Monday, December 4, 2017

Ao teu lado

Se você já chorou por nada,
Eu chorei com você
Se você procurou o significado nas linhas da sua mão,
Você estava nas minhas

Se você já amou o silêncio,
Eu escutei com você
Se você olhou as suas memórias na água corrente,
Bebi com você

Se você decide buscar no mundo, tesouros,
Vou sorrir sem hesitação
Se você volta com as asas rotas,
Eu vou te dar as minhas

Se você não volta,
Vou me lembrar de você



Monday, April 10, 2017

Wednesday




I met you on a Wednesday at the break of fall
We danced with our eyes an inaudible ball
Your handshake so steady, your accent so blunt
I felt my cheeks quiver, you pulled quite the stunt
By spring we were lovers, defying the odds
By winter cocooning in our own little pod
Today on a Wednesday I remember just how
You said I was yours and you know...
You were right

Prend le temps





Embrasse-moi tout plein comme si de rien n'était
Comme le printemps qui fait de nous son carrousel
Serre-moi plus fort, plante-toi ici là
Mes soupirs d'homme tu récolteras


Tuesday, February 21, 2017

The Wall Ball Poem



                  The ball rose to heaven with levity and praise
                  An instant of savage perfection and grace
                  Beyond the white line, caressing the wall
                  Turning and spinning, a hornless black bull
                  Leather on skin in a painful embrace
                  Squat off the deep end, worship the race



Tuesday, October 13, 2015

Roughly Mine

That weightless silence and I hold my breath
Lower lip glistening like a ripe honeyed date
A handful of your hair,
The warmth as you exhale
An eyelash falls, sends me over the edge.

My lips meet yours, a bit frantic and cruel
Your clothes melt away, they're nothing but dew
I reach deep in my lair
Your moan breaks like a roar
Villainous flash at the end of the storm.

Fingertips glide over your skin like mist,
A map drawn with sweat now shows were I've been
Illicit confession
In invisible ink
Tells all you belong, to no one but me.


Monday, July 29, 2013

Set Sail


It must have been yesterday I found my cove in your chest
Your moon changed my tide, I set sail in your quest

I’m gone baby gone with the smell of your skin
And the shimmering light in your eyes, are they green?

I stumbled upon your pool at the break of dawn
Unchained my past, to the ledge, and let go

The world rushes by and all I see is your face
Diving deep in the warmth of your embrace


Wednesday, April 24, 2013

Whatnot Lost Friend


Seven full moons have lit my new path, since the day I held you close for the very last time.

My heart now floats and my lungs sing; I've taken a road trip in the greening of spring. I make love in a cottage and eat pancakes once a week. It’s true, I am happier than I thought I could be.

But... this foreign object refuses to leave. It took months to swallow past the knot in my throat, now it's stubbornly lodged in my gut.

My head’s in the clear, my heart’s got wings, but I miss you all the same, you were someone to me.

I wish we could meet at the bar down the street, where the dress code is light and we toast not with water, but with the heart.


Tuesday, January 15, 2013

The Heart of Winter

The snowflakes latched on to me this night as I ventured home
Beautiful and cold, like a swarm of frozen kisses falling from the sky

It was a winter gust that brought you to my door
Two frosted hearts without hope



In spring we blossomed,
by summer we were parched


In autumn the fall,
the leaves were all lost




Now it's winter again and your voice rides the wind
It's your howling I hear in the empty streets

I stare out the window, into the purple night
And wonder how much longer I can hold on to this warmth.



Thursday, October 18, 2012

This night


I sat on the floor outside your door, awaiting your return with nothing but a four-leaf clover on one sleeve and my heart on the other. I tapped timidly at first, but as the minutes turned to hours I knocked with my fists and the growing realization that I was, really, alone.

Nothing stirred in the darkness but despair, all I could hear was my heart beating through my ribcage, erratically. As the cold seeped through my coat and chilled my bones, I knew it, the four-leaf clover had let me down, you weren't coming home.

And so with your scent lingering in the air, I pulled myself up and walked down the stairs. Hoping to see your face at every turn. It wasn't until I reached the street outside, under the gloom of this cursed night, that I gave up hope.

You just never came home.

