such big eyes

I have two eyes that see.

What do they see?

Love

What is that?

Something that you feel

How does it feel?

Like nothing else

How do you know you love someone?

You don't know, you just love that someone

I try to explain to you this life. My life. I see my image in the mirror, it's such a false copy of my face. Tchai tea is beautiul when it has lots of sugar and cinamon. Cinamon is a spice that I learnt to love a long time ago. But the freshness of this love increased when I discovered canele snails in Copenhagen. And we ate them at that place near Christiania, remember? Remember? Remember yesterday? Remember last week? There were drowned broken bycicles in the cannal. Nobody payed attention. And I ate your eyes. And I ate the sky. And my stomach was aching, because I never ate such big eyes.

Cholula Times

when i lived in Cholula i felt like i was really lonely. i don't think i ever felt so lonely before. i had the volcanoes, the sun, the dogs, the pyramids, and the little birds. on sunday i used to eat at a place in front of la piramide, which was owned by an old woman and her daughter. little by little they became my family. they cared for me and i cared for them. i came every sunday on my old chopper bike to eat beautiful quesadillas and memelas that they cooked. when i went to mexico last december, the old woman cried as i said goodbye. and i couldn't believe it. i felt loved. and i see how blind i was.

----------------

nunca conoci gente tan solidaria como en san pedro cholula. desde el chico del internet hasta el de la leche y la chava de la fruteria. cuando me fui no me despedi de nadie. de nadie. de nadie. de nadie.

-----------------los sonidos de los musicos a lo lejos. las bicis. la banda de guerra de la secu. el viento. la tierra seca. los nubarrones. el polvo. el monte. sin ti. los cuetes. los borrachos. los locos. los autobuses a toda velocidad por la recta. el campo. los cocos. los pepinos. las jicamas con chile. la chava de las artesanias. la lunita. las pepitas. los huesitos. los chapulines. los silbatos. el gaaaaaaas.

Una frase que se me quedo grabada en la mente tiene su origen en el libro El relato en perspectiva de la muy admirada profesora de la UNAM, Luz Auora Pimentel. "A diario narramos y nos narramos el mundo." And what would we do without narratives?

Lrsen wasn't in da house

A beautiful friend from Copenhagen sent me a message telling me about the Kim Larsen party. I promised I'd go in October, but the party was in September so I missed the dates. Anyway, she said that all Copenhagen was there, except Kim...so that she hoped my hurts were healed. Then she told me that she joined a reclaim the streets demonstration and that everything was fine, until the police started beating up people. They took her to jail and she spent 8 hours there. I was shocked, I didn't expect to hear that. I've been in a couple of demonstrations in Copenhagen and they're the most peaceful thing, really. They even gave me soup at one of them, and there were some really young people in the crowd. Is that the level of discussion of the ones in power in the super developed countries? Que asco.

------------------

On another note I started school! and I feel really silly being a student again, you know, sitting on a bench trying to look smart. My dad was telling me that I should prepare lunch and sharpen my pencils. Oh, I missed my parents, taking me to school. Oh those two spoilt me badly.

and if you ever loved, you'll know how it feels like.


---------------


oh. how. it. feels. like.


oh.

oh. oh. oh. oh. how it feels like.

to be.

bananas.

or not.

to be.

bananas.

or,

not to love or not to be or not to cope or not to be able to be.

happy. without myself. with someone else. not to. be. able to say. YES. to you. To life, to love. Thank you. Thank you. Not to be. Able to thank you.


(Thank you. Thank you. But no. Thank you. YES. Say YES. Just like she said. Just like they said yes. Just like the sun says yes every fucking morning. Just like it says YES).

What remains? The language remains (said she).

When anyone offends against you, let your first thought be, under what conception of good and ill was this committed? Once you know that, astonishment and anger will give place to pity. For either your own ideas of what is good are no more advanced than his, or at least bear some likeness to them, in which case it is clearly your duty to pardon him; or else, on the other hand, you have grown beyond supposing such actions to be either good or bad, and therefore it will be so much the easier to be tolerant of another’s blindness.

---------

Whatever the world may say or do, my part is to keep myself good; just as a gold piece, or an emerald, or a purple robe insists perpetually, ‘Whatever the world may say or do, my part is to remain an emerald and keep my colour true’.

Thank you so much for your wisdom this day Marcus Aurelius

Sankalpa

The little bee recomended me to do 'proper' yoga at the 'proper' place --according to him there are many bad yoga schools out there. So I decided to go where the buzzing bug told me to. It was fantastic really. This year has been quiet outside and noise inside. And I decided to change this. I've been thinking that I have to be happy. I have to. I have to. I have to. But it sounds like I'm forcing something instead of letting it happen.

I learnt yesterday about 'sankalpa', which is a "short, positive statement of intent". In the London Satyananda Yoga Centre, they suggest that say if you want to quit smoking you might choose to say: "I will give up smoking". But that it's better to say something like "I'm becoming healthier" because then if you are healthy you won't feel like you need to smoke. They also recomend to use words like "I'm developing..." or "I'm becoming...". And I keep on quoting:

"...if you know that you are very quick tempered & want to change that aspect of your personality, choose a positive way to make it your sankalpa, eg. "I am developing a calm and positive nature".

