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The reason why I haven’t been posting lately it is because I have been submerged in duties and doubts. In addition, since coming back to my country, I have also committed to write in my own language, paying attention only to my other blog (not fair, I know).  I will return to write.

Random 2.0

Watercolor No 13. Vasily Kandinsky, 1913.
Art inspires in mysterious ways.

It is easy to lose oneself in a subjective world, where the aesthetic perception falls in the conscience of whom dears to nourish from someone’s work. Someone, contributing with a fervent desire of transmitting motivations and meanings, a symbolic narrative with an existential problematic, in occasions difficult to understand, to recreate. It is just the way art is. Always enclosing an inspirational concept, schematizing the mysteries of human condition, the search for identity, liberal expression, and forbidden topics –morbid, sexual, fantastic- I will never finish. I admire whoever possesses a vehement appetite for the renewal of artistic languages that sets free the greatest minds in the world. The artist, materializes his inner vision, his reality, and awakens bewilderment in every human thirsty for a new beginning.

Yes, art does inspire. Wandering in a color abyss, in a world of hidden secrets, brings peace to my delirium. Art is an incurable disease, a path with no return. It aids the comprehension of the unspoken under the apparent truth. It is passion, to free oneself from the constraints of rationalism, an eternal instant of wisdom. It is, and will always be, the divine emotional reflection of the intangible.

Yes, art does inspire me. 

Old Days in the Old Mountain with the Old Camera

My First Time Visiting Stone Mountain

STONE MOUNTAIN, ATLANTA.
One of the best days of my life.

  

Lost in an open sea of fugitive memoirs

Those deprived from recognition under the dust of the world

A spiritual abandonment occurred in favor of gestural expressionism

Feeling banishment while walking the cosmic rout

Rout of the unknown, rout of the divine

Writing over you, thinking over I

Marveling at the moon where we stood

Fathoming the sublime shadows illustrating over rigid stones

The sweet magnitude of the universe surrounding us

I, misplaced and irrelevant

Faced with the silvering over the evening of life

Overwhelmed by the sudden sunset

Kneeing, resigning to the power of the night

The stars becoming apparent to my sight

Fleeting glimpse of eternity

There is nothing more absurd than ephemeral radiance

The radiant navigator to the doors of existence

I wish to see you forever

I wish to stay forever

I proclaimed Stone Mountain my piece of moon on earth.
Perfect.

RANDOM

Web of lies. They might be intangible but they sure hurt as hell. I have been told too honest, too mean, too harsh, and too direct. I have never opposed or thought otherwise. However, I have a perfectly acceptable reason to my never-understood “sincere” behavior. Karma is the biggest bitch you will ever meet. You see, I wish to never encounter with Karma. This immeasurable and transcendental cosmic energy will provide retaliations to your own actions, and if you lie, cheat of perform what they refer to as “a negative action” you will get you pay, and hell yes you will get it. Deceit, will screw my Karma up. No, I am not an angel fallen from Eden, but seriously, if you could decide what type of effect will you eventually run up to in your life wouldn’t you select a positive one? So why lie then? Why pretend to “think” or “feel” if it is clearly not the true? Why aren’t you concern about your Karma? You are clearly not prioritizing accurately.

Just Sayin'

Due to my writing alter ego (based on the language) I decided to open a different blog for my way of living in Spanish. This way, I do not have the need to mix both in one blog. If you decide to look at it, it is called: eternaambivalencia.blogspot.com

Thanks!

Tick, Tock

The Persistence Of Memory. Savlador Dalí, 1931
El tiempo derrite los últimos segundos de mi sueño.

Asfixiada en tu marco cronometrado, sin control ni dominio, sin pausa. Dices ser el que cura las heridas más profundas; quizás curas lo que la razón no puede. Lo que es cierto, es que nos encontramos destinados a que nos mates, nos hagas esclavos de la búsqueda de una eternidad marchita que huye y nos arrastra consigo.

Me enloqueces, siento que te malgasto y tú me malgastas a mí. He desafiado la vida solo pocas veces, breves períodos concedidos por el destino para no morir en deseo y excusas. Pensé que esos momentos nunca acabarían, pero me arrebataste cada instante sin compasión, aún cuando más lo disfrutaba. Dices que resuelves nuestras dudas y dolores, que los años enseñan lo que los días no conocen. En lo que a mí concierne, lo que dices es una gran mentira. Aún cultivando la amistad, debilitas el amor y desluces la belleza externa, permitiéndonos sólo poseer el pasado, y el futuro, así no queramos, es más tuyo que nuestro.

Tiempo, protagonista arbitrario de la vida misma, agente efímero del tormento, te llevaste contigo mis mejores recuerdos, aquellos que prevalecen en el desván de mi memoria. Me limito a flotar en tu espacio, dilatando mi tiempo de vivir. No contaré tus presuntuosos minutos, contaré sensaciones, y cada momento será un día. Fingiré que el tiempo detenido que tanto añoro existe, y que no controlas mi vida a tu placer.

