el perfume de la tierra
se levanta
dando de nuevo
vida
a lo difunto
lo desde cuando
despedido
lo despedido,
a cual le dijimos
un triste adiós,
vuelve con luz y
abrazos
para mi y para vos
dando agua de beber
a lo seco
con sed
dando "belleza" (más)
a lo "feo"
lavando su carita
quitando su tristeza
alimenta mi alma,
me ayuda a crecer
le da color
a las flores
alas a lo inmóvil
secando lagrimas
levantando ruinas
derrumbando las partes feas
de mi humanidad
el perfume de la tierra
se levanta
y le da conocimiento
a este pobre menso
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Your Perfume Fills My Head
Love makes you do stupid things. There's no doubt about this. It makes you vulnerable, stupid, and fills you up with all the energy in the world. It makes you feel a 100 feet tall and invincible. And, in a blinding flash, drains you of everything. Gone is that feeling of invincibility and you no longer feel 100 feet tall or even your normal height but far smaller than a speck of sand. Euphoria replaces agony and just as quickly agony crushes the heart and makes it bleed out the euphoria until there's nothing but a dry cracked shell of happiness. And then the flooding begins of what ifs and all sorts of questions that I myself try to avoid because I'm all about progress and getting as much of it as I can get my hands on.
A lot of the stupid things I've done were out of the devotion and the love I felt for someone. A different someone over and over each time. You'd think I would have learned after the first time but it seems I'm a slow learner, when it comes to these things anyway. When it comes to these sorts of dangerous things, I just pile it on until I know I can't handle and then I just keep going. Why? I've yet to find an adequate explanation for this but I'm sure a lot of people (understatement) can relate.
I don't really know why I'm stating the obvious. It's really something that everyone has felt or will feel (again) at some point. Even the most detached and stoic person was probably that goofy grinning idiot whenever he thought of her and her kisses, or the silly faces they made to each other. Or her infectious laughter after a corny joke. Yes, the detached and stoic lurching figure was once a giddy giggling moron that had been bitten by a love bug*, or struck by Cupid's arrow*. More than once.
*You pick the cliche.
And then there's the other side of the coin where the the sights/sites once frequented together just point at and mock you. How she is no longer around, or how she no longer cares enough to hear your stupid jokes or legitimately hilarious puns. The stupid thoughts that flood once again. Of missed opportunities, what one would do if they had had more time, vengeance, convoluted fantasies, getting that person back. You know, the stuff I try not to waste my valuable time with because I got other things to do. And bigger fish to fry.
And then there's the ridge of the coin that few people seem to stay for longer than a few seconds. The ridge that keeps the sugary lurid bloodshed and the crimson and black carnage from spilling into each other and creating a bigger clusterfuck of mayhem. The area where one walks a line of peace and balance and satisfaction with the self. Where one can learn and reflect and reassure themselves that things happened because sometimes, though you might absolutely despise it, you just have to let these things go. Something about being free to free the self before allowing yourself to perch somewhere else with someone else.
Sometimes, people are so accustomed to the lurid sugary bloodshed that even a split second on the other side will make them jump higher than a coked-out kangaroo on a trampoline to the lurid sugary bloodshed even if they aren't ready. This opens up a whole new set of problems and elevates things so much that the fall will hurt even more.
Seems fucked up to even imply that one needs heartbreak but it's the awful truth, isn't it? The universe, for the most part, is a binary universe. Most if not all things are created with a foil, or a counterpart. Dark and light, for instance. Good and evil? Or good and less-good (which essentially fills the same role as "evil") and so forth. You gotta have this AND that.
You really have to feel the scalding brunt of heartbreak into order to appreciate kisses and feel something that'll genuinely make you smile. And by that same logic, you have to experience a vividly violent deep infatuation in order to put things in perspective and help you learn. About yourself, about your goals, about the world, about life, about the universe, etc.
Corny and lame but that's how it is.
A lot of the stupid things I've done were out of the devotion and the love I felt for someone. A different someone over and over each time. You'd think I would have learned after the first time but it seems I'm a slow learner, when it comes to these things anyway. When it comes to these sorts of dangerous things, I just pile it on until I know I can't handle and then I just keep going. Why? I've yet to find an adequate explanation for this but I'm sure a lot of people (understatement) can relate.
