Seis cosas acerca de los grados...

(Por experiencia propia...)

1. Citan a las/os graduandas/os 2 horas antes de los padres e invitados para que lleguen media hora antes del evento.

2. Los fotógrafos nunca respetan el protocolo.

3. Los padres se emocionan más que los estudiantes en ciertos momentos.

4. Si quiere salir a tomarse fotos con sus amigas/os debe huir rápidamente antes de que todos los padres emocionados se le echen encima.

5. Casi nunca nadie es tan rápido para tomar la foto de los birretes voladores al primer intento...

6. ¿Quién dijo que no se puede comer hamburguesa en un grado? ^^

Un pequeño, egoísta e imposible deseo...

En este momento el futuro -para ciertas cosas- se mira obscuro. Si me preguntan qué quiero en este momento, sería sólo una cosa: ¿puedo ser un poco egoísta por 6 horas?

Quisiera no tener que dividir mi tiempo. Me pregunto cómo serán las cosas cuando sea mayor. Si llegara a casarme –algo extraño aunque, a ratos, deseado – ¿me vería en la obligación de hacer dos bodas? Y si tuviera hijos –gemelas ^^ – ¿tendría que hacer doble bautizo, cumpleaños, comunión…? Me pregunto si madurará lo suficiente para darme una pequeña y egoísta alegría… Como sea, sólo sé que es imposible en este momento.

Estamos en diciembre. Está lloviendo. Se está lavando la ropa. Y me duelen los ojos por las luces navideñas...

Confianza

Navegando en cuantarazon.com encontré esto... xD (que se note que no tengo mucha inspiración como para publicar algo más...)

( http://www.cuantarazon.com/428856/confianza#.TtK_Yd0RqdA.blogger )

My Strange Stories XVII

November 2nd, 2011

The old lady was gazing the moon, thinking in his dear George, who was now waiting for her with the angels. She knew it was time to choose an heir to her fortune. She had scattered on the mahogany table the photographs of her three grandchildren. Now she had to choose, something very hard to do because she knew that inheriting that amount of money would stir up a huge change in the life of the heir.

The grandchildren of the old lady were Thomas, the older, Margaritte and Christopher, the little one. They were children of her loved only child Suzanne, who has died after Christopher was born because of Pneumonia. Such a tragic day for the family! Albert, the father of the three had been living in seclusion from that moment, he had never recovered. And the three have had to get over by themselves. Margaritte took care of her little brother, she loved him so much. But Thomas had developed a rubbish hate to Christopher, he blamed him for his mother’s death. The attitude of Thomas had a big hold over Christopher but he was gentle, gallant and kind, and has a sweet big heart.

The old lady decided to go to visit her grandchildren. She hadn’t visited them from six years ago when they all dined for courtesy. Duchess Victoria –the old lady –took a cab after getting plainly dressed. She made a plan. When there is money between, people’s heart become corrupt, so she had to know how her grandchildren really were if she wanted to choose the right owner of her safe. She nodded to herself and gave the address to the driver.

Duchess Victoria dressed like a beggar ran into Thomas and he, looking her like nothing, pushed her with an evil grin and with a disdainful cold look in his eyes, making harm on her arm. Margaritte seeing what her brother did, went hurry to her, made a bow and asked for forgiveness while Christopher helped her to stand up. Duchess Victoria knew she didn’t need another proof to choose a hair. The beggar grated and left.

Five days later Margaritte received from the servant an envelope with the names: Margaritte and Christopher do Lincourt.

My Midsummer Night's Dream

This is my version of this play of William Shakespeare...
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A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM SCRIPT

FAIRY 1: This is a story that all Fairy world knows because it involves our Queen and King and four poor humans. Pay attention and you will know what happened. Oh! I forgot telling something important: Humans cannot see fairies, but they can be their victims. The story begins like this: Hermia and Lysander were lovers; but Hermia's father wished her to marry another man, named Demetrius. (Playing it behind the narrator)

(THESEUS, EGEUS, DEMETRIUS, LYSANDER, HERMIA on the court of the Duke)

THESEUS: I’m the duke of Athens and in front of me there is a case that involves good Egeus…

EGEUS: My dear Duke. I’ve come here in front of you with complaint against my child, my daughter Hermia. My noble lord, this man Demetrius hath my consent to marry her. But this man, Lysander hath bewitch’d the bosom of my child. She doesn’t consent to marry with Demetrius, so I beg the ancient privilege of Athens, as she is mine, I may dispose of her: Hermia must marry with the man I’ve chosen, Demetrius, or she must die.

FAIRY 2: Now, in Athens, where they lived, there was a wicked law, by which any girl who refused to marry according to her father's wishes, might be put to death. Hermia's father was so angry with her for refusing to do as he wished.

THESEUS: What say you, Hermia? Demetrius is a worthy gentleman.

HERMIA: So is Lysander.

THESEUS: In himself he is; but in this kind, wanting your father’s voice, the other must be held the worthier.

HERMIA: I would like my father look with my eyes. I know that the worst come to me if I refuse to wed Demetrius. Though, I refuse.

THESEUS: Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires

DEMETRIUS: Relent, sweet Hermia: and, Lysander, let me have my right.

LYSANDER: You have her father’s love, Demetrius; let me have Hermia’s: you can marry him.

EGEUS: Scornful Lysander! It´s true, he hath my love. And she is mine, and all my right of her I give unto Demetrius.

LYSANDER: I am, my lord, as well derived as he, as well possess’d; my love is more than his; I have so many fortunes and the most important thing, I am beloved of beauteous Hermia: Why my lord don’t let me marry her? Demetrius: love Helena; win her soul, because she loves you.

THESEUS: I’ve heard so much. Demetrius, come; and come, Egeus; you shall go with me, I have some private schooling for you both. For you, fair Hermia, it is better to you if you do your father’s will; or else the law of Athens will be applied over you.

FAIRY 2: The Duke gave Hermia four days to think about it, and, at the end of that time, if she still refused to marry Demetrius, she would have to die. (THESEUS, EGEUS AND DEMETRIUS LEFT)

LYSANDER: Oh, my love! Why is your cheek so pale? How chance the roses there do fade so fast?

HERMIA: Oh, hell! To choose love by another’s eyes! My father has chosen Demetrius instead of you. He doesn’t understand that I love you!

FAIRY 3: Lysander was too angry and Hermia was brokenhearted. Lysander planned something. He had an aunt who lived too far. In that place the laws of Athens couldn’t be applied. There, they could get married.

LYSANDER: If you love me then, escape from your father’s house tomorrow night and in the wood we met the first time, we will run away and be happy forever.

HERMIA: My love! I swear by Cupid, the God of Love, that tomorrow night I truly will meet you at forest.

LYSANDER: Keep your promise, my love. Look, here comes Helena.

HERMIA: Happy you, my friend Helena!

HELENA: Happy? Why should I be happy? Demetrius loves you!

HERMIA: The more I hate him, the more he follows me!

HELENA: The more I love him, the more he hates me!

HERMIA: His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine.

HELENA: None, but your beauty: would that fault were mine! This is fault of your beauty.

HERMIA: Be happy, my friend. Take comfort: he no more will see my face; Lysander and myself will fly this place.

HELENA: Are you going to escape?

HERMIA: Before the time I did Lysander see, seemed Athens as a paradise to me, but now, is a hell.

LYSANDER: Helena, do you remember the wood we saw the first time?

HERMIA: There my Lysander and I shall meet with your help. Pray you for us and good luck grant you with Demetrius! (HERMIA LEFT)

LYSANDER: Helena, adieu! (LYSANDER LEFT)

HELENA: Through Athens I am as beauty as Hermia; but what of that? Demetrius thinks not so!

FAIRY 4: Helena had been Demetrius' sweetheart long before his marriage with Hermia had been thought of. Helena was jealousy; she could not see that it was not poor Hermia's fault that Demetrius wished to marry her instead of Helena. She knew that if she told Demetrius that Hermia was going, as she was, he would follow her.

HELENA: I will go to tell Demetrius of Hermia’s flight: Then to the wood he will tomorrow night pursue her; and I can follow him, and at least I shall see him.

