The Spiderweb of Life

2007-10-17T13:47:00.000-04:00

!!!!!!!!!!

Saludos a Todos desde los altos de Pipe! (es en serio, donde queda el IVIC se llama asi, look it up if you don't believe me).

En la casi tercera semana de haberme venido a los altos mirandinos, les cuento mi historia hasta ahora, como a mi me gustaria que me la contaran.

Llegue un jueves en la noche, después haber pasado los dias anteriores llorando como una tonta por casi cualquier cosa... Para justificarme, además de un pleito feo con una de mis hermanas (no de sangre, pero de espíritu, que es mejor), como siempre yo estaba extrañando a todo el mundo mientras todavía estaba con ellos. En fin, en el camino al bus se le ponchó una morocha (interesante dato, y a ver si alguien le consigue lógica a esto, el bus tiene cauchos dobles, sin embargo, sólo lleva un caucho de repuesto, anyone?), y pasamos una hora y algo parados a 40 minutos de Barquisimeto, y terminé llegando a Caracas como a las 9 de la noche, y a los diez minutos de que mi tío me buscara, me echó el balde de agua que me tenía que levantar al otro dia a las 5 de la mañana, porque salíamos a las 6 al IVIC, para evitarnos las colas...Para nada, porque en el IVIC nos pararon en la alcabala desde las 7 y media que llegamos, hasta las 8 y meda, hora en la que comienzan a entregar los pases de entrada. Mi tío se durmió (roncó y todo) con su camioneta prendida, y cuando llego la hora de subir, no tenía batería. Fun, isn't it?

En fin, tuve que hacer una prueba de aptitud académica (menos preguntas, same fundament) en la cual tiré completamente a pegar las preguntas de matemática, y luego una prueba de observación, donde tenias que inferir cual cuadrito completaba la serie de nueve, de esos que son cuadritos con rayitas horizontales, verticales, torcidas y tal...Eso fue divertido.

Y bueno, despues de eso básicamente estuve con mi familia hablando paja mayormente hasta que el domingo subí a San Antonio, y luego de una sesión familiar dominguera de gritar paja (si, porque este lado de mi familia no habla, grita, y para que yo lo diga, imagínense como suenan) me quedé a dormir en el sofa de mi tía, porque el primo con el cual me iba a quedar estaba trabajando.

El lunes empecé aqui en el IVIC, con el martirio total de pedir pases, de lo cual lo mas divertido es que luego de pedir pases tienes literalmente que stick your thumb out and hitch a ride, porque son 4 kilometros en subida hasta algo más o menos poblado. Ahora, lo bueno de los 4 kilometros? que son frios, puro bosque a tu alrededor, todo tranquilo, sin ruido, sin cornetas, sin colas (al menos aquí adentro) y ves pájaros, y perritos, y segun me han dicho, hay toda clase de animales divertidos, ademas de algunos de los científicos, que bien parecen especímenes animales.

La doctora que es mi tutora es medio loca, y a veces no tan loca chevere... Está embarazada, pero no se si sea debido a eso que a veces le dan unos anger outbursts que tu te quieres como meter bajo una baldosa (hasta ahora no he sido blanco de ninguno de ellos, y espero no serlo).

El laboratorio donde trabajo es de una forma muy cómica, porque es un pasillo largo, con cuartos a los lados, y cada cuarto es de algo... Una nevera tipo carnicería (es un cuarto, niños, un cuarto completo de nevera a 4ºC), las oficinas y las áreas de laboratorio propiamente dichas, una para PCR y para extracciones de DNA y RNA, las de lavado... y las mas mas cool, las de cultivo celular con sus propios tanques de nitrógeno líquido para almacenar las células... No saben en cuántos usos he pensado para el nitrógeno líquido.

La gente es medio loca, hay un tipo aceleradísimo, que es un vacilón (casi doctor, creo que es), pero toda la gente es asi linda y feliz, y voy a trabajar un mes aqui y otro en otro lab, que creo que trabajan con VIH, pero no, todavia no me toca ponerme una braga de astronauta, cosa que es uno de mis sueños (aunque ya se que en el instituto nacional de higiene lo hacen..mmm...bragas de astronauta).

Mi primo vive en un anexo, que es básicamente un apartamento chiquitito, dos cuartos, un baño, sala comedor cocina (asi, junto) y listo. Pero él ahorita se fue a Margarita, asi que me dejó de cuidadora, y estoy viviendo sola (al menos hasta el domingo).

Questions? Comments?

P.D. LOS QUIERO!!!!!!!!!!!
P.D.2. LOS EXTRAÑO!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2007-10-02T10:17:00.000-04:00

Seasons of Love.
525,600 minutes,
525,000 moments so dear
525,600 minutes - how do you measure, measure a year?
In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee
In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife
In 525,600 minutes - how do you measure a year in the life?
How about love? How about love? How about love? Measure in love
Seasons of love
525,600 minutes!
525,000 journeys to plan
525,600 minutes - how can you measure the life of a woman or man?
In truths that she learned, or in times that he cried
In bridges he burned, or the way that she died
It’s time now to sing out, tho the story never ends
let's celebrate remember a year in the life of friends
Remember the love! Remember the love! Remember the love!
Measure in love. Seasons of love! Seasons of love.

2007-09-15T20:14:00.000-04:00

Amarte a Ti.

Ricardo Arjona.

Amarte a ti no es lo mejor, lo tengo claro

Habiendo tantas cosas por hacer menos traumáticas

Como hallarle figuras a las nubes

Como ir al cine o no hacer nada

Amarte a ti no es lo mejor, pero me gusta

Quizás estoy jugando como siempre al masoquista

En vez de distraerme con el football

O con el Internet, como lo hacen todos

Amarte a ti no es lo mejor, pero es perfecto

Para encontrarle algún sentido a ésta rutina,

De ser por siempre sólo un ciudadano

Sólo uno más

Amarte a ti me hace sufrir, que buena suerte

Para acordarme de que existo y de que siento

Para tener en que pensar todas las noches

Para vivir

Amarte a ti es un veneno, que da vida

Es una antorcha que se enciende si se apaga

Es lo sublime junto con lo idiota

Es lo que siento, y a quién le importa

Amarte a ti es la verdad más mentirosa

Es lo mejor de lo peor que me ha pasado

Es la ruleta rusa por un beso

Es lo de siempre improvisado

Amarte a ti es un error, dice un amigo,

Que cree que ser feliz es estar libre

Y se pierde del matiz que da lo incierto

Amarte a ti

Es la embajada de un instante en mi cerebro

Es también haberte odiado un par de veces

Amarte a ti es un absurdo, y lo sabemos

Y así será...

Mientras nos dure...

Ya no se me ocurren cuentos de dramas y diversiones humanas... La vida me proveyo de suficientes dramas y diversiones, y le agradezco por eso, aunque a veces me provoque mandarlo todo (y a todos) al carajo, pero no al primer carajo que esta mas cerca, sino al ultimo que esta como en la vigésima quinta duna del desierto del Sahara.

En fin, sean felices de la forma que mejor les parezca, asi sea siendo infelices...

Los quiero, amigos invisibles!

2007-07-29T12:58:00.000-04:00

Creencias.

Anoche, un trabajador de farmatodo se rió porque me aparté cuando barría... Lo hice porque él estaba barriendo, y yo estaba atravesada, asi que me quité para dejarlo terminar el trabajo. El me miró y me dijo: "Crees que te voy a barrer la suerte?"

Resultó que anoche yo andaba medio Luna, estaba así como liviana, como más de allá que de aquí, pero esa frase tan random se me quedó en la mente.

Antes de dormir me puse a pensar en lo fuerte que son las creencias de la gente, por aparentemente tontas o simples que sean, y lo que las pueden llevar a hacer.

Hay ejemplos grandes y graves, desde las Cruzadas, por ejemplo, donde por recuperar un sagrado pedazo de tierra, cuyo valor, aparentemente, depende del dueño, murieron muchos, algunos creyendo, otros, quizás, solo defendiendo lo que sabían. Están las quemas de brujas y las Inquisiciones, donde a algún ingenuo se le ocurría alzar la voz en contra de la creencia general, y terminaba en una muerte usualmente lenta y dolorosa (porque vamos, existe algún otro tipo que valga la pena?).

Hace poco, con algo que a mi me parece una superstición igual a la de pasar bajo una escalera o que se te atraviese un gato negro, alguien salió a defenderla con profunda y absoluta creencia, bajo el argumento de "Yo no lo hice, ya estaba así" y me dejó como en shock ver, en los ojos de alguien, no sólo esa creencia ciega, sino ese poquito de lástima, esa, digamos, pena, de que lo que estábamos alrededor no compartiéramos esa aparentemente vital creencia.

Eso me complicó (claro, a mí que me encanta...) porque me puse a pensar que esta persona sería justo el tipo de meterte sus creencias, sólo porque tiene la razón (según ella) y tú no, hasta por donde no te quepa, y entendí, en ese momento, porque por mucho que quiera a esa persona, nunca voy a poder sentir una conexión real con ella.

Por mucho que pueda gustarte tener razón, creo que en esta era, donde mitos ancestrales se caen de un pequeño toque en un talón, y donde verdades de piedra resultan ser de anime pintado, no me sorprende que la gente se aferre a sus creencias, cualesquiera que sean, porque, a la final, puedes perder todo, menos aquello en lo que crees; lo que me sorprende aún, es que después de ver, como decía algún filósofo raro del cual me hablaron en la clase de ética hace ya mucho tiempo y de cuyo nombre no me acuerdo, que la verdad está fuera de nuestro alcance, y lo que tenemos son aproximaciones a ella, que alguien todavia crea que tiene la única, cierta, inamovible e indiscutible Verdad en la mano, y que además, le parezca natural forzarla en ti.

Supongo que eso que una vez leí hace tiempo y que se ha repetido en muchas partes, eso de que mi signo es voluble, tiene dificultades decidiendo, y cambia de opinión fácilmente, yo me lo tomé a pecho, porque a mí no me sorprende eso de que las creencias se caigan, o que las verdades de ayer ya no sean ciertas hoy, y por lo mismo, no me siento con la verdad en la mano, sólo tengo lo que es verdad para mí, hoy.

Inane ramblings, as usual... *walks off speaking to herself*

2007-05-27T19:11:00.000-04:00

En la misma nota de Ruthie, transmitire una columna de Luis Fernandez, porque me parecio excelente.

Bondades Innecesarias.

"Si no te hice ningún bien,
por qué tu mano me hiere..."
Andrés Eloy Blanco

En una de mis películas favoritas, la protagonista, Nicole Kidman, llega a un pueblo perdido huyendo de un gran peligro. Los habitantes de este caserío la reciben y albergan en lo que parece un acto de bondad y tolerancia. Ella, agradecida comienza a hacerles favores para retribuirles la atención, y es así que comienza entre ellos una típica relación disfuncional, muy parecida a la que sostenemos a diario con nuestros compañeros de trabajo y, sobre todo, con nuestros compañeros de vida.
Con el tiempo, y teniendo la ventaja de ser lo que "hacen el favor", los habitantes del pueblo comienzan a exigir más de su huésped. Pasado el furor inicial del acto benévolo, mitigado ya el placer de haber hecho algo "bueno" por el prójimo en desgracia y convencidos de la superioridad que les otorga el haber sido tolerantes, comienzan a abusar a la protagonista. Ella, que está en inferioridad de condiciones, pero que se sabe superior en intelecto y sabiduría, justifica las acciones que el pueblo ejerce en su contra alegando que "están haciendo lo mejor que pueden". Las palabras dichas por Kidman me sonaron alarmantemente familiares.
La mujer intenta ahora transformarlos, hacerlos mejores personas, convencerlos de que hay un camino para salir del marasmo mediocre que los sostiene apenas como muertos en vida en medio de sus desgracias cotidianas. Ante esta atrevida iniciativa, los habitantes del pueblo, aferrados a su diminuta felicidad de clase media y negados a ser más que lo que cómodamente son, la convierten ahora en una esclava y la atormentan sistemáticamente para que entienda que eso que propone no es más que una herejía insólita y que la mediocre e infeliz es ella. Nuevamente aquello retumbó en mis oídos como algo mil veces escuchado.
Finalmente, el que peligrosamente perseguía a nuestra heroína logra dar con ella. La mujer huía despavorida de la arrogancia criminal de su padre que amenazaba con convertirla en una como él. Ella estaba dispuesta a soportar cualquier abuso para evitar aquella, y además, entenderlo como algo correcto. El padre le dice ahora: Justificar a esos mediocres y tenerles esa compasión es el acto más arrogante quejamás haya visto. Ella, que comprende que es cierto, toma entonces su decisión final y le responde a su padre: Si hay un pueblo sin el cual el mundo sería un mejor lugar, es éste. Y es así como el pueblo y sus habitantes, a punta de metralla y fuego, deja de existir para siempre.
Una vez culminada la película, quedó aquella conclusión rondándome durante meses.
Si, digamos, desde lo que no sin esfuerzo hemos aprendido, intentamos ayudar al que no se quiere ayudar, si le damos la oportunidad al que siente que no se la merece, es natural entonces que en lugar de agradecimiento intenten satanizarnos, pues hemos osado confrontarlos con lo que son. Justificarlo diciendo que el pobre está haciendo lo mejor que puede, es un acto de arrogancia y con certeza nos llevará a ametrallarlo de un modo o de otro.
Si, digamos, una mujer ofrece redimir a un hombre con su amor y hacerlo feliz, y este tolera el casarse con ella y hacerla generosamente su mujer. Si entonces ella, agradecida con la estabilidad y la seguridad que le ofrece, comienza a atenderlo hasta convertirse en una especie de esclava. Si, con el tiempo, él comienza a abusarla sistemáticamente y ella lo justifica diciéndose que él hace lo mejor que puede, que ella al fin de cuentas es la señora, que así fue como lo criaron. Sería natural que tarde o temprano, como la protagonista de la película, tome la mujer la metralleta de la infidelidad, del desamor, de una venganza cualquiera, y se la vacíe al infeliz en la cabeza.

