Monthly Archives: May 2013

B-Side

Todo me suena mejor en inglés pero no me creo capaz de expresar lo que realmente siento en dicho idioma. Dejo ideas a mitad del proceso de escritura para nunca encontrarme ante una hoja en blanco. Me visto en mi mejores prendas para ir a la psicóloga para que piense que lo hago porque me siento bien. Ya no digo “acá ando” cuando me pregunta cómo estoy porque descubrí que uso esa frase en mis días malos y tengo miedo que alguien lo note. Leo mucho cuando no puedo asimilar ciertas situaciones porque me superan a nivel emocional. Lo admito y no me siento mejor. Vuelvo a escribir a pesar de no haber tenido un momento de inspiración tan fuerte como la mayoría de los que me ocurrieron previamente a escribir mis relatos y se desconecta el cable de mi notebook, apagándola y borrando una última frase de la cual estaba contenta con su forma. Extraño que ideas o situaciones se crucen por mi mente y que en cuestión de segundos las pueda poner en contexto y pensar en frases sarcásticas o creativas para desarrollarlas e, incluso relacionar con alguna canción que puede ayudar a su resolución y en cuestión de horas poder transformar todo eso en un relato que me ayude a hacer catarsis de alguna manera. Detesto que mi manera de ver mi cuerpo mejore pero que no concuerde con lo que le pasa y por lo tanto, no saber quién está mal esta vez. Aún más desprecio que en este momento le esté ocurriendo lo mismo por lo que pasó mi mamá. Tengo el libro con el paso a paso para recuperarme pero quiebro al primer intento. Peor, a veces ni llego a eso. Uno de mis problemas creo poder resolver de una forma que me es imposible realizar porque este mismo me lo impide. Tengo miedo a probar pero aunque esto no me pasara, no habría quien me ayude a intentarlo y para esto, realmente necesito a alguien. Todo se reduce a esta búsqueda de “alguien” y me molesta, porque no puedo hacer nada al respecto, solo quejarme vía palabras y ya dije que me ocurre con este tema. ¿Volvemos?

Shining

“So I went to New York City to be born again. It was and remains easy for most Americans to go somewhere else and start anew. I wasn’t like my parents. I didn’t have any supposedly sacred piece of land or shoals of friends to leave behind. Nowhere has the number zero been of more philisophical value than in the United States… and when the [train] plunged into a tunnel under New York City, with is lining of pipes and wires, I was out of the womb and into the birth canal”

– Kurt Vonnegut.

Breaking

“I was in the winter of my life…and the men I met along the road were my homely summer. At night I fell asleep with visions of myself dancing and laughing and crying with them. Three years down the line of being on an endless road toward and my memories of them were the only things that sustained me…and my only real happy times.

I was a singer…not a very popular one; I once had dreams of becoming a beautiful poet. But a plan and a series of unfortunate events saw those dreams dash and divide like a million stars in the night sky, that I wished on over and over again, sparkling and broken. But I didn’t really mind it because I knew that, that it takes getting everything you ever wanted and then losing it, to know what true freedom is. And when the people I used to know found out what I’d been doing, how I’d been living…they asked me why, but there’s no use in talking to people who have a home.  They have no idea what it’s like to seek safety in other people…for a home to be wherever you lie your head.

I was always an unusual girl. My mother told me I had a chameleon soul, no moral compass pointing due north, no fixed personality. Just a hint of indecisiveness that was just as wide and wavering as the ocean. And if I said I didn’t plan for it to turn out this way, I’d be lying…because I was born to be the other woman. I belonged to no one, who belonged to everyone. Who had nothing, who wanted everything. With a fire for every experience, and an obsession for freedom, that terrified me to the point that I couldn’t even talk about it. And pushed me to a nomadic point of madness that both dazzled and dizzied me.

Every night I used to pray that I’d find my people. And finally I did, on the open road. We had nothing to lose, nothing to gain, nothing we desired anymore. Except to make our lives into a work of art.

Live fast…die young…be wild and have fun.

I believe in the country America used to be. I believe in the person I want to become. I believe in the freedom of the open road. And my motto is the same as ever. I believe in the kindness in strangers. And when I’m at war with myself, I ride. I just ride. Who are you? Are in touch with all of your darkest fantasies? Have you created a life for yourself, where you can experience them? I have. I am fucking crazy. But I am free.” – Lana Del Rey.