Mi vigésima sexta vuelta al Sol

Ok, the time has come to write about happier things (especially since people started to worry too much about my present state of mind due to my last entry hahaha. Sorry about that! but I think it's important to write in all sorts of moods, in order to better understand ourselves).

MA' BUUUUURTHDAAAAY

So I just had another birthday, yay!

End of the post.

                           

Kidding! Anyways: so the day came, finally, after having announced it to the world since the beginning of the month, and we decided to throw a little Mexican-themed party with whatever materials we could find (since it's rather hard to obtain almost anything too specific in this godforsaken little town).

Ok, but firstly I shall refer to the events that lead to the glorious Friday in which we celebrated the humblest of my births (?): on Thursday (the day before) we booked the music room for the night and it was A-M-A-Z-I-N-G! Just a bunch of internationally assorted dudes improvising, singing, and learning each other's favourite songs. There was a PIANO!!! *head explosion* and that made my entire year... it had been ages since I last played any kind of instrument (I miss my dearest Cordelia... my uke), so I had a cathartic plunge into a world of infinite joy for a little while (yes, and joyness as well). After that we went back to the girls' crib and made some tea, talked for an eternity, and then I came to realise I was turning 26 in a matter of minutes, hence we decided to have a little toast! LITTLE. TOAST. NO SUCH THING.

So the Hippie, the Hipster, and the Barbie (as we like to call ourselves whenever the three of us hang out) ended up singing and dancing in the kitchen to a lot Latino dance songs while the rest smoked outside and had a little gathering of their own. They wrote a happy birthday note on my arm with a pink marker (pourquoi pas?). But eventually Jan came inside, took the Gin bottle from my languishing extremities and told everyone to save our energies for the next day. In spite of my ethylic reluctance I finally succumbed to the powers of her imperviously Dutch use of reason. I love her.

The next day...

I woke up, jumped on Jan's bed, got dressed and headed back home to get some stuff. I had a horrible essay to hand in on Monday, so I went to the library to work a little (boo). But then fortunately my lovely Colombian artistic sister appeared out of purely fantastic blue and swept me away for a birthday lunch-break. We went to a lovely little Italian sandwich shop, bought paninis and citric sodas and then headed for St. Mary's Quad. We talked about life, sitting on a bench facing one of the most magnificent trees in town, and it was just perfect.

                                   

After that Jan and Juju and I went to the shops, where we filled our carts with tortillas, veggies, cheese, pop, chips, and TEQUILA. We took a cab home, 'cos we were feeling fancy (nay, we had too much to carry in the end so we were f*cked) and got the stuff ready.

Dinner was MANIC. We decided to throw the party at the other Mundus' girl's apartments a.k.a. the "nicer" ones in Fife Park, just to take advantage of the kitchen/common room space (since most of my friends live in what is known as "the ghetto", but these two enjoy the privilege of residing on the other side of the fake lake, where the grass is greener and more expensive). So a bunch of us got together, and started chopping up stuff according to the laws of chaos. We fractalically made Chinese-production-oven-QUESADILLAS and the Belgian guy managed to make a fair enough guacamole for a side dish, so it was SET.

After having eaten my deliciously improvised (and horrible looking) chilaquiles the door rang and EVERYBODY CAME IN. Yep, at the same time... weirdly so. So we plugged and turned the music machine on, and did what I always force people to do: DANCE UNTIL DEATH.

I took one of the tequila bottles and started giving off "tapitas" (filling the cap with the liquid and pouring it down everybody's mouth, systematically, and in a somewhat authoritarian mode) so minute by minute the mood started to ease intro a fantastic groove of limb swaying and cumbia/salsa dancing.

Calle 13, Bomba Estéreo, La Sonora Dinamita, Juan Luis Guerra, Maelo Ruiz, Fonseca, Rosana, Celia Cruz, Garibaldi, Big Boy... and DUBSTEP?!!!

Hahahaha, one of the Spanish dudes is incredibly keen on listening to (what we imagine to be) dinosaurs with lasers beams attached to their "frickin'" heads, so we always manage to sneakily insert a random tune in the middle of the completely unrelated repertoire just to mess with people's minds. Of course, once the ambiance was dramatically switched to electronic madness we had to, of course, wrestle on the floor and take each other's shoes off and hit the ceiling and then run around the residences going out the window to chase one another shouting curses in Spanish.

Children... right?

Aaaand we got told off by the warden, yes we did, but in the end we played some Lady Gaga tunes in lower decibels and slowly became less and less active until the couch appeared to fancy some love making... and that's when Jan came in and took me to her room, saving the day as she always does.

That was a great night, indeed. And now I'm 26, which isn't an odd number at all, and that makes me happy :)

Reality Check

"We have all sufficient strength to support the pain of others."

-La Rouchefoucauld

(¡Ay, sí! la amiga ya sabe usar epígrafes pa echarle salsa al peritexto).

Nah, but seriously though, that quote has changed my entire view on life, and on the way we should all treat each other. But have we? HAVE WE? It certainly does not seem so at times, but then again, I'm slowly and increasingly learning to push my own limits a little further (since I've given up on being a sports-doer, might as well challenge myself in other aspects). And surprisingly enough, I'm finding out that I am capable of coping with more, and more stuff than before (by changing my attitude towards all that in which I'm investing my efforts). So there is potential flexibility to our psychological-endurance-muscle (in evolutionary terms, that makes all the sense in the world, since we need to adapt to ever-changing contexts). So I reckon if I can work on it, so can anybody else, right? I just need to find a way to start convincing other people to (at least try to) do the same (that's why I had come up with the idea of writing children's books in the first place).

But the thing is we're just too lazy, and that's the main problem. As I see it: we're capable of so many things, but we just choose the easiest way out of the trial, out of the danger zone, ALWAYS. We seek comfort as a life goal, and that's where we're messing it up.

I have had to make some fairly difficult decisions recently in terms of easing up certain frictions/tensions among our group of friends: and I've come close enough to lick the fact that it's really hard to manage escaping the bad in each other, since we're seeing each other DAILY, AND FOREVER. We almost hold hands when hitting the loo, which makes it harder for everyone (not in a literal sense, although that's a funny thing to imagine) to look each other in the face each morning, after having heard everything going about during nighttime inside every single bedroom in the household. The NOISE, or lack thereof, makes culture clash bludgeon your eardrums with an ice pick... *Pueblo Chico: Infierno Grande*

I woke up this morning thinking to myself: "these little details keep piercing the entire universe of my soul". Maybe that's how constellations are born; I had imagined this balloon-like fabric being torn off with a nail (Lucio Fontana-like, peeling off the canvas), and I suddenly realised how I miss being able to think in the way we were showed we could (as a life mode) in art school. That's why I'm writing this, actually, today; I took the book one of my best friends gave me as a farewell present just before starting this new life, opened it up randomly, read, and remembered how much I can relate myself to Susan Sontag; the way she felt about people, about sex, about books, about love, about interpretations, about frustration in life, about gender ambiguity... etc. It all made sense to me: we're never meant to fit in this fucked up little world, it's too artificial and immersed in its own artificiality. Sometimes it's hard to even talk about the most banal of things to a random stranger. I miss that. I miss staring at the ceiling with my best friends and listening to colorfully pungent music while hugging each other and falling asleep tangled up in ourselves; because there's not a thing in the world that can bother us while we're there, basking in our own unfolded, honest, vulnerable, and beautifully imperfect selfness. And it's not about satisfying our carnal impulses in a bit, and anybody can say whatever the hell they want because we understand each other perfectly... We conceive each other as complex beings, and have come to accept that. 

