Testing...the GAME

Hitting the ball, running to hit that ball, pushing the other player to respond this fucking ball!!! someone ask me once if it exists a game where there are no losers. Then he told me that if you think you are playing, that's the way you can loose and I think he's right. But I also like to be concient that I'm in a game, that I'm a player and I can either win or loose. I have to hit the ball, i have to follow it and crash into the walls if necessary. I'm preparing myself for a nowhere/no-time game.

digging in Alice

K was beginning to get very tired of sitting by J on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book J was reading, but it had no picture or conversations in it, "and what is the use of a book" thought K, "without pictures or conversations?"

So she was considering, in her own mind (as well as she could, for the hot day made her feel very sleepy and stupid), whether the pleasure of making a cloud-chain be worth the trouble of getting up and picking some clouds, when suddendly K heard a violin sound comming closer...

From "Alice's adventures in Wonderland", L. Carroll

Las intermitentes lluvias de la ciudad crean superficies brillantes por donde los transeúntes como yo, saltamos o cruzamos con cuidado para no mojar los zapatos. Paraguas, botas de los jeans húmedas, converse mojados a los lados y las medias congeladas. Aunque cada día me cambie de ropa termino en los mismos colores y con la misma temperatura, un frío que empieza por los pies, las manos y la punta de la nariz. Cuando parece que la lluvia ya se ha alejado, los charcos empiezan a dejarse ver, hay de todo tipo y de estética extraña, pero cada uno quiere dejar, sin duda alguna, el rastro de una existencia azarosa, geométrica y vaporosa. Cada uno es lo que su entorno le permite ser, el charco bonito es el charco en el parque, porque la imagen que guarda en el agua es la de los árboles. El charco creído es el que por sorpresa cayó en una escultura de la calle, o el que se resguardó en alguna forma circular de una piedra. Tienen la suerte de estar limpios y de no ensuciarse con mis pisadas. El charco valiente es el que se formó después de haber recorrido metros y metros de calles descendentes, el pobre está sucio y no puede reflejar mucho pero es lo que su experiencia le otorga. El charco odioso es el que hiede a caño, está donde no debe estar, por pura terquedad. Nadie lo quiere ver y esto lo hace solitario. El charco que está ahí, ese es el más nocivo, es el que obstruye el paso de todos porque se esplaya por donde pasa más gente, donde es más complicado ver el piso. Como resultado tenemos muchos zapatos mojados, eventualmente resbaladas y un charco en perpetua agresión.

*Foto Flickr. miroir. De Anthony and cie

¿Quién es/ quiere ser/ Sherezade?

Causando grandes vuelcos en la Historia y en el ahora, los amores imposibles, los no correspondidos, los asimétricos, fueron, son (¿y seguirán?) siendo parte de nuestra naturaleza. En Medio Oriente, cuando aún transcurría lo que en occidente se concibió como el medioevo, el rey de Persia, Shâhriyar, fue traicionado por su esposa. Como venganza contra el género, Shâhriyar decide casarse cada día con una mujer virgen para m a t a r l a.

Un día, uNa mujer del reino, hija de un visir y de nombre Sherezade, quiere ponerle fin a tal masacre. Su estrategia es casarse con el rey y luego contarle una historia cuya continuación sea tan atractiva e imponente como la vanidad del dirigente perso. Así Sherezade salva su vida la primera noche, la segunda, la tercera... y la noche número mil y uno, Shâhriyar decide no quitarle la vida.

Otra versión (contemporánea)

Una mujer, Sherezade, es testigo de un crimen y decide vengarse. Su estrategia: comenzar a trabajar de cajera en el supermercado en que el criminal es el encargado. Comienza una historia de amor, venganza y locura en la que Sherezade, que trabaja en la caja por las mañanas y por las noches seduce al encargado, se envuelve en un amor tormentoso. Su identidad transtornada y su vida alborde de la locura la llevan a un final inesperado...

Juego: consiste en darle continuidad a la historia, o modificarla por completo, ¿Alguien se aventura? queda en el horno...