No sé por qué escribo para ti, a ti que nada te importa. Eres una fuerza imparable que espera por nadie, un caminar sin rumbo por una vía infinita, una causa perdida.  Me quejo de tu impaciencia, en ocasiones de tu monotonía, pero principalmente de tu  falta de piedad. Eres absurdo e irremediable, indigno de mis interminables por qués. Pretenderé conocer por qué vienes y vas a tu gusto, susurrando en mi oído sin perdón que todo está por acabar. 

Sudo De Tanto Sobrepensar

Forces of Some Nature. Erik Parker, 2004
Mi mente es algo así.

Meras observaciones mías, desde distintas ventanas del alma, distintos momentos y memorias. He llegado a reconocer que soy un ser en ausencia de organización psicológica, identificándome siempre con aquel que me recuerda ciertos rasgos de lo que fui, de lo que soy, de lo que me gustaría ser. No tengo una crisis de identidad, pero nunca he creído que el ser humano posea una individualidad definida.

Ninguna persona es la misma por un largo período de tiempo, se puede evidenciar claramente bajo la auto-observación seria y profunda, luego de despertar consciencia. Esta multiplicidad psicológica se dice llamar alter ego, pero ciertamente yo considero que el humano solo está en constante cambio, en una constante discusión interna de sobre quien prevalece, de quien controla el cerebro intelectual, el centro emocional, el que obtiene la supremacía sobre el cuerpo. El que ignore esta lucha en sí, no ha evidenciado los innumerables cambios y contradicciones de cada quien, o al menos no en distintas y específicas situaciones. Ese otro tú que se descontrola cuando te pasas de copas; ese otro tú que domina cuando te enamoras, siguiendo del típico acto de “yo no era así”; odias la vida y al minuto sientes eterna felicidad, entre otros muchos ejemplos.

Vivir en un mundo sin concordancia, es claramente vivir como humanos, débiles ante en conflicto continuo y la falta de voluntad ante las miles personas viviendo bajo tu adorada y “’única” personalidad. Lo sé, es una desafortunada realidad, y la forma de solventar esta lucha imparable es… pues no lo sé. No soy ninguna Freud del siglo XXI, pero es obvio que cada quien posee las llaves para su propio entendimiento. Realmente, quién soy yo para dar consejos de auto-comprensión, cuando millones de veces me he visto presa de las diversas circunstancias que me victimizan, pocas veces consintiendo el hecho de que la vida es ilusoria y fugaz, de que la muerte últimamente reduce a cenizas las vanidades del mundo. Indiscutiblemente, la vida es un problema que nadie entiende, y no pretendo volverme existencialista.

Sé que no soy sólo yo la que piensa esto. 

Todo Es Más Apasionado En Español

Untitled. Wilhelm Sasnal, 2003
Quítate esa máscara, no seas falsa.

Estoy cansada de seguir la ruta pautada, el protocolo establecido por las máquinas sociales liderando sin pasión. Sentir, es lo que se quiere, es lo que se espera, al menos de un ser con corazón. Sin embargo la vida se ha reducido a la lógica, y a un manual de reglas sin sentido aceptado por todos como moral; libro regulado que veta mis sentimientos y los embarga como nulos, pensamientos absurdos en un mar de sucia perfección que descarrila la belleza en el mundo en donde vivo. Y no el de mi cabeza, aquél que tanto imagino, sino el real.

El rezagado se encuentra a sí mismo cuando busca la fe, porque tiene el valor de enfrentar lo que por ley es bueno en la corte de los valores, pero tu vida se ha basado en apuntar al diferente, a enseñar en teoría lo que con práctica se logra y la dicha de nunca pecar. Si existe un verdadero Dios, éste verá más allá de los hechos, siendo tú culpable de caer en la tentación de juzgar a quién apenas conoces, pues más llamativo es el humano sideral que disputa, el que no piensa igual, el que vive en otra onda.

Mujer argumentada con supuestos ideales, tus prioridades son distintas que las mías, pero esto no te hace mejor que yo. Discierno en todas tus decisiones, te restriego con sarcasmo una sutil (nada sutil) respuesta, incapaz de disimular que soy anómala y que, honestamente, no me importa lo que piensas. Cometiste un error al juzgarme, siendo Dios el único que califica, pero no te juzgaré por ello. Piensas que no hay nada malo en ti, pero de nuevo, no te juzgaré por ello. Continúa tu vida mintiéndote, mezclándote con el resto, disfrazada de robot en trajes de lino, escuchando la música de moda y utilizando la jerga moderna. Todos verán tarde o temprano eso que ocultas, eso que tienes miedo a reconocer… eres imperfecta, como yo.

Creative Every Day Challenge: Night

"Wanderlust". Nick Mauss, 2003
Constant struggle between the light and the dark.

I have decided to participate in something called the “creative every day challenge.” My brain has tirelessly haunted me with the same repetitive thoughts, so it would be fun (or at least distracting) to deepen into imposed topics to get my creativeness running more fluently instead of stalling annoyingly in dead ends.