FAIRY 4: So she went to Demetrius, and betrayed her friend's secret. (PLAY IT BEHIND)

(AT THE WOOD)

FAIRY 5: The wood where Lysander was going to meet Hermia was full of fairies. Oberon was the King of the fairies and Titania, the Queen. They had been happy before, but now they were fighting because of a little Indian boy whom Titania had taken to be one of her followers. Oberon wanted the child to follow him and be one of his fairy knights; but the Queen didn’t give it to him.

OBERON: I’ll met by moonlight, proud Titania

TITANIA: What, jealousy Oberon!? You spoil everything. Come, fairies, let us leave him. I am not friend with him now.

OBERON: Give me that little Indian boy, and I will again be your humble servant.

TITANIA: Set your mind at rest. Your whole fairy kingdom buys not that boy from me. Come, fairies.

OBERON: Well, go your ways. But I'll be even with you before you leave this wood.

FAIRY 6: Then Oberon called his favorite fairy, Puck. Puck was the spirit of mischief.

OBERON: Now, bring me the flower called Love-in-idleness. The juice of that little purple flower on the eyes of those who sleep will make them, when they wake, to love the first thing they see.

I will put some of the juice on my Titania's eyes, and when she wakes she will love the first thing she sees, were it lion, bear, or wolf, or bull, or meddling monkey, or a busy ape.

PUCK: Yes, my King.

FAIRY 7: While Puck was gone, Demetrius passed through the glade followed by poor Helena, and Oberon was watching

DEMETRIUS: I don’t love you, so don’t pursue me. Oh! I don’t see my Hermia!

HELENA: But I do love you, so, I follow you.

DEMETRIUS: I tell you, I cannot love you, I don’t love you

HELENA: And for that I love you the more. The more you beat me, the more I want you. Strike me, neglect me, lose me; only leave me, unworthy as I am, to follow you.

DEMETRIUS: Just leave me alone, that I’m sick when I look at you!

HELENA: And I am sick when I don’t look at you!

DEMETRIUS: I’ll run from you and hide, and leave you alone to the mercy of wild beasts. (DEMETRIUS RUN AWAY AND HELENA PURSUE HIM)

FAIRY 7: Oberon was sorry for poor Helena, and when Puck returned with the flower, he ordered him to follow Demetrius and put some of the juice on his eyes, so that he might love Helena when he woke and looked on her, as much as she loved him.

OBERON: Puck, have you the flower?

PUCK: Yes, my King, I have it.

OBERON: Bring it to me; I will put the juice on my Titania’s eyes while she’s sleep. And take you some of it. A sweet lady is in love with a disdainful youth. Put some juice on his eyes and procure the first thing he sees would be the lady. I want that the man loves the lady.

PUCK: my lord, your servant shall do so. (PUCK LEFT)

FAIRY 1: Puck went off, and through the wood found, not Demetrius, but Lysander, on whose eyes he put the juice; but when Lysander woke, he saw not his own Hermia, but Helena, who was walking through the wood looking for the cruel Demetrius; and when he saw her, he loved her and left his own lady, under the spell of the purple flower.

LYSANDER: Oh, my love! We are together now, and it’s time to sleep and rest your beauty eyes.

HERMIA: Yes, my love. But gentle friend, for love and courtesy sleep further of me…

(LYSANDER GOES FAR OF HERMIA TO SLEEP)

PUCK: Look, that might be the man my King wants (PUTS THE JUICE ON HIS EYES AND LEAVES)

HELENA: Demetrius, my love? Are you here? (JUST ARRIVED)

Oh! Happy is Hermia, wherever she is; she have been blessed and has attractive eyes. But I am as ugly as a bear; that’s the reason Demetrius doesn’t love me! (WALK AND FINDS LYSANDER) But who is here? Lysander! On the ground?! Dead? Or asleep? I see no blood. Lysander if you live, good sir, awake.

LYSANDER: Oh, my God you’re the most beautiful lady I’ve seen!

HELENA: Don’t say so, Lysander! Hermia loves you, be happy.

LYSANDER: Happy with Hermia! No; I hate the minutes I with her have spent. Not Hermia but Helena I love!

HELENA: What are you saying?! I must escape! (HELENA GOES AWAY)

LYSANDER: Hermia, sleep you there and never come near to me! Because I just love Helen and want to be her knight!

HERMIA: Help me Lysander! (AWAKE) oh, I dreamt a serpent ate my heart away, and you sat smiling at his cruel pray. Lysander? Are you here, my love? Oh, no! He’s gone! (HERMIA GOES) Lysander?

(AGAIN IN THE CASTLE OF FAIRIES) (TITANIA WAS SLEEP)

FAIRY 2: The Queen of the fairies was sleeping and when Titania woke the first thing she saw was a stupid clown, one of a party of players who had come out into the wood to rehearse their play.

OBERON: Look, here lays slept proud Queen Titania. With this juice I put on your eyes, my Titania, you will love, when you awake, the first thing you see, no matter a lion, bear or cat. (OBERON GOES TO TITANIA, AND PUTS THE JUICE ON HER EYES) Now, I will walk to the wood (RETURNS TO WOOD)

PUCK: This party is boring. I’m gonna call a clown. Clown, stay there and make fairies fun (PUTS AN ASS HEAD ON CLOWN)

CLOWN: Ok, but first, I have to go to the bathroom… (ENTER INTO TITANIA’S ROOM)

PUCK: Wait! That’s not the bathroom!

CLOWN: Oh! I want to go out of the wood… Being a clown is too hard.

TITANIA: (AWAKING) what angel wakes me from my flowery bed? Are you as wise as you are beautiful?

CLOWN: If I am wise enough to find my way out of this wood, that's enough for me.

TITANIA: Do not desire to go out of the wood. I love you. Come with me, and I will give you fairies to attend on you. Servants? (ENTER FOUR FAIRIES)

SERVANTS: Yes, my Queen?

TITANIA: Be kind and courteous to this gentleman. I love him too much! Come on, my love, let’s rest. (TITANIA AND CLOWN LEFT)

PUCK: I must inform this to my King. (GOES TO OBERON)

(AT THE FOREST)

PUCK: My Lord, I must inform you that my mistress with a monster is in love. Because of the magical juice you putted on her eyes, Titania woke and loved an ass.

OBERON: This is better than I could devise. But tell me, did you do to the man what I asked?

PUCK: I’ve made what you ordered, my Lord.

OBERON: That’s good, oh! Look, this is the man (ENTER DEMETRIUS AND HERMIA)

PUCK: This is the woman, but not this the man.

DEMETRIUS: Why you refuse the man who loves you so much?

HERMIA: Tell me, Demetrius, have you hurt Lysander in his sleep? If you have, kill me too.

DEMETRIUS: I am not guilty of Lysander’s blood. I haven’t done him anything.

HERMIA: I pray you: tell me then that he is well.

DEMETRIUS: If I could, what should I get therefore?

HERMIA: The privilege never to see me more. (HERMIA LEFT)

DEMETRIUS: She doesn’t love me and I’m so tired to follow her again. I’ll rest here. (SLEEPS)

OBERON: What have you done?! You’ve made a mistake! Go to the forest and bring here Helena using magic.

PUCK: I go, I go.

OBERON: Meanwhile, I will put the juice of love in the eyes of this man named Demetrius.

(HELENA AND LYSANDER ARRIVED)

HELENA: leave me alone! You have Hermia’s love! Listen, I hear Hermia’s voice calling you

LYSANDER: Demetrius loves her, and he doesn’t love you, but I do! (HELENA FALLS OVER DEMETRIUS)

DEMETRIUS: (AWAKING) Oh, Helena, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine! You’re the most beautiful creature in the world; let me have you in my arms!

HELENA: Oh, hell! You two are against of me. Demetrius, I know you hate me, but you don’t have to play with me in this way! If you were men, as men you are in show, you would not use a gentle lady so. You both are rivals, and love Hermia; and now both rivals, make fun of Helena.