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

Arrest me now

I clutch my chest with the sheer strength of a thousand men,
Afraid my heart will pump itself into cardiac arrest.

I cannot fathom and cannot bear
La idea de un mundo sin tu hermoso ser.

Your love runs deep within these bluish veins,
It gives me goosebumps, shivers and strength.

I long to hold you and make you warm
Make you the happiest man alive.

Forgive this selfish, foolish mind
Cuddle my heart and never ever
be apart. 

Tuesday, October 9, 2012

The Fear

I cleaned out that old closet under the stairs where we used to keep the stuff we didn't want, but couldn't bring ourselves to throw out for one reason or another. That broken lamp, a wobbly chair and the hardcore winter boots you bought me. Not once did we go where there's snow.

Of yours I found nothing but dust. I would say fading memories of us, but some are much too vivid. The apartment no longer resembles that nest we built with a student's budget and the excitement over buying a generic coffee machine. Everything is new and shiny, all your old shit has been thrown out.

Except that here I am, writing about you once again. No, I don't love you.

I don't hate you either. I just wish you never existed.


You see, I don't know how to function anymore.  I don't know what being a good guy is and I certainly don't know how to do the right thing. I don't know when to give in and when to give all, when to resign and when to push through. I don't know how to LOVE.

You didn't take my heart, you took my compass. And here I am fluttering uncontrollably between two gusts of wind and the looming storm overhead.

I am not lost without you, I am lost because of you. And finding my way back to love has proven to be the single most difficult and lonely journey I've ever embarked on.

As I float adrift in this ocean of doubt, my greatest fear lurks around me like a shadow in murky waters.

It's the dread that keeps me staring at the ceiling all night,
the horror that clutches my heart with a bony grip
and squeezes tauntingly

The fear that I've become you. 




Thursday, October 4, 2012

Three


Everything comes in threes, thirds and troikas.

Three meals a day
Entrée, plat, dessert
The three-minute egg

Veni vidi vici
Liberté, égalité, fraternité
The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth

The three Furies
The Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost
Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice.

One might argue that seasons come in four, but truth is, we spend a third of the year wearing coats, a third of the year wearing shorts and the other third not knowing what to wear / We spend a third of the day working, a third of the day sleeping and a third of the day doing everything else / Third parties, third degree, third time’s the charm.

Does love come in threes too???
Forget love triangles, threesomes or third nipples.
I mean to love mind, body and soul.

Can love occur without admiration, lust and tenderness?
Can love flourish without respect, passion and caring?
Can love survive without reason, desire and emotion?

Everything comes in threes, except when it doesn't.

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

Goodbye

If I had my way I'd never say goodbye. It's such a sweet sounding word though, isn't it? It would rhyme with lullaby, but sounds like a raspy croak instead when I say it.

Goodbye is, actually, just the beginning of life without you. It's the cork that pops and then your heart pours out. No amount of glasses could ever be enough to contain this overflowing loss I feel over you.

Goodbye ain't farewell, c'est faire mal. The plight of us and the loss of mine.

How can I say bye without your face flashing in my mind, without breaking through the sutures of this convalescent heart?

Goodbye is short for "God be with ye", may He help ye forget that ye once loved me, for I certainly can't. 

Damn I miss being with ye... dimbye my love, dimbye.


Thursday, September 27, 2012

I Love


I love how you laugh at awkward situations,
Michael Scott was your hero way before he was mine

I love how you squint in the sun like you're lost in thought
How you're proud of your wrinkles and your stories untold

I love how you curl up into ball at night
And smell sweet and sleepy the morning after that

I love how you put together a magnificent frozen meal
Who cares if you can't cook, you draw smiles with the food

I love how you mock us the bourgeois,
How you toast not with water, but with your heart

I love how you smile, smile big with your eyes
And I love how you cried once, when you said

I love you

Portraits de la rue


Je vois des portraits Warhol de nous
dans les vitrines des Champs
sur les affiches dans le métro
dans les colonnes Morris ils tournent
lentement

Rouge et bleu, rose et violet
Tel qu'un tirage de photomaton spontané
Ton sourire si naturel s’allume et s’éteint
Mon visage s’adapte au maquillage

Côte à côte tes bleus et mes rouges
Je vois des portraits de nous





Monday, September 24, 2012

White ceilings

Yesterday I spent  an hour lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling. It's strange how time seems to slow down when your thoughts are picking at your heart, like tiny nail clippers with their awful snapping sounds.

