Sunday, February 24, 2008

So, turns out i really like Pablo Neruda....

Dos poemas que me gustan.

SONETO XVII

"No te amo como si fueras rosa de sal, topacio
o flecha de claveles que propagan el fuego:
te amo como se aman ciertas cosas oscuras,
secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma.

Te amo como la planta que no florece y lleva
dentro de sí, escondida, la luz de aquellas flores,
y gracias a tu amor vive oscuro en mi cuerpo
el apretado aroma que ascendió de la tierra.

Te amo sin saber cómo, ni cuándo, ni de dónde,
te amo directamente sin problemas ni orgullo:
así te amo porque no sé amar de otra manera,

sino así de este modo en que no soy ni eres,
tan cerca que tu mano sobre mi pecho es mía,
tan cerca que se cierran tus ojos con mi sueño."



Si tú me olvidas

"Quiero que sepas
una cosa.

Tú sabes cómo es esto:
si miro
la luna de cristal, la rama roja
del lento otoño en mi ventana,
si toco
junto al fuego
la impalpable ceniza
o el arrugado cuerpo de la leña,
todo me lleva a ti,
como si todo lo que existe,
aromas, luz, metales,
fueran pequeños barcos que navegan
hacia las islas tuyas que me aguardan.

Ahora bien,
si poco a poco dejas de quererme
dejaré de quererte poco a poco.

Si de pronto
me olvidas
no me busques,
que ya te habré olvidado.

Si consideras largo y loco
el viento de banderas
que pasa por mi vida
y te decides
a dejarme a la orilla
del corazón en que tengo raíces,
piensa
que en ese día,
a esa hora
levantaré los brazos
y saldrán mis raíces
a buscar otra tierra.

Pero
si cada día,
cada hora
sientes que a mí estás destinada
con dulzura implacable.
Si cada día sube
una flor a tus labios a buscarme,
ay amor mío, ay mía,
en mí todo ese fuego se repite,
en mí nada se apaga ni se olvida,
mi amor se nutre de tu amor, amada,
y mientras vivas estará en tus brazos
sin salir de los míos."

No sabes el espanol? Not my problem.

Saturday, April 21, 2007

Deep Fried Words, With Cheese

Well, the semester is ending. Again.
It's been a full year since I cared about this blog. My intermittent posting has been forced, at best (I rather wanted to delete most of them). It seemed I had more to say last year, and I've wondered what's changed. I suppose the answer it pretty insignificant--probably I was still trying to form relationships here then, and the blog seemed like an okay way to do that. Nonetheless, I'm a little sad that I won't have a record of this year to look back on when it's all over.
So, what's on today's proverbial plate? A meaningless rant for my amusement? A quasi-profound snippet of self-divulgence? A crunchy morsel of short fiction? Or maybe none of these things?
I can't decide. I think I'll play it like those SAGA omelettes: made to order. What would you like to see, O Readers (aka Colleen)? Shall I start up a grill a buy some ketchup? Shall I start boiling some water? Or maybe just a dish of ice cream? My mind is at your leisure; your wish is my command.
*takes out pans*

Saturday, December 30, 2006

Ugly Houseguest

At times, I begin to have an ugly suspicion that fiction writing is not my cup of tea. This suspcision seems to arise at the most inconvenient times, for example, whenever I attempt to write fiction.
My problem is that I can not seem write fiction for its own sake. Always, whenever I am in the formative stages of my writing experience, I find myself looking for a message or a point, then moulding a story to fit. As a result, most of my forays into the land of literature have only produced a mound of dull, awful symbolism. Poorly written symbolism. And sarcasm.
Currently, I am several pages into a short story which I am writing for an English class. For days, I mulled over what to write. A myriad of ideas came, all of them hideous. At last, with the due date drawing near, I settled on the most decent one and set to.
Two paragraphs in, I began to notice a certain...lack of inspiration in the tale, but I shrugged it off. Two pages in, I felt a distinct surge of disgust. This too I ignored.
I begin to have a feeling similar to what a kite must experience when entangled in a tree. I see, in retrospect, that the whole branch thing was not the best idea. Doesn't do much good, though.
I come into my room after class and mosey up to my computer. There is the short story. My eyelids lower.
"Oh. It's you," I say, with clear asperity.
The story retorts with an icy silence.
I begin to hit the keys with unnecesary force, focusing narrow eyes on the screen. I try to ignore the story. It doesn't work.
The story, for its part, responds with immaturity and downright rudeness. It wordlessly implies that the whole debacle is my own fault. If this goes wrong, it croons, you can't say its because I was a bad writer.
I click the big X at the corner.
It is not the best method of conflict management, I know. When I come back, the story will still be there--accusing.

Sunday, October 29, 2006

Dr. Bronner's Magic Soap

Yes. This is it.
Wisdom from a soap bottle.