But then again it's because we belong to the same fucking class in the same social stratum, in the same fucking culture, also because we share the same intellectual upbringing, and that brings me down a little (ha).

How can anyone relate to anybody else? I hear about my friends' pains and it pains me as well, but I never feel I truly understand other people, especially when they're being strange... flirtatious, obnoxious, fake.

I suddenly wish everybody could be honest, for a day, not in an uncontrolled way or anything, but that people should be open about how they feel towards each other, sort of by fracturing the Ego (yes, we're studying Freud now), in order to let the Id express itself not necessarily in order to get what it wants, but sort of as a Joyce-like narrative insight into the other person's mind. That would be nice, but it would also take a lot of courage (the kind people aren't always willing to exert). I like telling others exactly what's on my mind, and they think it's because I'm high or too jumpy... that makes me sad, but the day is sad in itself.

We need crappy weekends sometimes, in order to better realise when the leaves turn a little greener, just before 5:30 in the afternoon, against an overcast sky; that's when you get the best light of the day. And the broken flower in the flower pot that's leaning against the window pane inside the kitchen, under that latent gaze of a warier sun, is my favourite of them all.

Life in the Petri Dish

I really should be reading...

The deadliest period of essay writing/handing-in is approaching (Wagner's Valkyries in the background) along with the mighty-roughest of the seasons... so we are bracing ourselves, for winter IS coming, and it's bringing a fat lady who tends to sing and throw shit at a large fan (for kicks, the byotch). 

And being good ol' Jane Snows ourselves, we still know NOTHING! (literally, we-gon'-dieeeee).

We're having a lot of fun, but at times I do miss home... and my bed... and my shower... and my parents... and my dog, but I also miss my other friends from the induction. Sometimes we doze off during class thinking how cool it would have been to have everybody taking the exact same pathway... but then again I'm also enjoying reading other blogs, from other fantastic people, filled with other flamboyant adventures that are happening in a not-so-distant parallel reality. That really gets me smiling.

We've met the second year Mundus students by now, and they're a treat! There's lots of Colombian girls (which is a pleasure indeed, for they're lovely and I can tease them in Spanish!) as well as girls from Eastern Europe, Western Europe, Europe and more Europe and Russia, which is Europe but also Asia, and that must be weird for their national psyches.

There's been a little bit of soap opera drama going on (I won't be specific about it, c'mon!), so it would seem that I take it everywhere I go. Sometimes I feel like I'm part of a reality show called "Filthy Flipping Fife Park" where I'm just a wallflower, again, the foreigner (as usual) since I don't officially live/belong there... but almost everyday I grab my tiny foldable bike and head over to either of my mates' humble abodes in order to attend/participate in the cooking of various collective meals (today, for instance, we had curry rice... and some decent steak with greens n' veggies in coconut sauce since two of my mates are grass eaters, and naan bread and cheese bits and hot chamomile tea with honey, and biscuits for dessert). We're easing each other's loads by sharing food, and doing our laundry together... and massaging each other's feet with emphatic dynamism (wtf, I'm sleepy and it's starting to show).

Finding out that you can actually use your own brain and hand power to fix your own bike is AMAZING! I've never felt so self-sufficient in my life! I have to thank my dear friend Jan, who is used to breaking stuff in order to make it work... better/again (depending). She could have been Mexican in another life, I'm telling you.

Guys, by the by, I have an announcement to make: I'm in a brand new relationship... WITH THE LIBRARY (I think we're getting pretty serious, since we're seeing each other 24/7). I haven't read this much since I studied History back in UNAM (hahaha), so I guess I should be potentially getting less dumb than before (unless I keep tripping + hitting my head with every rock in this darned medioeval city). I think we're doing fine in class: we tend to participate a lot and we're sort of working hard (nah, we ARE, fo' sure!). So I guess it's just a matter of writing the good stuff according to the sacred structure of this specific academic institution (GAWD that scares the living shite outta me!). British referencing/citation methods are fascist as! Anyways, first we'll be afraid, we'll be petrified, but in the end we'll survive ;)

Living in such a smallsie teensie-weensie townsie gets you meeting a lot of people all the time. Plus it feels funny to be able to talk to virtually anybody using the lamest of excuses in doing so: last time, I shit you not, I used this exact pickup line "So... is this water?" to what the other cute party-guy replied with a "Yes, and it's fizzy!" K-CHIIIIIIIIIING!!!! Conversation starter or what? Getting lazier by the minute never felt so grand.

As for our social engagement  performance: There have been a couple of parties to which we've gone... involving plastic palm trees, shaving cream, some partial nakedness in the rain, and the forcing our dearest Taiwanese friends to shake their booties to Katy Perry and Rihanna (we struggled heftily, but in the end we endured and CONQUERED!). 

On the academic part of the adventure: I had the most HORRIDLY PATHETIC class presentation the other day (being sleepy and wanting to pee at the same time don't usually work out for me when it comes to mustering the most extreme concentration powers) so I muttered shit words with no sense whatsoever to a class that stared at me with a "are you kidding me?" sort of look. Everybody probably thought I was retarded. But after having a big laugh about it later on I now find that I still have a lot to learn: karma's a bitch, but now I'm humbler... in a way (and I'm drinking coffee now).

But on the good side we're looking at awesome stuff like Che Guevara beyond the cliché, Joyce, Conrad + Coppola mashup creations and analyzing everything with fair enough texts that deal with psychoanalysis, post-modern philosophy and other truly interesting stuff. I'm happy about that, since I'm sort of being able to link the whole of my previous education to this Euro-centric postgraduate system nicely. Right on! So far so good... but let's wait til we get some results first, right?

:) to be continued...

Saunt Aundraes

The first thing you notice when reaching St. A is the Golf-Course-Of-Course, I believe it was the very place it was invented in... balls in holes, in lawns. Yeah, ok, but... THE SEA!!!! 

We caught a fair enough glimpse of the shoreline as we approached out precious destination. Man, our journey had us beaten like the waves do the sand! But our spirits were increasingly kindled as we neared our respective residences.

Fife Park was first. Juju and Jan got out along with their personal belongings, we said we'd mail each other later on (for we had no working cell phones yet). "Send me smoke signals when you're able, will you? Oh, and do get some rest!". Their place seemed nice from a distance. Trees and stuff.

Next stop: Albany Park, sir! Completely on the other side of town, away from my friends :s But as I said before, I was passionately engaged in a conversation with my driver, who ended up giving me a discount (ha-ha!) out of being moved by what I told him I wanted my projects to be like. So we had some light at the end of the tunnel, as they say.

