domingo, 21 de agosto de 2011

Celebremos las diferencias

La semana pasada, alguien mandó este secreto a PostSecret:

Y esta semana, alguien respondió así:

No puedo explicar las mil y un razones por las que creo que esto es maravilloso.

A todos los que se sienten solos por ser diferentes, just one thing:


domingo, 7 de agosto de 2011

I disregard the proportions, the measures, the tempo of the ordinary world. I refuse to live in the ordinary world as ordinary women. To enter ordinary relationships. I want ecstasy. I am a neurotic — in the sense that I live in my world. I will not adjust myself to the world. I am adjusted to myself.

miércoles, 20 de julio de 2011


To me, you are the buzz on the back of the neck and the Cheshire Cat-smile after two generous glasses of wine. You are the brush of fingers against each other, if only for a moment, as I’m handed the glass. You are the flutter of the heart when the soft, dewy skin touches skin for just a millisecond too long.

You are the swell of my chest when, at all of eight years old, I look across the playground and see the best swing–the one I’m sure will send me over the bar and turn me inside-out forever–completely open. You are the pebbles scattering under my tennis shoes as I race past the monkey bars and under the slide. You are that first big swing forward when my legs stretch out in front of me and I can see over the roof of the next house over.

You are the warm, happy din that settles over those perfect house parties–the ones where all the friends you haven’t seen in a while are all back together in one place. You are the clink of glasses against each other as we toast to something absurd and obscure. You are the arms around shoulders as inside jokes are laughed over, as people pass around nostalgia like a peace pipe in the kitchen of a friend’s house.

You are the wind blowing gently over the beach, that thin layer of traveling sand that brushes against me as I fall asleep to the sound of the waves. You are the ice cubes in the lemonade, the condensation, the little breath I take in when I press the cold glass against my neck to fight the heat. You are the suntan lines I wake up with, the freckles that show up on my shoulders as I go to sleep. You are summer vacation.

You are the heady rush I get when, lying on the floor surrounded by torn-apart wrapping paper on my 10th Christmas morning, my parents tell me there’s one more present behind the couch. You are the delirious, happy coma I fall into as I agonize over which toy to play with first. You are the shiny, light brown glaze on the ham as my father carves the first slice. You are A Christmas Story on a 24-hour loop.

You are the first day of school, when all of my pens and notebooks are perfectly organized and even the little dividers are labeled with the little pieces of paper in their colored slots. You are the promise of a pencil case filled with fresh ink and unused erasers. You are the satisfying snap of a three-ring binder as you place your first papers neatly inside.

You are laughing, laughing so hard I can’t see through my tears, laughing so hard I need to sit down for a moment. You are the happy ache in my side from laughter that comes in gales and waves and only gets worse as you try to stop it. You are that moment when I’m being held down and tickled and legitimately wondering if anyone has ever died from being tickled too hard. You are the cries of “Stop it!” that can barely be understood through the squeals of open laughter.

You are all of these things, you see. But I’ll be polite; I’ll resist the urge to grab you and shake you until you see yourself the way I do. I want to show you the Polaroids and postcards of images you embody, the snapshots of our lives we want to save in a shoebox and pass down to our grandchildren–but I won’t. I won’t. I’ll let you go on thinking you’re just some ordinary human, if you want to. I understand, it must be easier that way.

Taken from here

martes, 12 de julio de 2011

don't say no to me you can't say no to me because it's such a relief to have love again and to lie in a
bed and be held and touched and kissed and adored and your heart will leap when you hear my
voice and see my smile and feel my breath on your neck and your heart will race when I want to see you and I will lie to you from day one and use you and screw you and break your heart because you
broke mine first
and you will love me more each day until the weight is unbearable and your life is
mine and you'll die alone because I will take what I want then walk away and owe you nothing it's
always there it's always been there and you cannot deny the life you feel fuck that life fuck that life
fuck that life I have lost you now

domingo, 10 de julio de 2011

Something someone wrote for me (after I showed him A's monologue)

and I want to...

.. Hold your hand, I want to stroke your hair and wipe your tears away. I want to be there and see you smiling, I want to listen to you tell me about your day about the hot guy at the bus stop and let me get jealous even though you've come home to me. and always do. and you won't ever stop kissing me either and I pretend to get annoyed when really it makes me feel alive inside, everytime. and I want to see you in the moonlight, and kiss you as the sun sets, and hold you through the sun rise surrounded by the morning dew. I want to go for a drive with you, and get lost and have to sleep in the car because we just can't be bothered to find ourselves again. I want to be amazed you're mine when I see you in the street but you haven't seen me yet. Just try to understand what you might see in me and what you might like for dinner tonight. I'm crazy. For you. and I don't want it to make sense. I slip and I drift, lost my glasses then you give me a direction and it'll all make sense again.

...fall in love with you.


This is the only thing you wrote for me I keep. It's not the best, and certainly not the most brilliant. But it definitely is the most honest. Back when we had nothing to hide. I still can't believe how much we hurt.