2007-05-13T17:52:00.001-04:00

Había una vez un príncipe con el corazón destrozado.
Un mago, luego de ser derrotado por el rey, utilizó toda su magia oscura para hacer que el corazón el príncipe se fragmentara en miles de piezas, y el viento se encargó de esparcirlas por las cuatro esquinas del mundo.
El príncipe podía sobrevivir con su corazón destrozado, pero desde pequeño supo, y sintió, que no podía amar hasta que su corazón estuviera completo.
Cuando el príncipe tenía 10 años, el rey, su padre, ya había gastado infinitas cantidades de oro en los guerreros más valientes, las personas con la mejor vista, y los monjes más aplicados, todo destinado a buscar piezas del corazón del príncipe, que podían estar en cualquier parte, incluso entre los infinitos granos de arena de las orillas de los mares.
Nuestro príncipe era muy joven aún para entender cuando las piezas de su corazón comenzaron a llegar a el, pero sintió el indefinible calor, la inexplicable euforia, y el apurado palpitar de algo que se iba completando lentamente, como un rompecabezas, dentro de él.
Algunas pequeñas piezas fueron encontradas, traídas casi por un hado invisible, generalmente justo cuando un poco de arena, un simple vaso de agua, o un plato roto estaban a punto de irse a la basura, algo entre las piezas comenzaba a brillar, y quienes las encontraban eran presas de una felicidad instantánea, aún sin saber que el rey les otorgaría una gran recompensa en oro.
Ya hecho un hombre, nuestro príncipe decidió, sabiamente, emprender un viaje, que duraría tanto como fuese necesario para completar su corazón.
Apenas saliendo de su reino, viajando de incógnito y sin un centavo, se encontró una pareja fantástica, una animago, y una extraordinaria aventurera, que le acompañaron en su viaje, calentando sus noches con las emocionantes historias de peligros, hallazgos y criaturas fantásticas que habían llenado sus intricadas vidas. Cuando llegó el momento de separarse, con la pena de la despedida, el príncipe fue presa de un agridulce dolor, que aunque lo dejó medio muerto, le dio una gran alegría luego, al notar que al dejar que otros se introdujeran en su ser, al irse dejaban parte de ellos, piezas que iban a completar un poco más su corazón destrozado.
Encontró un grupo de hadas preciosas, una noche en un bosque, que lo enloquecieron con visiones de éxtasis, y que sólo se aparecían cuando les placía, no importaba cuánto necesitara el príncipe de ellas en algún momento determinado. Estas hadas absorbieron la vida del príncipe hasta el punto en que en lo único que podía pensar era en ellas, y lo único que parecía tener valor en su vida eran ellas. Sólo una sonrisa de las hadas era capaz de cobijar a nuestro príncipe en la más fría de las noches. Las hadas también fueron pasando, dejando lecciones para el príncipe, además de piezas de su corazón, unas costando más dolor que otras, y otras haciéndolo sentir como la pluma más leve, flotando en corrientes de aire.
La sorpresa más grande del incansable príncipe en su búsqueda fue encontrar a una princesa que había sido presa de la misma maldición, y también buscaba las piezas de su corazón. Inmediatamente, los dos, al no sentirse solos, se tomaron de la mano y comenzaron a temblar, notando que el saberse en grata compañía de alguien que entendía perfectamente lo que pasaban, añadía una pieza a su corazón.
Un buen día, la princesa, en un arrebato, le dio una pieza de su corazón al príncipe, al verlo triste, recordando su familia. La buena magia estuvo con ellos, y en el momento en que la princesa le dio la pieza de su corazón al príncipe, sintió como el vacío que ésta dejaba era llenado por una nueva pieza.
Al contarse la historia de su vida, ambos príncipes la examinaron de nuevo, y decidieron acompañarse el uno al otro, caminando juntos, pero en caminos distintos… A veces se gritaban consejos, y muchas veces no estaban de acuerdo en los caminos a tomar, pero siempre eran capaces de respetar las decisiones tomadas por el otro, y lo más importante, siempre estaban el uno para el otro, dispuestos a sentarse a un lado del camino, improvisar un historia fantástica, y disfrutar de la compañía de un alma hermana.
El príncipe y la princesa siguen buscando las piezas… Quizás sus corazones no se completen en el estado en que estaban al principio de su viaje… Pero estoy segura que sus corazones completarán sus piezas.

2007-05-08T23:37:00.000-04:00

Érase una vez un rey viudo, cuya única hija, la princesa mas bella de la que la historia tenia memoria, estaba condenada a ser motivo de guerras y disputas, debido al maleficio de una bruja, celosa de su belleza. Este rey mando buscar a los mejores herreros y les mando construir un anillo perfecto, el único anillo que desposaría a su hija.
Luego, el rey mando llamar al mago más poderoso, que se encargaría de esconder el anillo donde solo alguien tremendamente valiente, inteligente y astuto pudiera encontrarlo. El mago así lo hizo, y cuando comenzaron a aparecer pretendientes para la princesa, el rey les contaba de la prueba y les ordenaba buscar el anillo (interesante es notar que el rey ni siquiera sabia donde estaba).
Buscaron en los precipicios más profundos, en el nido de águila más alto de las cordilleras, dentro de los peces más raros del mar, incluso en los oscuros territorios del África, y en la selva amazónica... Miles murieron en la búsqueda de tal joya, que les daría una vida de felicidad con una preciosa y sabia princesa.
La princesa envejecía, pero su belleza, junto a su exuberante personalidad, parecían aumentar con cada año que pasaba, como si se nutriera de toda la sangre derramada para desposarla.
Un día, un maestro cocinero en un solitario palacio venido a menos (tan venido a menos estaba que el cocinero era también el herrero... ese fue el origen del envenenamiento por metales pesados), al matar a la ultima gallina del gallinero, y comenzar a dividirla cuidadosamente, para obtener lo mas posible, vio algo brillante entre sus órganos... era el anillo.
Ese mismo día, la princesa amaneció muerta, y la recompensa del cocinero fue convertirse en el rey más rico del continente, al romperse la línea de herencia... Su primer mandato fue hacer una gran hoguera, donde reunió al rey, al mago y a los herreros, y los mato por imbéciles.

2007-04-24T20:17:00.000-04:00

En la otra orilla.
Rosana Arvelo

Antes de empezar yo te perdono
en brazos de este amor
me estaba haciendo lodo
Antes de empezar me gustaría
saber por qué este amor
se hizo pesadilla...

y si tus besos no son mi orilla
naufragaremos toda la vida

Antes de seguir con esta historia
de todo lo mejor
lo guardo en la memoria
Antes de seguir y castigarnos
prefiero el corazónde pie que arrodillado...

y si tus besos no son mi orilla
naufragaremos toda la vida

Antes de acabar de despedirme
tienes que saberque no me marcho triste
que no quiero herirte aunque me pierdas
ni que me hagas daño aunque me quieras
Y antes de seguir con desengaños
te dejo esta canción
como único legado...

que si tus besos no son mi vida
navegaremos en otra orilla
y si tus besos no son mi orilla
naufragaremos toda la vida...

Una de las canciones más tristes que he escuchado... de hecho, un dia que la comparti, hice llorar a alguien... Manejese con cuidado...

2007-04-22T16:56:00.000-04:00

Lies... Filthy Lies...

Saben el normal amount of bullshit con el que la gente tiene que convivir? Bueno, aparentemente, a alguien de gracioso, se le ocurrio ademas de mi cuota, darme otras mas, no se, serán las de los pacientes en coma, que no pueden hacer nada al respecto, porque yo al menos puedo quejarme y alterarme, y esto probablemente divierta a alguien (o a muchos).

Partamos del hecho básico que a mi las mentiras me alteran, luego iremos deshojando. Si, hay varios tipos de mentiras, y aqui casi puedo ver a varias personas decir, claro, las mentiras blancas, para no hacer daño, y tal... Pues saben, a todo el que me diga eso, le digo: ERES UN MALDITO EGOISTA ESTUPIDO Y COBARDE!!!!!, porque eso de no lastimar a alguien es muy, MUY subjetivo, y generalmente cuando la gente dice que miente para no lastimar a alguien, quiere decir que miente para que la mierda de su mentira no le caiga encima, al menos por el mayor tiempo posible, mientras se sostenga su casa de paja... Grow a pair, please (and if you're a woman, grow a pair too, ovaries work better than balls most of the time).

Ahora, igual, tu quieres mentir, porque pues, te sale del forro del orto... Maravilloso, eso es TU problema, pero si ya te vas a molestar en mentir, por favor, inventate una buena mentira, una mentira sin cabos sueltos, sólida, super sólida, que no la tumbe nada y que nadie pueda, algun dia, derrumbártela, y además, recuerda que Murphy tiene un sentido del humor bastante retorcido, y que vivimos en una ciudad que es tan pequeña como un conuco con semáforos. Entonces, no es solo el hecho de que se te ocurrio mentir, es el hecho que ni siquiera te tomaste el tiempo para mentir bien, y ahi me dan ganas de sacar mi burning log para insertarlo en tu tercer ojo (no, no el de la frente).

Porque por ejemplo, que digas que no puedes salir con alguien por x o y, y que luego te vean en una de esas tantas paginas de internet donde la gente shallow cree que estan gastando sus 15 minutos de fama saliendo en fotos mientras estan bebiendo... no es chevere, y ademas, ofende la inteligencia de la persona a la que le mientes.

En fin... Grrr....

2007-04-21T00:45:00.000-04:00

Cuento.

Érase una vez un príncipe guerrero que fue presa de una maldición el dia de su nacimiento, sin saber cual era, solo sabia que en su cuerpo estaba escrito que estaba maldito... Recorrió muchos reinos buscando soluciones, pero los mejores magos no consiguieron respuesta y los mato... luego quiso buscar compañía, pero no podía encontrar una sola meretriz aceptable que estuviera con el… Estaba verdaderamente maldito...

También mato meretrices, lo que lo hizo huir de muchos pueblos, además de ponerle precio a su cabeza.

Nadie quería estar con el, ni en las colonias de leprosos conseguía alivio, y lo peor era que no se contagiaba de la lepra, lo cual al menos le habría dado otra razón para sentirse verdaderamente desdichado mientras se podría en vida luego de una vida de búsqueda sin respuesta, un día llego al limite de sus fuerzas, encontró un claro en el bosque, miro al cielo y dijo: "si en verdad hay una fuerza superior, sabe que no puedo seguir viviendo así... necesito una respuesta o la muerte!"

Entonces, paso un pájaro que justamente decidió aliviar su sistema digestivo con tanta suerte, que fue a caerle en el ojo a nuestro valiente príncipe... luego de maldecir a la supuesta fuerza superior, comenzó a escuchar la risa de una princesa que acertó a pasar por ahí en ese momento.

