Traspapelada III

¿Serás

tan sólo

una imagen?

* Vaya uno a saber en qué estaba pensando. O en quién... La encontré entre los borradores, esa frase así, descarnada. Desnuda. Andá a saber.

Mañana (ayer) Hoy

Se acaban las páginas,

como muere el invierno

desde que di a luz a la primavera en un escenario nuevo.

Se acaba la tinta que incansable proclamaba tu nombre de rey.

Buscadora de puntos

me quedé en suspenso.

Esperando lo imposible

(porque sólo tarda un poco más)

y planeo

la puñalada final

justo en el medio

de tu inocencia.

La mejor forma de defenderme

tiene que ser

un primer golpe

que sea el último.

porque tanta piedad profesada

es injusta

y lo que vos esperes

no puede cruzarse

en el camino de mis días vividos.

HOY ES HOY

y mañana

será hoy también.

Así tengo que aprehender a la vida

un paso a la vez

como si no supiera

caminar.

*encontrada en un anotador.

Look

I know I'm not like the rest. Not a common girl in his twenty-something, worried about jobs, and study and getting out of her home. No, I'm not that. My eyes are looking further, or deeper. I don't know where, but not there. those are not the kinds of things that I care.

I'm under water, watching everything from the bottom of the sea. Alone, in silence. Slow. Swimming. I don't know.
But what are those things that I do care? Death, the sweet company of the death in every dream, in every word I say. Time, the continous ticking of time. Love. I care about love. The absent of love in my life. Those are the things I care. But they all stay in my mind, I can't put them in pretty words, in a poem, even less in a conversation with a friend. I'm starting to feel like a hypocrite, never saying what I'm really thinking. I'm starting to feel that no one knows me. That therapy is nothing but a lie, because I can't put in words, spoken words, the things I care and worry the most. It's sad, all this running through my mind and I'm incapable of say it. I don't know why. It's not like if I don't trust anyone. I'm ashamed of what I'm thinking. Maybe I'm underestimating everyone, thinking they don't think about all this things. Probably I do. I'm so pretencious and arrogant. Always asuming that I'm in a different place, in a different step (but I just don't know if that place is better, if that step is higher).
My eyes are different.

Location: Home
Mood: Crappy
Music: Sunny road, Emiliana Torrini

A man smiling

When he smiles, the whole world seems to be a better place. We are just happy in the rain. I'm just happy with his smile.

Location: Home
Music: Help, I'm alive, Metric

Waiting

I dreamed with this man. This man came from a few years back. He was the only man I knew in my entire life that had a voice, a particular way of using and touching words. At least the only one that loved me. He still does. We still love each other. It's a shame that we can't forget the water under the bridge. Once we jumped off the bridge, and we tried to let our feelings under water. Once we brought down the bridge. Once we promissed each other to remain in silence, to never look each other in the eye again. We broke every promisse. We built a new bridge. A strong one. I dreamed with him. The sun, his eyes, his smile. His lips. I remember everything with detail. The best dream in a month made entirely of nightmares. A kiss in the sunlight. His smile, his hands. I woke up with a smile too. The memory of his kiss (even though it was a dreamed one) makes me feel all warm inside. All perfect inside. All waiting inside.

Location: Home
Mood: Nostalgic
Music: Fly, Nick Drake

Queen

Buenos Aires. My town. My streets. I'm back in all that. Back in the streets that once saw me walking hand to hand with this man. This man that I can't shake off of my thoughts. All my town smells like him. All my town is infected by him, his friends, his way of doing everything: give me a kiss, a hug, buy me a drink. All this places where we used to be, lying in the grass with the sun in our eyes. My town hurts. But it's mine. And I'm back to win her again. To wash his traces of her. This is my town, my streets, my grass, my sun. And this man, he is just a shadow. I said it before, and I say it again: He is just like a doll. And this song that says "The valley of the dolls is the valley of the death". My town is not the valley of the death. I'm not a doll. I can extract him and all his stuff. Kick him out. I can let him go. I'm back, and I have no plans of leaving again. This is my throne.


Location: Home
Mood: Determined
Music: Puente, Gustavo Cerati

Stupid

I'm locked in my room. Missing a few people, but they will come back. And the one that will not come back... why should I miss him? Why I miss him?

I'm thinking in that Fiona Apple's song, Get Gone... "It's time the truth was out that he don't give a shit about me..." I should not miss him. He is not deserving. I'm trying to feel better than him, but the harder I try, the more I realize that without him I'm just a shadow of what I used to be. I need to forget. I need to erase my memory.

Location: Home
Mood: blah
Music: Get Gone, Fiona Apple

Sadness

I'm just sitting with the sadness. This room is so private. No one will come here.
I'm under water.

