speak no more of my feelings beneath"

martes, 12 de diciembre de 2017

Good enough

Today it will be the words of some other the ones I shall be sharing. I found them beautiful enough for me to want to share it...

Me basta así
Si yo fuese Dios
y tuviese el secreto,
haría un ser exacto a ti;
lo probaría
(a la manera de los panaderos
cuando prueban el pan, es decir:
con la boca),
y si ese sabor fuese
igual al tuyo, o sea
tu mismo olor, y tu manera
de sonreír,
y de guardar silencio,
y de estrechar mi mano estrictamente,
y de besarnos sin hacernos daño
—de esto sí estoy seguro: pongo
tanta atención cuando te beso—;

si yo fuese Dios,
podría repetirte y repetirte,
siempre la misma y siempre diferente,
sin cansarme jamás del juego idéntico,
sin desdeñar tampoco la que fuiste
por la que ibas a ser dentro de nada;
ya no sé si me explico, pero quiero
aclarar que si yo fuese
Dios, haría
lo posible por ser Ángel González
para quererte tal como te quiero,
para aguardar con calma
a que te crees tú misma cada día
a que sorprendas todas las mañanas
la luz recién nacida con tu propia
luz, y corras
la cortina impalpable que separa
el sueño de la vida,
resucitándome con tu palabra,
Lázaro alegre,
mojado todavía
de sombras y pereza,
sorprendido y absorto
en la contemplación de todo aquello
que, en unión de mí mismo,
recuperas y salvas, mueves, dejas
abandonado cuando —luego— callas...
(Escucho tu silencio.
constelaciones: existes.
Creo en ti.
Me basta).

Ángel González (1925-2008)

martes, 5 de diciembre de 2017

Synchronicity, maybe...

As time goes on, writing sort of becomes more difficult, but not because I loose skills or my texts are shitty, which might well be as well... no, the fact is as time goes on and I get to know more of myself through the things I experience, the things I live and the new memories that are being made every day, I see a tendency to draw back, to ponder longer, to doubt what it is I truly wish to share with this over-connected world... and whether this world (and by extension people who I'm either loosely or closely related to) truly deserves having more power over me... Either way, about a month since the last time I produced some form of written message to be published...

This said, I just wish to share some thought on synchronicity... the older generations might know this name from an album by The Police (pretty cool must say, and it's the one which has the song "Every Breath You Take", with one of the simplest chord progressions and yet most astonishing result)...

Back to the topic... Someone pretty close to me rather recently (take or give a month or two) talked to me about synchronicities, what they are, how they do happen... and of course, at first I was sort of taken aback at the prospect... but then some started sieving through the fabric of the reality that envelops me... and man! I gotta say it's beautiful the way the universe communicates with us, although it can make one even more fearful of the unknown and the extent one is not in control of anything at all... but there is such beauty in it, especially if you take time in recognizing it... synchronicities at their best...
However, this does not mean the universe only brings good things around. No sir! It also brings shitstorms and plaguelike states, because it is sort of a nasty 15-year-old teenager with a temper... on the good side, these storms are there only to help us move forward to greatness... and before greatness, there is always pain... but what a shitty world it would be if we never suffered any pain or loss...  we wouldn't learn, we wouldn't appreciate times, people and things that remind us that we are happy and we are to share this happiness with others, even if it's not well received...

I drift in and out, I know... maybe the best I can say is that staring fear at the face I have come to know its name, and learning about how the universe works, does not make me any less fearful... but it helps me learn and cope with the deepest fear mankind has, the one we will most definitely accompany us until our trip to the lands beyond...

Two synchronicities for you...

Sinéad O'Connor & The Chieftains "The Foggy Dew"
No day copies yesterday,
no two nights will teach what bliss is
in precisely the same way,
with precisely the same kisses.
Why do we treat the fleeting day
with so much needless fear and sorrow?
It’s in its nature not to stay:
Today is always gone tomorrow

W.Szymborska Nothing Twice

miércoles, 1 de noviembre de 2017

Demons, anyone?

Yup, today I feel like talking about demons. Yeah, I know, it's been Halloween and there's been a lot of goofy people running around in their goofy costumes "celebrating" Halloween in a futile intent to get laid later in the evening... P.S.: I never really like that idea much... I'm weird, I know... ain't that cool?
But no, my topic today ain't Halloween-related, although I very much enjoy horror movies with demons and bat-shit crazy stuff like that.

For a few days, not in a row, I've been having dreams about demons. Now, I won't be giving you details of the types of demons and situations I've been seeing them, that's only for me to know, you bastards!
Aaaaanyway, the fact that I find noteworthy is that my dreams about demons, and how I do fight and fend them off or get overrun by them never did have much to do with my present situation (present whenever that present was). But I find it funny that these things I dream about, and which do not scare me in the least (either poor trapped souls or concentrated negative energy that at some point will dissipate), whenever I look up dream symbolism they seem to be a sort of forewarning. And up to this day the only forewarnings I've really felt useful were bugs: I cannot recollect a single instance in my life in which dream demons warned about anything... However, some dream interpretations also give an interesting point of view: a sort of acknowledgement or awareness of one's past and how one is moving past it. Now this part seems nice, though I cannot really tell (not even to myself) what the hell this is supposed to mean given the many changes that have happened in my own personal head-quarters that such awareness was more than clear to me... who knows...