I became a human-donkey for what I hoped would be the last time, and consequently directed my bulks towards the reception area. 'Got my keys, my student card, a bunch of leaflets explaining how things worked at the Uni and then a fellow student walked me to my room at the postgraduate section (right at the end). There were several blocks around with patches of grass in between. Each of those little houses contained two or three floors, and on each floor there were rooms for four people (with only a single bathroom! NOOO). I dropped my stuff, arranged a couple of things, and headed out to get a first impression of my brand new surroundings. There was a BBQ going on, to welcome us "freshers", so I got in line, snatched a plate and helped myself to some crappy student food for the first time since our fancy-nancy British dinners. I met a couple of people, but wasn't really in the mood for socializing, so I gulped down two plastic cups of cheap wine, and left early to go to bed.

-------------

St. Andrews is graaaaaaand, y'all! The place looks like a well drawn fairy-tale village dappled with tiny shops, and medioeval Gothic ruins here and there; everything is so neat, and tidy, and cutesy-wootsy. EVEN THE PEOPLE ARE ADORABLE! You just want to swallow it all, piece by piece. And then there's the Sea, the Sea!

There are only three main streets along which everything is situated: North, Market and South Street. That's it folks. But it gets trickier as you go unfolding St. Andrews' many little secrets, for there are enchanting whispers that emanate from within all the hidden corridors and pathways, meant only for those willing to listen.

St. Mary's and St. Salvator's Quads are just mesmerizing, the grass is so neatly cut it makes you want to cry... We did, of course, lie on it (sobbing with infinite joy) gracefully basking in the splendor of that awe-inspiring architectural aura belonging to our new house of study. I felt as if I had just arrived at Hogwarts (haha I know, I'm really that pathetic), for we're to take some classes at the department of "Arts and Divinity" (weirdly so, as if we were taking "Defense Against the Dark Arts" haha ok, I'll stop now).

There was a bit of sunshine, so we decided to go to the beach, passing through the Cathedral Grounds, where there's an ancient cemetery, just alongside St. Rule's Tower. We took some touristy pictures, posing like dorks and all, and then we got into a shop and had some coffee. After that we walked for a bit, tracing the place with foreign shoes, and then headed out to Fife Park, so that I could get to know the place where I was most likely going to spend many of my study hours (we had agreed to help each other out in any way possible).

... to be continued...

Hectic Train Riding

I was beginning to largely loathe my leaden luggage, up to a point where I was almost willing to throw everything away just then and there. But fortunately, when you travel with friends, the loads/burdens are somewhat equally carried, and therefore better solutions to not-so-trivial problems can be stipulated, and more importantly: reached. So we took a shared taxi (yah, mamma!) to the train station early in the morn' us three gals: Ju-ju, Jan, and m'selfiepants a.k.a. your humble narrator.

TRAINS-WERE-BOISTEROUSLY-OUT-OF-CONTROL 

... on precisely that day, and nobody appeared to be able to explain to us why that was... so instead of taking the train we were supposed to, we were told we would need to stand in line for the next one (and they call this the first world). 

The alleys were packed with old-timers, I mean, noticeably. It was like the national day of the British Grandparent or something, so we were having a hard time trying not to hit any grannies or gramps with our enormous bags (I mean, these people are fragile!). When the expected choo-choo machine finally arrived, shit hit the fan.

I mean, I'm not usually the sort to be rude whenever having to fight for a purpose, but these elders were vicious! MANIC, I TELL YOU! So, foreseeing that we were in for a fight-for-your-life sort of situation, I ceased to be polite enough to let every other (old) human pass in front, and deftly blocked their tumultuous way with one of my suitcases. DARWINISM WAS ON, the train was about to leave, and the wagons were beginning to overflow with self-seeking seniors, so I suffused my way into the already stuffed hallway, following Jan's example and prayed for it all to end fast.

We weren't even sure whether Ju-ju had managed to get in or not, in the midst of all the chaos, so we just stood there completely helpless and waited for the devilish machine to start moving... afterwards, we found out poor ol' Ju-ju had had to scream "LET ME IN!!!!!" so desperately one man ended up jumping out and handing over his own spot for her to barely fit in, seconds before the thing took off. And they call this the first world, I repeat, I felt exactly like back home.

Anyways, the train ride was a little extreme, but nice overall. We saw some colorfully pungent landscapes flowing through the windows as we rushed forward, and some time later on we finally managed to find empty seats to rest in (once enough people had evacuated the land-vessel).

After long hours we reached Edinburgh, got down and took a bus for Leuchars. Once there the second part of the adventure began! IT WASN'T OVER. Oh no, m'am, for we were in (extremely bad) luck; on that particular day, almost every single human on the British Isles had taken a train to that particular train station in order to attend no other than the last of the "RAF Leuchars Air Show"s (they were moving the airbase elsewhere, so this was their last opportunity to witness the Royal Air Force Aerobatic Team doing their thang, meaning: EVERYBODY WAS THERE). So it took us painful ages out there in the cold to 1) get out of the station and 2) haul a taxi that could take us to St. Andrews... but we finally did. The cab driver was super nice, and we ended up discussing the present political climate in Mexico (say what?!).

Go gives a f... we were THERE! 

The Inverted Tree.

Every single one of the proposals these guys presented took my essential-fiber-vibrations to a greater level of sensitive resonance (even those who did not speak much about themselves showed deep understanding of what the others were trying to get at). It was extremely comfortable to talk to friendly looking strangers about topics they were already familiar with (no a priori explanations needed, yay!). It really blew my mind that albeit we were all so very different in terms of cultural background, we had each found and learned to love more or less the same authors, books, films, graphic novels, animations, and art pieces throughout the course of our lives. We had therefore achieved an extremely malleable synchronous plateau for thought exchange; our kites had so many different shapes, and patterns, and colors but were bound for the same skies (or Ithaca, to put it in a more poetical sense).

I was particularly touched when one of the girls said she was tired of having to work in order to acquire a more or less reasonable education, considering how humanely impossible it is to fully focus on a subject when you're craving nutrients and your wallet isn't as flexible as your stomach. 

She proposed to start a cultural revolution, and we all agreed to join in with all our hearts.

HALT!

I'm-a drop the cheese whiz down a notch (mind the hyperbolic gap y'all, as my friends back home would tell me whenever I got overexcited) so I'll stop picturing the scene as if it were a pseudo pre-raphaelite mural. No more nakedly pinkish flying babies, if you please. My point is clear, however, when I say I've never learned so much in so little time (queuing for the lunch buffet/toilet was never so illuminating).

I wouldn't have previously thought that young people in the Balkans would have so much in common with us jóvenes latinoamericanos in terms of how they relate to issues of violence, corruption in the government, frustrated aspirations, gang urban sub systems, drug use, street poetics, mood to party, folklore, etc. I guess all cultures of resistance share similar structural conditions (and I intend to read more on that subject for my masters).   