Yet, the whiteness of the ceiling was soothing. Those rolling waves of white nothingness numb the throbbing pain in my mind and my heart. Although watching the sky would have been much better, I was unable, incapable or unwilling to go outside. My house is my refuge. It was all I had left after losing the war three years ago. From the rubble I built this bunker, from the bunker I grew a home. My house is my refuge, I storm it alone.

At this very moment I wish I was back there, lying on the floor and thinking about nothing at all. Because all I can think of right now is you, you and the smile I robbed from your face. Nothing made me happier than making you happy, making you smile, watching that glimmer in your eyes.

A crude awakening like an icy shower in January, just as you start to pry open the right eyelid that always seems to take longer than the left. The water's got me shivering and panting but I can't help myself, I was suffocating in the warmth of your embrace.

And so tonight I know where I'll be, back on that floor, staring at the ceiling and feeling the aberrant purge of your kisses and your tenderness. No war this time, just a pinnacle of surrender where nobody wins. No prisoners of war, just two casualties. Just... defeat.


Sunday, September 23, 2012

Tu ne bois pas

Tu ne bois pas
Aucun appel ne me réveillera la nuit

On trinquera plus jamais de l'eau
Tu ne bois pas

Tu n'es plus là
Le lueur de tes yeux n'allume plus le noir

Ton bordel est nulle part
Tu n'es plus là

Tu ne bois pas
Tu n’es plus là
T’es plus à moi

I miss you so bad

Friday, September 21, 2012

Lame Light

Two cups of poison the color of wine
The texture, the feel of any other night

A whisper, a confession, a bleached out lie
To save you, to save me, to wrong a right

No blanket of stars, no moon in our sky
No comfort, no warmth, just clinical light

You gave me your heart and I gave you mine
I kissed it thrice and held out my hand

Watched it fly away,
away, into the night.

Goodbye
Hold tight
Lie






Thursday, September 20, 2012

The Monster

I guess it is, I guess it's me
the monster in this fading - fairy tale
My fingers curl backwards with shame

Shame for the wrongdoing though just it may be
For no good deed goes unpunished
and no love is spared from - me

Not one word or song could ever express
could ever justify, explain, make the pain go away
No lie, no poem, no magnificent spell
can cuddle you at night, say it's all gonna be
alright.

For we must both suffer this fate,
we must rip at the seams and cry out in pain
And burn, burn, burn for what's lost
Cry, fade, let our love go in vain

I am a fade, a beast, a terrifying fiend
Save yourself, don't look back
Leave this wreck, leave me behind


Friday, July 13, 2012

The Shower



It’s on
Both hands against the wall of the secluded stall
In slow motion the drops merge into cords
They dive and lay on my bare skin
A sleek and living satin sheet

There is music in the water
A rhythm of furtive stares
The soap smells of freedom
Lather's a scent of lust

Wash away sweat and fatigue
Rinse out these silly tears
Remember the taste of them lips
A tiny, wondrous, powerful kiss



Night and Day


The warmth of the sun lingers on my face,
Though the sunset’s reds have turned lilac and grey
Our wind wanes to breeze and a whisper
The damp cloak of night around my shoulders

I dig my feet in the Hellenic sand,
Stripped down to my beating heart
Lips parched I face west and wait
In the deepening silence I wait

For the sun to rise in the east
For the light to touch my calves
For its rays to run the length of my back
For your shadow to appear next to mine



Wednesday, August 17, 2011

A looter in me

I just came back from London, after spending a calm weekend in between the disturbances caused by the riots and looting. A real shame, if you ask me. The complete disregard for authority and the way violence and crime sprouted like bad weeds on an unattended yard got me thinking about the false sense of security and self.

Teachers, women, teenagers, while collar working men... anyone can be a looter, and their subversive and pervasive calling can ignite as quickly as sparks on an anvil.

We can never truly know our neighbor... but can we know ourselves? Are we so sure of ourselves that we can swear we will never blow a fuse?

