Friday, February 26, 2010

About Weird Connections the Mind ties

-Sometimes the smell of alcohol reminds me of ice cream. Rum-Raisin Ice cream to be exact. So in the middle of a party or any social gathering, my mind, nose, and taste will experience for the tiniest second a sweet and cold sensation of Rum & Raisins combined with the feeling of blissfully riding a mechanical bird. My grandpa used to feed me with it every other afternoon when I was 2 or 3 years old. The memory dies and I’m back at the party, with my whatever drink at hand.

-Every time I hug a chubby cigarette-smelling guy-friend, I think of my uncle. The hug is upgraded immediately.

-There was a bathroom in my first internship job where I always felt pain. A douchebag broke up with me a week before starting the job, so sometimes I would need to feel miserable and I would do it in the 1st floor bathroom. Five months after the break-up I was more than over him, but every time I went into that bathroom I felt the pain. “What the hell is this?” I would ask and then smile a skeptical smile. Ten months after the break-up that baseless feeling would still emerge but I would just think “Oh yeah, right.” And smile my careless smile.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

I

VG: Ves ese perro?

MM: …

VG: Cuando lo veo, me recuerdo de lo que soy

MM: Pero… es callejero, está sucio… y creo que tiene sarna

VG: Pero miraste sus ojos?

MM: Amiga me preocupas.


---Continuará

Monday, February 22, 2010

Blame it on who?

I heard that creative people have had a rough time during their careers because of the pressure they feel regarding their work. Hell, many end up leaning on alcohol and/or drugs in order to get inspired.

A long time ago artists relied on their Muses. That’s where they looked for inspiration. So if what they came up with wasn’t that good, it wasn’t their fault, the Muse had failed. And if the results were outstanding, they weren’t responsible either; the Muse was responsible for the success. This was particularly healthy, that way the artist didn’t fall on depression because of a bad work, nor built up his pride and ego because of a good work.

Sadly all of that changed and the responsibility started falling upon the artist. However, I still believe in “muses”, although I don’t like that name. It’s more like an unknown place where ideas are born and sometimes sucked -like a vacuum cleaner would do- involuntarily by my mind. A better way to graphic this is through another theory I read about. It says that all of the ideas are in the air, like in some wave or frequency, and that all we have to do is tune in and pick them up.

That’s how I feel. When it comes it comes… It doesn’t really have to do much with me. I wonder if other writers feel that way. Or could it be that I’m an amateur? Either way I like the philosophy it carries. No one to blame, no one to suck up to. Just plain equanimity. Of course sometimes I can enjoy a little drama, so sometimes I will think I suck… and then think I’m awesome, and then think I suck, and then think I’m awesome and so on. But fortunately I’ll get my act together and remember that the ideas aren’t mine, they were just shoved in my head. And aaaahhhh, equanimity!

Monday, February 8, 2010

When God is not enough

A man was climbing a humongous and challenging mountain in the Amazon. He was near the top when he suddenly slipped and fell about 15 feet down. He grabbed a branch of one small tree and stopped himself from falling further. He was very scared and started shouting for help. No one answered. He insisted.

“Help! Help! Someone, please!”

“Let go.” Said a very calmed but deep and loud voice out of nowhere. It was God.

“Eeeh… mmm… God?” said the man astonished.

“Yes son, it is I, God. Let yourself go.”

“No, I can’t! Isn’t there another way out? Please help me.”

“I am helping you. LET GO”

The man thought about it for a minute or two and then kept quiet and very still. His hand was very sour, so after a few more minutes he started shouting for help again.

“Help! Help! Someone, please!”

The deep voice appeared again and said “Son, just let go.”

The man replied, “Isn’t there anyone else out there?”

Saturday, February 6, 2010

On being VERY old.

In a very remote indian village, there was an old woman, you could say ancient. She was having her 115th birthday that week. The village’s newspaper sent one reporter to cover the not so typical but not so exciting news.

The reporter arrives to an almost falling house and sits next to the old lady.

He asks “What is the best thing about turning 115 years old?”

She answers “No peer pressure”

Entendimientos de una niña


Robertica ve TV en el cuarto de sus papás mientras su mamá se hace las uñas y su papá juega en la computadora. Cada canal goza de 3 segundos de exhibición ya que Robertica 1) no tiene paciencia 2) funciona como un scanner. Un canal de noticias llama su atención, evento raro para una niña de 12 años. El ancla habla sobre Chávez y sobre sus intenciones de poco a poco ir inhabilitando los partidos politicos que se oponen a su ideología; al parecer solo sobrevivirá el partido oficialista.

“Papá, mamá no entiendo la noticia. En el colegio el profe de Ciencias Sociales dijo que ‘partido’ significa ‘formar parte de’. Para que entendiéramos mejor lo comparó con una torta picada en 10 partes, cada parte representando un partido”

Los papas de Robertica, como siempre, la ven entre intrigados, asustados e impresionados. El papá sube ambas cejas y dice lentamente “Aja...”

Robertica continua…
“Bueno… Si Chávez quiere eliminar todos los partidos excepto el de él, significa que quiere poner la torta entera?”