A la princesa le pareció el incidente tan gracioso, que se ahogaba de la risa... mientras le señalaba un arroyo para que fuera a lavarse.

Al mirarse en el arroyo, el príncipe, que pensaba matar a la princesa por haberlo deshonrado de esa forma, se miro un momento en el arroyo, con su ojo sin mierda, por supuesto, y le pareció tan gracioso, que no paro de reír mientras se lavaba.

Desde ese día, su maldición se levanto, pues le faltaba aprender a reírse de si mismo... Y la princesa? se caso con ella, por supuesto, aunque ella sigue riéndose de el y recordándole que aunque tenga todo el poder del mundo, una simple paloma se caga en el.

2007-04-13T16:27:00.000-04:00

Tengo miedo.
Pablo Neruda.

Tengo miedo.
La tarde es gris y la tristezadel cielo se abre como una boca de muerto.
Tiene mi corazón un llanto de princesa olvidada en el fondo de un palacio desierto.
Tengo miedo.
Y me siento tan cansado y pequeño
que reflejo la tarde sin meditar en ella.
(En mi cabeza enferma no ha de caber un sueño
así como en el cielo no ha cabido una estrella.)
Sin embargo en mis ojos una pregunta existe
y hay un grito en mi boca que mi boca no grita.
No hay oído en la tierra que oiga mi queja triste
abandonada en medio de la tierra infinita!
Se muere el universo de una calma agonía
sin la fiesta del sol o el crepúsculo verde.
Agoniza Saturno como una pena mía,
la tierra es una fruta negra que el cielo muerde.
Y por la vastedad del vacío van ciegas
las nubes de la tarde, como barcas perdidas
que escondieran estrellas rotas en sus bodegas.
Y la muerte del mundo cae sobre mi vida.

2007-03-27T17:57:00.001-04:00

Por cuantas te queman?

Acabo de terminar de leer un libro llamado "El Anatomista", se trata del hombre, que en el siglo XVI descubre el clítoris. Si, el clítoris. Su brillante explicación? era el centro de las pasiones de las mujeres, que eran pura materia. Sip, las mujeres solo aportaban la parte material de los niños, el alma de los mismos venía en el semen. Los que me conocen algo podrán imaginar que tan gracioso me pareció el libro.

Para compartir algo de esta gracia con ustedes, mis queridas compañeras brujas, les dejo la lista, que en los Catálogos sobre arpías y hechiceras, describía las características de una bruja, lo que ya todos sabemos, te llevaba a la hoguera. Juguemos a algo, cuenten las razones por las cuales las quemarían a ustedes.

Aqui va la lista: " La que hace mal a la otra, la que muestra intento dañino, la que mira de reojo, la que mira de frente con desenfado, la que sale de noche, la que cabecea de día, la que anda con ánimo triste, la que ríe con exceso, la disipada, la devota, la espantadiza, la valerosa y grave, la que confiesa con frecuencia, la que jamás confiesa, la que se defiende, la que acusa con el índice, las que poseen conocimientos de sucesos lejanos, las que conocen los secretos de la ciencia y las artes; las que hablan diverisdad de idiomas".

Mi favoritas son " La que mira de frente con desenfado... las que conocen los secretos de la ciencia y las artes" Por la segunda me sentiria orgullosa de quemarme...

Por cierto, en el libro, una mujer comienza una casta de putas sin clítoris, ya que cuando supo el descubrimiento, se lo cortó a si misma, se lo cortó a sus hijas, y se lo cortó a todas las putas de su prostíbulo, asumiendo que como ahi se hallaban las pasiones femeninas, sin eso, ninguna mujer caería esclava del amor.

Como ya lo terminé de leer, si a alguien le parece divertido so far, además de recomendarlo, me ofrezco a prestarlo.

Toodle-oo!

2007-03-12T18:23:00.000-04:00

Cosas que aprendí hoy

Creo que vi esto en alguna parte… si alguien sabe donde, y no estoy dando el crédito que merece… díganme, pero no me acuerdo.
1. Cuando vas en un bus donde cada vez que la palanca de velocidades se mueve suena metal contra metal… No es bueno, y si, el bus se apago en un momento… Pero tengo a veces suerte (y a veces le gano a Murphy jugando Go fish) así que pude llegar a una hora decente (interprétese como: antes de quien me dijo que llegara antes que ella).

2. El conformismo no es divertido.

3. “La revolución no será televisada”. Eso estaba en un graffiti en la pared de un cementerio… No se que tienen que ver los muertos con la revolución, a menos que sea una revolución zombie, en cuyo caso, mi AK-47 estará feliz, y yo estaré en un techo divirtiéndome.

4. Todavía hay gente que piensa que sangrar profusamente es algo que no es grave, y que se quita solo.

5. La gente desconfía de los médicos, y eso no es chévere.

6. Hay gente muy perdida en la vida, y no puedo entender como la gente puede vivir en una ciudad toda su vida y no conocerla bien, o al menos no preguntar. (En serio, agronomía no queda dentro de la facultad de ingeniería, y quien me venga con tecnicismos diciendo que el titulo es de ingeniería agronómica y que se yo, se lleva una patada a los respectivos órganos reproductivos, o al menos un rodillazo a la columna, que ya los he practicado y me salen bien)

7. TENGO ZAPATOS TESS!!!!!!!! ( Si, había que gritarlo, so?)

8. Las razas superiores de monos tienen “inteligencia bizantina” y se engañan y se hacen burla y tienen relaciones sociales divertidas, como alianzas por conveniencia… y pueden incluso terminar matando a uno por castración. (para que vean que mi blog también enseña).

9. Cuando vas leyendo en algún tipo de transporte publico, la gente, además de mirarte medio raro, tiene la costumbre de querer averiguar que estás leyendo (Un libro de paleoantropología, en caso que quieran saber)

10. Cuando a mi papá le den el título de comunicación social, la mitad o más va ser mía… Dios, es como tener un hijo grande al que hay que hacerle las tareas.

11. Quiero que nieve, o estar en algún lugar donde nieve.

Creo que eso es todo…
Los quiero, adiós!

2007-03-07T11:44:00.000-04:00

Tools of the trade.

Like a carpenter has saws and hammers, every trade, however bizarre it might be, has its tools.
When she began immersing herself into the “trade” (yes, this is a word we’ll use very loosely here), she developed a certain reverent fear to the tools of said trade, for she feared, if she were to wear, use or own any of the tools, there would be no turning back.
You see, she developed quite an interest for the trade, the psychology involved in it, which was the part that attracted her more to it, as usual, her brain needed to be tickled in order for her senses to be tickled too.
She was very interested in the domination, and the submission, and the art that came with it all. Being able to forego your needs and pleasure, in order to please another as much as you can. Or, quite the opposite, being able to be selfish to the point that you wouldn’t care about the other’s needs or wants, just your own.
Funnily enough, she thought she could perform well in both sides of the equation, such was her nature. She remembered a time where she immersed herself so much in another, that her pleasure derived from his, and she quite enjoyed that. Ultimately, finding that pleasure had tickled her, and now she was able to find her pleasure and forget that, according to normality, she was also supposed to bring pleasure to others. She feared a bit (well, she feared a lot of things, but someone said that everyone’s afraid, it’s how you react to it that matters… or something along those lines) that she’d forgot how to bring pleasure to others, for she thought she could tickle their minds, but she thought she wouldn’t make the translation and be able to tickle their senses.
She hadn’t had the chance to tickle someone’s senses lately, and though she thought of the possibilities, something she loved to do, cause in her mind, possibilities were endless; she had certain boundaries she wasn’t willing to break when it came to translating those possibilities to reality.
She thought of all this by seeing two very simple words, and remembering how good it had felt to wear some things that could be considered tools of the trade.

2007-02-24T00:59:00.000-04:00

I'm coming down with the flu... and I'm about to bitch about it.

Having the Flu sucks smelly balls because:

1. You don't usually die from it, but you still feel like you're going to, so it's going through all of it for nothing. Like, if you were going to die, it justifies feeling like, well, shit, cause you're done with it, and you're screwed. But no, you feel miserable, tired, worthless... and then in a few days, you're ok again, and your body, the one who betrayed you by not doing its job of killing off the viruses (damn body, I used to like you so much... no soup for you!), goes on about its business as usual.
2. Your face hurts... Actually, the area around my nose bothered me for a while, I'm guessing it had something to do with my sinuses or something... or it's just about to fall off, either way, I don't really care at this point.
3. You can't breathe... your nose gets clogged up, which normally is annoying but never as much as it is when you're trying to sleep. If you, like me, like to sleep on your stomach with your head turned to the side, you're in for one of the most annoying things ever. You turn to one side, let's say left, and you start to feel how your right nostril gets unclugged... while your left one gets dead shut, and mucus (foul green, slimy substance, damn you!!!) starts to accumulate... sometimes getting to the point of dripping down your nose, making it impossible to sleep. You turn to the other, and the same thing happens... oh, and if you turn your head up, both nostrils get clogged up and you can't breathe at all, so you're fucked in the ass with a burning log either way.
4. You're permanently annoyed. Now, I know you're thinking "but I'm already permanently annoyed, it's my way of living" and I'm on your side... but this is a different annoyance, and what's worse is, since you also feel like shit, you can't really go on a killing (hitting, kicking, any sort of phisical violence will do) spree like you usually do when you're annoyed. On another thought, imagine if you will, a sniper on a roof sneezing as he's getting ready to shoot... Imagine that the happy face he was making out while shooting off a guy gets crooked, that ain't right.
5. I mentioned your body gives out on you.. but I have to say it again... You feel heavy, and powerless, and that sucks the most, cause it reduces you to a sniffling, sneezing scumbag.
So that's it... I have the flu and I want to be put into a medically induced come till it passes... or till there's something important to wake up for, like waffles.
Sod off.

2007-02-18T23:52:00.000-04:00

Lyrics...

Solo porque en estos tiempos, las canciones me dicen mas que mis palabras.. muy probablemente porque no quiero elaborar las ideas.

1. Fragile, by Maria Mena

I've been walking around all day,Thinking
I think I have a problem,I think I think too much
I've been taught to hold back my tears,And avoid them
But you make pain into something I could touch
I've been walking around all day,Laughing
I think I'd be better off without you here
And I bet you're sweet and hard to get over
So I'll cry and people will stop and stare
Now that's okay. Let them stop and stare
Cause I am fragile
I am hopeless
I'm not perfect
But I am free
I've been walking around all day,Waiting
And waiting is all I seem to do
Cause I never get it unless I'm fed it
But this time i'll just have to
Yeah this time i'll just have to
And I'm fragile
I am hopeless
I'm not perfect
But I am free
Say you're not around, Am I finished?
If you're not around, that's too bad
Hope you're safe and sound, not alone now
Cause you know I believe in you
I'm still fragile,I'm still hopeless,I'm not perfect,But I am free

Esta primera fue un cambio... Para no escuchar una cancion que iba a recordarme a alguien a quien no queria recordar, escuche esta... Y fue la elección correcta.

2. Persiana Americana, Soda Stereo

Yo te prefiero, fuera de foco, inalcanzable
Yo te prefiero, irreversible, casi intocable
Tus ropas caen lentamente
soy un espia, un espectador
y el ventilador desgarrandote
sé que te excita pensar hasta donde llegaré
Es difícil de creer, creo que nunca lo podré saber
sólo así yo te veré, a través de mi persiana americana
Es una condena agradable, el instante previo
es como un desgaste, una necesidad, más que un deseo
Estamos al borde de la cornisa, casi a punto de caer
no sientes miedo, sigues sonriendo, sé que te excita pensar hasta donde llegaré
Es difícil de creer, creo que nunca lo podré saber
sólo así yo te veré a través de mi persiana americana
Tus ropas caen lentamente, soy un espia, un espectador
y el ventilador desgarrandote, sé que te excita pensar hasta donde llegaré
Es difícil de creer, creo que nunca lo podré saber
sólo así yo te veré,a través de mi persiana americana
Lo que pueda suceder, no gastes fuerzas para comprender
sólo así yo te veré, a través de mi persiana americana.

Todo empezo con una conversacion y la primera frase.. pero mientras mas la escucho, y mas veo la letra... mas me creo que tengo una persiana americana...no se si llego el momento de pasar a traves de ella o no, luego veremos.