"Absolute cleanliness is Godliness! Then, who else but God gave man Love that can spark dust to life! The Moral ABC uniting All-One-Brave all life! Who else but God! Who else!
11th Essene, Chinese and other birth control methods must reduce birth or Easter Isle type population destroys God's Spaceship Earth!
Love is like a willful bird, do you want it? It flies away! Yet, when you least expect its bliss, it turns around and it's here to stay! For centuries man struggles, half-asleep, half-living! Small, jealous bickering with mountains of red tape! To be awakened the night God chose giving His great reward for hard work, the Moral ABC-unity-ecstasy-love evolving man above the ape! The Moral ABC- unity-love evolving man above! Coincidentally and yet oh-so-slow, sweet kisses whisper softly..." {edits out creepy, semi-pornographic section}
"Who else but God gave man Love that can spark mere dust to life, the Moral ABC uniting All-One, brave, all life...
Use Dr. Bronner's for Shave-Shampoo-Massage-Dental-Soap-Bath!
Pure Castile Soap for Dispensers-Uniforms-Diapers-Babies-Beach!
Dash in Hot Water, Towel Massage body always toward you heart!"

"WARNING! KEEP OUT OF EYES! WASH OUT WITH WATER! DON'T DRINK SOAP! DILUTE! DILUTE! or WET SKIN WELL! OK!"

"...If you can work hard to teach unforgiving minute the Moral ABC, mason Hitler taught carpenter Jesus to unite all mankind FREE, come hell, hate, ban, you'll enjoy enjoy God's spaceship Earth and do great work in it; & which is more my son, you'll be a man! A man! Sure East is East and West is West and never the twain shall meet! But there is neither East nor West, nor border, breed nor birth, once the Moral ABC unites all mankind free on God's Spaceship Earth! Then and only then, no matter how rough the trip, how charged the soul, you are the captain of thy ship, the master of they soul! These are the days my friend, we know they'll never end! We'll work, sing, dance, love, marching on! Marching on!We live God's law today! We win Free speech OK! With full truth, our only God, we rally, raise, unite the whole human race, lightning-like, in our Eternal Father's great All-One-God-Faith! As teaches the African astronomer Israel since the year One: "Listen Children Eternal Father Eternally One!" Exception eternally? Absolute none!"

And that was just the top half...

Thursday, September 14, 2006

Estudiando Espanol, Sin Aprendiendo...

I begin to feel this mental lethargy will continue until I escape this horrible (dashed) land of general education classes...
I fanned the the sunlight between my outstretched fingers. The sun, a mere sherbet toned strip, peered cautiously above the impsoing walls.
I was beginning to forget that sunsets were not always so mitigated. Somewhere in my mind there sizzled the memory of a freer light; a blazing orb descending as its rays danced rapturously in its wake-an ethereal greeting of color and light.
But this was only a fancy. Such pleasures did not exist in this place of eternal stone and grass springing from the earth like fingers from a grave.
No, it was not a prison. I had come here on a mission and a whim, one day as I walked down a wooded path, and glimpsed Enlightenment (or his shadow) stealing into the shade of the stones. I, like a child at tag, had given chase with heedlessness and glee.
There had been times since when I had smelled knowledge like a sweet perfume, or reached to grab Truth's blazing robes and felt the warmth on my fingertips.
Times long remote. Now all was coolness and dark-inside the labyrinth.
I would carry on through the endless ways, every corner the same as the last, carrying hope. Hope of escape, hope of success- resisting always the impulse to simply settle upon the earth and forget...

Okay, so it's not great. But it is a post. Perhaps, if you are kind, I will attempt to make it a bit less wordy, and more worth reading. Until then, goodbye-
and don't forget to comment.

Saturday, August 19, 2006

"A precious, mouldering pleasure t'is
To meet an antique book,
In just the dress his centruy wore;
A privilege, I think,

His venerable hand to take,
And warming in our own,
A passage back, or two, to make
To times when he was young.

His quaint opinions to inspect,
His knowledge to unfold
On what concerns our mutual mind,
The literature of old;

What interested scholars most,
What competitions ran
When Plato was a certainty,
And Sophocles a man;

When Sappho was a living girl,
And Beatrice wore
The gown that Dante deified.
Facts, centuries before,

He traverses familiar,
As one should come to town
And tell you all your dreams were true:
He lived where dreams were born.

His presence is enchantment,
You beg him not to go;
Old volumes shake their vellum heads
And tantalize, just so."
-Emily Dickinson

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

A Post

There is something about summer that always smothers away any coherent thought.
The lengthy hiatus since my last post has been a result of this phenomenon; my mind has been adrift on a sea of random thoughts and fleeting impressions, none of them particularly worthwhile. (I have just noticed that blogspot no longer offers any possibility of separating paragraphs. Or at least, it isn't now. I am most annoyed.) Maybe I'm just having self-esteem issues (ha), but I am basically annoyed or disgusted by everything I have to say or put on paper. It seems so silly and worthless. I am convinced that nothing kills the human soul than the constant pursuit of self. Nothing this world has to offer is worthwhile. Nothing. And yet, everything I see promises to give the impossible; "hot, decadent summer looks," "plump you pout," "lose fifteen pounds"..consume, consume. I feel like I am watching some horrible drama unfold before my eyes, slow and gray. There is something absurd and dark, inexpressible...like watching starving droves battle for scraps at a table that is really bare, their fingers thin and greedy, the flies exploring the caverns between their ribs... And here I am with the feast for all the world, yet all I can do is gape and trip over my own feet. Yes, I admit it, I am the most frustrating person I know. I have this impulse, this idea that I should be off doing great things or changing the world with this amazing gospel, but I can't even stop myself from sinning for a moment. What should I do? Where should I be going, God? Show me...
*sigh*
Real life awaits somewhere beyond the mist...