Propaganda

We are all prisoners. No matter where you go, your freedom is just an illusion.

This weekend I get myself confined to my house, my own house, three complete days of dullness and a beautiful enlightening journey into my other self. The guilt is of some kind of microorganism who saw in me a paradise for its country house. The actual status of the former is: Eradicated after several doses of penicillin

I did it again: I survived three days with myself.

Three whole days of boredom, three whole days of imprisonment, three whole days till resurrection. And I did it: I’m alive.

Today I went out to breath fresh air, to listen to “cumbias” in the bus, to smell sweating people, their scent of rotten corn.

Today I saw real people.

People who eat at the bus because they have no time to live.
People with fear in their eyes. Fear of never return.
Fear of been devoured by the shadows of an alley; to become only blood and sweat.
They wait patiently, they wait a lifetime, they endure an existence of boredom, and dullness, a never ending journey of entrapment.
They are in a journey with no purpose. To keep in motion, to keep breathing that’s their life.

Three days for resurrection I wait. Only took me one day to die.
But sometimes I think that they wait eternity to resurrect, that they die everyday waiting three days to be born again.
And everyday I ask myself: Am I different from them? Or I just don’t want to believe that I might be like them but that I‘ve never wanted to see that the dimness in my eyes, is nothing but the dread of been just blood and shadows. To been engulfed by darkness and never be born again.

“And I asked: Do you remember the night when the sky was dark and the moon shone brilliant bright and the kids pretended to be asleep waiting…”

Prisoner:
(Synonym): captive, hostage, detainee, inmate, jailbird, convict, criminal, imprisoned, incarcerated, confined, caged, locked up, enslaved, old lag, crook, offender, villain, find guilty, send down, jailed, behind bars, put away, inside, in prison, restricted, restrained, felon, robber, lawbreaker, wrongdoer, delinquent, bad character, scoundrel, baddie, rogue, desperado, heavy, nasty piece of work, murderer, thief, burglar, pickpocket, shoplifter, mugger, raider, guilty party, sinner, malefactor, outlaw, aberrant, antisocial, rascal, bandit, gangster, killer, assassin, slayer, slaughterer, executioner, contract killer, intruder, cat-burglar, assailant, thug, attacker, assaulter, aggressor, marauder, troublemaker, mischief maker…

(Antonym): Freedom.
Top 3 for dull days in my ipod:

Prisionero by Los B.L.A. (www.geocities.com/los_bla)

Outsider by A Perfect Circle

Days Before You Came by Placebo

Today is the day!
From today on I'll write in english in this blog. Yes, I Know that my level is not enough to make myself clear, but anyway I really don't care (people just doesn`t get it). Anyone who is allergic to gramatical mystakes please read it from now on under your own risk.

This week:

1) I still don't understand what Lingûistica is about. I know it has something to do with nominal and verbal phrases but even when I try to follow the teacher, I'm always get lost in the way. But it seems that "understanding" is not something the teacher cares about.

2) Today I had one of the best days of my life. No, I'm not been sarcastic. For first time in a long time I was really happy. The basis of this happiness is really chessy, but to lay down at las islas while listening to good music and spend time with a friend was something that I haven't done in ages.

3) Cinical is not the best word that describes me. I rather hopeful, suportive, empatic, mercyful, humble (of course), clever, good looking, caritative, sensitive, optimistic (beacause it is well known that life is a jar of peaches with lots of sugar). You know I love, over everything else, been honest.

4) I say a lot of things and that doesn't mean that all of it is true.

The best 3 corny songs from my ipod to the world (at least for today)
1.- Mil millas by Los imposibles.
2.- If you leave by Nada Surf
3.- Soñe by Zoe.

Everyone has a"gusto culpable" in music.
Which is yours?

P.D. I promise to start ansewering to the comments but the only truth is that I'm a really lazy guy.

Hoy:

Un amigo comenzó a hacer flores de papel para su novia (gesto bastante cursi para mi gusto):
- Lo importante son los detalles, es lo que hace especial una relación.
- Pero esto es muy cursi, que hueva.
- ¿Qué nunca hiciste nada cursi para una mujer?
- Hace mucho, hice una esfera de papel que cuando la golpeabas se abría y salían papeles como si fueran mariposas de color. A otra chica le hice una pequeña estatua. No , espera, era la misma chica. A otra le dí muchísimas cartas. Espera de nuevo, era la misma chica. Creo que no hago nada cursi para nadie despúes de ella. Los detalles hacen especiales las relaciones, pero, ¿qué pasa cuando todo acaba?
- Pues olvidas todo y buscas otra.
- Sí claro al fin hay miles.

Olvidar todo y buscar otra....
Han pasado ya tres años y las cosas no se olvidan.
Han pasado tres años y sigo buscando.
Sigo buscando, no encuentro nada.

Los detalles hacen las relaciones especiales, por eso no tengo novia, ya no me nace hacer detalles. Me parece fastidioso, aburrido, una perdida total de tiempo.
Pero al final ayude a mi amigo a hacer las dichosas flores de papel, 4 horas nos tardamos. Creo que lo hice por que me gusta pensar que los detalles hacen especial una relación. Creo que lo hice por que las personas merecen detalles así. Lo hice por que es divertido pensar que aún puedo hacer detalles ridículos y cursis cuando yo no tengo nada que ganar. Lo hice por que recordé a esa chica de hace tres años, cuando eran mis amigos los que me ayudaban. Lo hice por que me gustó recordar un sentimiento que ya esta podrido. Me gustó ser un yo que hace mucho no era.
Ser ridículo y cursi, perder el tiempo en algo que no tiene ningún punto de ser. Pero mañana será otro día, en una ciudad gris, hecha de sangre y sombra que nos acecha y espera para devorarnos.

Mañana:

Me perderé de nuevo entre la multitud.
Por mí puede esperar sentada.

Esta semana:

Intenté ser misógino.

Resultado: Es imposible hacerlo cuando toda tu familia se compone de un 99% de mujeres.
Efectos secundarios: Risas por parte de mi hermana, la misoginia no es para mí.

Quise ser unos cuantos años mayor.

Resultado: Aún estoy mocoso.
Efectos secundarios: Me duele bastante el cuerpo.

Salí de casa

Resultado: La gente no entiende que todos somos iguales.
Efecto secundario: Regresé a casa y no he vuelto a salir.

Desarrolle una teoría soportada en mi ignorancia de por que la macro economía es una bestia creada por los hombres y que nos destruirá lentamente.

Resultado: ¿Qué demonios hago en Letras?
Efecto secundario: Para que me preocupo, que lo hagan los economistas.

Me quite lo ranchero (after a few tequilas) y baile con dos chicas bastante lindas.

Resultado: Números telefónicos.
Efecto secundario: "...es que tengo novio..."

Life just sucks but it's really fun.