That's all for now, folks.
Ah, y voy a enviar un mensaje a ver si llega a su destino... It's not that I didn't want to... I just wanna see how far you'll go.
Toodle-oo!

2007-02-08T22:12:00.000-04:00

Update.

She and the mistery boy (she took a liking to calling him that) crossed paths twice more so far.
One time, again, on the bus. She saw him, and realized how unavailable she seemed, reading a book and listening to music.
She saw him sit down, not on one of the bus' seats, but on the steps. Luckily one of the doors of the bus was broken and he had that space to sit, or he'd had been trampled to death. She couldn't stop looking at him, she found him interesting... Besides, he had a cut off white shirt with funny words written on it, looking like it was made for him or by him.. she liked the detail.
She felt guilty for having a chair and did a good deed by giving it to an old lady that got on the bus, and he turned to look at her for a brief second.
When he was getting out, his bag got stuck on the bus, and she tried to help him with it, but he went for the more phisical approach of pulling on it till it got free, almost breaking her nail on the process. Thankfully, he didn't, or she'd be forced to hunt him down and kick him.
She left him behind again, this time walking normally.
And then she saw him yet again, this time with a black and white shirt, and he seemed to have the hat glued to his head, he always wore it, apparently.
She saw him walk by, and smiled at her sillyness...
She liked the possibilities of just being able to imagine almost everything about him...
She was definitely a weird one, but like she told a friend, she was just a compressed file, and not many were able to decompress her properly.

2007-02-01T21:40:00.000-04:00

She doomed herself to be an outsider.
She was on the bus to school, a typical, venezuelan, crowded bus.
And she saw him.
Not too tall, kind of broody and dark, but not emo and not depressed.
He just had an aura about him, being so serious and looking into space, not really looking at anything, kind of suspended.
And she wanted to know what was going on in his head, what he was thinking.
She noticed a lot of things.
The scar on his face, she wanted to know what was its story.. and she imagined herself randomly asking what was the scar from... but she didn't.
His "hat" which reminded her of old happy times, and the fun she'd had with hats like that on other people.
The hole in his shirt, a green shirt, and the fact that it didn't look too worn, or too new.. it was just right, like he was used to it, or just didn't care much about it.
His shorts, and his hairy legs.. she'd have lots of fun pulling on them.
His eyes.. they were dark, but very pretty as eyes go.
His lips were normal.. she liked looking at lips, she usually liked them not too thick and not too thin, just right to kiss.
He opened his mouth at some point.. and she noticed he had a crooked tooth.
She enjoyed that.
But she didn't talk to him.
Instead she made this game on her head... she had to outwalk him.
She usually walked fast, and always enjoyed leaving crowds behind as she came into her school.
But she noticed he did too, and she liked him more for it.
But she was a proud one, this girl, and years of walking with her parents had prepared her for this moment.
So she crossed the street, and his path, just steps ahead.
But he walked on.
She crossed him again, still a few steps ahead of him, and she was happy, smiling to herself.
He still walked close behind, but never could outwalk her (Boy, she was loving her lovely, comfy, rugged shoes now).
She felt him, still close behind her.
He took another path and she crossed him one last time.
She then saw him greeting and sitting with some friends.
And she walked over to her work, to another day.
She questioned the moon that night, but she wasn't provinding much answers, as usual.
She knew the answers were there, she just didn't want to see them at that point.

2007-01-19T22:28:00.000-04:00

Punto final

Cristina Peri Rossi.

Cuando nos conocimos, ella me dijo: "Te doy el punto final. Es un punto muy valioso, no lo pierdas. Consérvalo, para usarlo en el momento oportuno. Es lo mejor que puedo darte y lo hago porque me mereces mucha confianza. Espero que no me defraudes". Durante mucho tiempo, tuve el punto final en el bolsillo. Mezclado con las monedas, las briznas de tabaco y los fósforos, se ensuciaba un poco.; además, éramos tan felices que pensé que nunca habría de usarlo. Entonces, compré un estuche seguro, y allí lo guardé. Los días transcurrían venturosos, al abrigo de la desilusión y del tedio. Por la mañana nos despertábamos alegres, dichosos de estar juntos; cada jornada se abría como un vasto mundo desconocido, lleno se sorpresas a descibrir. Las cosas familiares dejaron de serlo, recobraron la perdida frescura, y otras, como los parques y los lagos, se volvieron acogedoras, maternales. Recorríamos las calles observando cosas que los demás no veían y los aromas, los colores, las luces, el tiempo y el espacio eran más intensos. Nuestra percepción se había agudizado, como bajo los efectos de una poderosa droga. Pero no estábamos ebrios, sino sutiles y serenos, dotados de una rara capacidad para armonizar con el mundo. Teníamos con nuestros sentidos una singular melodía que respetaba el orden del exterior, sin sujetarse a él.

Con la felicidad, olvidé el estuche, o lo perdí, inadvertidamente. No puedo saberlo. Ahora que la dicha terminó, no encuentro el punto final por ningún lado. Esto crea conflictos y rencores suplementarios. "¿Donde lo guardaste?-me pregunta ella, indignada-¿Qué esperas para usarlo? No demores más, de lo contrario, todo lo anterior perderá belleza y sentido". Busco en los armarios, en los abrigos, en los cajones, en el fondo de los sillones, debajo de la mesa y de la cama. Pero el punto no está; tampoco el estuche. Mi búsqueda se ha vuelto tensa, obsesiva. Es posible que lo haya extraviado en alguno de nuestros momentos felices. No está en la sala, ni en el dormitorio, ni en la chimenea. ¿El gato se lo habrá comido?

Su ausencia aumenta nuestra desdicha de manera dolorosa. En tanto el punto no aparezca, estamos encadenados el uno al otro, y esos eslabones estan hechos de rencor, apatía, verguenza y odio. Debemos conformarnos con seguir así, desechando la posibilidad de una nueva vida. Nuestras noches son penosas, compartiendo la misma habitación, donde el resquemor tiene la estatura de una pared y asfixia, como un vapor malsano. Tiñe los muebles, los armarios, los libros dispersos por el suelo. Discutimos por cualquier cosa, aunque los dos sabemos que en el fondo, se trata de la desaparición del punto, de la cual ella me responsabiliza. Creo que a veces sospecha que en realidad lo tengo, escondido, para vengarme de ella. "No debí confiar en ti- se reprocha - Debí imaginar que me traicionarías".

Era un estuche de plata, largo, de los que antiguamente se usaban para guardar rapé. Lo compré en un mercado de artículos viejos. Me pareció el lugar más adecuado para guardarlo. El punto estaba allí, redondo, minúsculo, bien acomodado para guardarlo. Es posible que se extraviara durante una mudanza, o quizás alguien lo robó, pensando que era valioso.

Luego de buscarlo en vano casi todo el día, me voy de casa, para no encontrar su mirada de reproche, su voz de odio. Toda nuestra felicidad anterior ha desaparecido, y sería inútil pensar que volverá. Pero tampoco podemos separarnos. Ese punto huidizo nos liga, nos ata, nos llena de rencor y de fastidio, va devorando uno a uno los días anteriores, los que fueron hermosos.

Sólo espero que en algún momento aparezca, por azar, extraviado en un bolsillo, confundido con otros objetos. Entonces será un gordo, enlutado, sucio y polvoriento punto final, a destiempo, como el que colocan los escritores noveles.

2007-01-15T22:40:00.000-04:00

She felt different.

She always had, but on this particular night, she could almost touch it. And the fun thing is, she felt good, before the exact moment where all the weight of her difference came down on her shoulders.
She walked among crowds, looking at people, something she loved to do, for many reasons. And she felt it. She wasn't walking hand in hand with a boy, or in a group of friends... She was with her parents... and she liked it. She had always liked going out with her parents, because, unlike most people around her, who usually complained about theirs (most with a very good reason to do so) she liked her parents most of the time, and they meant a lot to her.
She didn't really regret not being with a crowd, cause if she were to put together all the people she'd really loved as friends throught her life, she wouldn't really have a crowd, and that didn't matter to her, she was a quality over quantity girl... besides, some friends of her were very different, and they spoke to different sides of her. But she rarely went out with her friends... and she missed that.. she made a mental note to do so more often.
She did, however, miss being with a boy. The little things, like walking ahead (she walked fast) and looking back and stretching your hand, or if you wanted to be cute, your pinkie finger, and have a boy reach out to lock his with hers. The kisses... Being kissed recently brought back the memories of just how much she loved to kiss, and how much she got out of it, and she always remembered being amazed at the fact that boys wanted to kiss her. Talking while holding hands... She just got a brief taste of things she'd forgotten, and that came back to haunt her, specially everytime she saw a boy and a girl together. The silences... Those were something definitive... she missed when she could be silent with someone and didn't feel compelled to fill that silence, like she felt most of the time, around most people.
The good thing was, she didn't feel like she was about to crumble, or like she was alone, or like she was somehow defective. She felt sad, but she knew she'd go on as she always did, even though she had a few missing pieces... ok, maybe a lot of missing pieces.
She remembered a vision she had that morning, she was going to her school and saw this big, colorful, wild scene in her mind. It had animals and plants, all exuberant, colorful and amazingly beautiful around an empty white space, shaped like a person, a boy, actually. It came to her suddenly, and she inmediatly thought that it reminded it of herself, and laughed at her own craziness.
If life was like a movie, she'd find that boy and be happy, and you'd get a romantic movie.
But see, in this movie that's life, we don't get the script, and we each choose the scenes we'll remember.

2007-01-02T19:17:00.000-04:00

Hablando hace algun tiempo con una gran amiga, ella me dijo una frase que me dejo pensando... claro, con las cosas que han pasado en estos dias no habia tenido tiempo de ponerme a pensar mucho en ella... pero varias cosas me la han recordado.
En fin, el comentario fue: "X es igual a mi... somos personas que no pueden estar solas".
Ahora que lo pienso, creo que debio asombrarme mas el hecho que ella lo aceptara tan facilmente... pero me parece que hay cierto grado de crecimiento personal tras la frase. Pero, la situacion es esta, ella es capaz de admitir que si su futuro esposo no hubiera entrado a su vida en el momento en que lo hizo... ella hubiera estirado su brazo y agarrado a otro cualquiera para aferrarse a el.
Como alguien que ha vivido "sola" mucho tiempo, al principio no entendia el afan... O bueno, por mucho tiempo tuve la urgencia de compartir con alguien de ese modo especial en que solo compartes con una pareja... Pero nunca actue en consecuencia, y no me quejo, la he pasado bien. Al final, resulta que la vida le dio una jugada un poco mala a ella, con su familia, y al no tener ningun apoyo de esta, pues ella solo encuentra refugio en los brazos de sus Romeos.
Estar con alguien en algunos casos es cuestion de oportunidad... Pero aunque se puede, llegara a valer la pena de la misma forma alguien por quien luchaste que alguien que solo estaba en el lugar correcto en el momento en que tu estiraste el brazo? Supongo que si, eventualmente... Es solo que, y quizas suene un poco crudo, al final, lo que te da una pareja es basicamente lo mismo que te dan tus amigos, excepto una cosa... Y eso, si eres inteligente, lo puedes conseguir tu mismo.