Deep.
No sound, no voices.

Nothing at all.

Just me, and my closed eyes. No tears, no memories of no one
(you. no memories of you)
Just me and this silence.
Not even a thought. Nothing.

Words floating all around, but I can't catch them.
I don't want to catch them.
They will talk about this new time in my life.

This new time without you.
I don't want to remember it.


Location: Home
Mood: Sad
Music: The blues are still blue, Belle & Sebastian

Conditional (Why can't you turn and face me?)

And what would happen if I see you tonight? What would I feel? What would you feel? What would happen if I, suddenly, recognize your hair, your smell in the middle of the crowd? Would I stay to give you a proud smile or would I run away, barely breathing? It's you, it's just you. The same person that, once upon a time, knew how to kiss me, how to make intimacy in the middle of an avenue. Just you, with your eyes, and your eyebrows. Your quiet smile. Your skin. And it hurts. All you. It's you, and I can't stay on my feet. This fucking feeling of losing you.
Maybe I just never had you.
You are there. In the middle of the crowd. Lost in the ocean of faces, of clothes and screams and meaningless conversations. You, completly anonymous, in silence like always. You don't have a voice. You don't know how to stand tall in the dark. A doll, just a doll. Like the rest. Your way to agree with your pretty smile (white cold empty teeth). Your way of being always sorry, even when you didn't know why you were sorry. Your lack of passion. Just a doll. A pretty cold doll. A pretty cold mute doll.
Where are your thoughts? Scream, fight, hate. Anything. Just feel. Wake up. Wake up and look at me. I'm here, in the corner of this room. I'm waiting for you to take position. I'm waiting for you to wake up. I don't want to kill something that's already dead. I don't want to hate someone who can't hate me back. I don't want to love someone who can't love me back. Wake up and face me. Stand up and face me.
And what would happen if I see you tonight? How should I feel? How would you feel if I start crying and kicking and screaming at you? How would you feel if I laugh in your face? Would you wake up? Would you notice the mess you made? Would you feel truly sorry? Would you hate me? Would you love me?

Location: Home
Mood: Annoyed
Music: Passive, A perfect circle

Sintony (part I)

I don't like you looking into my eyes. The road you've been following it's too big for you. You want to be a lion you are just a bird.
I don't want you to look at me. I don't want you to think of me.
You've got an idea, I can see it in your eyes
I'm not.
I've got a body. I want to be a vampire I want to destroy your paceful days.
But...
I'm too tired for that.
A lie on my lips. When you are near I'm less interested.

(I've got an idea too don't look into my eyes)

Weather

So there it was, at the end of the day, the little black spot again. In the middle of my chest, it looks like a tiny spider with long sharped legs. I'm scared. It's been a while, the days keep passing, and i'm so afraid to touch it, to taste it. The little black spot. Maybe it is just like a cloud, not a spider. A stormy tiny cloud. Yes, I believe that's it. Because that's the weather of my last weeks. I'm standing in the middle of the storm, all wet, mixing tears with drops. This is my little black spot at the end of the day, in the middle of my chest. It will not go away. This water can't wash it away. This is my weather.

Location: Home
Mood: Lonely
Music: An eye for an eye, Judith

Diary of a Reptile

Una vez, hace mucho tiempo, abrí un livejournal con la intención de escribir exclusivamente en inglés... Hace poco lo recordé (sí, mi memoria lo había olvidado por completo!) y antes de darle la muerte definitiva, obviamente todo lo allí alojado va a venir a parar acá. Porque este es el lugar donde todo se une, ésta es la página del Reptil (casi una jaula, pero libre, jaula abierta, sin barrotes sin límites sólo cielo). Por lo tanto, la etiqueta "Diary of a Reptile", corresponderá, de aquí en adelante, a esas entradas (las cuales copiaré de un tirón) y, por qué no, a todas las entradas que haga en el otro idioma, el foráneo.

Traspapelada II

Me surgen las ideas como caracoles, o serpientes que se van deslizando por mi cuello, ajustándose cada vez más.

Traspapelada I

Lo primero que había que decir era que, para mí, creer en algo era materia pendiente. Todas las cosas las iba dejando sobre la mesa, como si me dedicara a desarmar un mazo de cartas recién comprado, acusándolo de sucio e ingrato. No busqués en mis bolsillos, no las estoy guardando para afilarlas en contra de vos. Estoy desechando toda opción de volver a vernos. ¿No te das cuenta de que estamos mordiéndonos...





( Al pasar de un blog al otro me encontré con borradores muertos, cosas que alguna vez quise decir y no dije... merecen su lugar también...)