LYSANDER: You are unkind, Demetrius; be not so; you said you love Hermia but here you are saying you love the lady you hated before.

DEMETRIUS: Lysander, keep your Hermia; if I have loved her, all that love is gone. And now to Helena my heart has returned.

(ENTER HERMIA)

HERMIA: Lysander, here you are! When I woke up you were not by my side, what make you leave me?

LYSANDER: my love for Helena was! Or maybe, the hate I feel for you made me leave you

HERMIA: You speak not as you think: it cannot be!

HELENA: Oh, Hermia! I can see well that you are part of this too! You made these two men have fun of your poor friend! You’re bad, Hermia.

HERMIA: I am amazed at your passionate words. I scorn you not: it seems that you scorn me.

HELENA: Have you not sent Lysander to follow me and praise my eyes and face? And made your other love, Demetrius, who never said anything else to me than he hates me, to call me goddess, nymph, divine and rare, precious, celestial?

HERMIA: I don’t understand what you mean.

LYSANDER: Stay, gentle Helena; hear my excuse, my love, my life my soul, beautiful Helena!

HELENA: O excellent!

HERMIA: Sweet, Lysander, don’t make fun of her.

LYSANDER: Helen, I love you. By my life I swear I will follow you forever!

DEMETRIUS: I say I love you more than he can do.

LYSANDER: If you say so, prove it!

DEMETRIUS: Quick, come!

HERMIA: My Lysander, what are you saying?

LYSANDER: Stay away, you monster!

HERMIA: Why are you being so rude? Am I not Hermia and are you not Lysander? Sweet love-

LYSANDER: Your love? I’m not your love. I hate you and love Helena!

HERMIA: Oh, me! You, witch! You thief of love! What, have you come by night and stolen my love’s heart from him? (TO HELENA)

DEMETRIUS: Don’t speak so to my love!

LYSANDER: Helena is my love, not yours! (TRY TO FIGHT BUT ARE STOPPED BY THE LADIES H&H LEAVES)

FAIRY 3: Oberon was very sorry to see what was happening. His try to help these lovers turn out so badly. So he said to Puck:

OBERON: These two young men are going to fight. You must do something to one will never find the other. When they are tired out, they will fall asleep. Then drop this other herb on Lysander's eyes. That will give him his old sight and his old love. Then each man will have the lady who loves him, and they will all think that this has been only a Midsummer Night's Dream. Then when this is done, all will be well. (PUCK CONFUSES LYSANDER AND DEMETRIUS AND MAKE THEM BEING LOST) (THE FOUR FALLS SLEPT)

FAIRY 4: So Puck went and did as he was told, and when the four had fallen asleep without meeting each other, Puck poured the juice on Lysander's eyes, saying:

PUCK: On the ground sleep sound: I’ll apply to your eye, gentle lover, remedy. When you wake you will love again the lady who your true love is.

(AGAIN IN THE FAIRIE’S CASTLE)

FAIRY 5: And so when Oberon came along he found his beautiful Queen lavishing kisses on a clown with a donkey's head. And before he released her from the enchantment, he persuaded her to give him the little Indian boy he so much desired to have.

FAIRY 6: Then he took pity on her, and threw some juice of the disenchanting flower on her pretty eyes.

OBERON: Puck, now that all is well with the humans, I will release my fairy queen.

PUCK: Yes, my King. And please, forgive your servant for all the mistakes I made. (PUCK LEFT)

TITANIA: My Oberon! What visions have I seen! Me thought I was enamored of an ass.

OBERON: Now you and I are new in amity. Then, my queen, we will tomorrow midnight solemnly dance in Duke Theseus’ house triumphantly.

TITANIA: Come, my lord, and in our flight tell me the occurred this night with these mortals on the ground.

(AT THE WOOD)

(ENTER THESEUS, EGEUS AND GUARDS)

EGEUS: My lord, this is my daughter here asleep; and this, Lysander; this Demetrius is; this Helena. I wonder of their being here together.

THESEUS: I wonder the same, sir. But speak, Egeus; is not this the day that Hermia should give answer of her choice?

EGEUS: It is, my lord.

THESEUS: Go, servant, wake them. (THE FOUR AWAKE) (TO LYSANDER) I know you two are rival enemies: How comes this gentle concord in the world, to sleep by hate, and fear no enmity?

LYSANDER: My lord, I shall reply amazedly, half sleep, half waking: I cannot truly say how I came here. I came with Hermia: our intent was to be gone from Athens.

EGEUS: Enough, enough, my lord; you have enough: I beg the law, the law, upon his head. Demetrius and I have been betrayed!

DEMETRIUS: My lord, fair Helen told me of their purpose to escape by this wood; and I in fury followed them, and fair Helena in fancy followed me. But, my good lord, my love to Hermia, melted as the snow. And all the faith, the virtue of my heart, the object and the pleasure of mine eye, is only Helena.

THESEUS: Fair lovers, you are fortunately met. Egeus, your daughter Hermia is forgiven. Now, good lovers, follow me. (THESEUS AND EGEUS LEAVE)

DEMETRIUS: These things seem small and undistinguishable

HERMIA: I am totally confused about what happened.

HELENA: So me think and I have found Demetrius like a jewel, mine own, and not mine own.

DEMETRIUS: Are you sure that we are awake? It seems to me that yet we sleep, we dream. Do not you think the duke was here, and asked us to follow him?

HERMIA: Yea; and my father.

LYSANDER: Yes, he asked us to follow him.

DEMETRIUS: Then, we are awake, let’s follow him and by the way let us recount our dreams.

HELENA: Good, Hermia, have you noticed it? You with Lysander and I with Demetrius can finally be happy now… (THEY SMILE AND HUG THEIR LOVER)

FAIRY 6: Oberon and Titania loved each other more than ever. Demetrius thought of no one but Helena and Helena had never had any thought of anyone but Demetrius.

FAIRY 7: As for Hermia and Lysander, they were as loving a couple as you could meet. So the four mortal lovers went back to Athens and were married; and the fairy King and Queen live happily together.

*THE END*

"Donde los árboles cantan"

Publico esto porque una persona me motivó a hacerlo. Gracias Degong Bathory :)

Octubre 28, 2011

“Si cantaran, ¿qué dirían?” Todavía creemos que es una suposición. La verdad es que ellos lo hacen, los árboles cantan. Cantan a la vida, cada mañana que despiertan bañados por el cálido rayo de sol; cantan al viento, que agita dulcemente sus copas en una danza acompasada, sutil, afín con el tiempo; cantan a la lluvia… y si prestamos atención, cantan también a las personas. Hablan de sueños, de ideas. Cuando el viento los mece ellos cantan para ti, te piden una sonrisa, te piden que no te abrumes y que, más bien, cantes con ellos…

En la ciudad o en el campo, en Nortia o en el “mundo real”, los árboles cantan a un futuro mejor, cantan a los corazones tristes, a los alegres, cantan ante las vicisitudes del mundo, cantan a la magia, al amor… ¿Cantan los árboles de Bogotá? Eso depende… ¿Quieres tú cantar con ellos?

Mis extrañas historias XVI

Octubre 5, 2011

Desperté como cuando se despierta todas las mañanas, con la cabeza vacía, sin ningún pensamiento, ni siquiera un sueño. Me levanté como me levanto todas las mañanas: a la cuenta de tres, cobijas afuera, sino no me levanto.

Como todos los días, antes de pararme observé el techo en busca de abstractismos que me alegraran la mañana, y para sorpresa mía, encontré en lugar de ellos, una compleja telaraña.

Se dice que las arañas son un buen augurio. Si te encuentras con una, tendrás buena fortuna. No sé, tal vez las arañas se dieron cuenta de mis deseos interesados de verlas y decidieron no presentárseme, pero sí me dejaron una evidencia de su presencia allí. Sea como fuere, me quedé esperando mi buena fortuna...

Una mañana, tras un insólito sueño, Franz Kafka se despertó convertido en un escritor

Julio 18, 2011

“La Metamorfosis” es la novela más famosa del escritor nacido en Praga Franz Kafka. En esta se narran los principales acontecimientos en la vida de Gregorio Samsa y su familia después de que él se ve afectado por una insólita transformación. “Una mañana, tras un

intranquilo sueño, Gregorio Samsa se despertó convertido en un monstruoso insecto.”