We had various gatherings around the halls of Sheffield's prestigious University, and dined at magnificent almost candle-lit halls with classical portraits of famous British scholars hanging over our heads while discussing Borges, García Márquez, Ishiguro, and Lady Gaga over local wine, roasted veggies, and lasagna. 

For the next couple of days we attended more reunions with our soon-to-be professors, and ex-alumni, and even took a little hiking trip nearby the Peak District National Park, which was lovely, and full of greens, reds, browns and... goats!

In the end I was rather sad to find out most of us were to differ greatly in terms of our chosen pathways (all are to experience studying in 3 different universities according to their academic/location preferences). I will not see most of them until the end of the masters in two years time, but my heart finds solace in the fact that we'll meet again in Poznan for our graduation.

We embraced each other fondly for a final goodbye, for some were about to take flight... literally, to get to their respective universities in either Mexico, Argentina, Italy, Portugal, Spain, Poland, France, Canada or right there in the UK. I was bound for St. Andrews, the oldest university in the whole of Scotland... where the official national animal is no other than the UNICORN (kickass or what?).

I went to my room, bought a train ticket to Edinburgh on the internet with the help of my dearest friend Ju-ju and went to sleep shortly after, stuffing the pillow with infinite feathers of translucent nostalgia.  

Mis Cuentitos

I'm not necessarily the best one when it comes to speaking in public (people tend to regard me as some sort of perpetual comedian, so it becomes harder each time to get to the serious stuff) but with these guys the words flowed like honey (or maple syrup, depending on your taste) soaking the most spongy and delicious strawberry pancake you've ever tasted on a Saturday morning. It's great when people actually want to listen to what you have to say, you feel as if there's nothing to worry about. And the things you speak are never pretentious, but pure.

So, for those of you who don't really know what it is that I intend on doing for a living (besides painting walls and eating quesadillas) this is a very strange yet somewhat accurate description of my project (the one which got me into the program in the first place):

"Hello everyone, my name is Xalli. I come from Mexico, but I've lived in a bunch of places (my dad has one of those weird scientific jobs) so I'm keen on traveling and meeting people from all sorts and soul-types.

I studied visual arts at the National University in Mexico City, and I'm a children's books writer and illustrator. I want to make truly good books, where my characters are able to portray different situations/contexts that are known to us all as individuals, as human beings, so that my readers can be able to learn from these by truly reflecting upon them using their own means of thought. I believe that there is a common ground to each and every single one of us if we dig deep enough (I mean, we share the same biological structure). But the problem is that we do not allow ourselves to learn and grow from experiencing the hardships that are a natural and inevitable part of life (the Buddhist "suffering"). We're taught to play as long as we avoid getting hurt. Furthermore we are ignorant of our own selves, getting easily lost in the empirical paraphernalia that we keep gathering as a form of gravitational exoskeleton (serving as a psychological defense mechanism against all unwanted or unrecognizable foreign signals) which in turn becomes what we consider to be the only possible and absolute "reality". When in fact everything is in constant change, and we are able to wield the whole of it to a certain extent for the good of not only us, but others as well; we are living in a lucid dream that just happens to be true, our own epic narrative (in a Kantian manner). We only need to realize this, and then realize it again/even more the next day and so forth: and that is the key, for if we are able to become voluntarily and momentarily separated from everything that brings comfort to our daily doings/feelings (routine) then only can we come back, physically and mentally as new and fuller beings. That is the same concept that lies behind Hegel's dialectical thinking, as well as Homer's "The Odyssey": the separation of the self from itself (becoming a negative-barred form of its previous composure) in order to produce enough distanced spatial perspective, so that we can obtain self awareness (as something foreign, as "the OTHER" looking at our own reflections in the mirror) and then we need to come back in consummated consciousness, as better as can be. Thesis-Antithesis-Synthesis.

If we cannot accept ourselves for what we are: imperfect, but complex and complete in a weirdly beautiful way, there's no chance to us swallowing other people's unwanted businesses. Especially if they reflect all that we're lacking/doing wrong.

I've worked with children in South Africa, Zambia, Thailand, Cambodia, Canada, and in several parts of Mexico (but I've yet to learn so much more). I've worked with children who don't have an opportunity to study at private institutions and who think they are stuck in life. I've also worked with kids who own every materialistic gadget they could think of, but remain miserable because they don't realize all they want is their parents to sit around and play with them. I've worked with children who own only clay dolls (made by them) and who are truly happy, and who wish it could rain chocolate, and that someday their dad's would come home again. These children grow up to be gardeners, workers, housewives, philosophers, and those of them who decide to go into politics end up having to make important decisions that involve a lot of people (economically, culturally and even in terms of war between nations).

My point is we all share a common ground, and it is my everyday wish to keep getting back to it, by improving the way we educate people in general. Every person, be them grown men/women, old people or pimpled teenagers should allow him/herself to do so, every single day, for we are all worth everything since we are all part of the same universe, within and without."

(Mr.) Sheffield's Induction

PART I "Meet the Gang".

Now this is by FAR my favorite part of the story.

I drowsed off a little between periods of window sightseeing, eyeballing my itinerary from time to time. And then, when the moment came, I got down and changed buses.

It suddenly dawned on me how former British colonies (that are now proper nations of their own) have this subtle yet undeniable aesthetic aura that exposes the source of their upbringing (and consequently conforms their self-imposed raison d'etre, or as they prefer to call it: "The Commonwealth"). It's like a stamp of the Queen on your forehead, as I see it. I had had the opportunity to visit South Africa, Canada, the USA, and New Zealand in my short yet curiously amusing lifetime (which enabled me to establish parallels among them), but nevertheless this was my very first time experiencing the whole of *THE MOTHERSHIP* 

Now everything made sense.

I got down at the main station and sluggishly waded through the crowds towards yet another bus that would, according to the webpage as well as the gods of mercy, take me to the Endcliffe Student Village (where my accommodation for the Induction was booked). It was a tortuous hike, since the bus-driver dropped me off four entire blocks ahead of my truer destination, and time was ticking like crazy but I walked it off (literally, having no other choice) until I was finally where I was meant to be.

Once again soaked in my own perspiration/eau de xaillette, I got to my room and put on a dry chemise, a scarf, snatched my bag and rushed out of the building as fast as the wind!

After some minutes of anxious wandering about and around the entire university campus in search for the right building, I finally turned the map upside down (yes, I did) and realized my precious haven was staring at me from behind. I turned 180 degrees and entered a little courtyard which led me inside a room within another room where a certain conference had already begun. Bog, was I late again, confirming my inevitable "mexicanity". Ironic or cynical... maybe both.

I apologetically rushed forwards between lines of occupied chairs, and found an empty spot right at the front, where apparently only the speakers were supposed to be seated (oh, the exponentially escalating embarrassment!). But I took the space, anyways, since it was either that or standing in the middle of the room, looking like a bimbo Bambi, mother-and-brainless. 

The show went on, and each and every representative of the universities that put together the consortium went on about what they had to offer to us Mundus newbies. I was finally getting at the real stuff! 