2007-01-01T00:20:00.000-04:00

A pesar de haber dicho que pienso en palabras... muchas veces ellas me fallan, y soy afortunada en poder recurrir a las palabras de otros. Esto lo escribió Facundo Cabral, supuestamente... Pero nocrean en todo lo que yo les digo, quizás solo es un buen texto anónimo, pero su autor, sea Facundo Cabral o no, me dio unas palabras para decir en este momento:

Distraído de la vida que te puebla, distraído de la vida que te rodea: delfines, bosques, mares, montañas, ríos.
No caigas en lo que cayó tu hermano, que sufre por un ser humano, cuando en el mundo hay 5,600 millones.
No es tan malo vivir solo. Yo la paso bien, decidiendo a cada instante lo que quiero hacer y gracias a la soledad me conozco......algo fundamental para vivir.
No caigas en lo que cayó tu padre, que se siente viejo porque tiene 70 años, olvidando que Moisés dirigía el éxodo a los 80 y Rubinstein interpretaba como nadie a Chopin a los 90, sólo por citar dos casos conocidos.
No estás deprimido, estás distraído. Por eso crees que perdiste algo, lo que es imposible, porque todo te fue dado.No hiciste ni un solo pelo de tu cabeza, por lo tanto no puedes ser dueño de nada. Además, la vida no te quita cosas: Te libera de cosas... te aliviana para que vueles más alto, para que alcances la plenitud.De la cuna a la tumba es una escuela; por eso, lo que llamas problemas, son lecciones.
No perdiste a nadie: el que murió, simplemente se nos adelantó, porque para allá vamos todos. Además, lo mejor de él, el amor, sigue en tu corazón.¿Quién podría decir que Jesús está muerto? No hay muerte... hay mudanza. Y del otro lado te espera gente maravillosa: Gandhi, Miguel Ángel, Whitman, San Agustín, la Madre Teresa, tu abuela y mi madre, que creía que la pobreza está más cerca del amor, porque el dinero nos distrae con demasiadas cosas y nos aleja, porque nos hace desconfiados.
Haz sólo lo que amas y serás feliz. El que hace lo que ama, está benditamente condenado al éxito, que llegará cuando deba llegar, porque lo que debe ser será y llegará naturalmente. No hagas nada por obligación ni por compromiso, sino por amor.Entonces habrá plenitud, y en esa plenitud todo es posible y sin esfuerzo, porque te mueve la fuerza natural de la vida, la que me levantó cuando se cayó el avión con mi mujer y mi hija; la que me mantuvo vivo cuando los médicos me diagnosticaban 3 ó 4 meses de vida.
El Universo te puso un ser humano a cargo y eres tú mismo. A ti debes hacerte libre y feliz. Después podrás compartir la vida verdadera con los demás. Recuerda a Jesús: "Amarás al prójimo como a ti mismo". Reconcíliate contigo, ponte frente al espejo y piensa que esa criatura que estás viendo es obra del Universo y decide ahora mismo ser feliz, porque la felicidad es una adquisición.
Además, la felicidad no es un derecho, sino un deber; porque si no eres feliz, estás amargando a todo el barrio. Un solo hombre que no tuvo ni talento ni valor para vivir, mandó matar a 60 millones de hermanos en la II Guerra Mundial y otros invadieron Afganistán e Irak con una mentira .
Hay tantas cosas para gozar y nuestro paso por la tierra es tan corto, que sufrir es una pérdida de tiempo. Tenemos para gozar la nieve del invierno y las flores de la primavera, el chocolate de la Perusa, la baguette y la francesa, los tacos mexicanos, el pabellón y la hallaca venezolana, el vino chileno, los mares y los ríos, el fútbol de los brasileños, Las Mil y Una Noches, la Divina Comedia, el Quijote, el Pedro Páramo, los boleros de Manzanero y las poesías de Whitman; la música de Mahler, Mozart, Chopin, Beethoven; las pinturas de Caravaggio, Rembrandt, Velásquez, Picasso y Tamayo, entre tantas maravillas.
Y si tienes cáncer o SIDA, pueden pasar dos cosas y las dos son buenas: si te gana, te libera del cuerpo que es tan molesto (tengo hambre, tengo frío, tengo sueño, tengo ganas, tengo razón, tengo dudas)... y si le ganas, serás más humilde, más agradecido... por lo tanto, fácilmente feliz, libre del tremendo peso de la culpa, la responsabilidad y la vanidad, dispuesto a vivir cada instante profundamente, como debe ser.
No estás deprimido, estás desocupado. Ayuda al niño que te necesita, ese niño será socio de tu hijo. Ayuda a los viejos y los jóvenes: te ayudarán cuando lo seas. Además, el servicio es una felicidad segura, como gozar a la naturaleza y cuidarla para el que vendrá. Da sin medida y te darán sin medida.
Ama hasta convertirte en lo amado; más aún, hasta convertirte en el mismísimo Amor. Y que no te confundan unos pocos homicidas y suicidas. El bien es mayoría, pero no se nota porque es silencioso. Una bomba hace más ruido que una caricia, pero por cada bomba que destruye, hay millones de caricias que alimentan a la vida.
Vale la pena, ¿verdad?

Siempre he pensado que si...

2006-12-29T21:56:00.000-04:00

De las propiedades del sueño

Sinesios de Cirene, en el siglo XIV, sostenía en su Tratado sobre los sueños que si un determinado número de personas soñaba al mismo tiempo un hecho igual, éste podía ser llevado a la realidad: "entreguémonos todos entonces, hombres y mujeres, jóvenes y viejos, ricos y pobres, ciudadanos y magistrados, habitantes de la ciudad y el campo, artesanos y oradores, a soñar nuestros deseos. No hay privilegiados por la edad, el sexo, la fortuna o la profesión; el reposo se ofrece a todos: es un oráculo que siempre está dispuesto a ser nuestra terrible y silenciosa arma".

La misma teoría fué afirmada por los judíos aristotélicos de los siglos XII y XIII (o Sinesios la tomó de ellos) y Malmónides, el más grande, logró probarlo (según Gutman en Die Philosophie des Judentums, Munich, 1933), pues se relata que una noche hizo a toda su secta soñar que se terminaba la sequía. Al amanecer, al salir de sus aposentos se encontraron los campos verdes y un suave rocío humedecía sus barbas.

La oposición política de un país que estaba siendo gobernado por una larga tiranía quiso experimentar, siglos después, las excelencias de esta creencia y distribuyó entre la población de manera secreta unas esquelas en las que se daban las instrucciones para el sueño conjunto: en una hora de la noche claramente consignada, los cuidadanos soñarían que el tirano era derrocado y que el pueblo tomaba el poder.

Aunque el experimento comenzó a efectuarse hace mucho tiempo, no ha sido posible obtener ningún resultado, pues Malmónides prevenía (parágrafo XII) queen caso que el objeto de los sueños fuera una persona, debería se sorprendida durmiendo.

Y los tiranos nunca duermen.

Sergio Ramírez, Nicaragüense.

2006-12-29T01:15:00.000-04:00

Days like these...

When I haven't got much to do and lots of free time, I tend to think... and though some have told me that I tend to overthink, which is true sometimes, it's good to think (moreso than in the general sense of thinking, as we humans are supposed to do to live, but I could point out a few examples...).

First of all.. I feel old. The people I went to highschool with decided to have a "reunion"... I didn't go... and I got freaked when I knew about it... some of those memories are still so fresh in my head.. and they happened... let's see... six or more years ago. When you reflect in your life and realize there's still so much you haven't done, and you compare it to what you've done in the time you've lived... at the time it made me sad and depressed... but now, a faint sense of hope is appearing, cause I'm supposed to have much more time... but as someone who's thought about death a lot, thinking about ways to die, how it'd be, what would happen if I did, etc, and not being afraid or sad... makes me freaked, cause it gives me the sense that it could happen just about anytime, and who knows if I'm supposed to die young? Cristal ball, anyone? And to those of you with the line "Live every day as if it was your last", first, you're lame, but second...I can't do that... cause I still haven't decided what I'd do... right now, if I knew it was tomorrow...I'd do some easily attainable things, regret the others, say goodbye to everyone and reflect on the good times... and then just do normal things till I fell on the ground. So, if normal things are the things I'd be doing on my last day, that means everyday could be my last.

Along with that... is the fact that one of my best friends is getting married in January. It's selfish to think so, but how is she the same girl who can sit and criticize everyone with me (a hobbie of mine, as messed up as that might be) and at the same time, worry about fixing up a house, actually doing it right, but still get caught up in dramas like she used to? She's the same, but not so much... Yes, people change (another cliche... you people...) but wow... seeing them as they do and realizing that you could do the same (and probably with less money, cause I know better stores and techniques) is eerie. Of course, I'd like to say that I'm not ready to move in with someone, and if you asked people around me, they might say I'm not... but I could do it, and I think I'd pull it off. In the fixing up part, I'd have to get help, but I could do it. And that takes me back to the topic above... cause I could... but I'm not. If it's complicated to get, let me try and simplify... I could... With the right (or maybe the wrong) person, I'd love to...But I'm not. Not that I'm desperate... well, not that desperate... Ok, I'm not about to jump the first guy on the street and buy a house with him... I better shut up now.

And last (I think, for now) I now can say that I know, cause I've felt it in my own skin, why cliches are so attractives (didn't see that one coming, did you?) specially cliches on people.

Ladies' man, Man's man, Man about town. It's... wow. Specially when you know the ladies' man part, cause you can see why they like him, and you can see through the lines (the ones you choose to, at least). I can't help but like him, specially with all the "forbidden fruit" part. I'm pretty sure that makes me more eager to figure him out, to get him on a dissection tray and open him up to see what makes him tick. But I haven't yet... and I'm a bit uneasy about doing so (which leads to me thinking about it)... cause that could lead to me liking him more... and that could awake the "I'll change him" girl... and that one doesn't lead anywhere. But still...*sigh*.

P.D: My friend Abraham gets the credit for this pic.

2006-12-25T22:04:00.000-04:00

Anyone?

2006-12-19T23:53:00.001-04:00

The flower stood there, in the vase, mocking her.
Of course, being a flower it wasn’t really mocking her, but it felt like such a slap in the face after all.
He’d been, after all, the pursuer… The one who started the “cute yet slightly creepy” notes on her windshield.
“You look great in that pink shirt today”
“Hope that Zoology test wasn’t so hard… Did you remember the anterior and posterior sides of the bones?”
“You look funny looking around for me… I’m shy, that’s why you haven’t met me… Actually, you have met me… But I can’t really tell you the things I can tell you this way face to face…But you look freaked… So I’ll stop now”
The last one almost sent her running for the hills.
The next day came the flower… A fake one. The note with it said: “I know I said I’d stop… But I wanted to give you this, and though I know you don’t like them fake, I want this one to last until I’m brave enough to give you a real one”
She tried, hard, but her illusions were triggered. She looked at more people in the eyes, trying to see if she could read them… to see if any boys gave a special twinkle, meaning he was the one... or if any girl gave her a knowing / jealous look, to indicate that they knew who it was.
The next week after the notes, her car broke down, and while it was in the shop, she had to take the bus.
Of course, Murphy rules all, so on this one day, when she decided to wear one of her skirts to school… it rained. Worse, it poured, the kind of rain that, in a city like hers, breaks the power supply and pretty much collapses everything.
She hated waiting… specially waiting for rain to stop, cause a part of her almost never wanted it to stop raining. So, she looked around, and stifled a laugh to all those naïve people who thought standing close to the edge of the ceiling and looking up to the sky were gonna make the rain stop. Like they didn’t know just how strong nature was… They were studying their work, they should know… But then again, these were the kind of people who littered, in Biology, for god’s sakes.
She decided to leave, cause at least in the bus stop, it wouldn’t be as hot and as crowded as her school was.
She went out, and started walking. In less than five minutes, she was soaked, her skirt clinging to her legs, making it hard for her to walk as fast as she was used to. The funny thing is, she had an umbrella in her bag, but she didn’t like to use umbrellas, they seemed like a betrayal to her… To shield oneself form the great offering of water from the skies… she just couldn’t do it.
One guy from her school came on as she was making her way to the bus stop. He looked shocked to see her dripping water, and motioned to put his umbrella on her and walk with her.

-Thanks, but as you can see, I’m already wet beyond salvation…By the way, if you’re going to class, there’s none, power is out in the school.
She looked at him, who just nodded and kept walking with her, keeping her under his umbrella.
When they got to the street, he held her back as she was about to cross without looking both ways.
In the bus stop, he just closed his umbrella and waited until she sat to sit in another bench, close, yet far from her, and buried his face in a book.
She looked at him a couple times, trying to speak, but she couldn’t.
When her bus came, she said “Bye” and left.
He had to be, yet when he looked up, she saw that it was him, but he wasn’t anymore.
The next day, she searched and searched, but he was nowhere to be found.

2006-12-16T21:45:00.000-04:00

You know, when I said, I'll name my blog the spiderweb of life.. it was thought out,, but it wasnt actually a reality for me. I just figured it was a name, and the way this whole thing started, I thought as Juliet " What's in a name? that which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet".

Boy, when life wants to prove something to you, it really likes to rub your head on it till you get the point.

You see, I climbed on one strand, one single little strand of one spiderweb I found, and it unfolded this whole big thing... The natural occurence of things would be that I'd tense one strand and then I'd get stuck and tangle myself in it, and in a way, that's kinda true, but not that I don't think I'm tangled... it's that I like to be tangled... it's brought me fun times.. and sad times, but well, it's as it's supposed to be, balanced.

