I wasnt always silent...

They say a good book is the best company you can have. A friend in pages forever. A shoulder to seek advice and comfort. I love reading as much as I love writing and it is definite that some books, stories or written works have marked me and the moments of my life.
Yet, not one had been, until now, a collective memory. How did it happened, I’ll never know. The truth is I don’t remember why I lent it the 1st time or why it kept going from hand to hand. The book I hold in my hand tonight is the sum of many things, many things I would prefer not to know, not think about, not to see. This is a book by which I remember my friends by. Maybe because more than ever I must say; I wasn’t always silent.
Don’t ask me why, maybe because it is a tangible thing that has people in it. Maybe because we’ll never stop looking or because just because you’re an atheist, that doesn’t mean you wouldn’t love for things to have a reason for why they are. Maybe we would too build a new world from nothing if nothing in our world could be salvage, or because we feel so helpless. Because our brains are like beavers who chew into wood not because they are building darns but because their teeth never stop growing and they would cut their own head of other wise. Cause we understand how it feels to zip yourself all the way into the sleeping bag of yourself, how even thou we know we shouldn’t, we bruise ourselves.
Because it makes us sad to think of our losses, to realize we sound just like dad. Because purple written in green is marvelous and pictures of crying elephants are so sad. Because sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all of the lives I’m not living, and because I can only hold on to the things I want to loose.
It takes a while of understanding that there is nothing wrong with not understanding yourself, that when people reads a book, we try to give it to some one who might love it too.
Knowing that so little happens, and I have such a good memory, and writing about me is writing about everything and everyone I know. That there are more places you haven’t hears of than those of which you have. That the world is not a bad place, it is just filled with horrible people.
It is important, I think, to know that you can never protect yourself from sadness without protecting yourself from happiness. That sometimes you could just disappear. And how it was a tragedy that we never liked our own photographs. Maybe we should all be more patient with morons. Try to love something other than that you know you’ll miss.
Yet, one day we’ll live in a cave in a hillside, and we’ll live in a house with no walls and that way, everywhere we go it will be our home. One day, we’ll love something even with the fear of loosing it. And I guess we'll all have had heavy boots and found a hole inside us that swallows everything nice.
One thing I still desire, I wish we could have sat across a table and talked about nothing for hours, I wish we could have wasted time, I want an infinitely blank book and the rest of time.
And of course; never stop saying you love someone, but How can you say I love you to someone you love?
Just for the record, I love You. Because I’d never had a sister, because I’d never had a person with red hair, because I’d never had a friend whose shoulder I could wet, because I’d never had a cousin who was also a tree.
Sadly, life is about compromising and acceptance; I can compromise most things but I never learned acceptance. To complicated. Tonight I read “12. Keep your friends close” and I couldn’t think of how. I couldn’t see clear and that makes me sad.
Today was a day of endings, of reading signs where there where none. I’m good at that. I’m good and loosing people and reading signs. I whish we could stay in a book, line after line saying one thing. I feel as if this was the book I never wrote. Like now I have to stop it, I have to stop pretending that I can handle this. This or anything else. As if the story I could have told for the rest of my life ended tonight.

Qoutes from Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremly loud and Incredibly close (2005)

A Bite?

There is an apple sitting in my hands,
Waiting for so long it has
Struggled to get out
Of the emptiness and darkness that surrounded it once.
Temptation in a round vessel,
Red as blood and cold as ice,
Liquid, solid, melting for what it wants.
Shinning now,
Proving its might.
Within its taste, the mortal flavor of shame,
Lilith’s revenge, in one kiss,
The never-ending ShIvEr in the spine.
I must ask,
Would you care to take a bite?


Pic by AuroraBeauPre

Siento que me han robado las palabras, que se están escondiendo de mí. Me hablan en la oscuridad, me cantan canciones al oído, bajito bajito. Las leo y las escucho... pero por más que intento acomodarlas, hacerlas algo más que SoNiDoS, no se dejan...

"Y yo tengo la cabeza en tantos lados, Canto para tanta gente y ahora pienso tanto en ti, Y aún así me alcanza el corazón para sentirlo todo Y hoy que me haces tanta falta solamente, Solamente me he querido repetir, Cómo te extraño, y cómo tengo miedo de perder tus pasos, De extraviar en algún lado tus promesas y tus sueños, Cuál será el mejor camino, Y al hacerme esta pregunta pienso en ti, Y en el camino que te traiga de regreso" Carta a Francia, F. Delgadillo.

Pic BY Dejon

Cosas

Parece que, aunque no lo crea, puedo dejar mi día en papel. Que puedo hacer diagramas y explicarme lo que pasa con dibujos y flechas y cuadritos y bueno, círculos. En especial círculos. No sólo puedo dejar mi día sino mi vida; en un pedazo de papel donde puedo poner mil cosas, hacer conexiones y líneas, seguir un camino o empezar otro. Hoy definí mi vida en un papel y las vueltas que las líneas dan son tantas que me revuelven. Los círculos marcados son tan cerrados que me encierran. La verdad es que no lo entiendo muy bien, si puedo ponerlo en papel, explicármelo a mí o a otra persona, por qué no puedo actuar hacía lo que sé que debería de hacer.
No es que como que tengo una respuesta, sólo sé que hay un problema y que no quiero enfrentarlo por que es más sencillo no hablarlo. Hay cosas tan raras en mis días últimamente y aún así, también hay cosas buenas, que mejoran. Que me gustan. Estoy aprendiendo, un poco de todo, desde como funciona una oficina a como no debo de hacer las cosas en mi vida. Me doy cuenta que tengo que dejar de esperar de los demás; no es que los demás sean malos o insoportables o que no me quieran los suficiente, es sólo que tengo que aprender que cada uno quiere como puede y si en algo tengo que conformarme en este viaje, eso probablemente es algo importante.
No sueno tal vez como lo hago comúnmente, la verdad es que no hay mensajes escondido ni le estoy mandando pedradas a nadie. Mis pequeños desastres no suelen ser como mis pequeñas victorias; los desastres los comparto con quien escuche, las victorias son un poco más privadas, no por que no las comparta sino por que las victorias, cuando son así de pequeñas, sólo las entiende uno mismo. Las cosas que son pequeñas e insignificantes, simples, fáciles y ordinarias para algunos son todo lo contrario para otros. Lo mismo pasa con lo que se dice, con lo que se hace; es por eso que lastimamos tanto a los que queremos? Por qué no entendemos que aún en nuestra igualdad somos distintos.
Sólo quería escribirlo, por que escribo mejor de lo que hablo, por que tenía muchas ganas de compartir aunque no haya mucha novedad, por que aunque no hay nada que decir, están las ganas de decirlo.