You'll always be a part of my heart. And I'm sorry. And I love you.

A's monologue (Crave by Sarah Kane)

And I want to play hide-and-seek and give you my clothes and tell you I like your shoes and sit on the steps while you take a bath and massage your neck and kiss your feet and hold your hand and go for a meal and not mind when you eat my food and meet you at Rudy's and talk about the day and type your letters and carry your boxes and laugh at your paranoia and give you tapes you don't listen to and watch great films and watch terrible films and complain about the radio and take pictures of you when you're sleeping and get up to fetch you coffee and bagels and Danish and go to Florent and drink coffee at midnight and have you steal my cigarettes and never be able to find a match and tell you about the the programme I saw the night before and take you to the eye hospital and not laugh at your jokes and want you in the morning but let you sleep for a while and kiss your back and stroke your skin and tell you how much I love your hair your eyes your lips your neck your breasts your arse your and sit on the steps smoking till your neighbour comes home and sit on the steps smoking till you come home and worry when you're late and be amazed when you're early and give you sunflowers and go to your party and dance till I'm black and be sorry when I'm wrong and happy when you forgive me and look at your photos and wish I'd known you forever and hear your voice in my ear and feel your skin on my skin and get scared when you're angry and your eye has gone red and the other eye blue and your hair to the left and your face oriental and tell you you're gorgeous and hug you when you're anxious and hold you when you hurt and want you when I smell you and offend you when I touch you and whimper when I'm next to you and whimper when I'm not and dribble on your breast and smother you in the night and get cold when you take the blanket and hot when you don't and melt when you smile and dissolve when you laugh and not understand why you think I'm rejecting you when I'm not rejecting you and wonder how you could think I'd ever reject you and wonder who you are but accept you anyway and tell you about the tree angel enchanted forest boy who flew across the ocean because he loved you and write poems for you and wonder why you don't believe me and have a feeling so deep I can't find words for it and want to buy you a kitten I'd get jealous of because it would get more attention than me and keep you in bed when you have to go and cry like a baby when you finally do and get rid of the roaches and buy you presents you don't want and take them away again and ask you to marry me and you say no again but keep on asking because though you think I don't mean it I do always have from the first time I asked you and wander the city thinking it's empty without you and want what you want and think I'm losing myself but know I'm safe with you and tell you the worst of me and try to give you the best of me because you don't deserve any less and answer your questions when I'd rather not and tell you the truth when I really don't want to and try to be honest because I know you prefer it and think it's all over but hang on in for just ten more minutes before you throw me out of your life and forget who I am and try to get closer to you because it's a beautiful learning to know you and well worth the effort and speak German to you badly and Hebrew to you worse and make love with you at three in the morning and somehow somehow somehow communicate some of the overwhelming undying overpowering unconditional all-encompassing heart-enriching mind-expanding on-going never-ending love I have for you.

domingo, 26 de junio de 2011

June, and twentyfour, in a nutshell

Creces rodeado de amigos. Poco a poco te vuelves más selectivo. Sabes quiénes son y quiénes no son tus amigos. En momentos importa y en otros no tanto. A veces uno quiere palabras de sinceridad y esas le salen mejor a los que no tienen miedo de arruinar una amistad toda la vida. A veces quieres una cerveza y tus mejores amigos están ocupados. Te conformas con cualquier tipo de compañía. Llegas a casa y quieres contarle a alguien de tu día pero no sabes bien a quién le va a importar (o más bien, a quién no le va a dar hueva escucharte). Piensas en maneras creativas de hacer sonar tu día más interesante; para que al menos se lleven una sonrisa o una buena mentada con tu historia. El drama, la exageración y los detalles que mejor omites. Sonries. Te bañas. Te acuestas a dormir pero no puedes. Vas al trabajo. Síclaroquesícómonosaludos. Tic toc. Comes lo que sea. Ves un choque en el camino a casa y te alegras de que no eres tú. Te recibe la puerta de tu casa con el recibo de la luz. Auch. Tu ropa favorita ya no te queda, no has lavado tus sábanas en más de un mes, no encuentras un documento importante. Tu computadora tiene virus pero no tienes tiempo de arreglar eso ahora, entras a Facebook y tus notificaciones son todas pendejadas que no te importan excepto una... pero no es suficiente. Lees dos páginas de un libro y te da sueño. Cuando apagas la luz y quieres dormir se esfuma. Prendes la tele. Solo hay reality shows y soft porn, que al fin y al cabo son la misma cosa. Tus amigos se gradúan. Los que abandonaron la carrera por algo más los miran con cierta envidia mientras se convencen a sí mismos de que hicieron lo mejor. Conoces a la novia del que alguna vez fue tu mejor amigo y sabes que le cagaste la madre. Convives con la misma gente que te ha visto crecer en una mesa para ocho y no tienes nada que decir excepto “Salud”. Piensas en qué hubiese pasado si no hubieses hecho esa llamada hace un mes, si no hubieses aceptado ir al cine hace 5 años, si no te hubieses besado con esa persona en aquel estacionamiento, si no hubieses creído todo lo que te dijeron durante la adolescencia, si no hubieses mentido tanto para no lastimar, si hubieses dicho que no a ese primer cigarro, recuerdas a qué sabe el jugo de naranja justo después de haberte lavado los dientes y a eso te sabe la vida. Esa es la expresión que tienes en ese momento. Te toman una foto. Te capturan para siempre en ese instante incómodo. Mandas un mensaje con doble sentido. Te arrepientes. Mandas un mensaje honesto. Bebes un poco más. Te acuerdas de cuando no bebías, te asustas de ser un adulto. Te asusta saber que te estás convirtiendo en lo que aborrecías de alguna forma. Eres ese trabajador inconforme, ese estudiante insatisfecho, un activista de sofá. Recuerdas las palabras crueles que has dicho y cómo en realidad no lo decías en serio. Recuerdas las palabras dulces de la misma forma.Te preguntas si tu vida siempre será así.