But right now, I'm getting tangled up in this new part, so to speak of the web... and I like it! Specially since my old web just vanished and left me holding some very scarce strands... which some voices in my head will say it's my fault, and they're probably partially right.

Anyway, I feel a little like Cinderella today, helping everyone to get to the ball and staying in to hold the fort (yes, Cinderella had a cool fort in the story I have in my head, so shut up) and take care of the wizard (yes, there's a wizard in my story too, every cool story has to have a wizard or a witch), but I'm having a fun time, so no matter.

2006-12-12T22:35:00.000-04:00

Asi es la Vida.

Qué difícil es decir lo siento
Tracionar un juramento
Un aniversario sin promesas
Sin un sólo beso
Profanar la cama en que dormimos
Y la mesa que gozamos
Y beber el vaso que bebimos
Con distintos labios
Es la vida
Qué culpa tengo yo
Que me lía siempre con una aventura nueva
Que me deja ciego
Y me aleja con su juego
De tu pobre corazón
Adiós te digo
Y me siento mi peor enemigo
Se desgarra nuestra historia pasada
Por otra historia que se queda en nada
Qué difícil es amar de nuevo
Comparar con tu sonrisa
Otras cuatrocientas mil sonrisas
Y entregarme entero
Llegar a querer con tanta prisa
En tan poco tiempo
Y sentir de pronto sentimientos
Sin saber si quiero
Es la vida
Qué culpa tengo yo
Que me lía siempre con una aventura nueva
Que me deja ciego
Y me aleja con su juego
De tu pobre corazón
Adiós te digo
Y me siento mi peor enemigo
Se desgarra nuestra historia pasada
Por otra historia que se queda en nada
Adiós te digo
Y en este adiós llevo mi castigo
Yo te quiero y digo que no te quiero
Y mis lágrimas empapan el suelo
Adiós te digo, adiós te digo
Adiós te digo
Y me siento mipeor enemigo
Se desgarra nuestra historia pasada
Por otra historia que se queda en nada
Adiós te digo, adiós te digo
Tú, principio y final
Conmigo quedarás.

Esta canción me trajo recuerdos... Hablando con una amiga hace poco, me dijo algo que me dejó pensativa, y que le ha estado dando vueltas a mi cabeza desde entonces. De que hablábamos no es muy importante, pero el hecho es que ella me dijo que habia tomado la decisión de no enamorarse nunca más. Claro, esto luego de una historia de amor, odio, drama y desastres como para llenar toda una vida. Hasta aquí todo suena casi que típico... Y casi como el comienzo de una pelicula, donde ella al cruzar una esquina se tropezara con el príncipe de sus sueños (húmedos y secos), y le derramará el cafe y ofrecerá a pagar por su camisa, o quizas chocarán carros, sin que pase nada grave, por supuesto, y se conocerán, las chispas volarán y así, multitud de escenarios ya reconocidos, ad nauseam.
El problema viene en que creo que es capaz de hacerlo... O de intentar por todos los medios posibles hacerlo, incluso corriendo como loca de la menor cosa que toque su corazón al menos un poco. Eso me asusta, sobre todo porque se lo difícil que es, en un mundo como éste, y para mujeres como nosotras, de esas más complicadas que de costumbre, y un poco distintas a los moldes (aunque es probable que lo distinto nos haga iguales, pero eso es otro tema) conseguir a alguien que te haga pensar "wow, I could like this guy", o mejor aún, que te haga pensar, que no te llega con bullshit (al menos no una que puedas ver fácilmente), y que no es, bueno, otro chico de molde.
Quizás sea que yo estoy mirando las cosas de una forma algo pesimista.. pero me parece que tantas películas, canciones, poemas, y todo lo que se hace tomando como tema central el amor y sus devaneos, tan parecidos a una montaña rusa, deben tener al menos un transfondo de realidad, y es que todos buscamos a alguien, asi sea para luego quejarnos de él o ella.
Muchas veces parece que tanto drama no vale la pena, y seria como mas fácil irse a un lugar solitario, pero bonito, tener perros, gatos o algun animal de compañia..hasta una pelota de volleyball sirve, ya lo hemos visto; y sencillamente vivir sin tanto tormento.
Pero lo encuentro una existencia tan, pero tan monótona, aunque sé bien que los humanos somos capaces de encontrar felicidad hasta en el más mínimo rincon, y si vives sin algo el tiempo suficiente, no lo extrañarás mas, o si nunca lo tuviste, no sabrás que te perdiste. Pero ahí veo el detalle, que para que alguien decida aislarse de esa forma, debe tener una cicatriz bastante grande que lo haga pensar que es mejor ver el juego desde la banca, y entonces te condenas a revivir el pasado, y ahi puedes podrirte, dejando pasar la oportunidad de volver a vivir otros momentos, quizas peores o mejores, pero vivirlos.
Al final, puedes llevar al caballo al río, y hasta meterle la cabeza al agua, pero si no quiere beber... pues se ahogara antes de hacerlo.

2006-12-10T20:31:00.000-04:00

Edixon y Alida...

Si vives en Maracaibo, y has salido lo suficiente (es decir, si no eres un ermitaño), debes haber visto este graffitti en algun lado.

En Maracaibo hay muchos graffittis originales, asi como propagandas, carteles y afiches, pero Edixon y Alida, a pesar de ser dos personajes anónimos (no se de nadie que los conozca) han logrado salpicar muchísimas pardes con lo que asumiré que es una declaración de su amor eterno e intocable. A veces le ponen Amén bajo los dos nombres... Debe ser el caracter sagrado del gran amor que se tienen... Otras veces colocan un OK?, que a mi me suena desafiante, como retando a alguien a que los contradiga.

Quisiera conocerlos, saber cuál fue su motivación para escribir en casi cualquier pared disponible esa declaración de amor tan elocuente... O saber si es algo así como una contraseña, una parte de la historia contemporánea urbana que no conozco...Será un juego? O una adivinanza?

Si, es algo muy ocioso hacerse todas esas preguntas en vez de descartarlo como producto del aburrimiento da algun usuario anónimo con algo de pintura en spray, pero es que tiene que haber algo mas detrás de todo el cuento de los graffittis, son muchos y muy dispersos como para ser algo al azar.

Claro, tambien me gustaria saber las historias de amor detras de perlas como "Te quiero, mi Purrun. Tu Kotito" que tiene un trasfondo homosexual para mi, y que me trae una referencia histórica de amores prohibidos, y del amor de hombres, que según algunos es el más bello, pero el más incomprendido, y segun otros es así, duro, a mordiscos, sin mariqueras. Y un último, que no sé si ya haya desaparecido "Te quiero mi chiripa de fororo", que me hace preguntarme que motivó al chico (asumiré que es un chico en favor de la discusión) a decirle a la chica chiripa, cosa que para la mayoria debe ser algo chocante, considerando que aproximadamente el 80% de las mujeres consideran a las cucharachas como seres absolutamente repulsivos.

Tienen algun otro?

2006-11-28T22:56:00.000-04:00

She got bitten...

And she liked it, a lot. Not bitten in the sense of draculesque biting, but it was a bite nonetheless. In fact, there was more than one bite, and close to her neck.

It wasn't meant in a sexual, even in a sensual way, she thought. But wow.. she liked it. She already knew that biting on her nipples felt good, actually, really good to her, as long as it wasn't the "I'm going to eat this piece of flesh, masticate it and eat it raw" biting. She loved the slow, sensous, a bit hard but not too hard biting she had received seemimgly ages ago, and which brought a dreamy smile to her face every time she remembered.

And she found herself more willing to discover to others her hidden sides, such as the side that knows more than one kind of clamp... She still second guessed herself about the fact that others might not like her knowing all those things, or would think her rotten.. but she felt relaxed enough to let her naughtly thoughts flow, and that was a new feeling of freedom for her, since it wasn't so long ago that only one person was the only recipient of her naughtiness.

She was happy...

2006-11-26T21:20:00.000-04:00

And there they were.
Alone, in that bubble that seems to come up and shield you from all the world’s bad things whenever you’re very happy with someone, in that precise moment when you look at someone else’s eyes and you get lost in them.
When time, sounds, and everything else doesn’t seem to matter, just that moment.
When, if you know enough to realize that moment will pass, you’d give all the gold in the world, and then some, to make it last even for five more seconds.
And then, the moment passed, as it should have.
She would cherish that moment, and wonder if he did, cause funnily enough, it was just one moment.
Moments like that happen, well, 100.000.000 times a day.
She loved the little pit in her stomach that came everytime she remembered that simple moment.
And she wanted more... but isn’t that human nature?
She has always wanted to make her life like a movie in the cutting room, and cut all the dull moments between all the highs, then see herself live all over again, just the good times.
Impossible... but it would be such amazing fun.
And then the world tapped on her shoulder to remind her that she wasn't alone.

2006-11-24T20:55:00.000-04:00

My Impressions...

1. Yummy boy...(he's 16, you cradle robber).
2. Alfalfa!
3. Ooh.. Gentleman...
4. Very gentleman...
5. Oh, so very gentleman...
6. TOGA, TOGA, TOGA!!! And those shoes don't match, woman, I don't like you.
7. CHOCOLATE!
8. Yummy girl... and a betty boop purse, I'm so in my pond here.
9. Gee, thanks.
9. Hold his drinks, please.
10. Girlfriends, the real best kind of whom movies are made, rule all.
11. Dancing is yum. Mmm...Gentleman...*licks lips*
12. Chocolate FIGHT! And yes, I pwn all.
13. *looks around* This people are geeky... *giggles*
14. Fishy shake... no good. But pretty dress... so you get one good and one bad, you're a zero.
15. *laughs* Mmm... Dancing.
16. Still no tie.. Justice shall be done, such is the way of the west...
17. I'll be laughing cause of this all for days to come...

2006-11-24T19:15:00.000-04:00

I hope I'm a broad, and never a dame. In fact, I'm pretty sure I am...

Oh, and congrats, kiddo... and thanks for everything.

2006-11-16T22:27:00.000-04:00

It's funny how a very seemingly "normal" question can disarm you so easily.

"Do you have a boyfriend?" After the natural no, comes the other one:

"Why not?"

How the hell is one supposed to know? I used to think I'd answer such nonsense with something along the lines of "Ask all the guys who aren't with me", but today, I drew a blank.

Maybe it's cause I don't go out. Maybe it's cause I don't fit in the stereotype. Maybe it's cause I spend most of my day in a lab with other women, and after I'm done with that, I'm pretty pooped to think about something else. Hell, it may even be because I'm ugly and/or give out a "if you come near me, I will bite your balls off" vibe.

I have no clue. But today, that simple, cliche question made me feel bad, and not the usual kind of bad where you just feel like a pinch and then you're done. It's the kind of bad that stays in the back of your head and makes you chew and chew on the issue for hours, like a cow (Moo).

It made me notice a few things.

1. My power of suggestion over myself is amazing, for things that interest me. I made myself think that this guy was super, and that this was it... funny enough, a sober me would have kicked this bad version of me in the tits. I've exorcized most of that bad version of me, I hope.

2. I'm pretty fucked up, but I quite enjoy it. I'm able to listen to such a romantic song like "head over feet" by alanis morrisette while looking at a guide to domming your guy. I imagine stories with non-usual sex endings, cause the usual happy ending sickens me. I know what fanta is, and I also store lots of non-exactly-useful info in my mind, like the fact that a toast will always land on the side with the jam, cause it's heavier, and not cause of Murphy's law.

3. I'm a geek when it comes to biological stuff. All animals are cute (except cockroaches when they fly) in some way, shape or form, and DNA is infalible and also, the coolest thing ever to exist.

4. I'm an optimist most of the time, except when I'm down and I want the whole world to come down in flames. And I'm a romantic at heart, even though I know that the knight in shining armor doesn't exist and if he does, he's a jerk (see shrek 2), I still would like a guy that resembled him in the best ways, even if that guy's not real either.

5. I'd really like to have sex, and at this point, pretty much any kind of sex will do.

I like backs, like the cute guy on top.. makes me want to wake up looking at that back... I find them oh, so sexy...*swoons*

2006-11-13T22:39:00.000-04:00

You know when you're having just a great row of days and you don't ever wish they stop?

That's what's happening to me right now.

Murphy is either setting me up for some very very ugly stuff... or he's just forgotten about me... In which case, be a pretty and don't remind him of me.