It's not the bubble bursting that scares me the most. It's rather the way complacency creeps up on us and lays over our back like a live fur coat waiting to jump ship.

We repeat stories to ourselves, stories about ourselves. Stories that make up the fiber of who we are, who we want others to think we are, who we want to become.

Am I really a hard-working, honest, loyal, passionate, brave and intelligent individual? Am I a team player??? The latter seems like the most popular lie in recruitment procedures!

Sure, we all have varying degrees of these qualities, we all have our shining moments. But once you start digging, once you start shredding the so-called fibers of our being, you might have to face some mirrors in unexpected places. And like it or not, those uncomfortable questions about what we do versus what we desire will undoubtedly surface like apples in a barrel.

Do we all really value respect over admiration, honesty over success, love over sex?

Bobbing to fish out the correct answer might be a lot harder than we think. For one thing, water in that barrel tends to be icy cold.

Monday, January 10, 2011

T'es d'où?

Un trèfle à quatre feuilles et c'est parti
Une nuit de mots, salade et lentilles
T'es d'où? T'es d'où? T'es doux partout!

Un chocolat chaud dans la pénombre
Galette des rois et paroles sans encombre
T'es d'où? T'es d'où? T'es si imprévu!

Kuzco, soja et bananes
Deux cent baisers sous les étoiles
T'es d'où? T'es d'où? T'es tout doux, doudou

Monday, October 11, 2010

Mes amours imaginaires

They swirl before my eyes
like them pink elephants
It's a parade, it's a show
Una novela, une émission.

Spin the wheel and let them come,
walking down the aisle,
each one his own.

He who jumps and kicks with me,
who sweats and screams then smiles at me.
He pokes me and giggles
and calls me his cat
He who loves me so, but I can't love back.

The silvery fox with the glint in his eye,
Who makes me laugh and moan, not cry.
He's fire, he's lust
He's honest, he's blunt
He whom I'd love, were his heart his own.

The virtual boy from across the sea,
By far the most beautiful creature I've seen.
He plays with me a fantasy role
A piece to remember, I always want more
To have him, to love him, to have my heart broken.

The dorky and breezy love,
Relentless waves that just won't give up
It's a date, we make love, I feel safe and let him know
We are together but we are not
He loves [the idea of] me.

Here comes my sun,
beautiful, lovable, utterly blond.
The right place at the wrong time,
I love him, he loves me back
Love him enough to stay back

Our love is a feeling,
a touch.
An idea, an obsession,
an unspoken word.

Were it but real.
Mes amours imaginaires...

Friday, August 13, 2010

Grounded


I'd climb to a cliff and scream till my voice ran out,
set sail to my words, little bonfires on the crests.

I'd wait to feel that thunderous roar,
an answered prayer, an echoing thunderbolt.

A slap of wind as it rushes through my skin,
wanes and withers to a caressing breeze.

I'd kneel and grasp the grass and earth,
feel the moistness, taint my nails.

I'm a tree against the backdrop of dark gathering clouds,
proud and grounded, nowhere to hide.

And before the storm breaks out,
before it turns the breeze to wrath,
silence explodes in the amethyst sky.

I call upon you once more,
and then I know you shall not come.

I welcome madness





Saturday, May 22, 2010

Still the one

You're still the one who smacked me down
the one who turned my life inside out,
took my love, gave me a scar.

You're still that terrible, savage beast
that sweet playful bear rolling down the hill.

You're still the one who knows me best,
where to touch me, where to grasp
how to hurt me and make me cry.

You're still the one who broke my heart
the one who tore me up inside

You're still the one who fooled me twice
who stole my hope, my dreams, my time

You're still the one who torments my mind
the one who makes me curse this life

You're still the one
the one
you're still the one I love.

Thursday, March 11, 2010

Ya No

Creo que ya no te amo.

Perdí el paraguas que me diste,
y ya no compro cereal con trozos de chocolate.

Tampoco veo los programas que veíamos,
ni voy a la panadería a comprar bizcochos.

Duermo en medio de la cama, con dos almohadas.
La que pongo bajo mi cabeza está celosa de la otra.

Creo que ya no te amo.

