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home message submit archive theme © Soy. A void with no room for forgetting, which I do not like well. You are not far away anymore, I do not want my name to be forgotten by your voice, nor my hair by your fingers, nor my scent of your nights. Sorry if I'm still late, I'll continue to compensate, and inviting you a vinotinto or a fernet. I can not understand the reason why it is so difficult for me today, I can not understand so much resistance. The fears, the smile, the silence. The promises, the look, the end of the day. The reasons, the hug, the oblivion. Tears, skin, insomnia. The truths, the sigh, the cowardice. The farewells, the kiss, the absence. The certainties, the feet, the improbability. The knots, the chest, the memory. The dances, the waist, the impatience. The doubts, the back, the supposed freedom. You fell asleep so soon... and I said so little... my hands were shaking, the words were stuck between my soul and the fear of not being able to erase them later with a regret. This love that can not exist without fear, and me, that I do not want to exist without you. It is to feel the touch of reality, the murmur of the end, the announcement of a perhaps and the cry of a wish, is to feel. It is falling, finally falling, with the certainty that you can only reach the precipice, and with the uncertainty of whether the other seeks you among the waves as you investigate in each sudden movement of the water that is the rupture. September 07 16 Write more often, I love what you write.

Aunts tell you: "By the time you turn twenty-one you reach one sixty", but the aunts never lose hope that their nephews will continue to grow eternally. I suppose that the aunts live clinging with nails and fantasy earrings to the idea of ​​remaining aunts. That one is already on the beach swelling with wine and paella without anyone trying to prevent it makes them feel old and forgotten. But I was talking about my newly acquired resignation to the future, a future that I would be forced to see from a perspective... how to say it, Minimalist? I really worried about my height. All he left were stories of self-induced suffering, divine miracles, and unquantifiable religious fervor. No instructions, no cookbooks. Any variation in the formula and our miracle of levitation could turn into some other trick of insignificant magic. It is not easy to be nineteen years old and see that everything you aspire to collapses as in epileptic attack. It's not easy and it's not fun but the only thing you have left is that anguishing and frightening feeling that you have to do something, anything. Saint Francis of Assisi left his house of bourgeois and his bourgeois clothes and his dumb bourgeois romanticism to walk barefoot, beat himself and half-starved every day. I, victim of the comforts of consumerism and maternalism, could not abandon any of that. What occurred to me was to shear only the top of my head, wrap my naked body in my bathrobe and soak my pale feet with potted earth. Possibly, if my discomfort was convincing enough, the animals would confuse me with a saint and would like to share their noble thoughts with me. Posted 6 years ago 3 notes Three sad all. Maybe a Monday or a Wednesday or a Saturday. When your only concern is to stay curled up in bed because in universes like this, the ground is not trusting, time flows in a clumsy and discontinuous way, like sipping honey with a straw that escapes. The thing is, that day they knocked on the door of my room and they handed me a letter underneath it. I panicked for a few seconds, or minutes, or days... who could say it? and I came to the conclusion that, since the letter was not swallowed by the tile, I could allow myself to lengthen my leg a bit and reach the envelope with my toes. He said he was no longer afraid, that he was safe in the field. He said that the best to be in the forest was that he was always alone. He said that the best thing about always being alone was the security that came from knowing that there was nobody nearby with the intention of killing you. Naturally, with the sobriety and suspicion that characterizes me, I began to write an answer just on the back of his note. I also attached a list of spiders and poisonous snakes that inhabited the forest. After a few days, or weeks, or months... who could say? I received a note announcing the death of Luciano. He stepped on a bear trap that he had installed himself. He was found a few miles from his hut, where he had crawled for help before he died of blood loss, starvation or pain. As soon as I heard about that, I had a revelation: being afraid of danger is very dangerous. Getting to that level of thinking is something that can change your life, that's for sure. We agree, you have just entered a stage of your life in which you lean toward boldness, but modesty is still an important part of your essence and you have to cover your body in some way. I still have in his mind his face and the image of the subtitles that crossed his neck. My purpose was to show myself defiant and that some bastard would challenge me to blows. I'm talking to you, Alberto Machado. I was there, with your girl and I did not know what to say. So I figured maybe she just got rid of death. I said, "I'm looking for something dangerous." She lifted her head. I thought he was not so weak after all and he looked at me as if I were anything but a threat. Then he lay back on the table again. - You must bring a gun in your bag. Find yourself a stupid boyfriend and fall in love with him. I reconsidered his response for a moment, noticing the dangers that could bring me. I have not heard that word for a long time. Laughter and other guttural sounds. We ran out of condoms and I had to reuse one from the trash basket. He had stuck a chewing gum and I did not bother to take it off. In the end, my crotch made of ocote ash, she started talking about how much I loved you and how furious you would get and how much my life was in danger. I looked at the ground hoping it would swallow me at any time and, as it did not happen, I went to sit at the computer. Chrome showed the google search bar and I thought: well, what? We all have what we want, right? Posted 6 years ago 4 notes The most important day of my life. According to the story, the invention of the fork was a very important event. So the historical importance is not to be trusted, important this. I'm concerned about how the importance should be measured. Following the crazy logic of chance, the most important day of our lives, it would have to be the day of our birth. I do not know, they must have been an infinite number of variables. For that reason and because without birth there is no life, the day in which we were born would have to be the most important of our lives. The historians would surely sit down to discuss our exploits in whispers, very passively. Each one with a different and very far version of what all our adventures really were. We knew he did not see when we saw him reporting live on the news. I regretted that no ant had died in the brawl. - Do you like ants? Granês saw me with his eyes glazed with anger. His mouth slightly crooked.