There seemed to be a lot of girls around but no boys... oh wait! Just spotted one at the back. By the looks of him he seemed to be enjoying the gender ratio ('wouldn't blame him, it was like a nerdy Amazonian paradise). 

So what is it that we're supposed to be studying? NOW THAT'S THE REAL QUESTION.

It appeared as if we were hanging out at a local playground, sort of making up our own games as we went along: mashing up tag with underwater hide and seek, but using a ball that happened to be on fire (Greek fire, why not?), but only those who wore their glasses upside-down were allowed to play, without wearing any socks. That's the way I was picturing the whole thing.

And the reality isn't that different: Our masters program is called "Crossways in Cultural Narratives", and on the official webpage one can find the following description:

Since 2005 Crossways in Cultural Narratives has been one of the few EU approved and funded ERASMUS MUNDUS Masters programmes to specialise in traditional humanities with a modern languages background, taking European Identities and European cultures as its theme.

The Crossways in Cultural Narratives Masters Programme is one of 30 (out of 177) projects selected by the European Union for funding from 2012 onwards.

(Source from http://www.munduscrossways.eu/ if anyone's interested).

So it's a cross between sociology, art history, philosophy, and comparative literature, as I understand it; where the main focus is to generate knowledge on what cultural identity means, from different perspectives and/but according to European standards (which interests me A LOT, since it's the basis for many of the undigested syndromes us former colonies in the new world are suffering from: displaced ancestry lacking an endemic/"autochthonously" clarified ground-leading to various forms of self-loathing). We need to know and furthermore understand where it is that we come from (by practicing an evolving conscious exercise of awareness of our own selves) in order to help ourselves grow as individuals, as a first step in the process inherent to the able-bodied workings of a healthy community-apparatus. Heel, Iago, HEAL!

Any way, excuse my wording: it's just that I get really excited when talking about these things, and sometimes I don't seem to find the proper words to express what I truly mean to say (maybe we need to invent more ourselves, to broaden our linguistic horizon!). Just like Octavio Paz wisely demanded in his famous poem Las Palabras: "CHILLEN, PUTAS", (referring to the words themselves) right? they're never enough.

.....................

I just have only one thing to express using this language: I had never in my lifetime met such a group of preposterously/amazingly/brilliantly-out-of-this-world individuals gathered ALL together, out of pure entropy, in the same blipping space. KARMIC MAGIC. I couldn't bring myself to breathe enough oxygen out of inhaling so much inspiration from around. *she sighs, exhausted from all the hyperbolic descriptions her tiny brain was able to conjure in order to describe such a glorious little moment*
Don't get me wrong; I love my friends, and I've met a lot of truly valuable people in my lifetime, but not all at the same time and to the same degree. I mean, this was a baroque Christmas birthday party piñata in The Day of The Dead (look it up, it's Mexican and it's great fun).

People who thought exactly like me existed!! They were real!!!! Believe me, I poked them just to make sure (and they came from every corner of the world, strangely).

We had an official introductory session, where each had the opportunity to share with the others* what tickled their own interests/intellects, and what they consequently wanted their projects to more or less be like. I had found the Holy Grail, El Dorado se queda pendejo. It was as if I was hearing fairies and mermaids singing in the depths of my own most sacred inner cravings. I could not believe my ears nor my eyes.

And when the time came, I stood in front of everybody and muttered as genuinely and humbly as I could what my personal project looked like in the abstract form...

... to be continued...

From New to the Old York

Morning came, and we rose covered in petaled sheets (Bog, do I hate the comfort that's intrinsic to the bourgeois way of life, it is so addictive! But then again it's mainly the source of warlike conflicts and heavy stuff of the sort in the long run, if you think about it).
We had some coffee over at a place called "Salieri", which made think of Mozart, which in turn got me thinking of famous rivalries between individuals such as Nietzsche and Wagner... which completely ruined my lunch panini.

After checking out some people, I mean, checking out from the hotel we took one of those red double-decker buses towards King's Cross, where we bought an outrageously expensive train ticket to York.

The ride was fine, we got to talking about life and our family and how students have to learn to cope with almost anything in order to carry on doing "our thang" (e.g. falling-leaky roofs, suspiciously filthy carpets, everyday ramen, cranky teachers with awesome mustaches... bla, bla). Adapt or succumb/perish, right?

York is beautiful. I won't go much into detail (because I tend to do so and I must learn to pace myself) but I'll tell you one thing: if you ever wish to encounter some of the nicest peopleS in all GB, go there IMMEDIATELY.

We had some interesting pub nights, savoring different types of ciders while listening to old people playing the ukulele (singing along, whenever possible). Loving them British tertulias fandangueras, alright.

On our last night we went to the National Railway Museum for my uncle's line of work's yearly gathering-dinner-party. Rumor had it we would see the train they used for the Harry Potter movies, but that was a big fat lie! Anyways, there was free wine and food, so my stomach was able to find a space for forgiveness (right next to the one destined for the dessert). We met a bunch of people from all over the world, and conversed, and conversed a little more after that. We ended up discussing how language and thought are simultaneously the production and result of one's own reality (in perpetual autopoietic reciprocity). These guys work in telecommunication, so it was really interesting for me to see how it is that the people behind our cellphone-internet-networks think, according to their own personal belief system that they end up projecting to the masses (and therefore establishing barriers and pseudo hydrogen bonds between our inputs and outputs in communication). 

The next day I woke up as early as possible, said goodbye to my dear consanguineous friend at the station and rode the bus that would take me to Sheffield, for I needed to attend the Erasmus Mundus: "Crossways in Cultural Narratives" masters program Induction (now that was looooong, y'all). 

Hail to the Ankle!

Al día siguiente volé a Londres. Iv, mi anfitrión iba a pasar el día como el fotógrafo oficial para una boda gay (de las pseudo inaugurales) como parte de su trabajo, así que nos despedimos temprano. Pero antes intercambiamos obsequios interesantes: él medio una copia de su libro predilecto: "Into the Wild" por Jon Krakauer, y yo le regalé un grillito de palma que le compré a un viejito que los hace en Coyoacán, junto con un cartón de leche de almendras (que me encanta) en agradecimiento a su infinita hospitalidad y porque es vegetariano, puesto que conseguirle leche normal hubiera sido medio mal atinado (ja, de mal gusto o "mala leche") ¿no les parece?

Switching to English now (need to practice for my essays).

Airport. Check-in. Granola. Sleep on the floor. Plane. Take off. Chat with lovely Kuwaiti girl. Plain(e) food. Heathrow. Bags. Door. Out.

My uncle was in town (was I in luck or what?) so he waited for me at the airport (his plane had arrived an hour earlier) and then we took a fancy black cab to his fancy London hotel (the Waldorf, homies, if you please). We showered and then headed to do some touristy prancing about with a full stomach and hearty spirit.