En el momento en que el lector comienza la novela una pregunta surge en su mente: ¿Qué querrá decir esto? Numerosas críticas se han hecho respecto al propósito de Kafka al escribir “La Metamorfosis”. Unos dicen que es el reflejo de los verdaderos sentimientos del autor y otros pocos consideran la novela como un ejemplo moralizante sobre la incomunicación humana –como el Catedrático de Literatura de la Universidad de Navarra, Ignacio Arellan

o –. Personalmente, estoy de acuerdo con los primeros. La vida de Franz Kafka no fue especialmente dichosa. Su padre le obligó a estudiar leyes a pesar de su odio “a todo lo que no tiene relación con la Literatura”, es decir, no era feliz con lo que hacía, aspecto que comparte con Gregorio Samsa, un viajante de negocios inconforme con su profesión, trabajo, familia… Gregorio Samsa y Franz Kafka comparten además del mismo número de “as” en su apellido una especial relación con su padre, que raya entre el odio y la indiferencia.

Un detalle importante que me llamó la atención desde el principio fue la ilógica tranquilidad con la que Gregorio afrontó su transformación en insecto. No se alarmó en lo más mínimo, no buscó explicaciones lógicas ni lo creyó producto de su imaginación. Se desentendió completamente del asunto y de lo único que se preocupó fue del retraso que iba a tener en su trabajo. En pocas palabras, se resignó a su nuevo destino pues poco le importaba el anterior. ¿También se resignó Franz Kafka a vivir –según él –su monótona y mísera vida?

La familia de Gregorio Samsa fue la que sufrió su metamorfosis, aunque también de una forma inusual. Puede que esté errada pero considero que la forma más adecuada de demostrar preocupación no es precisamente condenar al sujeto al encierro y la soledad total ¿o sí? Creo que si yo fuera la Señora Samsa o Grete –la hermana de Gregorio –hubiera hecho todo lo posible por encontrar una cura o solución. Médicos, científicos, incluso brujos hubiera buscado con tal de que me devolvieran a mi hijo o hermano. En cambio, la familia de Gregorio buscó a una vieja empleada que no se espantara si llegaba a ver al bicho. Si Franz Kafka tenía o no una buena relación con sus padres, si los amaba o ellos lo amaban es algo que no podremos saber con seguridad. Pero si algo es totalmente cierto es que, de cierta forma, a la familia Samsa le alegró profundamente la solitaria y triste muerte de Gregorio, puesto que “sentados en sus asientos, fueron cambiando impresiones acerca del porvenir, y concluyeron que, bien mirado, no era nada negro…”

Mis extrañas historias XV

Junio 13, 2011

Muchas historias empiezan con el tradicional «había una vez», pero la mayoría de ellas terminan en un «felices para siempre».  Bueno, la que te revelo a continuación es un poco diferente y tal vez, sólo tal vez, mucho más interesante.  Se dice de un hombre de un pueblo remoto. Un marionetista, un constructor de ideas que buscaba con sus obras hallar la perfección. Se dice que una noche, mientras contemplaba la que consideraba como la única perfección del mundo suspendida en el más brillante cielo estrellado, se le ocurrió una idea, una idea que daría un vuelco a su vida.

Resulta que, a pesar de que era un hombre bien conocido y admirado por la belleza de sus obras, era una persona que vivía y muy seguramente moriría en soledad. Por este motivo decidió construir una marioneta, una muñeca que, a diferencia de las demás, tuviera vida propia y que no se conformara con ser hermosa sino que fuera lo que siempre había querido: perfecta. Así pues, tomó sus mejores herramientas, su mejor porcelana, su mejor tela y empezó a fabricar su muñeca. Trabajó día y noche, noche y día, durante siete meses y a la tercera noche del séptimo mes dio por terminada su obra.

El resultado fue la más hermosa muñeca que se pueda imaginar, ninguna descripción sería lo suficientemente certera, pero lo más maravilloso de ella es que, créase o no, estaba viva. Debido al inmenso amor que el marionetista puso en su obra, su deseo fue concedido.  Cada vez que cinceló, esculpió, tejió y pintó, fue imprimiéndole vida a la muñeca. Y es que el potencial humano no tiene límites, y caprichoso es el destino.

Gentilmente, el marionetista colocó a la muñeca en una silla y esperó a que despertase, pero antes de que ésta acabara de abrir totalmente sus ojos azules, se percató de algo que le afectó terriblemente. Lo que segundos antes había considerado hermoso ahora le repugnaba y horrorizaba. Una pestaña había quedado en un ángulo erróneo, ¡qué cosa tan espantosa le resultaba aquello!  El amor le había dado vida, el perfeccionismo vano se la arrebataría.  El hombre, decepcionado de sí mismo, pensó en destruir con su martillo a la recién nacida muñeca pero cuando se inclinó hacia ella, decidido a acabarla, ésta abrió los ojos totalmente y se le quedó mirando. Por un momento el hombre se horrorizó. Esa mirada era demasiado real, demasiado humana. No podía hacerlo. Es decir, esa cosa era imperfecta, horrorosa ante sus ojos, pero no podía destruirla. No hasta saber cuán viva estaba.

El marionetista sabía que la muñeca vivía, una mirada así no podía provenir de un ser inerte, pero no estaba seguro de hasta qué punto. Por lo tanto, al escuchar que de sus labios y garganta salía la palabra “padre” como una súplica incesante, profirió un grito aterrador –a tal punto de que si hubiera tenido vecinos ellos habrían ido corriendo a ver qué le sucedía– y se alejó de un salto.  El hombre estaba muerto de miedo y el hecho de que esa cosa, repugnante en su imperfección, se bajara de su asiento y caminara hacia él, no ayudaba a calmarlo. Extendía sus brazos como si quisiera agarrarle y no dejaba de murmurar “padre, padre”. Fue entonces cuando supo lo que tenía que hacer. Si no podía destruir a aquel monstruo imperfecto tendría que, por lo menos, deshacerse de él. Así pues, ágilmente tomó un saco de tela que tenía a su alcance y atrapó a la muñeca. Y mientras ésta gimoteaba y le llamaba desesperadamente con aquel apelativo tan espantoso, el hombre corrió hacia el bosque, se internó en él y abandonó a la muñeca a su suerte.

¿Fin?  No precisamente.  Pasaban los días y el marionetista estaba cada vez más neurótico y nervioso. Se veía terriblemente demacrado, asustado. Y es que a pesar de que ya habían pasado varias semanas desde el horripilante acontecimiento y de que, como un obsesivo se cercioraba cada noche de asegurar el cerrojo de cada ventana, puerta y resquicio de su casa, el hombre escuchaba todas las noches un gimoteo y una voz que le llamaba, desde todas y ninguna parte, diciendo “padre, padre”…

Si tiene moraleja o no esta historia, si es digna de contarse o si posee un buen o mal, feliz o tétrico final, será algo que tú decidirás.  Pero en mi humilde opinión, el marionetista tuvo un único consuelo: ya nunca más estaría solo.

My Strange Stories XIV

July 12th, 2011

“It is said that there was, in a time when people still believed in magic, a gypsy family…” that was the beginning of the story my grandmother used to tell me almost all nights. It was a horror story but a love story too. I always loved it and when I was a child I truly believed in it. I was so afraid because of that story… now I want to tell it you. Maybe you can understand my feelings; maybe you will end up more horrified than me. I don’t know, it all depends on you, but if I were you, I would pay attention to the story:

It is said that there was, in a time when people still believed in Magic, a gypsy family formed by the father, the mother, two big sons and one little daughter called Leyra. They were a close family. The father, Milos, was a respected member of the Khoven. Although he wasn’t the appropriate age to belong to the Elder Council he was faithfully listened and taken into account when the Khoven needed to make an important decision. The mother, Alhura was respected as well for being a hardworking woman who taught to the youngest girls the secrets and remedies of plants. The sons, Tiago and Adiemus were handsome and hardworking men too. They were expert fishermen and when the Khoven was in trouble with another Caravan they became stronger warriors. For all these reasons, besides their little daughter Leyra received the most honorable gift: being the apprentice of Mother Pythoness; Milos and Alhura were proud parents.