Today was a great day, tiresome... but lovely nonetheless... I had soo much fun...

Anyway, the angel... He's yummy, and has a lovely ass... but besides that, I'd love it if he could put a good word for me so the good days don't end badly...

Cheerios!

2006-11-12T20:10:00.000-04:00

Art...

I have this friend... he's studying biology, but after seeing all of his art, I think he should clone himself and study art too, he says he'll do it after he graduates, and I really hope he does. See for yourself.

This is his view of the wizard of Oz... He says the wizard wasn't really a wizard (as we all know) that the magic was Oz itself.

A surreal drawing of a woman melting.. I love the eye tree, reminds me of Salvador Dali.

Beyond the Beyond.

This is his first canvas. I love the colors.

This one's called masks. I told him the bottom red one looks like Adolf Hitler, he laughed.

He gave me this rose, said it was fitting.

A gay shrimp. I told him it's not gay, it's trendy.

Butterflies on a notebook.

This is the wall of his room...

And that's it... Hope you enjoyed the tour

2006-11-04T00:09:00.000-04:00

He was a good boy.

It had started fairly normal, like most romances do. She loved that he was attentive, but didn’t cross the line where attentive became overwhelming. To explain further, he sent a message in the morning, one at night, and if they were to meet, but not a message saying: “Have you eaten yet?”.

He picked her up at work whenever he could, and could sense when she desperately needed a coffee (vanilla latte, too much sugar) and a massage, and obliged, but was courteous enough to ask her to make sure if she really wanted those things.

They had met by chance, as most. He was locked into her eyes, which drove into him and seemed to get to his very soul. She was used to staring at people, always trying to figure something about them, and she didn’t avert her eyes when he looked up at her. He was rewarded with two oval hazel eyes, which looked about as deep as the Mariana trench. She feasted on his eyes, face, arms, and then the rest of his body.

He loved the fact that she looked like she was really enjoying her sugary pretzel, and didn’t mind the fact that her fingers were covered in sugar. He wished he could suck that sugar off her fingers, and when she actually sucked carelessly on them, he instinctively felt a stir in his penis.
She saw him as he licked his lips, and her thoughts flew.

He pointed her that she still had a little sugar on the corner of her lip, suppressing the instinct to run his fingers (or tongue) to clean it. She wiped it off, smiling at him and taking the sugar from her finger, biting it lightly, then sucking on it.

He knew she was teasing him… and it worked.

He went over to her table, introduced himself, then offered to carry her bag pack, which looked (and was) heavy. She didn’t accept, and he didn’t insist. He asked instead if he could join her around, and she accepted. After all, it was a crowded mall, and he looked harmless enough.
She went to the library, her favorite spot, and browsed through it all. Surprisingly, he also read a lot, and went his way, but always brought good books to her, asking if she had read them, and discussing them with her. He won her heart with that, but she didn’t let him on.

And so they happily went about, their paths already crossed.

As hey explored themselves, physically and spiritually, he found out she wanted to dominate, and he liked the idea. She was tickled by the fact that he liked her fantasy… but being in the post sex glow, she figured he could say just about anything, so she discarded the idea.
Then he went out of the country on business, and came bearing interesting gifts… A tied corset, which he already knew she loved, and a blue crop, her favorite color. It was then she knew he meant what he said.

They began submitting and dominating each other, establishing their roles, which turned out to be her as the dominant. He didn’t ever lose his essence, or his manliness, much less his independence, but many times he came to her naked, on all fours, with the infamous crop on his mouth, and a lustful look in his eyes.

Many times she made him dry her back only with his tongue after a shower; something both loved and revered, and relaxed her more than his most dedicated massage. Lying on her face, softly moaning into the pillow as he licked all the little water droplets off her back.
He learned that his body wasn’t only his anymore; she owned it, as much as he owned hers, but she exercised her owner’s rights more than he did.

“You are, indeed, a good boy…” she said, patting his face as his moans were carried off into all the corners of their house, his body spent, but his soul as content as ever.

2006-10-26T21:42:00.000-04:00

She awoke to the feeling of someone’s breathing on her shoulder. She was used to sleeping alone, so in the midst of that sleep-awakening transition, when she was coming to the realization, that yes, this was another day, and she started, as usual, to curse the light that woke her from her peace… There it was. A hot, soft and rhythmic breath, right on her shoulder. She hadn’t opened her eyes just yet… she left that for when it was absolutely necessary, for she knew, once she opened her eyes, her sleep was over, and reality came crashing into her.
But there she was, lying comfortably in what she felt was her bed, the hotness of a foreign person’s breath on her shoulder, and her eyes closed. She started to wonder what she was doing there… or, more appropriately, what was that breathing person doing there.
She began to wonder if she was dreaming, but her dreams always were surreal, and this seemed almost normal, at least to anyone but her. She was alone, had been since she had moved away from the city (and country) she called home, and had come here to work, and to try and be independent.
Just then, that foreign breathing person, without missing a beat on his (hers? Its?) breathing, began moving a hand on her body. Her eyes, turned away from the person (she couldn’t handle another person’s hot breath on her face while she slept) opened in shock. She was nude… and this other person’s hand (since it felt like a hand, it must have been a person) was softly and lazily moving on her stomach.
She dared not move, in fear of waking up whoever was beside her in the bed. But now, her eyes open, she started to realize she didn’t mind that hand on her stomach. She began to look around the room, which she realized now, wasn’t hers. And the breathing kept its steady and calm rhythm. Whoever this person was seemed he or she was deeply sleeping.
The room’s walls were an amazing shade of green, dark enough to not be cute, but clear enough not to darken the room. There was writing in one of the walls, but she couldn’t make out the words. Under the writing, a lounge chair, and on it, a guitar. Besides the chair, a bookshelf, books and magazines all over it, looking just the right mix of messy and clean she was so used to in her own belongings.
The person stirred, his or hers breathing changed, and she shut her eyes quickly, pretending to be asleep. The hand froze in its movement, sadly, she thought.
The person yawned against her shoulder, and cuddled towards her body. It turned out to be a he, as she felt his stubble on her skin. She still didn’t dare to move, and she wrecked her brain to figure out who he was, and while she already could figure out pretty much what had happened, from the fact that she was naked, she wondered if it, if she had been any good.
It came slowly to her foggy brain.
First, a smile, and it seemed it had happened eons ago. Then, the eyes that joined that wicked smile, as he looked up from his own book to see her reading too, much like he was, supported by an old tree, sitting in the grass.
Then, the fun, as they played the age old “I’m not really looking at you” game, moving down their eyes to their books as the other looked up. She smiled, looking at her book, but then, as her turn came, and he was looking down, she stuck her tongue out at him, playfully. He was surprised, since she looked so serious before, almost stern. He used to say to people he had fell for her tongue, and later, he found out that after all, her tongue was a very skilled one.
After days of this, sitting below the trees and pretending to read, she made the first move, she took a pen out of her bag and wrote something on a piece of paper, which she then crumpled and dropped on his lap before leaving.
It said, simply, “Boo”.
He took the paper and used it as a bookmark, and turned around to see her leaving the park. She told him later how hard it had been for her to not look back.
The next day, she found a present under her tree, a little box with a ghost on the top, and she knew it was from him, though he made no move as she sat down and opened it, he just kept reading Jurassic Park, his book of the week.
She found inside a box of tissues, cause she cried as she read her last book, The color purple.
And she found a flower, which she smelled, and put on her hair. And a sketch of her, reading under the tree.
No wonder he spent two weeks reading that magazine, she thought and laughed.
He thought she was laughing at the drawing, and frowned, but as he looked up again, she bowed her head softly to him, and he understood her thank you.
The next day, he was waiting for her under her tree, he had thrown a blanket on the grass, and he patted the floor next to him when he saw her quizzical look. She sat, and he turned to kiss her as he injected the sedative into her thigh with an astounding precision.
She remembered it all.
She opened her eyes again to find herself handcuffed to the bed, naked, as her Master had already awakened and was running his finger around her breast, exciting her.
He kissed her, his stubble tickling her face, and she smiled again.
She remembered she had to buy a new set of weights for his clamps, since tonight was her turn.

2006-10-25T20:12:00.000-04:00

I cut myself with a ceramic tile. CURSES!!!!

It's a tiny thing... but it hurts.

On other matters... My little to-be-born cousin... Is no more to be born, she got lost in the way. Sad, angry...Both.

And what was I doing around ceramic tiles, you ask? The upper part of my house is being remodeled, so my house is a disaster area.

In other news... being nice pays... in chocolate. Yum.

That's about it, I guess... OH! When people talk to little kids who stare at other people, specially teens and young adult by saying that they like them... it pisses me off. Very Much.

There you go.

2006-10-18T11:15:00.000-04:00

Wait a Minute, Wait a Minute!!!

We forgot mouth to anus with chickens!!!.

This was said by a texas legislator, while passing some weird law about sodomy. Now, what I would give to know how he knew about the mouth to anus with chickens, cause this was back in the 70's, he couldn't blame it on the internet.

Anyway... did you know it's illegal to sell dildoes in Texas? They have to be sold as " Educational devices" you know, to help demonstrate safe sex by putting condoms on them. Vibrators are massagers, but, and here's the kicker, buttplugs can be sold freely.

I think that says something about the state, don't you?

In other news, it still is somewhat rainy in my city, yay! And my future's not looking so weird now that I have a father for my kids (if I turn 30 and I'm not married or anything, I'll call a friend up and I'll have a kid with him) and a plan for the end of the world... Now, the end of the world will be brought upon by myself, with a little help from my friends, but that's another thing, I already have a plan for it.
Whoever said planning didn't help face situations, I will pee on your bed... while you're lying on it.
Toodle-oo... I have to go work.

2006-10-16T10:14:00.000-04:00

Rain...

My too sunny city is finally rewarding us with a fall that looks like a fall (It's not fall, we don't have fall, and I'm trying to also not think about the climate mess and what it means, so shut up, logic) and I love it.
First, I need a dream arquitect to tear down he wall in my room and give me a big window right beside my bed, so I can fall asleep and wake up to the sounds of the rain, thunder and lighting. Last night, as I was lying in bed, lighting struck, and you could see the light through my window... God, I love rain.
I love the little drops that fall on my face as I go around my house closing windows... I love to listen to these little drops falling on trees and earth, making such a beautiful music. I love the chilly wind when I go out, and how it all looks a bit foggy, but still, the greens are greener, and the browns are stronger, only man-made things look out of place.
I remember when I was coming down the Santa Ana (a hill) and as soon as we started coming down, this huge storm began. I loved every minute of it, even though we were completely drenched (and I do mean completely) and coming down a hill competing with a water stream is not the greatest thing,but it was amazing, feeling the water just slide in your skin.
At some point in my life, don't know when, I'm gonna have to find someone that even though might not enjoy rain as much as I do, will be open enough to realize how much such a simple thing means to me and share it with me.
Till then, I'm gonna miss whoever that is, and think of this song when I do.

To see you when I wake up is a gift I didn't think could be real
To know that you feel the same as I do is a three-fold, utopian dream
You do something to me that I can't explain
So would I be out of line if I said, I miss you
I see your picture, I smell your skin on the empty pillow next to mine
You have only been gone ten days, but already I'm wasting away
I know I'll see you again whether far or soon
But I need you to know that I care and I miss you

To my rain sharing person... And to Brandon Boyd... Cause after listening to this... God, that guy is amazing.

2006-10-14T22:52:00.001-04:00

2006-10-14T18:44:00.000-04:00

Rebellion!!!!

So, school is closed indefinitely, isn't that cute?