THE TATE MODERN, guys. I ran into a dear friend who was living in Edinburgh, but we failed to recognize each other properly (I wrote to him afterwards, apologizing for my evident ineptitude). Anyways, we saw all we ever needed to see: Melanie Smith was there (in work); she represented the Mexican pavilion during the last Biennale di Venezia. They were showing a video-art piece called "Xilitla" which she happened to explain to us in person during one of my seminars when she paid my school a visit back home in Mexico. There were also some amazing paintings by no other than Gerhard Richter, Lucio Fontana, and Hedda Sterne (who's a fantastic yet unfairly unrecognized painter; the only woman to be considered part of "The Irascibles" expressionist group, you know, where guys like Pollock, De Kooning, and Rothko carried out their most notorious work).

  This is one of her paintings. I love the way she composes these things!

I can talk for AGES about stuff like this, but I won't. I'll only say that I'd never heard about Saloua Raouda Chocair, nor Ibrahim El-Salahi and that they're great. You should check them out! 

My uncle had some really interesting thoughts to share with me, as I was explaining some of the stuff we learned in art school (it's strange, I don't usually enjoy discussing art with people who are not necessarily familiar with the depth of the language, it makes me feel like a pretentious little snob). Not many are willing to actually listen, but he was. And so we had a geeky blast!

It was one of the best days I've ever had... we went to the National Gallery, listened to the artsy gossip about Thomas Gainsborough, and at night cashed in our tickets to see "Spamalot" (a show based on one of my all time favorite movies "Monty Python and the Holy Grail"). So we dutifully enjoyed cracking up at the "Knights Who Say Ni", while slurping ale between giggles and laughs.

After that we dressed up real' nice and consequently crashed this incredible underground gay club (which used to be a train station or something) in downtown London. We were hoping to find the best electronic music club in town, for we fancied some serious-out-of-control limb swaying to wrap up the evening. Funny how when you're least in the mood, you get all the attention in the world. Damn you, Murphy! But it felt good to realize that we've still got it hehehe. Attract we did, people from all sorts and sounds, be they mineral, animal or vegetable. You name it! It was a fairly good sport: dodging drunken horny nut cases while dancing to various beats-n'-tunes (the mood changed depending on the room you were in). Afterwards we had some fushn'chups, and then went back to ze hotel for some well deserved rest.

James and Ju

I grew up exuberant in body but with a nervy, craving mind. It was wanting something more, something tangible. It sought for reality intensely, always as if it were not there... But you see at once what I do. I climb.
-John Menlove Edwards "Letter From a Man".

I packed some basic stuff and walked over to the nearest subway station, hopped on the M train which took me all the way to the main island, changed lines, and popped out some blocks before Central Park.
I trudged merrily, as tourists often do, taking mental pictures of funny street scenes while making imaginary parallels with other well known Norman Rockwell paintings I really enjoy seeing.

I got to the Guggenheim by foot, and was once again blown away by Frank Lloyd Wright's ingeniously ever evolving facade. I thought of the Nautilus as I scratched my eardrum hole, and entered the void.

JAMES TURRELL. BAM!
There's nothing left to say. 
PERIOD. END CREDITS. THANK YOU FOR READING.

(But I'll add some other words, just for the sake of it). It's always better to encounter art in the flesh, I think, for it feels nice to actually witness the stuff you've been studying/reading about for so long. It becomes an inherent truth attached to the feel and meaning of that particular moment in your day's perception-repertoire.

I won't ruin it for you, either way it's something gets under your skin in a way that's impossible to portray in written form. Therefore I urge you to go see this guy's work if he's ever in town (actually I think there's one of his pieces in the MUAC, in Mexico City). You won't regret it.

After almost swooning and mopping the floor with my tongue (out of pure fascination) I decided to pay MoMA a rapid visit. Which was nice, and for free! I have to say I felt rather proud of seeing a couple of paintings by the famous Mexican muralists Orozco and Siqueiros, which were exhibited in one of the main rooms (I 'm not the patriotic sort, necessarily, but it's nice to see your fellow countrymen's work being displayed in prestigious institutions... but then again, SCREW the institutions! Sorry, I'm a bit in a bipolar mood today).

At night I met Iv for a discrete beer in the park, and then phoned my friend Ju, whom I met in Zambia while backpacking and volunteering with my friend Re. We crashed her lovely apartment and shared yet another fantastic conversation regarding a myriad of topics from which they both knew quite a lot. We exchanged views on books and other references on immigration and fracking as we gulped down another beer on her lovely terrace. After a couple of hours of intense mind syncing we decided to head back "home". Boy, do I love passionate people who actually CARE about things other than earning enough dough in order to afford the latest Iphone. It makes me feel as if there's still hope in being alive. 

*Faith in humanity restored, Will Robinson*

Into the Wild, Within the Urban

My second impression of New York wasn't as pompous as the first, but I'd rather experience things as near to the ground as my mind allows me. So everything was sort of new this time, but seen through a different veil and through somewhat older eyes.

Have you ever wandered through foreign streets on your own? Seldom have I tasted anything that can be compared to that: you see complete strangers on their way to work, jumping on buses, eating bananas, walking their daughters to school, doing what is most natural to them (but not to you). You become this involuntary voyeur to an endless play; infinite wonder showers your psyche while you wiggle along invented brush strokes that become your official pathway; you flow though organically urban veins that conform this other place, feeling as if someone just popped you into existence and randomly placed you on that very spot. Everything is there only for you to visually digest. It is your sole objective, for there's nothing more and there never will.

WITHIN AND WITHOUT.

If this adventure proves fatal and you don't ever hear from me again I want you to know you're a great man.

I now walk into the wild.

-Chris McCandless

I must confess that I was a little (naturally) hesitant when it came to crashing a complete stranger's house for the night. But since I've been preaching bravery as my motto when facing-the-unknown/other-and-making-it-your-brother (ha) I had to (wo)man up. Thank you, Kapuscinski, thank you Doris Lessing.

When studying Hegel's Phenomenology of Spirit in school I came across the following thought:

*ANY production of identity has to go through the recognition/reconnaissance of the Other.*

This is it, guys! This is the key to facing your fears and becoming more fluid in terms of purging yourself from empirical stigmata. Hello toilet and goodbye constipation of the soul!

So I dragged what remained of my hopes and dreams, mustered enough strength to carry my load across the street (metaphorically AND literally, Gosh those friggin' bags were heavy) and finally rung the bell.

After a few minutes Iv opened the door wearing his pj's, which made me realize how late it was. We shook hands for the first time, slowly and steadily, and entered his Ridgewood flat. I was doused in a combination of my own corporal fluids, and exhausted from the trip (feeling like a living contemporary art piece), but I was finally somewhere safe.

Water. Toilet. Yammies. Toothpaste. Couch. Sleep.

The next day I woke up only to have one of the most fascinating conversations in my life over wheaty cereal and soy milk. My host was originally from the Balkans (I shan't reveal too much of my people, you know, 'cos life is tricky sometimes) and he had just gone to Alaska for a long and very revealing hiking trip.