As I said before, Leyra received the honorable gift of being the apprentice of the Mother Pythoness, the Leader of the Khoven, and it all was fine until Leyra challenged her destiny as a gypsy woman. One day, in their constant trip, Khoven arrived to a forest Clair which was near the town. Mother pythoness warned Khoven not to get involved with people near town because in that time Gypsy People were accused of witchcraft and were stupidly burned; and everybody obeyed, except one.

One day Leyra went for a walk not near town but far of her Caravan when she met a hunter young man named Christopher. –I forgot telling Leyra was extremely beautiful –She caught instantly the attention of man. Also, he was handsome, and as you can imagine, they fell deeply inlove one for each other. They used to meet all nights or afternoons in the same place. They did it per three months, three magical and perfect months. But Mother Pythoness was a wise woman and she discovered something was happening with her apprentice. Also, Grand Spirits told her their future messenger and servant was losing terribly the way and it was something a gypsy could never do because no one can escape from his destiny, even a future Pythoness.

Knowing something horrible would happen, Mother Pythoness ordered Khoven to pack and continue with their endless trip. And that was the beginning of the end. Leyra packed immediately her possessions and ran away to the forest to meet Christopher and escape together. But her brothers Tiago and Adiemus, noticing Leyra was missing, went behind her with Mother Pythoness.

On the way Tiago, who loved so much his little sister, was wondering with Adiemus what could have been happening with Leyra. Adiemus said she had never acted like this before and Mother Pythoness answered silently, on her mind, it all was predicted by Grand Spirits. She well knew how it will end up… Leyra will have in her hand the mark of tragedy… she had already seen it.

For destiny’s cause Tiago, Adiemus and Mother Pythoness continued looking for Leyra and found her on Christopher’s arms, so, guided by a huge and crazy wrath with the man had stolen his little sister, Tiago threw over Christopher and attacked him. Leyra shouted as high as she could, “Tiago, stop! Please stop!!” and Adiemus separated Tiago from Christopher in consideration to his desperate and horrified sister.

There was a long space of silence on which Tiago and Adiemus tried vainly to convince their sister to return to the Khoven but she didn’t accept. She loved Christopher too much to be far away from him and he will not be well received on the Khoven.

Meanwhile the brothers discussed with their sister, Mother Pythoness thought what may have happened if Tiago would have gone alone… “Human blood might have been spilled.”, thought sadly.

– Leyra –said Mother Pythoness refraining the impulsive wishes of Christopher to intervene the familiar discussion and take Leyra away with him. –, my dear apprentice, life and Grand Spirits have taught me we can’t run away from our destiny –affirmed with a calmed severity –return to us and your actions will be forgiven

– I can’t! –Exclaimed Leyra –I love him too much.

– You can’t love a man, Leyra! You were born to love the entire world, to love Grand Spirits and to serve them. That’s your mission!

–You should say that was my mission because I’ve realized I will not be good for Spirits anymore –exclaimed Leyra causing a feeling of horror and worry on her brothers, her mistress and, even, on Christopher. Leyra didn’t see the strange light that was taking form around her while she was talking and didn’t see the silhouettes approaching her. But Mother Pythoness did… –Because I love this man more than I would ever love Grand Spirits! –ended Leyra and in the right moment she pronounced the last word, the light and the silhouettes hovered on her and she disappeared…

About Christopher, it is said that Tiago tried to kill him but Mother Pythoness, still weeping tears, stopped him with Adiemus help. She said to Christopher his punishment will be to carry with the guilt of killing the woman he loved. But if you want to know about Leyra I can’t tell you anything, because nobody knew something more about her…

I remember my grandmother used to say, “Pay attention to the story, Yhunna.” And horrified as I was I began to think what could have happened to Leyra and Christopher because I thought if Leyra had escaped, she could have been happy, but, sadly, that was not the end of the story… “She could have become a spirit. No. She would have made contact with his forbidden love.”, “she may have gone to fulfill the mission she always had.” And so many other possibilities, until my grandmother ended saying, “You know what happened, dear, and why it happened. Leyra must have died because of her actions. She should have never…” And, then, I used to complete her words: “She should have never dared her destiny and the Grand Spirits.” And my grandmother smiled and said to me, “Remember it; remember it.”

I said to you, at the beginning, that I always loved the story. Well, the truth is that I always loved the short details of the incredible love between Leyra and Christopher, and the magical predictions the Mother Pythoness could do. But now I am really scarred because I dreamt with my loved dead grandmother. In my dream she said to me again, “You can’t run away from your destiny, Yhunna.” And when I woke up, in my right hand there was a strange spiral mark…

I just can think in my boyfriend and how much I love him, and in the last glance my grandmother gave me on the dream…

“You can’t run away from your destiny, Yhunna. You can’t.”

My Strange Stories XIII

February 25th, 2011

“Me myself and I”

People say being an actor or actress is a piece of cake! They believe you just have to memorize some lines and fake a personality. But is that really easy? I don’t think so.

When I began to take Acting Classes I was in 8th grade. I’ve been learning and practicing Acting for three years. That’s incredible, isn’t it? That I had borne it for so much time, that I hadn’t given up. I can assure you something: it has not been easy at all!

The reason why I started to take Acting Classes is that I was so numb and needed to flip the record, to make a change in my life. I always admired the Grecians –they instituted the Drama, but you know that, don’t you? –, the skill they had to represent, to play an acting work; the passion they had. So I beat myself up about it and decided to enter in an academy. I thought I could find “me myself and I” taking acting classes. Such a strange and illogical decision! Off course I found myself while acting but I found “me Juliet Capulet”, “me Eleanor”, “me Elizabeth Bennett”, “me Ofelia”… too. Is funny, isn’t it? I thought I could find myself and I found like ten “me” more… but I really love Theater.

At the beginning I said to myself “I made the wrong decision” but I realized all my life –actually, the years of my adolescence: when we all ask ourselves a thousand questions –I had been looking for something, and when I played Juliet, for example, I felt that empty hollow I had in my brain or my chest got suddenly full or heal a little. So I carried on acting, and it has been one of the wisest decisions I’ve made in my life.

I’m still looking for something but I really think I’m nearer. I will receive a call, an opportunity. And when it arrives I will pick the phone up and take it without having second thoughts. Meanwhile, I’ll be Juliet Capulet…

My Strange Stories XII

May 27th, 2011

“The clock gave its twelfth chime and Cinderella went out from the Ball, running. It was an odd scene. A lady, dressed with a deluxe dress riding a poor horse by the mud street, sprinkled with it.”

That were the first lines of the acknowledged mockery of the famous fairytale of Cinderella, Michael was writing for his Literature Class. He knew it would make laugh the assembly. He was merrily thinking on it when he fall in a deep dream

He was dreaming he was on a ball, a Masked Ball, dancing with the most beautiful girl he had ever met. He said something and she laughed. Oh, how beautiful her smile was! She was dressed like a fairy… the Queen. But suddenly, she made a worrying expression of anguish and ran away. He tried to stop her but she was quickly and could leave him behind.

Michael woke up with an idea on his mind. He took the draft he was writing and made a ball with it before bowl it. He took a new paper and began to write:

“We all know what happens with Cinderella. She has to suffer a lot, but no one ever talks about the Prince. About what he has to live, because he finds the love of his life, the perfect woman he had been looking for and she left him because a pumpkin and the clock! That’s totally unfair! I’m saying this because I have felt what Prince did. I dreamt with a woman who disappeared at the twelve o’clock and it was one of the saddest experiences of my life…”

My Strange Stories XI

May 13th, 2011

The cat was standing behind the stained glass of the church because in that time cats were considered as diabolic creatures, so they couldn’t enter or walk by many places, including churches. It was St. Michaels Church and the cat was waiting for its owner, Loise, who was set in the furnished room of Lady Margaritte, who was the principal of the respected Institute for Ladies Loise was studying on.