I don't really know why I'm stating the obvious. It's really something that everyone has felt or will feel (again) at some point. Even the most detached and stoic person was probably that goofy grinning idiot whenever he thought of her and her kisses, or the silly faces they made to each other. Or her infectious laughter after a corny joke. Yes, the detached and stoic lurching figure was once a giddy giggling moron that had been bitten by a love bug*, or struck by Cupid's arrow*. More than once.
*You pick the cliche.
And then there's the other side of the coin where the the sights/sites once frequented together just point at and mock you. How she is no longer around, or how she no longer cares enough to hear your stupid jokes or legitimately hilarious puns. The stupid thoughts that flood once again. Of missed opportunities, what one would do if they had had more time, vengeance, convoluted fantasies, getting that person back. You know, the stuff I try not to waste my valuable time with because I got other things to do. And bigger fish to fry.
And then there's the ridge of the coin that few people seem to stay for longer than a few seconds. The ridge that keeps the sugary lurid bloodshed and the crimson and black carnage from spilling into each other and creating a bigger clusterfuck of mayhem. The area where one walks a line of peace and balance and satisfaction with the self. Where one can learn and reflect and reassure themselves that things happened because sometimes, though you might absolutely despise it, you just have to let these things go. Something about being free to free the self before allowing yourself to perch somewhere else with someone else.
Sometimes, people are so accustomed to the lurid sugary bloodshed that even a split second on the other side will make them jump higher than a coked-out kangaroo on a trampoline to the lurid sugary bloodshed even if they aren't ready. This opens up a whole new set of problems and elevates things so much that the fall will hurt even more.
Seems fucked up to even imply that one needs heartbreak but it's the awful truth, isn't it? The universe, for the most part, is a binary universe. Most if not all things are created with a foil, or a counterpart. Dark and light, for instance. Good and evil? Or good and less-good (which essentially fills the same role as "evil") and so forth. You gotta have this AND that.
You really have to feel the scalding brunt of heartbreak into order to appreciate kisses and feel something that'll genuinely make you smile. And by that same logic, you have to experience a vividly violent deep infatuation in order to put things in perspective and help you learn. About yourself, about your goals, about the world, about life, about the universe, etc.
Corny and lame but that's how it is.
When the reflection walks away
There are times in a person's life when it seems that they cannot understand themselves anymore. There seems to be a disconnect from the past and present. The link that held these two things in a healthy balance is seemingly severed, save for a few bits of pieces that seem to say "ehh sorta". The things that person believed in now seem so foreign and downright bizarre.
It even gets to the point that they don't even recognize themselves in the mirror. The reflection becomes a complete stranger that is expected to be familiar but for the life of you, isn't and can't be remembered. A part of them seems absent. Another piece seems to be broken and, as a whole, that person seems to have changed. So much that they only see a stranger in their reflection.
It can also be that the person is still there but they're just buried underneath layers of time, experience, and a subconscious desire to escape something about themselves. It's not just a physical trait that seems off, it's something deeper. Something in the mind that seems to ask "Who am I? Who are you?" and eventually leads one to ask themselves: "How did it get to be like this?" if a spoken reaction can even be processed.
Trying to revert to short hair and a clean shave has the same effect of casting questions of self-doubt upon the self. The same way that dressing one way for a season and severing ties with friends the next season also cast a series of questions that ferment doubt in one's mind. Burning questions about identity and all that into the mind.
"I don't know I am" I said through tears once. It was a very difficult time that I got over but not without some scarring. My friend said I was some strong, bold, and fierce character. Basically a survivor and conqueror. Perhaps.
That's the eternal struggle, isn't it? To find oneself in the middle of raging storm that never ends. Or find answers. The answers in turn reveal more questions and more answers. It is how it is. Even when one isn't sure of oneself, be it by change, answers and questions build and build. They cause doubt and some form of internal conflict but that's really not they're point. It's you questioning and prioritizing things about you. Building yourself. You forget that because you forget that everything changes. It's the only thing that'll ever stay the same: change.
You're supposed to disappear to reappear until things seem right. Is that it? Probably. That's really just one way to look at things.
Doubt leads to durability, perhaps.
It even gets to the point that they don't even recognize themselves in the mirror. The reflection becomes a complete stranger that is expected to be familiar but for the life of you, isn't and can't be remembered. A part of them seems absent. Another piece seems to be broken and, as a whole, that person seems to have changed. So much that they only see a stranger in their reflection.