We talked about the life of Chris McCandless (the guy from "Into the Wild") and how Alaskans would spit at his apparent suicidal recklessness. We shared our thought on how much we hate being stuck in routine, and how awful it is to (unwillingly and sometimes unknowingly) contribute to all the shit that's going on in the world whenever buying stuff from the supermarket. We talked about consumerism and how it brings us down to hear people we care about utter horribly ignorant remarks which regurgitate only what they hear on the news. There was a poster on the wall of Andreas Gursky's "99 Cent II" Diptychon that he bought from MoMA (which elevated the tone of our discussion to a perfect pitch, visually and audibly, since it is one of the most expensive photographs ever sold up to now, and what it shows just blows my mind to bits).

I told him I lived in Fairbanks when I was little. He said it's a desolated town with nothing to offer, but I'm nevertheless keen on going back to my old school and playground one day. It's one of the many things I've yet to do before I'm too wrinkly to function (fingers crossed). I don't mind the quiet, quite to the contrary! For only when the land is seemingly untouched is one able to project his/her own visions of life on the screen of the Real and therefore experience the Sublime (Kant's Sublime, as I imagine it). That, and to enjoy a good book/graphic novel over sweltering mugs of Ovaltine. Yummsters!

And Why Not?

Londres.

Pasar de los Estados al Reino de la dichosa Unión fue interesante. Me suelo clavar en los contrastes entre el nuevo y el viejo mundo y en gran parte es por eso que voy a estudiar esto que voy a estudiar (luego les explico).

El reencuentro con mi tío fue fantástico y extremadamente agitado, de hecho itinerando con inclinación acentuada hacia el horror vacui. No dormí en aproximadamente una semana. Tenía miedo de que me negaran el ingreso en la aduana (por complejos nacionales con los que tengo que trabajar psicológicamente), pero no fue así. La oficial me preguntó algunas cosas con respecto a mi peculiar acento (puesto que en composición disonante en torno a mi aspecto y pasaporte suele confundir al enemigo), estampó mi libretita y me deseó muy buena suerte en mis estudios próximos. Leve la nieve. No me molesta no tener pasaporte europeo, lo que me molesta es que por sólo tener el mexicano a uno le sea más complicado el trasladarse por fronteras inventadas.

Lo bonito del asunto, narrativamente hablando, es que mi tío (a mi edad, hace ya unos años) estudió la maestría igual acá en el Reino Unido, lo cual provocó una serie de paralelismos entre el tiempo y el espacio de ambos que desenvolvimos a manera de conversaciones arborescentes conforme a una infinidad de temas y contextos (a final de cuentas desde y hacia nosotros mismos), reflejándonos uno sobre el otro como en un espejo de agua movediza. Fue como vivir una regresión ajena pero apropiada.

Nos divertimos como enanos y decir que me consintió bastante es poco, pero no puedo quejarme en lo absoluto, puesto que no se me hubiera ocurrido una mejor introducción a este apartado que se sugiere como un sutil preludio sobre lo que sucederá en este par de años.

And Why See?

NYC.

Y así fue como partí de casa, después de deshacerme en mil abrazos y frases incompletas (pero ciertamente reconfortantes) ante y para todos ustedes, mis queridos.

El regreso a la ciudad de los caminos anchos me sentó bien, ya necesitaba respirar aires de aceptación precoz ante lo maleable e indefinido, ya que mi misión existencial del momento (como muchos sabrán) es la búsqueda de la perpetua reinvención de uno mismo. Grado cero hoy, para el grado cero de mañana.

Llegué de noche y arrastrando los ánimos por toda la banqueta como resultado del experimentar el tan violento proceso de ingresar a los Estados Unidos (involucrando un chequeo casi molecular, ya saben). Pero, a pesar de no tener rumbo fijo y dirección clara, no me sorprendió encontrarme sumamente tranquila ¿No les pasa? que se siente en el entramado narrativo ("la matrix") que todo está bien. Y así fue. Y así es.

Unos centavos gringos a través de una rendija medio oxidada me permitieron comunicarme con Ivaylo, mi guardián para la noche. Anoté unos datos, colgué el teléfono y me cargué de maletas cual burro. Después de tomar tres autobuses manejados por sujetos casi clonados llegué a su portal y toqué el timbre rojo. Minutos después abrió la puerta.

-------------------

    

Universo condensado
Pequeña esfera de plomo
Cadena de un metro de largo
Que cuelga de un suspiro
Oscila marcando el tiempo
         Distancia por tiempos

Brazada de palabras erizadas a mi alrededor
Púas, espinas, campo de electricidad que excita,
Que incita.

Misterioso impulso que coquetea con la gravedad
Rodeándome hasta el infinito
Jala de una vez, engulle el peso en tus entrañas y ARDE
Arráncame todo hasta que me quede hueca

Libérame de la perpetuidad
Quien sea
Quien seas.

-Hutzil

SINAPSIS Y GALAXIA


Sus pies se detuvieron en seco cuando a su cabeza vino la esencia real del tiempo transcurrido. Le había parecido tan poco y resultaba ser en verdad un muchero. Se sentó a la sombra de un gran árbol, dobló sus piernas y llevó su frente a sus rodillas, la suave brisa de la reflexión la enburbujó. La conciencia del tiempo le había abierto una senda muy ancha de introspección y le había vaciado en la cabeza un canasto lleno de preguntas que había ella ocultado de su lógica por tantas y tantas hojas del calendario… ¿Le extrañaba aún o era ya una costumbre el sentir un agujero en el pecho? ¿Sus huellas y las de él  seguían empatando una sobre la otra por el mismo camino de arena? O acaso ¿se habían separado sin que diera cuenta de ello?  Levantó su rostro sin abrir los ojos y respiro un aire tan infinitamente púrpura que sus pulmones al exhalar se convirtieron en mariposas… mariposas que salieron en señal de libertad poco a poco por su boca. No tenía más miedo. Miró fijamente el horizonte y encendió un cigarrillo de gamuza. – ¡Qué raro!, podría jurar haber comprado melancolía pero estos sin duda eran cigarrillos sabor nostalgia, EN FIN.- el humo ascendía a su cerebro en remolinos de sinapsis simples y perfectas. Las respuestas a sus preguntas abundaban de tal manera que no tuvieron más lugar dentro de su cráneo y emigraron por el cuero cabelludo, recorrieron sus rizos pintándolos color galaxia mientras conectaban con las raíces de aquel sabio árbol que la resguardaba…
Poco a poco se llenó la corteza de brillo y luces neón, las ramas se tiñeron de arcoíris y las hojas se cristalizaban a la par de las lágrimas que recorrían sus mejillas hasta estacionarse en las comisuras de la más libre, franca y sensata sonrisa.

-Ara ararauna

Nothing but the clothes on your back and the story in your hands.
Drive darling, drive.

Nothing but the photo in your pocket and the pouring look in your eyes.
Run darling, run.

Nothing but that sparkly watch around your wrist and them memories behind.
Let go darling, let go.

Nothing but that tide in front of you, and that morning dawning in your heart. Nothing.
Jump in darling, go on. 