- This is a trap - he told me. Then, possessed by a strange frenzy, we shook our hands tightly. Like two old and wise friends.- Are we going for a beer? Posted 6 years ago 10 notes The blues of the trap. Some harmonicas have a penis shape. Maybe only life knows what life is for. Maybe not even her, whatever it is, know it. Either way, know or not know, the language in which life speaks is unintelligible and perhaps secret and maybe even deaf and dumb. Without having arrived, in the end, nowhere. But not everything is pessimism. If so, all people would be fighting for a place on top of a rooftop to be able to jump headlong. For some ultra-mysterious reason, we have all firmly fixed in our heads that hope of being able to clarify, even if only a little, that ultra-mystery of life. And well, it would be a very correct observation. But get to that deduction since you've been stuck for several years... I do not know, as it loses a bit of merit, in my opinion. So there's nothing left but to make a harmonica with a stick and play some blues. It's not that bad. Some days there is pizza and others there are better things. Tomorrow I can tell, or last, or when I want. Posted 6 years ago 1 note The water was stolen from the pools. First the shock of finding our swimming pools empty. Then the penalty of dismissing the guards of the fractionation. The answer came this morning and it is alarming. It is also brief, which is even more alarming. This attack not only consisted of filling a hundred pipes with the water from our treasured pools. If it were only that way, it would be enough to open a couple of keys, empty the water reserves of the city and deny service to the popular colonies for a couple of weeks, a measure to which they will surely be accustomed. On the other hand, all the pumping systems that filled our lives with freshness were fatally damaged. The pumps and spare parts factory for pools, burned. Declaration of war and recruitment propaganda. To those who wish to cooperate in our cause, we promise them food, shelter, training and freshness. To our enemies we promise to invest every last one of our resources in a revenge that will culminate in a historic glory, and we will use the ashes of their bodies to filter the water from our pools. In case those responsible come from the future, we promise to dedicate the rest of our lives in making this world as uninhabitable as the most unlivable of the moons of Mars. They are eliminating the tenure and proposing to deduct taxes from the schools of payment. Walk with your pupils all the leafiness of your lips, commissure to commissure. Evaluate the crystallinity of your eyes. Question the sweetness of their bearing. They're going to kill us! I tell you one thing: can you hear your breathing? Maybe you can hear how Matt Damon violates the lock on your apartment door. Maybe you can hear him go through the dining room until he reaches the kitchen. Serve a whole bowl of Honey-smacks and chew it with stealth. You can not take it that long. You need to open your eyes because you distrust the almost-total absence of light. We love air and light and here it will be impossible for us to have both. Posted 6 years ago 3 notes 1984 was a long time ago. My immediate reaction was to raise my legs to the chair and then hug them terrified, waiting for the floor to be covered with a hundred rats the size of french-poodles. I turned on my tremulous buttocks and could see the shape of a human figure beating awkwardly inside an astronaut suit in what looked like a very disjointed robot dance. You can lower your feet. - How did you know that...? His non-existent impartiality is faultless. And I'm not absorbing my coconut water. - Coconut water? on the long surface of the Sea of ​​the Serpent. Very slightly intrigued. - That's right! Remember that. - And why is it interesting that I know that experience, Doctor? He was somewhat busy classifying the photos of his first communion. - AH! You know what they say: if you can not do something yourself, get someone to do it for you. Remember that I know almost everything about you. Then I'll tell you another story. And that was the last thing that was heard, because I split the screen from a knee. As I say, social service is a subject that should be treated with great delicacy, especially if you see a government droid roaming around in your vicinity. But this is not a call to rebellion. Not even a shout of protest. This It's just part of the job. Then this story begins when I took my registration chip to school before the semester started. The neuronal scanner adjusted my schedule according to my priorities. A banner on the screen flashed intermittently with the caption: "Congratulations! You have enough credits to start your social service, "and there were no other options. Now, situations like that put hyperventilation to my inner claustrophobic. I turned discreetly in the direction of the exit. At the threshold of the door, Dr. Menguenche looked at the tips of her shoes with an air of boredom. At his side, two government droids stared at me. One of them raised one of his eyebrows. I was sweating.- You have the credits! This for reasons of energy saving. Why it is important to do social service. Why you are important to social service. Where can I do my social service? What terrible calamities can happen to you if you desert social service. And the timer in the upper right corner began to run. - The soles of eleven flip-flops from Uriangato! This means that we entrust ourselves to chance, to chaos and to the blessed coincidence. Posted 7 years ago 3 notes This is how ducks work. So everything is sublimated, even you and the ground that you think you step on, evaporates, vanishes and disperses in the density of that universal fog. So, I think, the healthiest thought is that of unbelief.