For those who don't know (and there's a lot, seeing as how most college students here seem not to read the paper) Transports (the deparment that's in charge of all the buses for the student routes, inside and outside the city) is being held by students, asking, ironically for more buses and for new busses.
Now, the transport department is adyacent to my School, Sciences (Math, Physics, Chemistry, Computing, Human Sciences and, mine, Biology), so, as the rector said, it's our fault that they're there, cause despite the fact that they're armed and pissed, we're supposed to get them out of there, apparently, we're supposed to be trained as navy seals or something, along with our careers.
It's all a big mess, with political implications, and they vacated the sciences school, cause they were gonna ask the guys to come out (I can just imagine the scene: "Guys, will you please come out?" "No" "Ok, bye now"). And the guys expanded their action radius, the entered other schoold to get their busses too.
So now, the whole college is closed.
Here's where it gets funny, I'm working in a lab at my college, and we're starting some experimental work on a project we're supposed to take to a congress in may next year. It was all invented by my slavist tutor, but, hey, it's gonna appear on our resumés too, so we said ok.
She said, not in so many word that we were to be like the mail (rain, thunder, snow, or rabid dogs couldn't stop us), but, and here's the kicker, she won't even go to the lab 90% of the times she asks us to be there. She has a sort of assistant, who she's training to take her position, and she's the one that goes everyday and stays with us the long hours, helping us with our work.
Since school is closed, and there's no classes, no activities whatsoever, and even no guards, the whole college is like a big ghost town. The only way in is walking, and the lab where I work is not exactly close to any exit, you have to walk some to get to it, from any point (it's pretty safe to say it's in the middle of nowhere). Yesterday, when the suspension of classes started, a friend of mine and I went to the lab, cause we had some work to finish, and we didn't want to lose a week's worth of work. It's pretty scary to walk around, two girls, in the middle of nowhere, with armed guys close to you.
So, I say to my friend, that she should call the tutor's assistant, to find out what can we do about next week and such. She calls, the assistant's sleeping, so she decides to call our tutor (Why didn't I call, you ask? I wasn't home, and didn't have enough money on my cellphone... she did). Now, I don't know what she said to our tutor, but the slave driver, of course, suggested we should go, no matter what. Then, she called me. With an über bitch tone (her über bitch tone os low and paced.. but she leaves no doubt that she's right, you're wrong, and how dare you), she tells me that people from her lab have always been able to get into school, that she gets permits, and talks to people and such. So I tell her that there's no guards to talk to to let you in, and that not even with permits you could get in, and she launches again to say that people from her lab, yadda yadda yadda.
Finally, she tell me "Forget the lab, then, forget your thesis, forget everything" and then she softened up a bit (teeny tiny bit) by saying that yes, if the rector says it's not safe we shouldn't go in (despite the fact that she thought is was perfectly ok that we went inside alone, and walking), but I could tell from her voice that she was pissed at me for even suggesting it. Now, if she were to tell me that we would all go, and go in walking, in a group, with her, being the head of the lab right alongside of us, I'd have said "tell me the time woman, and I'll be there and work my ass off". but of course, that's not gonna happen.
So now, after all, I'm a bit scared that her "forget your thesis, forget everything" was serious... But at this point, it's not that I don't care, it's that I'm not gonna expose myself to get raped of killed, just cause she doesn't think there's any danger for me, but she won't expose herself to it.
If anything bad comes out of this, I'll stand, most likely alone, and face it, cause all the other girls might probably be too afraid to lose all their work.
Something funny, I ran into one girl in all the way towards the lab... and it turns out I know her... I hope I'm not turning into my dad, who's that guy I know besides that weird old man dressed in white and with a funny hat.
Oh, and the center of my city is turning to be even more of a hardcore experience as time passes by.
Anyway, I'm ranted out now.
But, as I said... I could get used to doing that.

2006-10-11T21:20:00.000-04:00

So, Por amor, huh?

En serio quieres jugar esa carta? O es que ya no te queda otra? O será (y casi no me atrevo a decirlo) que te diste cuenta al fin que no funciona separar familias y gritar "lobo" (o diablo en este caso)?.
El amor se podia respirar en la infame cadena donde con pitazos botaste a un gentio (vamos a ser medio justos y decir que aproximadamente la mitad no se merecia que los botaran) para dejar una empresa como tu titere.
Se sentia mucho amor en Puente Llaguno... Imagino que se agarraban de la mano y entonaban canciones de amor al projimo mientras le disparaban a una marcha pacifica.
Mucho amor hay cuando a un empleado del gobierno lo amenazan para que no vote por quien le apetezca, y para que sirvan de vallas con sonrisas falsas.
Sera que ahora las nuevas expresiones de cariño son traidor, golpista e imperialista?
Se siente mucho el amor cuando un "pueblo" al que le arrojas billetes baila para ti. No crees que seria mas amor si no tuvieras que fletar buses y pagar por que te aplaudan?
El amor une, no fracciona. El amor no se pelea por un color. El amor no es un resentido social con infulas de poder. El amor es limpio, no de puñaladas por la espalda y denuncias vanas mientras la gente se muere de hambre en la calle.
Amor no son fusiles rusos, el amor combate con otras armas.
El amor acepta diferencias para buscar un bien comun.
Casi podia palparse el amor cuando recorrias los barrios montado en un camión, y separado de la gente por una muralla humana, como si fueran leprosos y fueran a contagiarte.
Por favor... No te llenes la boca de amor, que no te queda.

2006-10-10T21:27:00.000-04:00

Today was a crappy day.

Agoraphobia is sounding like a grand idea more and more each day.

I'd be a kickass agoraphobic, if I'm not beginning to be one already.

Now, shoo.

2006-10-09T18:39:00.000-04:00

I Had a Dream.

Sadly, it wasn't as loable as Martin Luther King's.

It started with me erasing a line on a window, I was on the outside of a buiding, and from the inside, people yelled at me to stop, but noboy did anything about it. All of the sudden, a bull appears, and comes to attack me, so I defenct myself by actually getting a cape and fighting it. I actually got a sword inside him (how ironic, I'm against bullfighting), but the thing wouldn't die, so I had to run inside the building. Turns out, the only way out was blocked by the bull. I had to take a "secret" exit, which went through all the floors of the building (the building, all of the sudden became an apartment building) and I started going down. I hung out with some friends in a hammock ( that was cool) and then holding one of my friend's purse while she went to the bathroom (and there were a lot of other friends of mine in that bathroom). I always have to flee wherever I am at some point, till I get to the room of two brothers, there I stayed for a while, cause they liked me, and I was safe. Of course, their mom and sister couldn't know I was there. At some point, I sat down and watched TV with one of the brothers, we watched a war program, which was animated and cute somehow, then another show, where all of the sudden we starred, and he was leaving in a blue car, as he was, I called out to him, he stopped and we kissed. They had a wall with lots of ornaments, and candles burning, the wax ran all the way to the floor. Finally, at some point after all that, I took a shower, and as I was getting ready to get dressed and leave, the guy's little sister got in my way to the exit asn I was hiding in a room, with nothing but a towel on.

That's the end of it.

2006-10-09T00:57:00.000-04:00

6 Degrees of separation

Though I've never actually played the infamous game, I found out yesterday just how small and incestous my faculty is. Talking with three friends, I got this:
1. My tutor (who is old, bitchy and a slave driver, and if I begin talking about her we'll be here all day) also tutored the teacher who's now tutoring 2 of my friends.
2. The third friend's tutor, a male professor, is the husband of the teacher who's tutoring my friend, and of course, as friendly as one can possibly be with my teacher (that is, friendly enough to conveniently using her to their advantage whenever possible).
And Kevin Bacon, you ask?
One of the friends I was talking to and myself were watching Footloose yesterday, when we had our little convo, and who starred in Footloose? None other than Kevin Bacon.
Don't you just love knowledge?

This conversation started with my msn nick. To elaborate, my msn nick has the word "Koyaanisqatsi" in it. It's a hopi (north-american natives) term, it means life out of balance, and it's also a movie, which I haven't seen but someone close to me did and told me he "wanted to see me seeing that movie", whatever that means. Anyway, and turn now cause this is about to get geeky, bio-geeky that is; it just so happens that my friend, who asked me about the meaning of my nick, also works in Microbiology (I'm in Virology, to be exact, but it's also microbiology tecnically) and there's a medium, used to identify bacteria that's called TSI, which is Triple Sugar Iron-agar. So he, who's a little off, that's why I like him so, asked me what the hopi had to do with Microbiology. I told him that aliens had come and given the Hopi Microbiology, like they came and gave the egiptians the technology to build the piramids. He complained that as usual, north americans were always doing things first. From there on, it just went downhill, as he modified a Pocahontas saying and went on to tell me that all is "a fraternal sinergism that's eternal" (modified from spanish, of course). The big breakthrough of the night came when he realized that to have said that, Pocahontas had to be Hopi. We consulted with our personal Disney expert, who didn't remember a reference to Pocahontas clan's name in the movie, which was good enough for us to deem her a Hopi.
Count the brain cells you lost reading this, then tell me the number.

2006-10-08T19:09:00.000-04:00

Routines.

We humans have the ability to turn everything into a routine.. so much so, that even love (the answer to anything, everything, The Universe, despite others saying it's 42) has to adapt to it.
Everyone has their little routines, one of mine, which I find funny, is whenever using a fresh towel for my body, I dry my face with the left corner, so the tag of the towel is to my right, and on the lower side. Scary, isn't it? I don't consider myself compulsive, or maniac, in fact, routines bore me as soon as I'm aware of them, but that's just something I do.

Why is it that we need that? Is it for safety? Or is it cause we just don't realize these things? What are we thinking about when we're putting things or using things just the way we like them to be? In fact... Do you even notice these little quirky routines? Why do we submit ourselves to them? And if you involve other person in that equation... oy vey.

Take my aunt, she doesn't go out much, she has to take care of my grandpa, 5 dogs, some birds and my cousin (her niece). Imagine the weight of all those routines in her life: getting my grandpa breakfast, waiting for my uncle to drop my little cousin off, trying to teach her some routines, cause she's two, so she has none; feed the dogs, feed the birds, bake cakes (she does that for a living) give my grandpa his pills, put little cousin to sleep... Scary, isn't it? And she does it all. She's stuck in those routines, so, sometimes, even if you want to go out with her... how can you? She'd have to leave you lists.

Safety is the answer that pops into my mind when I wonder about routines, we need to be assured that no matter what, tomorrow we still have to take out the trash, make up our beds (I don't do it, my bed is always a mess, I like it that way, I think it's inviting), do the dishes, and then, only then, we can face the world.

2006-10-07T20:41:00.000-04:00

Pick a date?

Really?

Should it be planned? Plans always give me the heebie jeebies, and make me feel I can (have to) run from them too.

Leaving it up to fate hasn't worked too well over the years.. but planning it?

Thrusday, october 12: Go to lab, go to his house, have lunch, make out, shower, oral, sex, cab, home, hide under the bed.

Doesn't sound very good.

2006-10-07T18:43:00.000-04:00

Success!

The guilt gene has been passed on to me, and I used it, very nicely, on my dad.

That got me a nice family outing, laughs, foods, and most importantly of all: BOOKS! (cue in heavenly music).

I got the national geographic, the sequel to sexo sentido *drools*, and an arthur conan doyle book.

And I want the cardboard skeleton for Christmas, I want it sitting in the corner of my room.

Now, for the topic at hand, sex. I have made a breaktrough, I'm moving on from my pussy fixation to rediscover the joys of the dick, thus pausing my wondering if I was gay. For someone as inexperienced as I am, it's a cool feeling. BUT that does not mean at all that I don't think I'd like being with a girl.

Now I only wish I could get over the sillyness and go fuck someone (I've had someone in mind for a while, but issues, or any other kind of difficulties get on my way, and I let them). The bright side is, it's given me a whole lot of fantasies, the downside... I might have become fixated with my method...

2006-10-06T22:33:00.000-04:00

Yes, Graperose... Why? Cause I'm used to blackrose, and this site apparently doesn't like it, and I'm eating grapes (green grapes, the only kind it should exist), so they're sitting in the desk beside me and were the first thing I looked at. Rose, my name, cause of my dead aunt, morbid, but I like it.

My mood, is pissed. And I'm about to whine about it.

My dad apparently is even more of a son of the 50's that he even lets on (son of the 50's: ignore the ugly, feelings are bad, and everything's peachy) and now, the one day we had as a family (saturday) is always busy for him. School, I get, everything else, I don't. We might seem like a cute family, we go out together, vacations together, even lunches whenever possible, together... and under that, we're never really together most of the time, mom watches tv or is out; I work, watch tv, read or I'm here; dad, tv, out, o computer.

My mom is a 50's mom.. actually, she's a timeless mom (and I think she's got a Jewish gene somewhere in her, cause the guilt she can lay on baffles me, she's one of the voices inside my head at all times, one of the most annoying ones sometimes too).

Me, I'm fucked up.. but a good fucked up most of the time, except at times like this.

I'm PMSing, so this might be the reason for the creative (insert laugh here) outburst, but there.

"You asked for me to enter, and then you made me crawl, and I can't keep holding on..."