I lost my faith when I was 12 years old. Since then I've been quite skeptical about faith in general. But I believe there's a spirit. That people that leave this world stay with us in spirit. I want to think that they are angels. Or something similar. The best angels I can think of are those of Wim Wenders in you-know-what movie. And I guess I'm saying this because yoga can seem to be related to faith. But it's such a palpable thing, you can see the results in your body and your mind.

Homelessness

On my way to work there is a catholic cathedral and many homeless people who sleep around the area. I don't exaggerate when I say I had never seen as many homeless people as I have in London --and I come from a very poor county. It is truly the most unbelievable thing. As you walk down Victoria St you can see all these people dressed in smart suits, walking like automats to their offices.

A friend of mine got kicked from the squat where he was living, so, he stayed with me for some days. All this year I've been living here I've met more sqatters than I had before. I support squats and I believe people should recycle houses that nobody inhabits. But that's not the problem. The problem is that the cost of living is extremely high in this city. It's not fun being kicked out from a squat. Or find a new one and occupy it. No doubt the gap between the rich and the poor in Britain is an abyss.

A couple of years ago I saw a film with Danish famous --in Denmark-- pop singer Kim Larsen, where he is a 'slumstormer' or squatter. I greatly thanked Larsen for singing so much in the movie as I saw it in Danish with a lazy simultaneous translation. In October Larsen will perform in Copenhagen, as policemen want to kick out some people who live in a squat. Hi, ho, let's go!

Marica

(I'm writing in English because the other day I saw a little sweet bee on the streets of Bergenilus town in Norskindal and he told me that he used to read my blog until I started writing in Spanish. I said I would try and write in English again, even if I wrote clumsily and without idiomatic expressions)

I know I don't need to say that the lovely young man I met this summer was Jewish. But there is an inevitable Jewishness in him, I don't know why. Maybe because he's interested in Hanna Arendt and Emmanuel Levinas, and as I have been reading those authors I shared some thoughts with him. The thing is that we spoke in Spanish because he had never practiced his Spanish with a native speaker --amazingly because he lives in NY, but anyway. So we talked about the word 'marica' and he asked me if the gays in Mexico had revised the word and made it an honor to be 'maricas', just as the gay community transformed the word 'queer' in the US. I said I didn't think so. And I thought why not? I mean, I hate to say 'marica' but it's a word that needs to be revisited I believe. And I say this because the other day I saw the most 'marica' film in my life and that is Cherelle, by German director Reiner Werner Fassbinder and based on the novel by devilish playwright Jean Genet. The film left a mark on me. I don't think I will ever forget it. Mariconsisimo film. Absolutely goddamened wicked and surreal and crazy and different. A genre of itself.

Cherelle is a man, and a criminal. He has his own moral universe. A very twisted one. He knows honor and companionship. He reminds me of Aesop's scorpion in the fable where he bites the frog he carries through the river. But don't misunderstand me, this has nothing to do with the word 'marica' that I'm trying to redefine. But I haven't defined it with words, I know. I'm talking about Cherelle, the man who dares to live the way he wants to. The man who dares and risks to know what he likes and how he likes it. A misfit. And almost the only genuine man in town --apart from the captain and the miner.

Mambo Jambo

Es Perez Prado quien toca en la banda sonora de Aprile. Y Nanni Moretti es igualito a un amigo mio originario de la ciudad de Cordoba. Vive en Jalapa y es tremendamente hiperbolico. Es igualito pero en senior, le gusta el cine y hace cine. Le gusta el cafe -como a Moretti- y tiene abuela italiana. Hace unos nioquis muy buenos y fue mi companiero de depto en Narvarte...Mentiroso como buen veracruzano y muy dicharachero. Bueno Moretti.

Nanni Moretti y su Abril

No se si es La Sonora Santanera lo que suena en el fondo de la pelicula Abril de Nanni Moretti acerca de las elecciones en Italia, antes de que ganara Berlusconi. Ayer me cayo el veinte de que ese actor es el director Nanni Moretti. Desconocia totalmente ese dato. Ayer me vino la idea de que ese senior (todavia no tengo enie en este bloody teclado ingles) es mi marido ideal. En mi cabeza, mi significante de marido es Nanni Moretti. Quizas porque fisicamente podria ser familiar de mi padre. (Scary thought).

Hay una parte de la peli en la que el sufre realmente cuando ve que Berlusconi esta a punto de ganar las elecciones --aun a pesar de todo. La vi en italiano con subtitulos en frances, asi que he de confesar que no la he entendido muy bien aun. Pero no pude evitar hacer la relacion con Mexico, la desesperacion y la incredulidad ante lo eminente: el triunfo de un presidente fascista.

Osada

Hoy encontre en mi correo electronico este mensaje:

Si fuera lo suficientemente osada como para exponer mis problemas sentimentales a un amplio publico, escribiria a la Revista Tu para preguntar lo siguiente: Mi novio solo me dice que me quiere despues de haber ingerido una cantidad significativa de alcohol. Que debo hacer?

Me parecio muy raro, ya que justo mi ultimo post habla de la nueva obra de teatro de Caryl Churchill, cuyo titulo hace la relacion entre el alcohol y la capacidad de expresar emociones.

Drunk enough to say I love you?

It's such a good title for a play, it had to be written by Caryl Churchill. Looking forward to seeing it in November. It's a was a sunny day. Clouds move too quickly in London. Dammit.