jueves, agosto 17, 2006

"Your mornings will be brighter
Break down the line
Tear up rules
Make the most of a million times no"

(Bauhaus - "Hope")

Suprimí la entrada anterior por larga y por jarta. Para los que tuvieron la mala fortuna de leerlo: lo siento, no volverá a pasar.

Démosle la dimensión justa a las cosas. Exageré totalmente y dije cosas de las que me arrepiento. Monique dijo algo sabio cuando le dije lo que pensaba sobre sus comentarios en el blog de Sánchez: Lo importante no es el sitio sino la gente con la que uno los comparte. Claro, también me mandó a comer mierda porque tenía que estudiar para parciales y otras cosas.

Toda la razón.

A manera de conclusiones:

1. "No hay que tomarse la vida tan en serio. Al fin y al cabo, nadie sale vivo de ella" (Atribúyese a varios, pero lo escuché en un cartoon de Bugs Bunny).

2. Me alegra tener los amigos que tengo. Este incidente sirvió para darme cuenta de muchas cosas. Entre otras: me rodea gente honesta y buena. Y pues gente que no tanto... pero ahí está el encanto: amar a quienes amo a pesar de sus defectos. Solo espero que sepan perdonar mi histrionismo crónico. Ustedes saben que solo aflora en el blog.

3. A veces ser honesto no es decir lo primero que se me viene a la cabeza. Tengo mucho que aprender aún sobre la gente y las relaciones humanas.

4. Tristemente, me dí cuenta de lo horrible que puede ser la gente. Ferran Adriá dijo alguna vez "uno es quien la gente dice que uno es". Si no me soporta, tiene la razón. Si me soporta, también. Si me aprecia, también - con el bono adicional de mi respeto, mi confianza y mi cariño. No es mucho, pero es lo que puedo ofrecer a cambio.

5. "Try some, buy some, wheel and deal it, buy it or steal it 'cause it makes you feel it, we want it intense, we want our violence!" (Concrete Blonde - Violent) (Recordé que hace muchos años iba con mi prima y con sus amigas a los bares de rock de Chapinero. Entre cuchitriles de rock y fiestas de integración de sextos y séptimos del San Carlos, una amiga nos puso "Los Guerreros de Chapinero", aludiendo sarcásticamente a lo chiquitos y alevosos que éramos. Hace mucho no me sentía tan ligado a algo. Juraré y me haré matar por el cacique Usaca si es el caso. Pese a los cuenteros, a los cafés y al estigma del universitario bohemio, USAQUÉN E' TU PAPÁ, NO JODDAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAERRRDAVIEJOMENCAR'ECOTOPLA!!!!!).

6. El seis es el guarismo del cambio, de la transición. Tengo derecho a cambiar de opinión y pues sí: se me fue la mano con todo. Si no se están riendo del drama tan culo que se armó, ¿Qué esperan?

Ya. No más drama.

VINCIT!

Rev. Jakob Koshkat

domingo, agosto 13, 2006

Crosstitute
The gun was held right in front of his face, drawn in sharp, almost geometrical brush strokes unlike the hand holding it. The hand, the glove, the face, the smirk was an impressionistic blur, only defined by the subtle games of dim light and warm shadows. A lightbulb pending over their heads, undulating to and fro, to and fro, to and fro and all over again, moved by God knows which benevolent deity who wanted to add some dramatism and beauty to a rather dull scene, sucked out from Pulp 101 in a desperate attempt to replace creativity with emotive popular culture. We can always be grateful for that gift: An aesthetical intention underneath the darkest hours.
Haven't you noticed how beautiful things are when you're falling to pieces? How sweet and benevolent the sky opens and the music of angels singing to lessen the pain? He was listening to that sweet music inside his head. Everything, for a second, was a perfect stage. It was a tune you can hum or whistle to, the kind of tune that sticks in that sensitive part of your brain and stays like a stain for days and months and brings you to tears every now and then. Part Beethoven's Nineth, part Louis Armstrong, part Broadway, part Disney. And none of them. Just a tune made out of the best fragments you remember from the radio or those old records.
I changed my name so no one but you can say it. I shed my skin and left it in an alley, since there was no way to bury it under an old cedar. You don't see that many trees nowadays, you don't see that much green and red. I changed my hands so you can keep the old ones. I changed my voice so it never echoes against these walls. I died so many times to amuse you... but I have to set limits. You have to set limits. There were moments on which your words hurt me, there were moments on which sex wouldn't do the trick, there were many instants and Polaroids within me on which were both were out of focus. It was great while it lasted, it was the time of my life but... I have to set limits. You have to set limits. The Sun's about to come and I wonder and wander every single moment. I taste it before I call your name. It made me think twice, which is just a knee-jerk reaction that was triggered by my stupid vanity. Think twice, you'll never get this chance again, to call someone's name.
Closer, moving closer.
I don't care about anyone now. I care about everyone in relation and proportion to myself. Will they miss me?
The bullet found a place to sleep, a hole in the wall. A quick strut across the cutting air and the piercing rain and the idiot whose eyes were wide open in a rictus of fright. People look so ridiculous when they're about to die. Up, down, left right, dodge it, embrace it. Choices are so few.
That's it? No time for a final speech? I hope they can forgive me. They always told me how selfish I was. Can you blame me? It's just one of those habits. Like smoking. Like sitting at the exact same side of the table. I'm sorry, couldn't think of anything else.
Heaven, Hell. Hell, Heaven. Back to the starting point as a less-fortunate being so you can learn a bit more. I keep the score, I set the rules. And, here: between you and me, I stopped caring a while ago. It was fun while it lasted, but... I have to set limits. You have to set limits.

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