*foto flickr

Un desencuentro con el cielo

Estoy cansado de vivir mojado. No tienen niguna consideración aquellas que me manipulan y me dejan esperando, ahí abierto frente al cielo, sin más ni más. Constantemente me resfrío y mis colores se van opacando con el tiempo, es injusto porque dejo de ser bello, me convierto en un ser gris que empata con los colores de ese cielo que siempre me recibe. Estoy aburrido de verlo gris a él también, no hace más que llorar y llorar, parece que no tiene nada que hacer. Siempre he tratado de hablarle pero él nunca me escucha, sólo me llora y me escupe. Un día pensé que al fin podía hablar con él, sus colores estaban cambiando, un color que nunca había percibido que por cierto hizo que mi cuerpo se secara inmediatamente. Ya casi no podía mantener los ojos abiertos pero tenía unas ganas insoportables de decirle todo lo que pensaba, que lo quería a pesar de que no hiciese más que escupir y llorar. El me hace feliz porque desde que salí de ese odioso lugar donde mis clones son aburridos porque piensan y se ven igual que yo, no hago más que estar con él. Lo quiero y es necesario que él se entere, pero tengo que esperar el momento oportuno. Ese día que pensé que podía hablar con él, ella, manipulándome a su antojo me transforma, me enrrolla y me mete en una bolsa. Una voz lejana dice "bueno parece que va a salir el sol, ¡siempre me encarto con este paraguas!" Así vivo en el tiempo y nunca he podido decírselo.

364 unbirthday presents: for humptydumpty.

*foto de flickr.com

A tender breeze

I took the train after lunch time. It was the first time that I was travelling in train alone for so long and going to a new country with a different language. I could speak french easily, even english (not as good as I wish) but italian was far from my mouth. I was not afraid, there were a lot of expectations inside of me and I felt an obligation to watch all the time the moving window. Warm colors, some houses, one or two cows, and the SEA. The french mediterranean coast is a dream in different kinds of blue, you can feel the salt under your nose and if you close your eyes, lightness comes as easy as a fish. I try to read some pages from Genealogy of morals, but it was quite impossible, definitly I wasn't in the mood for understanding, I was existing over contradictions. The train stopped at Nice for 2 hours and I decided to move on, to walk because my legs were weighty than ever and my eyes were snoopy in this unknown city. I didn't have any map, only the train station as a reference so I walked around for a while, going up and down by the shy pending streets. In France it's very common to find arab and asiatic restaurants and that was all that I saw, lots of food and foreigners as me.

I took the next train, my destination was Rome and this time I was travelling in an italian transport. All was different, people were noisy and they spoke musicaly. I could understand some words, even I tried to speak but it was just a whisper. It was a night train and I was told with insistance to be careful in the nigth with my things, with my camera and the money. Often, the italian night trains are dangerous because they are thefts when people is sleeping, as well a friend of mine, a brazilian boy who was waiting for me in Rome, suffered these haggle. Stories in my head were turning around and difficulty I could close my eyes, I slept for a couple of hours and with any sound my senses were in alert. In the early morning the train was in his final destination, where Evo was waiting. I was so glad to find my camera and the money with me.

We spoke in spanish, sometimes in french and I learnt little words in portuguese. Rome is a very big city and reminiscences from the past are still there, living in the architecture of a Modern and Ancient style. Ruins from a powerful empire contrasts with buildings from the fascism era, with the trams, the metro and the thousands of motorcycles. It's a visual adventure being in Rome. Evo and I went to encounter a friend of him, Mario, a libanese violinist. He lived in a student residence near La piazza di Spagna. Inside, an old chapel and nobody else than us. They began to play, Evo is also a violinist. J.S.Bach had the main role in this moment, the sound was living in every corner properly and I just couldn't beleive being in this event. Undoubtedly this moment changed my life (for the ones that know me, you know what I am talking about!).

We walked for hours, I saw people and objects, but it was difficult to understand, from History I learnt some details but life style, symbols and culture, everything was going out of the oven, it was hot and not edible. As too much is not enough, discovering mean Rome in this trip. I stayed in the residence where Evo used to live before leaving this country and I met his friends. Metaxya, a girl from Armenia (the country of course, in Colombia there is another Armenia) and Goran, a boy from Bosnia-Herzegovina were my closest findings. They had something that is rare in Western Europe, they live with joy and they have ambitions, they want to create and build their way with their own hands. Life for armenian and for bosnian people has been violent in all the senses. Genocide, wars, lack of justice. Some of the young people went away, searching oportunities and running from the trace of the past. They were students, as me, and we shared a great time together. Metaxya and her mum's delicious candys, her english-italian-armenian accent, her easily manner to smile. Goran and his bosnian combinations for breakfast (great for my B-day!), life with no complications, partying in Rome with Giuseppe, dancing Shakira and crossing big rats on the streets in the dark of the night.

One year ago I was in Rome eating gelato from other dimensions.

To Metaxya, Goran, Evo and Ana.

*foto de Mrs Jacob