Easy Jet's Blues

When I came to you
I had a heart in my hands
And only good kind thoughts

The sweet dreams we shared one day
Vanished the day we met.

Who is behind all this? Some kind of evil spirit?
A Puck, an Oberon perhaps?

You told me about this girl at last:
'Still I care for you,
I really worry'

At the airpot I said: 'Thank you
Don't need last minute sorry'.

How much I feel like this!

"If I could do just one near perfect thing I’d be happy
They’d write it on my grave, or when they scattered my ashes"

Belle and Sebastian's Stuart Baby, my favorite poet.

Never never try to resist no more

Somebody somewhere sometime told me he needed to love. And I found it very strange cos normally one wants to be loved. But right now I just feel like I want to love someone. Damned! it is harder every time. If Shakespeare read these lines. Boh! This feeling of being always late, always out of time

... and I want you to know right now that I...

(Woody Allen says it is impossible for him to write while listening to music. Now I understand why).

I want to give you some love,
I want to give you some good good loving
I got this message for you boy
But it seemed I was never on time
Still I wanna get through to you boy, on tiiiiime on tiiiime!

Drunkenness

Every inch of my body aches! When I went up the mountain it was 3:00 in the morning. I saw the sunrise with other 19 people and came back immediately as my poor feet were frozen. My toes were dumb for a long time. When we came down the mountain we realized it was a very steep dangerous path. In the night we had felt so safe, maybe because the excess of tireness makes you lose consciousness. We were hallucinating, drunk with the air you can breathe among thousands of pine trees. Drunk with the thoughts that came without calling them. Drunk with height. Fearless in the night.

Dialogue between an almost 15 and a budi

Andrea: Believe it or not I climbed the Alps today

Mumta: hiya this is mumta sharma, andrea's one and only friend, so she thinks!
we all call her the chipmonk this is because she is one!!
do you really think that she, Andrea, can climb the alps at about 3am!!! i don't hehehe

Andrea: Course I did you cheeky monkey! I woke up at 2:30 actually and climbed with all the real warriors, you lazy lady didn't wake up! And you have to do something to repair this! You'll be 15 in an hour and you're still a cheeky cheeky!

Ok, I climbed the mountain and hurt my ankle and couldn't dance salsa, what a shame for the European audience. You are a pean I'm a pean everybody's a pean!

Mumta: seee thats how old ypu really are!!!!!!!! soooooo sooooo sooooo old!!!!! hehehe

Andrea: You are an evil little woman ya Mumta! And you'll pay for it TONIGHT!

Mumta, my bossy friend said to me I have to goodnite you and go to bed because it's past my bedtime...which is true... I can't stop obeying the little evil creature!

A thought about thoughts

(I remeber Gunter Grass saying he can recognize when a writer writes in a computer and when he or she writes with the hands. I write in both ways and wonder how can he know. I have a couple of thoughts in my head and I'm trying to articulate something out of them.)

A question came to my mind, does molologue really exist? does it? Isn't thought a constant dialogue with some other? I often find myself having conversations with people I don't see anymore, or people who are physically death. And I start feeling quite lonely, though somehow inhabited. I feel more like this since I started writing in my blog. I constantly have imaginary conversations with people who also have blogs. The blog has become a reading/writing, chicken/egg dialectic.

I told a friend in London that I find it really difficult to let friendships go. Even when I'm truly disappointed by someone, I refuse to say no to this person and close my heart forever. It is very hard for me to kill people in my head. "Todas las personas que conoces, se quedan un poquito dentro de ti, no sé por qué", says Marie in Elena's and Andrea's translation of Yard Gal.

Mondieu and I always say that the only friends I have are imaginary -sometimes I have the creepy feeling that it is true.

I think it is in Sarah Kane's 4:48 Phychosis where the only character of the play says:

_Do you ever hear voices?
_Only when they speak to me.

Hope in Geneve

After walking across the extra clean, extra beautiful, extra posh old centre of Geneve, I finally found the only hippies in town. A semi rasta asked me if I wanted to be his girlfriend and I said Ok, but I'm leaving in two minutes, he asked me where I was from, I said Mexico, he said Oh great! I have tequila and pot! and it was true, he had a bottle of cheap tequila. I refused to drink not because I was with a group of ultra decent people -and my boss- but because the tequila he had was one of those you can only find in Europe. The little plastic bag with mariguana had a very nice plant in the front! Even mariguana is packed in nice little plastic bags with pictures on. My young friend took the bag in his hand and his brother told him to leave it immediately.

I was happy to see a couple of wasted people in town and even a gipsy! Good... I passed in front of the WTO centre, but unfortunately I did not have a stone in hand... I also saw the UN and the Red Cross building. Too many things...

I'm missing so I should leave... I cannot say who am I missing, it is even hard to say it to myself...

My heart was about to break a couple of days ago and I was very much afraid, but it didn't break! That's what age makes to you.

Little Earthquake

What makes you like a person?
What makes you think you like a person?
Sometimes it is the voice, the color of the hair, the eyes...

Some voices seem to caress your ears
And you feel you can't do anything
But let yourself live in that
Just live...

That life is a small death

(If you are unlucky, you may survive it).

Like a Virgin

I don't know where did I read something like: whenever I'm in front of a white page I feel excited and ready to write on it, and actually this person said that he -I remember it was a he- bought a lot of notebooks just because of the appleal of this virgin paper. Sometimes I feel absolutely frightened and paralized in front of white paper.