Loise had broken a window that was the reason she was there. She was looking by the window, gazing the horizon, searching for peace in a place, beyond the mountains. She was a lonely girl. Her unique friend was Mr. Moustache, the cat. So, when she saw Mr. Moustache will be seen –and probably killed –she didn’t care about herself and threw to the window to cover it, but she was not a lucky girl, then, she hid the cat but broke the window, and was taken to Lady Margaritte’s Office… such a great day she had!

Lady Margaritte was a beautiful woman; she was the Duchess and had refined taste. In spite of this, her office was not as comfortable as it should be. It was glare and the chairs were located in a way that made people understand they must talk straightly and quickly. Well, that was what Loise thought because she believed all the School, besides the church, was ghastly in extreme, but the reality was that the office was totally comfortable and luxury; and the school was not as bad as she thought. By the contrary, it was one of the most recognized institutions for ladies in the country, it’s just that Loise felt alone because her parents never came back and it made her stood apart of people… The unique situation she used to share with her partners was the huge fear when the clock made his continue clang.

After she received her punishment for the broken window, she went to the church to meet Mr. Mustache. After that, she went upstairs to her room and continued gazing the horizon.

My Strange Stories X

(Basado en The Masque of the Red Death de Edgar Allan Poe)

April 10th, 2011

My dear friend,

You are not going to believe this. I can’t although I saw it all with my own eyes! My dear, Prince Prospero is dead. Lord Wilghbur is dead, Carlotta is dead… everybody is dead! Do you remember I told you, there was a disease killing the people? The red death found us although we hid from her per six months! Oh, that’s so frightening!

Prince Prospero invited us –the nobility, indeed –to his abbey to hide from the illness and to entertain us, he offered a Masked ball. “Oh my God that is a splendid idea!” we all thought. I prepared my costume. I went to the Ball dressed like Cleopatra and made a beautiful masque. When I arrived to the suite I noticed it was formed by seven rooms. Each room was decorated with one specific color of walls, tapestries and stained glasses. The first one was blue, the second was purple, the third was green, the fourth was orange, the fifth was white, the sixth was violet and the seventh, oh my God! The seventh was black with scarlet stained glass! The death color! I didn’t have the courage enough to remain in the seventh room because of the atmosphere and bad feelings it produced me. The light, the fire of the braziers outside, each room went through the stained glasses and reflected the color of the glass over the people and the walls and it was a magical beauty effect excepting the seventh room because when the light went through the red stained glass you saw the people dancing happily, covered in blood. Lord Whilmood said to me, “Indeed, Madam. You are a superstitious woman!” but I didn’t pay attention to him and went out of there to the white room. I danced there two songs more the magnificent orchestra played but I still felt horrified, so, I went to the bathroom to calm myself when I heard one, two, three morbid clangs of that ebony clock. And the clangs continued. I couldn’t dare it! I knew there will be nine chimes more because it was twelve o’clock. I don’t know but that morbid clangs made me feel I must run away of there. So, guided by the most ghastly feeling I went out of the suite and run away to my room…

I reached my room when the twelfth clang sounded. And I heard the music stopped and there was silence where had had place happy music before. I knew the right thing was made by me. There was a lapse of silence, but then there were shouts and jells that sounded like an echo everywhere! That was horrifying! I couldn’t do anything! I just hid. Lord Whilmood told me I was superstitious but now he’s dead and I am not…

When everything returned to silence it was four o’clock I knew it because of that diabolic clock. I gathered together all my braveness and went downstairs to the suite and walked by the blue and purple rooms. Everybody was dead! I didn’t keep walking because I knew how the other rooms will be, full of corpses… I reached to see from the distance Prince Prospero dead and the seventh room was now completely red. The red of blood… that was no doubt it was fault of Red Death. All corpses I reached to see –unfortunately –had his bloody mark.

I never approved what Prince Prospero did –leaving his people to die –but I really appreciated he for inviting me to hide from Red Death. And now I thank God for giving me the chance to escape…

With my strongest affect,

Your friend

Lady Elizabeth M.

My Strange Stories IX

April 22nd, 2011

Amelie, with her blushed cheeks and her delirious mind was ripening to womanhood, but if something was true it was that she dreaded it.

Amelie stretched his body to look through the window for being sure there was no one on the room, and once she had assured of it, she broke into the room and earnestly began to search her vignette. She had to know if the work of the painter was perfect and the instructions she had gave him were meekly taken in consideration.

“The former portrait was terrible”, she thought. That was the excuse she invented for convincing herself her actions were right.

Over the wooden table there was a gilded frame sumptuously set, waiting for being placed on the vignette. And she, led by her curiosity, touched slightly all the frame with here index finger.

What a terrified expression she spread by her face when she saw in the door the austere glance the painter had! She stood suddenly pinned and quickly –there were not necessary words of the painter –left the room. It seemed like being a situation when a person with a horrifying look says, “you must go away” and the other person –Amelie, in this case –answers, “Indeed!” with her acts.

My Strange Stories VIII

April 15th, 2011

By the smooth ramp the deceased was falling in his marine entomb, instead of his normal funeral. On the ship the young boy was gazing the harsh scene with awe. Would that be his destiny? He knew he couldn’t do anything else than gave in and stop struggling. He must obey and seem like a harmless adolescent –an emaciated one –if he wanted to avoid that horrid hollow called Dungeon.

The captain greeted the young man and expressed his condolences with a typical marine phrase: “the sea is our Lord. It’s the one which decides to let us arrive to the safe shore.”

The captain got aware his words, although wise, hadn’t had a good effect on the boy, therefore, decided to leave him alone with his thoughts and the sea. But before leaving him he said, “The unique reason you had to be here is dead. The ship arrives to the shelter in a fortnight, then, you could mold your destiny. The child has died with his father today, you’re a man now. But remember, during this fortnight you’re on my ship, and I don’t allow lazy man on my boat.” And then, he left the now-young-man.

Now the boy was alone in the world. “What would I do?” asked to the near whirlwind, and with his acute senses he heard the answer –a useless one –what kind of “look into your heart” answer was it? It didn’t bring him any kind of relief. It just let him gasp of thinking all possibilities he had.

“What shall I do?” –he asked to the clouds –“What must I do?” –asked to the waves –“What do I want to do?” –asked to his heart…

My Strange Stories VII

April 1st, 2011

The lady was thinking in a dull, dreary landscape while she was remembering all the things she wanted to forget. The rough words he said, the iciness with which he fill the conversation they had.

“He arranged all the things” –she thought – “I just fall in his tramp” –He left her down in a malady she would never get over. Her mind was traveling by a bleak space, which her memories called home. It was like an archway, a narrow one that was illuminated by a feeble light.

The lady rattled with herself for hours, hesitating about everything and nothing at the same time making a carving of his pain, a mental carving.

She imagined herself like a tattered peasantry, without dreams or illusions. But she knew well that peasantries had dreams, she just didn’t find a better metaphor.

She was tired to death of everything, of nothing. She thought she would never be able to leave that bleak place… until she opened her eyes and awoke.

My Strange Stories VI

September 10th, 2010

The cat struggle with the mouse scornfully. Meanwhile, Christopher was wrapping with a cord the hands of the prisoner.

– Lead me to your boss! –said Christopher

– Never!

– I was waiting you to say that. –ended with an ironic smile

And suddenly he began to torture him. The cat kept struggling with the mouse until he ripped it. And the room got involved in silence. Well, with a few painful shouts…

My Strange Stories V

August 13th, 2010

The man was dozing in the canoe, waiting to arrive to the landing place. He needed to lay awake but he couldn’t. The graze was bleeding and it caused him nauseas.

Perhaps if he wouldn’t drank so much his condition will be better. Maybe if he would respect the other’s wife he will be healthy. Maybe.

– He was trying to die –people said – Otherwise he couldn’t do what he did. And, surprisingly, they were right. He was not upset, he was not sad, he wasn’t depressed. He just wanted to die. Why? Because he was tired of everything and wanted something better. And what is better than arriving to other world? That was the only reason for his dares.

