martes, 9 de diciembre de 2008

Modus: Cabaret






Es necesario desaprender las viejas escuelas, las cátedras añejas de los
salones de clase atiborrados de espectadores aburridos y profesores idiotas.

Se necesitaría de blasfemias profundas que exacerben la conciencia tolerante de las
masas. Es menester que Hugo Chávez grite a voz plena en una plaza pública
“váyanse cien veces al carajo, yanquis de mierda” para que contengamos el
bostezo y se perturbe la costumbre. Arrastramos la sombra del modernismo,
la imagen “populachera” y colectiva de la ciencia, el prestigio de la
civilización. Protegida nuestra razón con la bandera de la tolerancia y el
relativismo moral admitimos - desde que alguien escupa en la banqueta por la que
vamos pasando, hasta que la población minoritaria tome las decisiones de la
mayoría indiferente. La política se ha pintado la boca con un
rojo extravagante y ha salido a las calles a cogerse con cualquiera.
Tan aguerridos como cuando estamos borrachos, alzamos la insignia del cambio,
con frases que de ser menos amargadas serían lo mismo que una mentada de madre.
Sin embargo, hasta en los burdeles hay timidos que se callan y beben en
silencio, no vaya a ser que el sonido de una queja espante las moscas de lo
usual. Es necesario seguir escuchando la misma vieja canción, esa que sin
querer nos rompe el corazón para que la sensualidad cansada no
despierte nuestro cuerpo en ruinas, las cenizas de nuestros placeres.
Seguire ensoñando mientras King Crimson siga sonando y mi botella de tinto
no se acabe... cheers!

miércoles, 3 de diciembre de 2008

She left without say call me sometime...



"Cuando se despertó,no recordaba nada de la noche anterior,“demasiadas cervezas”,dijo, al ver mi cabeza,al lado de la suya, en la almohada… y la besé otra vez, pero ya no era ayer,sino mañana.Y un insolente sol,como un ladrón, entró por la ventana.El día que llegó tenía ojeras malvas y barro en el tacón,desnudos, pero extraños,nos vio, roto el engaño de la noche, la cruda luz del alba.Era la hora de huir y se fue, sin decir:“llámame un día”.Desde el balcón, la vi perderse, en el trajín de la Gran Vía.Y la vida siguió,como siguen las cosas que no tienen mucho sentido,una vez me contó,un amigo común, que la vio donde habita el olvido.La pupila archivó un semáforo rojo,una mochila, un peugeot y aquellos ojos miopes y la sangre al galope por mis venas y una nube de arena dentro del corazón y esta racha de amor sin apetito.Los besos que perdí,por no saber decir:“te necesito”.Y la vida siguió,como siguen las cosas que no tienen mucho sentido,una vez me contó,un amigo común, que la vio donde habita el olvido."

lunes, 1 de diciembre de 2008

Les Illuminations



"If you're going to try, go all the way. Otherwise don't even start. This could mean losing girlfriends, wives, relatives, jobs. And maybe your mind. It could mean not eating for three or four days. It could mean freezing on a park bench. It could mean jail. It could mean derision. It could mean mockery, isolation. Isolation is the gift. All the others are a test of your endurance. Of how much you really want to do it. And you'll do it, despite rejection in the worst odds. And it will be better than anything else you can imagine. If you're going to try, go all the way. There is no other feeling like that. You will be alone with the gods. And the nights will flame with fire. You will ride life straight to perfect laughter. It's the only good fight there is." -Bukowski

Mode: Aroma a yerba mate...




In the consideration of the first impulse, 'prima mobilia', the conscience itself fades in the reflection of what we call reality; well known as the perverse way to understand life.

domingo, 30 de noviembre de 2008

Be Delicious...


Be always a poem ...
even a prose...
pleasure
&
Poésies



From the aesthetics of pain and other silences



¨…All life is in essence pain. The more elevated the being, the more he suffers…The life of man is no more than a fight for existence, with the certainty of ending up defeated.¨
Parerga y paralipomena, 1851.
A. Schopenhauer



