Cuando una vida comienza, inicia una sonrisa, inicia un llanto.
Cuando una vida comienza, la marea azota, los espíritus reaccionan.
Cuando una vida comienza, la naturaleza se arrodilla
Cuando una vida nace, rompe la ley de la soledad.
Cuando una vida renace, nada ni nadie excepto ella misma se renueva.
Cuando renazco, lloro. El fuego arde, la piel crepita, y no hay forma de luchar contra la tormenta que se avecina, visible a años luz de distancia.
Lo que queda es admirar la belleza del ojo de la tormenta.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Muse
The first time I saw her, she shined as Starlight, and everything surrounding her body suddenly melted into Butterflies and Hurricanes. Her beauty was enough to blow my concentration away. The café became a paradise to me, my tea tasted like glory, I felt like floating around in joy.
I didn’t even dare at first to talk to her. But my Pink Ego Box tore my patience and I found myself walking towards her as fast as I could, as if I was being Forced In. Every step I took gave me confidence, gave me strength; still, when I arrived at her side, my mouth could not mutter a single word. And I couldn’t help to stare at her eyes deeply as she said, sounding impressed, yet somehow bored:
“Ashamed?”
My mind became a Shrinking Universe, and as soon as I turned around and walked away, I heard her giggle, I dived into desperation.
I returned to that same café every Tuesday, and I would see her ask for the same thing: just a soda and a cracker. Some nights she would even dare for vodka. Being able to watch her come and go from the café was Bliss for me. She became the reason I always delved deep into Hysteria when I got home; she had me begging for Apocalypse Please.
I could not stop thinking she was the girl for me; ironically, I still didn’t dare to find out. It was some kind of Unnatural Selection going on around her.
And so it was for three months. The time enough to tell myself “Time is Running Out”, stand up and walk towards her once again. I planned to establish a smooth conversation, with a clear and plain beginning; but as soon as I got there, all I could say was:
“Can’t Take my Eyes Off of You.”
By the moment I had realized what I had just said, she was staring at me as if I was an Assassin; kind of shocked, but somehow amazed. She giggled as I had heard her before, the first time I met her. Then she asked:
“What’s your name?”
“Fillip.”
“Are you Feeling Good?”
“Sure.”
“Then sit down, and talk to me”.
Although it seemed as if I had the Stockholm Syndrome, I didn’t dare to disobey her command. I sat, and it was the most beautiful conversation I ever had.
She silenced my Thoughts of a Dying Atheist. She taught me of how beautiful life is. We were two sides of a coin; a Dead Star and its Supermassive Black Hole.
She had the weird tendency of giving names to her favorite places; we would always go to The Gallery, as she called her home, listen to Hyper Music and talk about her MK Ultra, which turned out to be her dog (I first thought of a Mortal Kombat game); we would go to the Muscle Museum to mock around of the people who so worked so hard in order to call themselves “attractive”; and we would also go to the Cave, that small café where our history started, and Sing for Absolution those nights when she fancied vodka the most.
But my favorite place of all was what she called The Groove; her backyard, which she had transformed in her own paradise of Recess, in which she could wipe out her Fury and listen to the mockingbirds fly away. It made us feel Invincible.
She told me about the dreams she had and the dreams she lost. She wanted to escape from this City of Delusion and flee to the United States of Eurasia; maybe study some Exo-Politics and later join the Knights of Cydonia, in their quest for what might be happiness. She was really deep into Futurism.
But she was not dumb, nor was she lame. She could draw a Map of Your Head only by staring to your eyes. She told me that the first time she saw mine, she saw me just as another Screenager; always diving into the Map of the Problematique.
It was really hard for me to keep up with her insanity. But I loved her.
She called me her Citizen Erased, because she liked to think that I was always there for her whenever she needed to escape from the routine of the city. I called her my Plug In Baby. She fueled my survival instinct. Her words were like Sunburn; they never faded away.
One day she told me:
“You were Overdue by three months. Why didn’t you dare to talk to me?”
“You put me in a Coma, you broke my Resistance. It was Unintended, but now you know that I Belong to You.”
“What will happen when I leave?”
“You will be Eternally Missed by me.”
“What if Dark Shines among us?”
“Then it will be time for our Uprising. We can sort out any obstacle there might ever be.”
“Not Easily.”
“Maybe not, but it can be done.”