Pinté la puerta color vino,
y así dejé de beberlo.

Los besos que eran para ti no son de nadie,
se los regalo al viento y al pavimento.

Las risas que bailaban con las tuyas,
son ahora sentadillas y abdominales en el gimnasio.

Creo que ya no te amo.

Ya no sé aletear y he dejado de cantar
Y cada día se siente más normal.

El sol comienza a evaporar este gris invierno,
y con él tu recuerdo.

No volveré jamás a cruzar ese puente,
lo he borrado del mapa y con él los artadeceres de ayer.

Creo que ya no te amo.

Creo que ya no.


Creo.

Sunday, February 21, 2010

Hope

Hope is the promise of wind on a scorching desert trail,
and the freezing whirlwind that dusk seems to parade.

At times it's the quiet that embraces me, canoodles me to sleep.
More often than not, it's the deafening silence of my portable phone.

As I stare into the winter sky,
Expecting the sunshine to pierce them somber clouds,
I think of you.

If only I still believed, in wishing upon a star
I would drive out of the city, into the fields
Just so I could wish upon a thousand of them at once.

But instead I lie here in our nest,
The one we built with your paws and my beak,
And I ask God to wash all hope away.

I cannot chase the horizon or the setting sun,
Pop a smile when I think of you, anymore.
I just want to forget you, forget you ever existed,
forget you ever changed and turned my heart to sand.

Hope is one cruel bitch,
Sadist, wicked and filthy rich.

I take her all in for the last time,
take her to our bridge on this winter night.

And as my lungs fill with with the icy cold,
I watch her die in a quiet show.

Bubbles, bubbles, bubbles....
... who ever said hope floats?

Thursday, January 21, 2010

Suceso Inesperado

Crónica de un Divorcio pareciera el título adecuado para este blog, después de meses de implacable bombardeo de sentimientos, haciendo de cada entrada un paño de lágrimas, un saco de arena, y en ocasiones hasta apresuradas suturas.

Hay entradas cuyo mensaje ha amainado, un huracán covertido en mero viento invernal. Pero permanecerán aquí, como lápida y epitafio, testimonios de lo que fui y el camino que recorrí.

Cuando inicié Leo, Leono y Leónidas, para hablar de "historias y rituales de mi vida adulta", jamás imaginé que como profecía, este diario me llevaría de la mano en mi camino hacia la vida adulta. Espacio de reflexión, melodrama garantizado y uno que otro destello de mi antes tan característico idealismo. En fin, sea lo que sea, siempre pensé que escribía sólo para mí, pues en la inmensidad de este universo cibernético, ¿quién aterrizaría en mi pintoresco rincón?

Hoy me di cuenta que, ¡hay alguien ahí afuera que de verdad leyó lo que escribí! Y aunque esta noche habré de llegar solo a casa, me haré de cenar, lavaré los trastes y después de leer un poco me enterraré en las sábanas cual hurón en madriguera, no puedo evitar sentirme un poco menos solo, un tanto más acompañado.

Sabes quien eres, tú que no sólo has leído, sino entendido mis palabras... y es a ti a quien quiero dar las gracias con esta entrada. Te doy las gracias porque has encendido una luz en este caparazón de hojalata, y me has enseñado que Leo, Leono y Leónidas es también un faro y un altavoz, and maybe, just maybe, someone's listening in the vast darkness.

Saturday, November 7, 2009

Cupid's Dead

I guess I should thank you
For letting me know
It was all just bull shit.

I thought you took it all away,
But it wasn't there to start with,
Was it?

My family, my best friend, my lover
My all too willing enabler
In this sick fiasco of rosy lies

There's no sarcasm here
I truly thank you, for vaccinating me.
For helping me graduate to adulthood.

Alongside Santa's grave
You've helped me bury Cupid.

Were it not for your kind help,
For tearing my skin to pieces and
Charring this meaty, beating organ,
I don't think I could have done it.

Were it not for your encouragement,
Your humiliating torture,
Your selfishness,
Your unbelievably deafening hypocrisy,
I'd still be a fool.

So once again, thank you for opening my eyes,
For slashing Cupid's throat,
And showing me you're so much more,
Than a lying, pathetic and self-righteous whore.