Y, por supuesto, no sabes cómo terminar este post.

sábado, 25 de junio de 2011

No hay nada más.

Miren, no puedo explicarlo de otra forma más que como lo voy a decir ahorita:

Me siento radiante. Soy feliz.

¿Y saben por qué? Porque no hay culpa. Porque no me arrepiento de nada.

Se los recomiendo. Lloren, maldigan, pateen, griten, canten, rían, sean miserables un ratito y luego olvídenlo. Déjenlo todo atrás.

Vivan con pasión, que esa pasión sea la que te haga levantarte y decir lo que no te atrevías. Que esa pasión te haga sentir que tu vientre está hirviendo. Hagan el amor encabronados y decepcionados, hagan el amor enamorados. Hagan lo que quieran, pero háganlo.

Ya no me acuerdo quién dijo que cuando se está feliz es difícil escribir. Uno está ocupado viviendo y disfrutando. Eso planeo hacer.

Pero quiero escribir; y espero poder encontrar mejores palabras que la sonrisa que traigo puesta esta mañana. Lo dudo, pero hay que intentarlo.

lunes, 30 de mayo de 2011

Un poco de Richard Brautigan

"Someplace in the World a Man is Screaming in Pain"
Someplace in the world
a woman is sitting
under a beautiful green tree,
and she is shelling peas,
and she is thinking only
of beautiful things,
like waterfalls or rainbows
or peas.

"The Second Kingdom"
In the first kingdom
of the stars,
everything is always

Your fingernails
are angels
sleeping after
a long night
of making love.

The sound of
your eyes: snow
coming down
the stairs
of the wind.

Your hair
is the color
of God picking

In the second
kingdom of the stars
there is only


At dawn when the dew has built its tents
on the grass, will you come to my grave
and sprinkle bread crumbs
from an enchanted kitchen?

Will you remember me down there
with my eyes shattered
and my ears broken
and my tongue turned to shadows?

Will you remember that I went to the graves
of many people and always knew I was buried

And afterwards as I walked home to where
it was warm, I did not kid myself about
a God-damn thing.

Will you remember that one day
I went to your grave and you had been dead
for many years, and no one thought
about you any more,
except me?

Will you remember that we are fragile gifts
from a star, and we break?

Will you remember that we are pain
waiting to scream, holes
waiting to be dug, and
tears waiting to

lunes, 9 de mayo de 2011

jueves, 20 de enero de 2011

No matter how careful you are, there's going to be the sense you missed something, the collapsed feeling under your skin that you didn't experience it all.
There's that fallen heart feeling that you rushed right through the moments where you should've been paying attention.
Well, get used to that feeling. That's how your whole life will feel some day. This is all practice. None of this matters. We're just warming up.

Invisible monsters (Chuck Palahniuk)

lunes, 3 de enero de 2011

La nostalgia es más fuerte que nunca cuando descubres que no hay nada que hacer: no puedes ser hoy quien eras ayer. No puedes vivir hoy la vida de ayer.

Somos los mismos pero la vida no es la misma. Después de lo vivido, regresar al pasado también implicaría hacer las cosas diferente. No se puede regresar a lo mismo.

Y es como cuando tienes sed, verdaderamente tienes sed: una limonada o un vaso de Coke bien helada no se comparan a un vaso de agua.

sábado, 1 de enero de 2011

Morir de tristeza no es lo peor que te puede pasar.

Vivir triste sí.

Amar esclaviza.

El amor es responsabilidad.

El que ama le entrega al ser amado parte de la responsabilidad de su felicidad; se la pone en las manos aunque el ser amado no lo haya pedido. Por eso el amor no correspondido es miserable muchas veces para ambas partes.

Saberse amado te da, de manera casi intrínseca, una responsabilidad con quien te ama. No puedes dejarle mal. No quisieras herirle. Si le amas también buscas su felicidad, muchas veces a costa de la tuya.

Mientras más amor, más responsabilidad.
Mientras más responsabilidad, menos libertad.


Parece un pinche texto de Paulo Coehlo.