Remember a little what Kurt Vonnegut suggested to make "life more bearable". Not having anything to worry about, only creative and non-destructive things. I can not stand those feelings among people. I know that we are only human and we get lost in these emotions, let's call them negative emotions. When all these disappear you can turn forward, see the free way and now you are going to create something. If you can, read the entire book - as I found it, in Spanish they put it While I write - but I want to highlight this section because it talks about something that I have always had a hard time understanding and is: why do some people write like wanting to make life difficult for the reader? Maybe for some King's argument, which is essentially "write using the same words you use to talk", be too simplistic or "populachero" but I honestly do not understand what's wrong with that. I do not know, maybe for some they are. Read, then. "One of the worst things you can do to your writing is to decorate your vocabulary looking for big words because you feel ashamed of the little ones you know. This is the same as dressing up your pet. The pet feels embarrassed and the person who performed this act of premeditated sadness should be even more distressed. If you feel that "shitting" is offensive or inappropriate for your audience, feel free to say that John stopped to defecate. I'm not trying to make you talk dirty, but simply and directly. Remember that the basic rule of vocabulary is use the first word you can think of if it is appropriate and colorful. As creators, it is difficult to predict what will lead us to the discovery of a good idea or topic, but it is important to always be "alive" and paying attention to our surroundings. Although ideas are often constructed from pieces of reality that slip into the unconscious and mix with their own inventions, there is certainly a method to work in the arts without depending on the random function of the happy "inspiration". But I think it's also something that can be cultivated. What I do is that whenever I go somewhere, or talk to someone or read something, there is a part of my mind analyzing if that would be an interesting story or the places where I could take it to make it attractive. I'm always doing that and I think a good way to develop it is by reading things you do not normally read or paying attention to things you usually ignore. So you can experience to find you with interesting or strange information and to pursue it. When I see the list of stories in one of my collections, I am surprised by the diversity of topics on which I have written. But I can remember what happened to give me each of those ideas. Some are things in my own life. Some come from conversations. For example, the story about Silly Billy came out of a conversation with my cousin. She was telling me that her son was upset because it was almost her birthday and she could not book Silly Billy because he was very busy. And I said to myself, 'It's a great story: the number one clown'. Sometimes it is as simple as realizing that you are facing something wonderful that you did not know existed... or exactly the opposite. That is, something so ordinary that you never even realized that it was there. One day I was in the supermarket and I had an idea: How do supermarkets work? I was overwhelmed by how many times I had been in a supermarket and I had never thought about this. I could not bear the urge to know. And the next day I went to the office and decided that I really wanted to write about it. And it is such a thing, so ordinary. What attracted me was the fact that I had never stopped to think about this. Often I find myself divided between some subculture that I did not know existed and that fascinates me and the obvious thing that had never been examined. Sometimes you have to take something that everyone is thinking and approaching in a different way. And that means reading the newspaper. Or see a story and think about what would be a good way to play that same topic. In those moments I have a general idea and I must find a way to enter. The opposite of that, is for example when you just find out something and immediately you think it's a great story. The details of how it will grow will be clarified little by little. I wanted to write about her despite knowing absolutely nothing about it. I did not know anything about orchids or the swamps in Florida. It was like trying to read a foreign language. And so, I started searching the internet for pure fun and I found that it was a real dog. That mixture of myth and reality made me want to write a book about it. I think one should practice the ability to find ideas. Go out and buy rare magazines or read sections of the newspaper that you do not normally read or go to walk to the side of the city you never go to. You have to leave your own universe. First of all, above all things, that you are genuinely curious about it. There is no substitute for that simple fact. You really have to want to know what it is about. If you do not feel that curiosity, it's not the story for you. And I'm not talking about things that you assign, practices or what you do to pay your bills. My advice on those things is that you look for something in them that gives you curiosity. But if it is your own idea and you want to take it with an editor to sell it to and assign you to work on it, it is essential that you really want to know about it. That intrigue you and give you curiosity. I think the stories should be