Monday, October 19, 2009

Autumn Day in Paris

¿How did I ever allow myself to start hating Paris?


Yesterday I woke up and that beautiful, rosy sunlight was streaming through the windows of my one-bedroom appartment. After breakfast and a cup of coffee, I decided against all grumpy and self-loathing judgement to venture out into the city in company of the book I'm currently reading, Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, by Susan Clarke.

After a little over three years in Paris, I had never been to the Institut du Monde Arabe, so I decided to head over there without further delay. To be honest, I wasn't quite sure if I wanted to end up at the Institut or at La Mosquée, a traditional arab restaurant and hammam where I had never been either.

I had decided to take the bus, and just as I was nearing the bus station, I saw it fly by and had to content myself with a long walk. It was a most fortunate misfortune, since the stroll through the Parisian streets and along the river was just what I needed.

I felt the city breathe around me, bathing in the sun, glowing softly with its own warm aura. I don't know whether God intervened so I missed the bus that morning, or later again when, just like a skilled DJ, he crafted an amazing playlist on my iPod. The thing is, I felt lighter with every step, I felt like I was going somewhere, not just someplace.

I arrived first at the Mosquée cause it was further away, but after taking a look around, I realized it probably wasn't the best place to stay. It was loud and with several families sitting at tables around several courtyards. Though quite beautiful, it felt like a Sunday brunch, hardly the kind of mood I was seeking. Remember, I had taken a book with me and was looking for a quite, relaxing time.

I then headed to the Institut du Monde Arabe. Funny I'd never been there, considering how big and emblematic it is. The restaurant and salon de thé is on the 9th floor, so I took the elevator and as I stepped out, I realized I had come to the right place. The terrace opens up and provides an amazing view of Paris, particularly of Notre Dame and the rive droite.

The buildings all around were basking in sunlight... as if they knew winter will come along soon and they must take advantage of the light and warmth as much as possible before it's shrouded in clouds, rain and snow. The glinting river hugs the city, softly caressing the embankments while the sleepy boats stream along noiselessly.

I am one with the view, I am one with Paris, I am one.... just one. I don't need anybody else but me, I can absorb this and enjoy it all by myself. For a moment, I felt like the mail lady from Paris Je T'aime... I was in love with the city, and for at least one afternoon, the city was in love with me. She courted me, she danced with my shadow and
ruffled my hair, she took me in her bossom and smiled down at me with tenderness.

I then sat out on the terrace and proceeded to order a mint tea (this was also my first time). I sat there like a lizzard in the sun, sipping from my tea and going through my novel, enjoying every word and description of British society and intrigue.

The kettle finally gave out and I decided to go, not without stepping out to the edge of the terrace once more to say goodbye to the leaves on the trees all around Paris. I know they'll be gone soon, and they will be sorely missed.

As I headed back towards rue Quincampoix, where my humble abode is located, I couldn't help but feel inmense joy. Who could have guessed I could find new things to do in Paris, things I would enjoy so much? But I realized that, while Paris had played a huge role that day, it was not just about the city, but my life in general. There are so many things left to do, things to enjoy. I don't know about life after death, but there's definitely life after love. And who knows, perhaps there's love after love?

On my way back, I realized I wasn't the only one prancing under the spell and charm of this beautiful lady. The whole city was out in the streets, alive and living, not just alive. I joined in gratefully and thanked my lucky stars, thanked God for my life, for the memories, for having loved and been loved.

And last but not least, I thanked Paris for allowing me to rise, slowly but surely, from the embers of my charring past. She reminded me that you can always stay home under the covers - which is by all means necessary at times - but all the while, the world awaits you and the sun misses you. Every day spent caged in one's own suffering is a day lost, a day without mint tea, without novels, without trees rocking in the wind, without sunlight glistening on the water, a day without Paris in the autumn.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Irreconocible

Me pregunto si es posible sentir un cambio fundamental tomando lugar en uno mismo.

Hay días en los que no me reconozco, o mejor dicho, no tengo más idea de quién soy o quién se supone que sea. Veo mis manos, mi torso desnudo, incluso mis ojos... y no sé, something is off.