The overwhelming wind calmed her for a while. The Small Print had come to stay. But she was not done with the 20 questions.
“What have I done to you?”
“You made me a New Born.”
“You can be really funny sometimes.”
Again, the wind blew harder than our voices. But her last question was not silenced:
“What do you want from me?”
I looked at her, smiled, kissed her softly on the lips, and answered:
“The Undisclosed Desires in your heart.”
She’s always been my number Uno.
I didn’t even dare at first to talk to her. But my Pink Ego Box tore my patience and I found myself walking towards her as fast as I could, as if I was being Forced In. Every step I took gave me confidence, gave me strength; still, when I arrived at her side, my mouth could not mutter a single word. And I couldn’t help to stare at her eyes deeply as she said, sounding impressed, yet somehow bored:
“Ashamed?”
My mind became a Shrinking Universe, and as soon as I turned around and walked away, I heard her giggle, I dived into desperation.
I returned to that same café every Tuesday, and I would see her ask for the same thing: just a soda and a cracker. Some nights she would even dare for vodka. Being able to watch her come and go from the café was Bliss for me. She became the reason I always delved deep into Hysteria when I got home; she had me begging for Apocalypse Please.
I could not stop thinking she was the girl for me; ironically, I still didn’t dare to find out. It was some kind of Unnatural Selection going on around her.
And so it was for three months. The time enough to tell myself “Time is Running Out”, stand up and walk towards her once again. I planned to establish a smooth conversation, with a clear and plain beginning; but as soon as I got there, all I could say was:
“Can’t Take my Eyes Off of You.”
By the moment I had realized what I had just said, she was staring at me as if I was an Assassin; kind of shocked, but somehow amazed. She giggled as I had heard her before, the first time I met her. Then she asked:
“What’s your name?”
“Fillip.”
“Are you Feeling Good?”
“Sure.”
“Then sit down, and talk to me”.
Although it seemed as if I had the Stockholm Syndrome, I didn’t dare to disobey her command. I sat, and it was the most beautiful conversation I ever had.
She silenced my Thoughts of a Dying Atheist. She taught me of how beautiful life is. We were two sides of a coin; a Dead Star and its Supermassive Black Hole.
She had the weird tendency of giving names to her favorite places; we would always go to The Gallery, as she called her home, listen to Hyper Music and talk about her MK Ultra, which turned out to be her dog (I first thought of a Mortal Kombat game); we would go to the Muscle Museum to mock around of the people who so worked so hard in order to call themselves “attractive”; and we would also go to the Cave, that small café where our history started, and Sing for Absolution those nights when she fancied vodka the most.
But my favorite place of all was what she called The Groove; her backyard, which she had transformed in her own paradise of Recess, in which she could wipe out her Fury and listen to the mockingbirds fly away. It made us feel Invincible.
She told me about the dreams she had and the dreams she lost. She wanted to escape from this City of Delusion and flee to the United States of Eurasia; maybe study some Exo-Politics and later join the Knights of Cydonia, in their quest for what might be happiness. She was really deep into Futurism.
But she was not dumb, nor was she lame. She could draw a Map of Your Head only by staring to your eyes. She told me that the first time she saw mine, she saw me just as another Screenager; always diving into the Map of the Problematique.
It was really hard for me to keep up with her insanity. But I loved her.
She called me her Citizen Erased, because she liked to think that I was always there for her whenever she needed to escape from the routine of the city. I called her my Plug In Baby. She fueled my survival instinct. Her words were like Sunburn; they never faded away.
One day she told me:
“You were Overdue by three months. Why didn’t you dare to talk to me?”
“You put me in a Coma, you broke my Resistance. It was Unintended, but now you know that I Belong to You.”
“What will happen when I leave?”
“You will be Eternally Missed by me.”
“What if Dark Shines among us?”
“Then it will be time for our Uprising. We can sort out any obstacle there might ever be.”
“Not Easily.”
“Maybe not, but it can be done.”
The overwhelming wind calmed her for a while. The Small Print had come to stay. But she was not done with the 20 questions.
“What have I done to you?”
“You made me a New Born.”
“You can be really funny sometimes.”
Again, the wind blew harder than our voices. But her last question was not silenced:
“What do you want from me?”
I looked at her, smiled, kissed her softly on the lips, and answered:
“The Undisclosed Desires in your heart.”
She’s always been my number Uno.
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