And, fast, he will fulfill his wishes. The landing place was ever further of his eyes.

My Strange Stories IV

August 6th, 2010

The man and the young lady trotted as fast as their horses could. The man mumbled to Alice to be careful and to expect some future ambush.

The gallop and the speed of the escape made Alice plunged of the horse and hurt her leg with a stone. For a moment she thought she will be desert by him because the horse run away, but Christopher was a brought up man. He stopped and returned for her, although guards were behind them. Using a strong pole she could stand up and gripped the hand Christopher offered to her.

Guards took aim to them but he was faster and the shout killed a near deer. A beautiful and dangerous red blaze refulged through the trees when a fire’s arrow was threw as a last desperated guards attempt of catching them, but they escaped, and now they are far, far away.

My strange stories III

June 4th, 2010

“Without words”

The clock struck twelve and the ballroom began to be quite empty. The orchestra, musicians and singer leave the room and everybody in the room said goodbye to each other, except the fiddler. He was waiting for her.

When she entered, he jawed. She was wonderful. Her blue eyes shone in her white skin and it two refulged in her red robe. He thought he doesn’t deserve her, she thought he could fade in any moment.
“– a-ah –…” He tried to say something with a tremor voice. He was imagining in his mind praising her. Saying how beautiful was her eyes, how magnificent her appearance was, how lovely se was…
She went near to him and he could see the sweetest glance in her eyes. She was thinking and feeling the same than him. Since the sky Cupid wept, coddling his perfect work. She looked at him and felt herself as the most fortunate girl for having, in front, such a perfect being.

It wasn’t necessary words. The silence was the language of their hearts and their glances, the most beautiful words you could imagine. He was weak. He couldn’t resist and embraced her as if he would never let her go. She felt the warmest sensation inside her, because he didn’t hugged her body, but her soul.
After many minutes which seemed as a second they went out to the night, but they weren’t cold. Their hug had warmed completely their beings. The hand which was supporting her hand made her feel protected, and the hand which was accepting his hand brought happiness to him.

The mist wrapped both making them feel welfare, the constant sensation they could feel beside all what they were feeling. Beneath the pale radiance of the moon he promised to keep her in a metal safe forever, on his heart; and she promised to love him until death and beyond. And again, Cupid wept.

"...Porque sé que al final de todo lo único que pasará es que será un poco más frío."

Me gustaría tomarte en mis brazos y salir corriendo. O tomar tu mano y decirte "ven conmigo" Pero no puedo y lo sabes. No. Ya sé lo que quiero. Quiero tomar tu cabeza y estrellarla contra una pared. Golpear tu rostro hasta hacerte sangrar... para ver si sientes dolor. Para que te des cuenta de lo que significa estar vivo... estar despierto...

Me pregunto que pasará en un futuro. Cuando despiertes y tu piel esté curtida de arrugas, te mires al espejo y te odies más a ti misma... ¿Despertarás al fin? ¿Será, tal vez, demasiado tarde?

No soy superman pero no hay duda de que me encantaría serlo. No puedo.

¿Y si ya nunca despertaras? ¿Qué se sentiría que tú...? Cuando pienso en ello no me acongojo, tan solo... ¿siento alivio? No. No creo que el alivio brinde tanta preocupación, pero ¿no sería esa la solución que estás buscando? ¿el camino que estás escogiendo en este momento?

Hay una imágen dentro de mi mente: Yo, muda, viéndote; o más bien, viendo lo que quedó de ti en aquella caja de madera con una ventana de vidrio. Con tristeza en la mirada pero sin dolor en el corazón ¿o si? Creo más bien, que es un dolor que no puede ser expresado de forma distinta a esa... haciendo nada. No quiero verte así. Pero mi mente sigue pensando en la posibilidad y algo dentro de mi me dice que no debo preocuparme porque sé que al final de todo lo único que pasará es que será un poco más frío.

Lo siento. Sólo tú puedes salvarte, aunque no quieras.

My Strange Stories II

May 28th, 2010

“Wrath”

And there was he. In his cell trembling of cold, looking the thick fog and regretting what he did.

“He was my friend. I can’t believe what I did only for wrath, envy, ambition. Only for a barrel of wine and a woolen jacket…” He shocked his head trying not to think about that.

Every time when he let his mind think about that he felt as boiled as a potato. It made him absolutely unhappy and extremely misery. Also guilty.

Every down, when he opened his eyes, he begged it was a lie. He begged, in his mind, for other fate. He shall be tolerant and wait. No. He must. He must wait for an explanation of him, but he didn’t wait. He must avoid the bad comments others said about his friend. He should have understood that they only wanted to poke the fire between the two.

There was only one phrase said, “He’s deceiving you.” And the little spark turned in a gigantic bonfire. And the evasions of his friend added coal to it.

“- Humbug! –muttered him frowning –you’re such a liar and you will pay it to me!”

Certainly, if he would have held his temper, nothing would have happened. But unfortunately he was not that kind of person. And he will never be. Not anymore.

My Strange Stories I

October 26^th, 2009

Are you alone?

Are you afraid?

Are you falling down?

The puzzle of your life is falling apart?

You saw him go

You smelled the fear in the air

You tasted the flavor of the pain

And what can you do?

Can you repair something of your world?

If you can’t do anything,

Then it means you’re a useless piece of these

Complicated Chess called life.

Are you sure you

Be worth the trouble?

You’re an empty body

A body without soul

Your soul was stolen by your fears.

Loneliness, sadness, misery…

You’re now in the cold dark

But it is your fault.

Only your fault.

Did you trust in someone?

Someone defrauded you?

Now you are alone,

Alone in the cold night.

You are a coward.

You are a corpse of the thing you were before.

Are you afraid to let anyone else in?

Are you afraid of being hurt?

You will be hurt because you are afraid.

These is the true,

The only true.

You will be alone because you want to be alone.

You will be sad because you are afraid.

Your fears are consuming inside you

But you can’t do anything

For one simple reason…

You are afraid.

En Resumidas Cuentas

Junio 10, 2011

Desearía tan solo poder decir algo distinto a esto. No sé qué pasa, sólo sé cómo me siento, cómo te siento ahora… y duele.

Esa tarde está grabada en mi mente. Tu mirada, cada frase que dijiste… -sí, estoy de dramática –cómo me mirabas, como si supieras el final de la historia pero aún tuvieses la mínima esperanza de poder cambiarlo. Yo creía que podrías. Sinceramente lo creía. Tenía fe en ello. Era mi esperanza.

¿Por qué ahora? ¿Por qué de nuevo? ¡No lo sé! Sólo sé que me duele. Sólo sé que recuerdo una y otra vez, una y otra vez… “Tengo miedo…”

Desearía poder haber hecho algo más… desearía que las cosas hubiesen sido diferentes, que mi presente fuera un poco más cálido, que fuera un presente rodeado por un bonito verano. ¿Entiendes?

A veces pienso que sería mejor dejarte ir, de una vez por todas. Te ahorraría unos cuantos pensamientos tristes –tal vez, ya no lo sé –pero simplemente no puedo. ¿Sería mejor el olvido? Sé que te duele también –Eso creo. Eso creía saber –por eso sería mejor el olvido, ¿no crees? ¿Te mortifica tanto como para alejar todo lo que te traiga recuerdos? ¿O simplemente soy yo delirando?

Es tan distinto ahora, ¿no? Pero yo te quiero igual – ¿tú también? – por eso duele. No sé nada. No sé qué es mejor o peor, para ti o para mí. Sólo sé tres cosas:

1. Te quiero

2. Te extraño

3. Ambas estamos esperando algo… ¿Ya sabes qué esperas tú?

En este momento...

¿Recuerdas lo de los pies? Tal parece que aquellos pies no quieren terminar su danza contigo... me pregunto cuánto tiempo durará..., pero no importa. De cierto modo, que aquellos pies conserven aquel deseo, me hace feliz. Y no es por ser melodramática, pero puede que con esta decisión compliquemos más las cosas y se derramen muchas más lágrimas. Puede que, es una posibilidad. O puede que sea la decisión correcta y que logremos reparar algo de lo que se rompió en el transcurso del tiempo... Puede que.