- The Grass Parakeet

Gentle, now

My touch sought the softness of grass,

as I dragged my knees along assorted shards of papered glass

Like a madman braiding the remainder of some bristled hairs spilled on the floor. His own.              
A beautiful young girl clad in a golden party dress 

sprinkles cocaine motes over her mother's tooth brush. Humming some other country's national anthem, inside the company elevator.

Only then are birds born from asphyxia, and not for the last time.

With her tongue she traces her misgivings. In a vertical manner.                              Darkening the red on the suspended wall that once was made of brick, and still is, as does stained cloth with acidic sweat. Keeps only smeared socks and trousers in the bottom drawer.

Underneath the pungent garments lies a displaced letter drenched up in peroxide and expensive Gerwürztraminer wine; droplets of repressed tears that will never cease to be dry.

As the sun recedes to its usual melancholic restlessness, yet another day is flushed.

Hey! It's now in Côte-des-Neiges

No, no. Now it's in the corner of my tea spoon-soap opera. It's nearly six o clock.

Half a street to the East, where the roads are paved with weathered river stones my pride swerves freely.
There's ash in the morning breeze.

Towards the left, towards a better sight. You raise one arm as we stare at each other.             To challenge the rhetoric moon case; a rotting apple.

Under the covers she folds her innocence in half and then belches sweetly, for we both lie people-less, maimed for the occasion.

Her laugh is a mimicked howl that licks her own nose from within, for she lacks two of her most precious front teeth. 

Similarly, elongated shadows are found dubiously sheltered under a heap of semi-rusted abandoned street signs.

They play me at cards while my self-consciousness sways to and fro like a repented black flag;

an entire milliliter of uneasiness captures the gist, and finally my laces tear. 

Never knowing how to address the object, subjectively, painstakingly, we both withdraw from the fight.

Outside my tent, alone now, swallowed by the forest I need to summon my own sense of protection. So I pee in a circle. And I hug a sane tree. And I bribe a sane copper.
And I fuck a sane stranger,
feeling altogether not quite sane, myself.

The trees flame up,    

                 up in alcoholic fluorescent flames of blue, and green, and yellow, and some more green after that.

God, I swear I'm not the tart my yearbook states I once was;

a ragged doll, torn by the extremities.

Buried in the backyard by the house dog.

Minuscule wild flowers begin to sprout from my swollen chest, 

For someone left the window open

And then he's there,

standing in the doorway, against that lenient threshold

He beats at the floor with tiresome glances

spilling avocado juice here and there; the drooling thickness

over the fancy carpeting and imported tiles;

those precious little fractals, flower-themed along playful vines.

Pink and squatted, like your melodrama, oh so cunningly soft around the edges.

How else would anyone attempt to even conceive the notion of a clearer weather, that is, with a lighter sense of being?

-Pretroica Multicolor

.

Soñé que nos abrazábamos por mucho tiempo (como antes en clase) y ya, todo estaba perdonado.

¿Será que sí?

Ya no importa, linda. Sonríele al pastito nuevo. Yo ya me acostumbré al clima en martes.

-Pretroica Multicolor

A mí, que nada se me olvida

Se me olvidó que te olvidé
Se me olvidó que te dejé
Lejos, muy lejos de mi vida
Se me olvidó que ya no estás
Que ya ni me recordarás
Y me volvió a sangrar la herida
Y aún te me cuelas entre los rincones
Provocando suspiros que amarro con bocanadas de razón 
Mientras que con incredulidad observo que no te quiero menos que ayer...

Si acaso lo contrario...

-Eudocimus ruber

Let me take that order. Allow me to ask you for more. It's not the last word I am seeking, but a lured-out exhibit of hope.

I should not ask you for the terms; you might suggest something 'well-done'. When really, this piece of mince I call 'heart' can only be served raw.

No clear cuts in sight, just a sack of close shavings.

There's the one from 2005, when I was but a schoolgirl pining in angst; it was worth ten skipped heartbeats when you decidedly kissed me on that young, lip-sealed corner, with a well worn knowing look.

There's a pound of many nights with their late collect calls from faraway lands, where I dived into the depths of my bedding and floated, as if suspended solely on the thread of your voice.

The letters from the far east, where you describe the wedding you had envisioned for us amidst mountaintops, coat the bloody mess of pulp that was left once, twice, and many more by the thuds of resounding NO's.

The spill trickled down my arms, back, belly, thighs and you drowned in it with me. Wisps of love escaping your short-stopped breath mixed with the bright, rooftop city lights above my heaving chest - fairies dancing in my barely open eyes-

-The Grass Parakeet

Estar sin ti me duele, pero estar contigo me lastimaba. 
¿Cuál es la diferencia?

Sé muy bien lo que fuimos, pero no dejo de pensar en lo que seríamos a pesar de lo que éramos.

Y aún conjugando no logro entender este vacío.

Eres un lunar precioso del lado derecho de una nariz perfecta.

Eres diversión, tranquilidad, cultura, reto, felicidad, todo en uno, todo en nada…

Nada porque no eres mío, porque me prometiste que siempre lucharías por mí,

Porque me la creí.

Hay veces que se tiene que volver a aprender a gatear,

aún cuando sabemos caminar y correr,

pero el intento de volar nos hirió por siempre.

Siempre eras tú. En Jamás te has convertido.

-Ardea alba

I have an ukulele teacher, she’s called YouTube tutorials.

I just learned how to play a new song on the ukulele, my second song so far. I bought the small instrument a couple of months ago. I didn’t have to leave home to learn the song. I didn’t have to pay for lessons. I didn’t even have to get out of my pj’s!
How did I manage to do all of this? Thanks to the magical world of YouTube tutorials. The world’s largest video server is full of them. You can learn how to play instruments, cook, draw and many other things without ever having to leave your home or interact with other people.
But, will YouTube tutorials ever substitute actually going out and getting someone to give you lessons?

I decided to ask a professional musician, a DJ and a normal person who happens to play a couple of instruments what they thought about learning how to play through YouTube tutorials.
Hannah Epperson, a professional violin player, felt it made sense for people that lived in remote areas to use tutorials. But she also added: “it's sad for me to imagine a certain degree of intimacy being missing from the really unique experience of being in a room, one-on-one with an amazing teacher.”

Djmagnez Trastorno, by the name I’m guessing you can tell he is the DJ, mentioned that some tutorials are very good but that most of them don’t teach the basics needed to learn whatever it is that they are teaching.

Angie, the normal one, thinks they are awesome. She basically uses them all the time and her main reason for doing so is because they are free: “teachers are expensive.”
Tutorials have many advantages, but will hitting replay over and over ever be as good as having a direct conversation and learning from someone you can interact with? Let’s hope not.
Personally, the only reason I use YouTube tutorials is because I don’t have time or money to go to an actual teacher. Or maybe I’m lazy and love hanging out in my pj’s.

I wish I could go to an actual teacher, but then maybe she would get mad if I didn’t practice or do my homework. Then again, if I had questions, or some instruction wasn’t clear enough, I could just ask her.
There are so many Pro’s and Con’s, but ultimately I agree with Hannah, nothing beats actual human interaction, even if it means having to get dressed.

-Falco Peregrinus