It can also be that the person is still there but they're just buried underneath layers of time, experience, and a subconscious desire to escape something about themselves. It's not just a physical trait that seems off, it's something deeper. Something in the mind that seems to ask "Who am I? Who are you?" and eventually leads one to ask themselves: "How did it get to be like this?" if a spoken reaction can even be processed.
Trying to revert to short hair and a clean shave has the same effect of casting questions of self-doubt upon the self. The same way that dressing one way for a season and severing ties with friends the next season also cast a series of questions that ferment doubt in one's mind. Burning questions about identity and all that into the mind.
"I don't know I am" I said through tears once. It was a very difficult time that I got over but not without some scarring. My friend said I was some strong, bold, and fierce character. Basically a survivor and conqueror. Perhaps.
That's the eternal struggle, isn't it? To find oneself in the middle of raging storm that never ends. Or find answers. The answers in turn reveal more questions and more answers. It is how it is. Even when one isn't sure of oneself, be it by change, answers and questions build and build. They cause doubt and some form of internal conflict but that's really not they're point. It's you questioning and prioritizing things about you. Building yourself. You forget that because you forget that everything changes. It's the only thing that'll ever stay the same: change.
You're supposed to disappear to reappear until things seem right. Is that it? Probably. That's really just one way to look at things.
Doubt leads to durability, perhaps.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Mercy
I like to think a lot of things. Some of the things I think about are true, some are not, some can be, and some can never be. That's me covering as many bases as I can. I know that as of the time of this writing, man will never be able to fly without the use of an airplane, helicopter, etc: a non-organic flight apparatus attachment supplement / we can't grow wings. I know that certainly for a fact there is such a thing as mercy. As such, it should follow then that mercy is found everywhere, if in trace amounts at least. Well, genuine mercy is found in trace amounts. So miniscule that one mistakenly thinks it doesn't exist and therefore sweepingly dismiss it. In the same way that people think chivalry is dead, people think mercy is fossilized and buried. Nothing could be further from the truth. Both are very much alive, if on life support at least.
There's actually an overwhelming sense of mercy if you look hard enough. The problem is that very very few people are merciful, or genuine about it. There's clemency, reprieves, a helping hand, a few bucks to help you get some food, being told the truth, and having someone hold you when you're in horrible fucking pain. And the most obvious is just being there.
The problem regarding exists with people, at least in certain parts of the western world. I can't really comment on the non-Western part(s) of the world because I haven't studied them nor do I know enough about them to make any statement that would even approach fact. (read: I'd sound like a total ass if I wrote about them, knowing nothing). The opportunity for mercy is a recurring one but there are people who just shirk their responsibility to do good for others. Even if doing good for another person would also provide a benefit of some sort, there are those who still say "fuck it". What to do with those kinds of people?
Show them mercy and hope that they learn to do the same for others, even if it isn't for an altruistic reason. Though the goal would be to lend a helping hand out of the goodness (that should exist) in your own heart, not because you want to have someone by the balls as to help a sinister motive of yours later on. The same goes for providing a shoulder to cry on because you want to minimize the other person's grief, not because you want to cop a feel.
Mercy isn't dead, it's just walking with a horrible limp because there are many terrible people in the world.
There's actually an overwhelming sense of mercy if you look hard enough. The problem is that very very few people are merciful, or genuine about it. There's clemency, reprieves, a helping hand, a few bucks to help you get some food, being told the truth, and having someone hold you when you're in horrible fucking pain. And the most obvious is just being there.
The problem regarding exists with people, at least in certain parts of the western world. I can't really comment on the non-Western part(s) of the world because I haven't studied them nor do I know enough about them to make any statement that would even approach fact. (read: I'd sound like a total ass if I wrote about them, knowing nothing). The opportunity for mercy is a recurring one but there are people who just shirk their responsibility to do good for others. Even if doing good for another person would also provide a benefit of some sort, there are those who still say "fuck it". What to do with those kinds of people?
Show them mercy and hope that they learn to do the same for others, even if it isn't for an altruistic reason. Though the goal would be to lend a helping hand out of the goodness (that should exist) in your own heart, not because you want to have someone by the balls as to help a sinister motive of yours later on. The same goes for providing a shoulder to cry on because you want to minimize the other person's grief, not because you want to cop a feel.
Mercy isn't dead, it's just walking with a horrible limp because there are many terrible people in the world.
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