And talking about dreams, I remember having a lot of dreams about dry vineyards and zombies... I should check into that...

Completely unrelated: I love artistic pictures of the human body, not just bare nudes, but shade and color play related to positioon... and I just saw a collection of pre, during and post birth pictures, that is of women, with or without companion, giving birth and there is something mystical about it I can't really put my finger on... but hey, don't start getting ideas, I'm won't be joyning that club for the time being... maybe even never, who knows, life is, quoting the great Forrest Gump "like a box o' chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get".

Signing off...

Random musical note of the day
Garbage's I'm only happy when it rains

Whispering: I Love the nineties...

martes, 10 de octubre de 2017

Some and counting...

It's been a while, I know,but I've been meaning to write for several days and somehow the time wasn't right, neither were the circumstances...

Where should I start... I have no goddamed idea, to be honest...

Maybe I'll get back a few days and see again some beautiful times out of impulsiveness, where mountain and tree and dried out heather reigned, with molten chocolate smiles, and candid embraces in the night followed by nightmarish boxes falling...
And most recently, a grand gift was made and given to me, but such was its grandeur I could not hold it within my chest. I know what I heard and saw and felt, and it was beyond my expectations, beyond any thought, it just surpassed my outer barriers, my defenses, and left me like a torn out rag on a muddy street in late winter. Such was its power... but I know what it meant, I heard what it cried, I licked what it had to offer, and I tasted that serene bitterness, that pungent sweet and sharp melody...
Still it haunts me...

And so the days passed and I found myself in yet a position ever stranger to me... I remembered
Ensiferum's "The Wanderer", and the tune crept back into my head, brushing against my dried out memories, seeking out a new pole on which to stand, and so it did... And I found myself pondering about solitude, but not in a negative sense, just thinking about it, nothing fancy, just feeling I wanted almost no soul around me at that particular time and place, though part of me was elsewhere and I had to surrender to the evidence. I travel the night seeking such a place and found it beyond the witching hour when I found my solace listening to music. And then cam Jeff Buckley with his sound... and I broke down... his music, ever haunting, was so powerful his sound could pass through armored concrete as if it were butter under the summer sun...  and it pierced me through...

Then a day passed and a new musical project began, the fingers remembered their old strengths and weaknesses, I began to feel letting go, I began to feel the roar... once, so far...

And today has been a day of bitter and sweet tastes, with lights and shades, many more than anticipated...
Good old karma came a-knockin'... but then came back for some revenge. My brain was depleted from too much working... Calls and thoughts, and thoughts and silence... again a stranger in my eyes, or is it to my eyes? so late I dare not to care, not today... Sometimes silence is loudest...
But I also had a nice chat with a friend, about relationships, and things we dislike, and that which we find beautiful in one, and how haste kills them all... but fortune willed it that I find yet another thing that I add to my understanding-pending list... maybe it means nothing, but I know nothing means a lot, except I do not know what... not yet anyway... I just hope for a night with no nightmares, for solace in my own fantasies, for memory and fantasy are mine and mine alone... even it my whole world crumbles down...

'Tis so precious this gift, 'tis so strong and frail, but it is... and I'd not change it for another 1000 years of life... I just wish you are ok, you are missed...

I fade out...

lunes, 25 de septiembre de 2017


Nachdennklich. Druck. Feuer. Druck. Zweifel. Vermutung. Stille. Los.

So much to say, yet so little that I wish to share for the world does not deserve much of what I could ever saying.
But waking up it's a difficult job, realizing the peace of sleep is gone and now, as the sun shines, my brain is back again to give me a hard time. I wish myself a brain stopper yet I know they do not work.
One hour rolling on top of an unwanted mattress, trying to remain in an uncomfortable sleep trying to prevent that moment from coming... but the day marches on against my will.

Trying to understand yet trying not to, a paradoxical fight between of two halves of a single brain, wondering why the need for work, for time without using the brain. Maybe I should start getting loads of things to do, it seems to be my kick.

No paths are trod twice, the plants grow ever different.
At least yesterday's sweat was genuine, as true as my voice was...

Maybe this is my escape valve...

Feuer. Druck.

(Random songs that sound in the night)
Vreid - Empty

"A writer out of loneliness is trying to communicate like a distant star sending signals. He isn't telling, or teaching, or ordering. Rather, he seeks to establish a relationship with meaning, of feeling, of observing. We are lonesome animals. We spend all our live trying to be less lonesome. And one of our ancient methods is to tell a story, begging the listener to say, and to feel, "Yes, that's the way it is, or at least that's the way I feel it. You're not as alone as you thought." To finish is sadness to a writer, a little death. He puts the last word down and it is done. But it isn't really done. The story goes on and leaves the writer behind, for no story is ever done." 
John Steinbeck