Pain seen from the metaphysical perspective is the reference to negativity and the sensory expression that produces a repression of the positive qualities-innate-that has been bestowed upon human beings. Never the less, existential lucidity and the luminescent thoughts emerge, most frequently, in a disconsolate state of mind. Sharpness of thought is exalted before sadness and the silence of the soul, as well as us recalling death with a moment of silence –because pain is not felt with shouting or loud laughter-we also celebrate inner reflection- the inner vision. Pain is delighted with the surrender of existences to nothingness, to the void. The tormented image of knowledge covers us in black-the loneliness of the spirit and absence-they turn us into an interrupted body. Even pleasures become painful ruins. Human essence is pain, there’s something pleasing in suffering, by it we consecutively test error. Through the silogism of suffering man is lyrically recreated ¨suffering opens the eyes; it helps us to look at things that in another manner we would not have perceived; it’s useful to knowledge¨. (From the obstacle of having been born, Ciorán). Pain awakens the consciousness and with it the being himself awakes, the abstract self. Suffering is the catharsis that gives passage to the revival of the spirit of knowledge in its purest state. Pain gives life to instinct, it grants strength in the fight for survival. And never the less, pain via unconsciousness, does not recognize suffering as the first fruits of knowledge but as a delicate caress of disgust and denial. Contradictory philosophy the finding of beauty in pain, the nourishing of thought through sorrow. Before the grayish vision of the aesthetic of pain, the being weakens because he is not able to withstand it. Thus he repeats the word of Ecclesiastics or the preacher: ¨And I devoted my heart to knowing wisdom, and also to understanding insanity and delirium; I recognized that this was still grief of the spirit. Because in much wisdom there is much nuisance; and he who adds learning adds pain¨. But as with all great things, pain is accompanied by silence, and silence many times is sheltered with a cloak of loneliness. Nietzsche used to say that ¨the magnificence of a man is measured by the amount of loneliness that he is able to support¨. It is necessary of the wise man to turn pain and silent loneliness into his destiny, overcoming in this manner the aphorism of Heraclitus- ¨disposition is the destiny of man¨. He will have to transform loneliness into his eagle and pain into his serpent; the aesthetic of pain transmutes ontológicamente into the I in its own Zarathustra. ¨You don’t speak: that’s how you announce your wisdom to me…We’re friends from the start: grief, terror and depth are common to us; even the sun is common to us…we don’t speak amongst ourselves, because we know too many things: we are silent together, we smile together at our knowing…¿You don’t have the twin soul of my knowledge?...This is how Zarathustra spoke before the rising of the sun, and later thereafter this is how the aesthetic of pain has been spoken of.

sábado, 19 de julio de 2008

In the Corner of your eyes


Don't think about a Demon,
Nor the Hell beneath his feet,
just think about those eyes...


In the corner of your eyes relays a secret, as profound its colour: the deepest kind of absense. Don't drop those tears in the floor, we would drown forever in a desert of water. Two blindnesses moving in the darkest of their souls, so bold both, so drunk.
A window, lighter than crystal, with an inlaid shriek in its entrails.

Focused in a later blood, descending from the same hell.


Voces prohibidas, que escritas en la ventana, la luna ahuyenta; en un fulgor
pero quedan atrapadas para siempre en su espíritu: un ojo: el ojo de su obscuridad!

}

Sin secretos para los ojos que han de ver todas las verdades: indomptés.
Tus huesos,
большие пригорки желаний, no han de prederse detrás desa tela, ирис.



Ed il mondo dietro quegli occhi è perso
ao tentar evitar o glance por sempre,
δεν βρίσκει ένα άλλο πράγμα αυτός η ψυχή από φυλακή




Don't escapes du страх, vivete com αυτός.

(Don't scape fear, live with it.)

viernes, 4 de abril de 2008

Leerte a obscuras... con los labios...




jouisseur sans bruit...





I amuse myself, imaging your lips in red

I confuse myself, knowing you are far away.

Mystique saloon bar...


She gulped her loneliness like it was dark red wine...

Overflow of Consciousness...











Your absence is the origin of silence
the traces in my mind, just ashes
silhouettes of loneliness walking
from your heaven to my hell;
Nothing else to say, just forget.

martes, 12 de febrero de 2008

PLAYING COLOURS


And what if we could just be the darkness in the sky…
and what if our wings were as white as the clouds…
what if our hearts could touch all possible colours…
what if you were the water in the ocean…
what if i were the air at the sky…
and if water touches air…
and if sky and ocean turns the same blue?

what then?



HernánS.

sábado, 9 de febrero de 2008

From the ashes of our lives...


I found all the courage in your eyes
saying the old charming lies
the sky is a multicolor mirror,
for all the memories and errors
there is a ghost in the paradise corner
sweet reflections getting closer
.

Ly&


The Eternal Return...


What does the absence mean? It is like a deep hole in space where the infinite vanishes. There is a point where its reflection is sweet but the unexpected shadows turn it always bitter... there is something strange in our silences because they have colors that paint all the memories and emotions.There is something delicious in your eyes because they burn the melancholy in blue. I wake up and breath and think that's all what I needed.

Ly&