I bought a blue notebook though I felt tempted to buy the red one -he he- I got postcards and stamps, and I have this feeling ...

I overslept today, though it's starting to be a habit.

Let's see what the Swiss weather has for us today.

Dream Deferred

What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?

Langston Hughes

From the mountain

Apart from sightseeing, swiming in Geneve's Lake, dancing salsa and Indian music and playing boleyball with a multicultural team, I have been attending a series of conferences called A Heart and a Soul for Europe. The main issues seem to be all related to religious and ethnic differences in the continent. Europeans are very worried about immigration, and this of course creates a lot of conflict, resentment, prejudice and even hatred. What happened in London has just reinforced racism agains muslims.

I had supper with two British girls whose parents are Indian. I did not talk with them about the London blasts, but I could feel a lot of tension in the UK and can imagine the preassure they live sometimes. The girls come with a team leaded by a Muslim man. They are all very young and have different religions from what I understood. We attended a conference about asylum seekers. These are people who are exiled in Europe for political reasons. A Swedish lady was talking about this problem in her country. It is almost imposible to get a residence permit in Sweden, so people cannot stay there and they are forced to live in this sort of prison called asylum. People cannot stay nor go back to their countries because their lifes are in danger. They live in very depressing conditions, away from home, away from their families. The people who are trying to help them cannot do much, because it is a question of politics, and laws.

I felt quite homesick some hours ago, and thought: dammit maaaan! I'm in the Swiss Alps, playing, eating great food and knowing loads of interesting people with different stories... and still... I miss home so much.

It must be certainly very difficult to understand exile if you are born up the mountain in front of a garden full of roses.

Rosa

Mientras la rosa se esfuerza por abrir sus petalos
El sol espera tranquilo

Switzerland

Montreaux is one of the most beautiful and expensive places I've been to in my life! I had a fanta for 3 francs, or 3 dolars and a Falafel for 10!!! This sounds really boring I know, but the truth is that it's been a lot of fun here today. I arrived in the morning and now I'm just completely exhausted. I had the most terrible jet lag in my life... and a really bad bad bad time in London. I hated London to say the truth, and the traffic and the hot weather. They say it's only a couple of sunny days and then all you have is grey sky... not looking forward to that either.

Now I just feel like speaking in Spanish... I spent the whole day talking in English, trying to get used to the London accent.

My room in this petite ville called Caux has a terrace, and I can see the alps and a big big lake from there. I feel like Heidy. And can't believe it... I was so miserable and homesick and lovesick in London and now I feel good again.

Blogging

I have a couple of friends with whom I write a lot through internet. They are very good friends and I love them but I needed more. That is why I found in blogging a way to keep on writing without feeling so desperate. Who do you speak to when you're blogging? Isn't it like the message inside the bottle? Of course it is! Of course another blogger found out before me, I guess, cos I'm so new in this, but I just realized it...

This is just to say

River Phoenix is LOVE!

Stress Trip

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! I'm pretty stressed now, lots of things to do before leaving this hell of a town...happy very happy though...and eager to go; just go.

It's hard to say goodbye, wish it wasn't so damned hard. Some things are really difficult to cope with.

To hold his little soft hand in my hand and feel his soft hair... there's nothing nothing nothing like this feeling...

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa....sometimes i just fel like onomatopeying... see? i made up a new verb.

Un poco de burbujas y tontería

El domingo viendo Fanny y Alexander, recordé una navidad que pasé en Barcelona, con mis adorados Fabián, Rodrigo, Abi, Felipe y mis mejores amigas de por allá, Marie y Laura. Como ellas son danesas sabían muchos juegos y nos divertimos mucho en la noche. Primero estaban tristes porque no teníamos millones de velas en casa, árbol y nieve, pero se animaron cuando destapamos las botellas de Cava. Para las 12 estábamos completamente borrachos.

El caso es que la película me recordó esa navidad y los juegos y el baile, y nada, de pronto recordé también que había una Moet y Chandon en el refri de mis padres. La abrí y me la tomé. Me sentí como Holly Golightly -en Breakfast at Tiffany's... fue muy divertido, y refrescante.

about seeing

and your eyes
i never meant to pluck them out
im sorry about this
and im sorry about that
i feel so banal

you tell me you dont know
well i know baby
i know
and you know too
you just pretend not to

and they know babe,
they know,
but wont tell,
cos its like that see?
see?
see?

Week end

I spent the weekend swimming, sun bathing and seeing movies. I saw Sylvia,, Fanny and Alexander and Ararat. Bergman is one of my favorite directors -if not my favorite- and I had seen the film before like three times. Do they never get old these swedish people? Atom Egoyan's Ararat is a brilliantly interwoven story about Armenia's genocide. I did not know anything about it. The Turkish government has denied that it happened. It is a great film. A very mature film. Sylvia is lamentable. What I mean to say is that it focuses a lot on the relationship between Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes instead of telling us more about her creative process. It is a if Hughes was all to her. At the end it is quite seen from a man's perspective, pretending to be kinda feminist. But just pretending really. It is a very obvious film. And that can make the film vulgar.

I'm going to the theatre tonight, to see: Mujer no se escribe con M de macho; directed by my dear friend Marco Polo. Today is Monday! I'm ready for a hectic week...I have so many things to do... I wanted so much to leave this town and now I'm just about to do it. I'm happy. And anxious. And aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! I just want to spend some time with my people, the people I love.