When something is severely disturbing my conscience, I can find no rest, even in the middle of nighttime. At 2:30 in the morning, my thoughts were distressing my sleep and I was sick of everlasting series of rambling thoughts, so I decided to write about the topic of this month. It was also, moreover, the perfect opportunity for me to stumble on some creativeness and finally find serenity. Without deepening too much on the subject, although my grandmother continuously believed I would blind myself for reading and writing with little light, I truly understand how inspirational darkness can be to an artist (if I allow myself to be called such a thing). The silence of night is unparalleled; it is almost heightened when losing your eyesight in the obscure and the unknown. It seems that your thoughts naturally flow faster, as if the words fade before they can turn into a complete sentence, and you can feel the calmness crawling under your skin and your heartbeat becoming the soundtrack of your sleep. In the midst of shadows, profound remorse and hidden notions become as clear as the day, ironically. Therefore, everything seems to flow smoothly, since you feel more in touch with your inner self, even if you are half awake. Maybe I’m just over thinking. 

Not Worth It

I’ve been feeling crazier than usual. It is probably because I have discovered it is within my nature to constantly promote mental dissonance by splitting my feelings into opposites, without clearly deciding on a side. Surprisingly, I have only experienced this degree of discrepancy in one significant part of my life, being the main reason of my impatience. I am impatient because clearly, a vacillating state of mind has empoisoned my otherwise very decisive temperament. In other words, I am too scared to fully engage and commit wholeheartedly. I know the reason and I know how to solve it, but I do not wish to. Again, this is the reason of my craziness, not the fact that I am suffering from a chronic ambivalent condition or a serious case of “mixed feelings.” I am waiting for some(one)thing that pulls me out of this absent status. Not really. 

Reminder

John Baldessari, 1931.

Knowing Yourself Is Utopia

Untitled (Cubism and Abstract Art). Steven Wolfe, 1955
There are some things better off without an explanation -  It loses its appeal.
Art should be considered among those.

After several days of enduring my creative drought, I found myself bare-footed feeling the soft and dry sand with a pen in one hand and my mind in a different time zone. It is not surprising to have caught myself drifting apart with the soothing sound of the waves crashing against the corals, sweeping my thoughts and worries and leaving nothing but reminiscent memories and dreams. Clearly, the beach has a miraculous power to deepen world’s mysteries and your very own as well. The peaceful environment released me from my own constraints and I let go, for once, of my never-ending search for eternal bliss. When am I going to realize that attempting to dictate over what I should feel is ridiculous, and that a complete state of flawlessness can never be attained? This serious case of obsessive-compulsive disorder has led the uptight side of me take over my decisions and has run my life in the search for a perfect emotional balance. Impossible if you ask me. Coincidently, I happened to read a book about liberating oneself from social and artistic conventions while sitting under the almost unbearable rays of the sun. This book turned out to be exactly what I needed to endorse a change in my life, written in the craziest and most fervent way.

The Seven Dada Manifestos destroys every code and system established in the world of art, yet it can be adapted as a life ideology, a way of living. It promotes spontaneity, immediateness, and contradiction, defends chaos against order, imperfection against perfection. It is based on the absurd and the scandal, rejecting and mocking the imposed order. At first, it was difficult for me to comprehend this random word selection and the end to its mean. As I went along, nevertheless, I began to enjoy the hidden rumor and the ironic and satirical inclination that started to become apparent. It was not beautiful, it was not romantic and it definitely was not logical, so why was it so appealing to me? It was passionate, rebellious, incoherent, and absurd, nothing like I’ve ever read. It showed me that the importance of logic and reason was in fact, not relevant at all. This makes absolutely no sense. Or so you would think. There is not an explanation for life, but we as humans have an exasperating natural desire to find a justification for the unknown, yet sometimes we cannot help but finding none. Dadaism shows that logic, after all, is not that important in situations where emotions count as indispensable. This is so hard for me to recognize, but I finally got my head wrapped around this important message. After I finished, I felt happy.

I desired to reject the mainstream beliefs and to explore the everlasting secrets this little book contained. My creative drought was over. I focused on the prize, which was feeling satisfied about what I wrote, about what I felt. I have no one to blame for my ambivalence, and no one deserved an explanation either. I started looking on the bright side (something I haven’t been able to do for a while) and stopped feeling sorry for myself. I might never become a real Dadaist, but I am pleased with the fact that my emotional and mental stability are completely misbalanced. This disequilibrium is provoking a nonsense uncertainty concerning everything. I am a mess, I swear. It is fine though, I have learned to like my absurdness – it is the very thing that makes me human.

My favorite part of the book:

"A work of art is never beautiful, objectively, for everyone. Criticism is, therefore, useless, no longer existing subjectively, for each, and without any general character. Or perhaps have you found the common physic basis to all manking? How are you planning to order the chaos that constitutes an infinite variance: men?."

Let's be RIDICULOUS.