No quiero ser pesimista -estoy tratando de cambiar :) -así que por el momento me contentaré con esta pequeña -y extraña- felicidad. Es mejor mirar las cosas desde su punto bueno. No asustarme por algo que puede que pase, hasta que lo haga... es la mejor decisión, creo.

Por el momento, estoy tratando de recuperar lo que creí perdido...

Por el momento, puede que sea feliz...

"El Retrato de Dorian Gray"

Esta novela, la única de Oscar Wilde, cuenta la historia de un atractivo joven llamado Dorian, que debido a su profundo deseo de permanecer joven y bello por siempre, hace que todo signo de vejez se traspase a un retrato de sí mismo, que un amigo suyo –Basil Hallward –hizo para él; de tal manera que, mientras el retrato envejece y muestra la corrupción de su alma, él seguirá siendo eternamente joven.

La historia de “El Retrato de Dorian Gray” empieza por un capricho del destino, el de conceder a un ingenuo joven un deseo tan vano y pueril como la belleza y juventud eterna. ¿Es la belleza lo más importante de la vida? ¿Es la juventud la más grande de las virtudes? ¿Hasta dónde es capaz el ser humano de llegar para conservar ambas?

Mucho se ha hablado de la intención de Oscar Wilde al escribir “El Retrato de Dorian Gray”. Algunos pocos dicen que buscaba, con su obra, moralizar a las personas de su época sobre la vanidad y sus consecuencias. Otros, atribuyen a esta historia las cualidades y defectos de su propia persona, como si hubiera querido dejar plasmadas sus emociones más íntimas y su pensar respecto a la vida, permanentemente, como si esta historia fuera su propio retrato. Pero, si algo es cierto es que, queriéndolo o no, Oscar Wilde dejó en ésta un poco de ambas cosas y mucho de la primera.

La vanidad es el tema principal de esta historia, pero también muestra, de forma clara, las consecuencias de la influencia de un ser sobre otro. En un comienzo, Dorian Gray es un joven normal, –sin llegar a ser nunca común y corriente– simpático y amable: “Allí estaba todo el candor de la juventud unido a la pureza ardiente de la adolescencia.”, según Lord Henry Wotton; pero que, después de escuchar las perniciosas palabras del Lord anteriormente mencionado, da un vuelco a su vida y a su forma de ver el mundo y a sí mismo. Aunque, en ese momento, aún queda en Dorian Gray algo de aquella inocencia, es el amor y la posterior desilusión, seguida de la tragedia, la chispa que acaba con la bondad de su ser. Lo que, desafortunadamente, le hace seguir fielmente las bellas pero peligrosas palabras de Lord Henry Wotton.

Dorian Gray se vuelve superficial, preocupado sólo de sí mismo y de su imagen. Vanidoso. Decide corromper su alma y actuar siempre buscando el placer, sin preocuparse, debido a su conocimiento de que cualquier consecuencia de sus actos se verá reflejada en su retrato y no en él mismo: “Eterna juventud, pasión infinita, placeres sutiles y secretos, alegrías ardientes y pecados más ardientes aún…, iba a poseer todas estas cosas. El retrato asumiría el peso de su vergüenza: esto era todo.”

Después de dicha resolución, la vida de Dorian Gray transcurrió intensamente. Guiado por los placeres, vivió por y para ellos. Podría decirse que se perdió todo lo bueno que había en él, excepto su buen gusto y hermosa presencia. Su retrato, que fue como su conciencia, se tornó horrible, desfigurado por cada pequeña tentación a la cual cedió, algo que, en un comienzo, le llenó de placer pero que, lentamente, lo fue llevando a su perdición. Llegó, incluso, a asesinar a quien antes fue su amigo.

Hubo un momento en la vida de Dorian Gray, en que un eco lejano de su olvidada conciencia se hizo presente y arremetió contra él, llenándolo del penoso recuerdo de sus horribles actos, pero bastó aquel pequeño remordimiento, para que perdiera los estribos y tratase de destruir el retrato, para que tratase de destruir su conciencia. Algo que, finalmente, le llevó a su propia muerte.

Es de este modo que Oscar Wilde nos muestra cómo la vanidad y la mala influencia de alguien puede llevar al más perfecto de los hombres a su destrucción. Pero, si estuvieras en el lugar de Dorian Gray y pudieras ser hermoso y joven por toda la eternidad, si tu cuerpo no sufriera alteraciones con el paso de los años y se conservase inmaculado ¿te rehusarías, siquiera un instante?

Sólo es mi opinión...

Lo que publico a continuación es uno de los trabajos de Español que me parece, debería no olvidar... Cabe resaltar que se acepta discrepancia...

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Puede que para muchos de ustedes el tema del que voy a hablarles les parezca aburrido de tantas veces que se ha tratado. Pero considero que nunca dejará de ser importante y jamás será bueno que seamos indiferentes a él. Es por esto que me propongo, con este discurso, hablar sobre mi opinión en contra de la Eutanasia.

La palabra “eutanasia” tiene un origen griego cuyo significado es “buena muerte”, pero ¿hasta dónde puede esta práctica ser una “buena muerte”? Las enfermedades y el dolor han existido desde el origen mismo del hombre, pero es en el siglo XVII cuando aparece este término en boca del filósofo Francis Bacon, quien atribuye el significado de “la aceleración de la muerte en un hombre enfermo” a esta palabra, cuyo sinónimo tabú es suicidio asistido.

Teniendo en cuenta la cronología, mucho antes de Bacon, hacia el siglo V a.C, un hombre dedicado al estudio de la Medicina y las enfermedades hizo el juramento al que se someten, aún en la actualidad, los profesionales de la Salud, en el que jura: “jamás daré a nadie una medicina mortal por mucho que me lo soliciten.” Entonces, ¿cómo es posible que aún después de haber jurado defender la vida por sobre todo, existan algunos profesionales de la salud que lleven a cabo el suicidio asistido?

Las personas a favor de la Eutanasia, según el doctor Manuel Sureda González, hablan de defender la dignidad de la persona humana. ¿Están queriendo, entonces, decir que una persona enferma no tiene dignidad? ¿Deja, acaso, una persona de ser “humana y digna” porque está enferma? ¿Es esa la dignidad que buscan defender? Ahora bien, ¿cómo puede la eutanasia contribuir a hacernos mejores seres humanos? ¿Asesinando? ¿Aprobando el suicidio? ¿Regresando a la prehistoria, a aquel tiempo en que el hombre abandonaba o asesinaba a los débiles y enfermos? ¿Cómo pueden saber que el paciente que hoy decide morir no se curará mañana con un avance o descubrimiento científico?

Existen muchas personas que dicen estar a favor de la Eutanasia por el simple hecho de ser pusilánimes y tener una visión limitada del asunto, pero me pregunto si han logrado ver más allá del momento inmediato. ¿Han pensado, alguna vez, que la Eutanasia podría ser utilizada por el Estado para evadir el pago de recursos destinados a las EPS y Centros de Salud, para evadir su responsabilidad con los pacientes, debido a que es más barato dejar morir a las personas que invertir en la cura de las mismas? ¿Han pensado que esta práctica podría aumentar el número de homicidios destinados a cobrar herencias? ¿Han pensado que podría aplicarse la Eutanasia para surtir el Tráfico de Órganos? Y no es por exagerar, pero como existen personas buenas en el mundo, así también las hay inescrupulosas y perversas. ¿No usaría, una persona de estas, la Eutanasia para ganar dinero?

“La vida es un derecho inalienable”, reza la Constitución Política de Colombia, y el que se crea poseedor o dueño de la vida, como para creer que puede decidir quién vive y quien muere, no es más que un farsante. Espero, tan sólo, que esto de lo que les he hablado les haga pensar un poco, pues hasta la persona más insensible, entendería algo como esto. Gracias por su atención, pero antes de marcharme desearía que pensaran, de nuevo, en eso: ¿Puede la Eutanasia ayudarnos a ser mejores seres humanos?