surprising, but they should also have some familiarity. There must be some input for the reader. No matter how exotic or peculiar this story is, there must be something that is familiar to the reader. Because I think that what strikes us the most is to feel surprised in a recognizable context. I think that is something very concrete. You need to analyze an idea and think that although you find it strange to write about a clown for children, as in the case of Silly Billy, people have a natural curiosity about the work of others. I think that we have to take it for granted, that we all ask ourselves what it will be like to do other things. And everyone was a child or has a child... and the clown is an iconic figure. We all assume things about them. But nobody I knew had asked them, "OK, what do you do in the morning? Let's shred it: what is it is this life? I felt it was surprising and fun, but at the same time everyone could relate in some way. It will be a particularly endearing reading for those who have been trying for some time and feel that "it is never going to be done". Sometimes you have to create by creating and continue there, at the bottom of the canyon. He quoted me the following statistic: "Each year, 50,000 people compete to earn one of the 200 roles available on Broadway." Against their advice, I got on a flight to the United States. In the next two decades, we exchanged less than 100 phrases in conversation. Some years later, when I graduated from film school, I began to understand my father's concern. There was almost no precedent for a Chinese rookie who succeeded in the American film industry. Starting in 1983, I spent six years fighting a hopeless uncertainty. Most of the time I spent time helping with the team in different productions or working as assistant editor, among other miscellaneous tasks. My most painful experience was to take a script to more than 30 production houses and to be received, in all, with a severe rejection. That year I turned 30. There is an old Chinese saying: 'At 30, one stands firm'. But I could not even keep myself. My wife gave me invaluable support. My wife went to college with me. He studied biology and, after graduation, began working in a pharmaceutical research laboratory. His income was terribly modest. By then we had our oldest son, Haan, and we had to raise him. At some point, my in-laws gave their daughter an amount of money with the intention that I would open a Chinese restaurant with the hope that a business would help support my family. But my wife refused to receive it. When I found out about this, I stayed awake many nights and made a decision: This dream that I have is not meant to be. Later, I enrolled in a computer class at a nearby public university. At a time when the most important thing seemed to be getting a job, it seemed that computer skills would make me more likely to be hired. In the days that followed, I fell into depression. My wife, realizing my unusual attitude, discovered the class schedule in my purse. While my wife was walking away, I took that class schedule from my purse and slowly and deliberately broke it into pieces. And I threw it in the trash. Afterwards, I managed to get funds for my script and I started filming my own movies. After that, some of them won international awards. Remembering past moments, my wife told me: "I have always believed that one only needs a gift. There are already many people studying computers, they do not need an Ang Lee doing that. If you want a golden statue, you have to compromise with the dream. "And today I finally won that golden statue. I believe that my own perseverance and the incalculable sacrifice of my wife finally reached their reward. And now I feel more confident about this than ever: I must continue making films. If someone knows who he is and has sources, let me know. Other people's success does not fuck up your own. o Other people's success does not fuck yours. They are a very human way of making life more bearable. Practicing some art, no matter how well or badly it is done, is a way to grow your soul. Sing in the shower.Baila with the radio.He tells stories. Write a poem to a friend, even a bad poem. Do it as well as you can. Dr. Watson has seen and climbed those stairs many times, but he does not know how many steps there are. We already talked about the fact that "inspiration" does not come from nothing, that the idea of ​​the muse that comes down from the sky in a cloud of images and words is very beautiful, but unreal. Stop doing many things at once. One of the great things about Sherlock is that he is the personification of concentration, of Self-awareness.2. Do not be afraid of being wrong or being creative. One of the things that separates Holmes from other detectives is that he does not think in a straight line.3. Holmes is very good at keeping his mind alive and that assures him not to be conformist. Do not take things so personally or discourage easily, because it is a long-term proposal and probabilities; all the arts are. Many are called, few are chosen, but it could be you. " I like the idea of demystifying the creative process away from the realm of the magical and intangible - using the idea of the eternal search for inspiration as an excuse to do nothing - and turn it into a simple matter of work ethic. Sometimes you just have to stay there and force yourself to work and maybe something good will come out. " The deadlines make you more creative.

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