Si contará todas las cosas que han cambiado en los últimos seis meses, es cierto que son muchas y muy grandes. Pero esas diferencias, esos cambios, siempre tienen una fuente material. Algo cambió materialmente, fuere mi situación de vivienda o mi físico.

Pero eso no necesariamente implica un cambio en mi esencia, en lo que me hace yo. ¿O sí?

Siento una intuición muy fuerte, una voz interior gritando en advertencia que mi "estructura espiritual", por así llamarla, está cambiando. Tengo miedo, pues no comprendo cabalmente lo que significa.

Perhaps, the shields have taken one too many hits and the hull has been breached. Am I abandoning ship? Do I need to reroute?

Dicen que lo único constante en la vida es el cambio, y también dicen que una persona nunca cambia. ¿Cómo hacer sentido de tales afirmaciones, tan comunes como contradictorias? Tal vez cambiamos sólo en parte, y de ser así ¿qué partes permanecen sin cambios? ¿Estamos todos condenados a perder la inocencia, la ilusión, la fe en el amor, la fe en el prójimo, la fe en uno mismo?

Y si perdemos todo eso, ¿qué más somos aparte de un saco de piel y huesos? Me pregunto si es posible perder el alma sin tener que vendérsela a ningún diablo.

Cuando me veo en el espejo, cuando permito que mi mirada se fije sobre mis ojos, son como pozos vacíos, carentes de luz. ¿Dónde está mi alma? ¿Quién es ese flaco? ¿DÓNDE ESTOY????

Thursday, October 8, 2009

Carbon Footprints...

If anyone actually does come to this blog, I certainly hope they'll read this entry. Taking a step back from the chronicles of a divorce and the seeding process for a brighter personal future, I would like to address an issue of truly global concern.

A very dear friend of mine has published a newspaper article on this (check out her link at the end), and though she certainly isn't the first one to do so, and may very well never be the last, there comes a point in our lives when we need to stop dead in our tracks and heed the warning signs.



Hey y'all, it's really here, it's really happening: the world is collapsing beneath our Pradas and Jimmy Choos.



It's very easy to just blame it on the crowd, on the "human race". But what about our own, individual, personal, indivisible responsibility over the environment???

I always knew American society would be the one with the worst record on preserving the environment, the most consumption, the most waste. Indeed, if the entire world consumed at the pace they do, we would need 10 planets to accomodate the entire human race. What I ignored, however, is that if the entire world consumed as many resources as Mexicans do, we would need 5 planets.

"FIVE???? Are you frekin' serious?" I said to my Mexican self. But the truth is that desbelief lies in denial, rather than surprise. Because we have ALL become big spenders, big "wasters". We can't wait for the summer and the January sales, or to travel here and there, to buy a sports car, to get a bigger house, to eat the exotic products from the far-side of the world. Admiting that, I too, am a "waster" is much, much harder than blaming global warming on the automobile industry or the Chinese pollution output.

What will it take for people to assimilate and integrate a culture of environmental protection into their daily lives? Do we actually need to witness the sea swallow up the Netherlands to believe? Once again, no need to go that far, the effects of global warming are ALREADY being felt in EVERY country in the world. Climate change, natural disasters, an all-too-warm autum in certain places and a much-too-wet rainy season in others are visible symptoms of an irreversible trend.

Anyway, I wanted to say that I, at least in my person, have begun to change my mindset. A bit late, I might add, but a change nevertheless. And I have encouraged others to do so as well. A colleague of mine, nearly 70 years of age, had never heard the term "carbon footprint". I explained it to her as she threw away the hefty leftovers from her lunch and announced that she'd be doing some frivolous shopping, for the mere pleasure of it.

We have come to accept cynicism as the natural response from us wasters, but here's the thing: my colleague actually HEARD ME. She went off and investigated the meaning of carbon footprints and calculated her own. In just a few weeks, her habits have changed dramatically.

It's not too late people, but it will be if we don't follow suit. It will be too late if we keep blaming it all on this foreign, impersonal, faceless "human race".

To all you highschool and college seniors, I have something to say: the world is not yours to take, it's yours to protect.

And we damn better do a good job, for the sake of us all.

Karla Barclay's article on climate change: