Experimentaciones (Holga)

Experimentations (LOMO Fisheye)

letmeseewithinyouagain

This is how it beautifully aches.

letmeseewithinyou

This is how to get inside someone's soul.

Todo.

All my smiles and all my time,all my broken n' twisted mind.All my clothes and all my wine,all my naked "wonder why?".All the songs that I hear,and all the records I hold near.All my pain and all my joy,all my greeny veins and scars.All my teeth and my spine,all my cinderella hats.All my clown ways of playin',all my serious ways of achin'.All my sins and my crimes,all my miracles divine.All the fire and all the coldness,all the times that I'll be pointless.All my fears and all my troubles,all my shy and hurt burnt sorrow.All my fingers and my blood,all the stars that I could draw.All my words and all my air,all my changes and my hair.All my dreams and all my faults,all the yellows of the sun.All my truth, my lies, my secrets,all the time spent to reach this.All the tears that I'll cry,and all the laughter I share now.All my treasures and my names,all my color socks n' my bed.All my sighs and my frowns,all of my voices and all of my heart.
All my love and all of that.All of me for you right now.

BLACK ALCHEMISTS OF ROCK AND ROLL

Alchemy:
Ancient scientific practice and philosophical discipline, which had as an object of study, the praising of rotten nature to liberate it from its impurities by the art of fire.

There are several ways to talk about alchemy, but all of them lead in the same direction, the transformation from one state to another, elevation, metamorphosis towards purity.
Rock and Roll is a double edge knife, nowadays there’s an open gap after almost 50 years of history, where on one side there’s the “rockers” and on the other side the true “rock and rollers”, notice that under such a little word difference lays an iceberg of contradictions.
BRMC belongs to the second naming and are faithful battle soldiers and defenders of that name.
There are many ways to get our self inner demons out and put them into Rock.
But when there’s a creation that’s being produced, when something new and unique is born from the sweat and the strident guitars, then we no longer are mere witnesses in a show, we’re allies of the same force, part of a holy communion with Rock as a wavy banner.
Rock and Roll is, in the end, to those who still relieve in it, a way of life, a way of standing in front of the World, and above all, Liberation.
In a world where the Bushes and the McCains are fighting to spread the cake between them, it seems to be a noble road to sing out the atrocities and disconformities with a screaming voice. It seems right to seek unity and peace in the 4 and ½ min of bass, guitar and drum kit thunder of a song.
BRMC came back to Buenos Aires, October 2nd, to prove this and more, they came back to perform black magic, like ancient alchemists, they transformed a gig, a musical gathering, like Pepsi Music 2008, into holy ground, where Robert Levon Been’s electrifying bass, Hayes’ mystic guitar sound, and Shapiro’s passionate drumming flew over the City of Buenos Aires Club, leaving everybody with open mouths and hearts.
With the same humbleness of true leaders and the strength of those who are true to themselves and to their pairs, BRMC didn’t gave a show, they gave an event, where people and band blend into one another becoming something else, they transformed into another state, another being.
They’ve done it once more.
Rock and roll needs more bands like this, who rise up to the occasion, to be able to survive.
BRMC sweat Rock and the Pepsi Stadium got too small for them, like pages and pages of history got too small to Hercules.
True alchemists never reveal their formula, they share it.

Rick

Ayer a la noche terminé de leer otro libro sobre Floyd de los tantos que tengo y siempre que puedo me compro.
Estuve estos últimos 3 días escuchando solamente Floyd, no sé bien por qué, o quizás sí... todo cierra, todo siempre tiene un sentido aunque a veces no nos parezca.
Hoy me levante, fui a mi taller de Arte y volví, no sabaía nada hasta que un amigo me avisó por sms.
A mi el Cáncer se me llevó muchas personas queridas en mi vida, mi abuelo, mi tía, mi profesora de música que fue y es junto con mi madre el rol de mujer que sigo.
Richard Wright tenía 65 años, y fue uno de los músicos más importantes de esta Era, la mía. Me da honor y orgullo poder contarle a mis hijos que yo viví en los tiempos de artistas como él.
Pink Floyd se metió en mi vida cuando tenía 14 años, y nunca más se fue.
Hoy es un día muy triste para mí, para todos.
Pero también puedo decir con seguridad que alcanzó en 65 años lo que nadie en mil vidas, y como todo artista, es inmortal.
Yo no sé por qué, porque nunca lo tuve en frente, tampoco me importa ni me lo juzgo, pero lo voy a extrañar, uno crea lazos con el arte que son inexplicables, y esta bien que así sea. Algunas cosas, las más lindas de este mundo, muchas veces no tienen explicación.

Espero que se toquen una buena con Syd donde sea que estén, seguramente va a ser la greatest gig in the sky ever.

Gracias Rick.
Crecí mejor persona por haberte escuchado.

Nad.

A sequence of Anger (I love love so much I hate it).

When there's nothing to loose
I'm always loosing you.
When there's nothing to think,
You appear in my head.
And baby it's been so hard,
to get by this last week.
Yeah it's been oh so hard,
to realize the way you feel.
Everytime I come out,
well, I then wanna get it.
I'm tired of wasting myself away,
people seem to be happy when I'm like this.
I've been such a mess,
yeah I've been a threat to myself.
Oh babe, I really think I was.
I hardly can't be these days.
They come out to you with open arms,
you're so lost you can't get a thing.
What's wrong with everybody?
Can't they see I'm not me?
And darling it's so hard,
the fact that you won't talk to me.
Yeah baby it's so hard,
you'll never know it.
And "crisis" is not good enough.
'Cause after some years's plain madness.
And sure I'll be fine like always.
But damn I wish you were with me.
************************************************************
and this is aching
and iam broken
and hope is running
and this is falling
and i wish you die
and i wish you saw me
and i wish i could be
and you wish i could be too
and the pain's spreading
and the pain's hurting
and the pain's killing
and the pain's done with me
and you all seem to be laughing
and you al seem to be happy about me
and you all can fuck off now
and you all can choke on your sweetness
and im tired
and im lonely
and im crying
and im nothing
and im nothing
to you
im nothing
************************************************************
The "oh so beautiful" mess iam.
The fact that people are always worshiping shit.
I didn't get into this to be grumpy about shit.
I'm not gonna go crying over your fucking shoulder so you can sympathize me.
I'd rather break something and then be pitiful on my own fucking hurt hand.
I guess I really don't expect anything from anybody anymore.
And to my surprise...nobody's suprising me. Uh. Who knew?
Fuck them all, but I need you so much.
I wish I could take it out like some bad drawing you made on yourself.
Get some feeling eraser soap.
'Cause this isn't pretty, I'm not an "awww sweetie you're hurting but you felt" kinda girl.
I fucking hate being distroyed to tiny pieces, so tiny you just can't fucking put it together anymore.
Can't you fucking see?
Damn I've been signing to you people, with my bare hands up on the air, for 5 fucking years!!! What the fuck is wrong with you?
And I don't give a shit I sound like "everybody else 'cause all of us felt the hurt of love", you know?
And yes, of course I'll end up this shit saying' I don't give a fuck when I do, 'cause I'm so tired of having to admit myself to myself, when I know that's not good.
Blah.
This is pointless.

Todas las cosas deben pasar.

No entiendo nada.

Estoy furiosa.

Se me escapan las chispas de los ojos y se me cierran solos los puños.

No puedo dejar de morderme la boca y simplemente no entiendo nada.

Uno se pasa la vida pensando que no sé, cosas, todo el tiempo y de repente te quedas a oscuras. Nadie te avisa, nadie te tira una señal, todo se apaga y te quedaste ciego.

Nadie puede entender la muerte y sé que es un tema recurrente en todo lo que escribo, en todo lo que digo, en las cosas que pienso, y en las que hago, pero no me da vergüenza vivir sintiendo que no entiendo, que le tengo miedo y que siempre me voy a romper la cabeza tratando de entender, aunque sepa que nunca voy a llegar a una idea fija.

Me encontré con una mala noticia. Me encontré con millones de recuerdos de amistades, de niñez de cosas que estaban sepultadas vaya a saber quién por qué.

Se destaparon todas, se me vino el mundo del pasado en la cara, en la geta, sin avisar.

Y no sé que decir. No sé que decirle, cómo hablarle, que puedo llegar a hacer “yo”, ser diminuto en el medio de toda esta marea de pensamientos que no tienen linealidad ni razón.

“El amor es lo más grande que tenemos” sí, y eso puedo darle con toda mi alma, con toda mi rabia y mi poco entendimiento, pero ¿cómo ayudar? ¿Cómo hacer?

No hay sentimiento más enfermo que sentirse impotente, que saber que no hay nada que puedas hacer para calmarle los demonios a alguien.

Yo no entiendo de dioses, ni de religiones, tampoco quiero entenderlas, no entiendo de fe, ni de cielos prometidos, mi mundo esta en la tierra, en los pecados en la gente que común y corriente vive todos los días como puede.

Y así quiero que sea.

No puedo hablar, no puedo decir cosas que no creo, no puedo usar palabras hechas que están vacías.

No me sale nada.

Solamente te quiero.

Y acá estoy, si sirve de algo.

Perdón por no haber sido una parte más fija y más certera en tu vida amiga, perdón por no haber estado, perdón por olvidarme que existías, perdón por todo, perdón por mí, por dejar nuestros 14 años en el olvido, amontonados entre el polvo de carpetas y canciones, perdón, perdón, perdón.

Ojalá algún día me perdones.

Te amo con cada pedacito de los recuerdos que entre las dos tejimos alguna vez.

As invinsible as a fire mark.

It was unavoidable.

The nervousness he wakes up turns any man into a baby.

You find yourself imagining crucial encounters, shakes of hands, questions asked but… what to ask him?

He who has answered so much and who has been asked so many.

There’s nothing you could ask or say that he hasn’t already heard.

It would be better to close the mouth you unconsciously opened, and burn the moment onto the back of your eyes.

I hurried myself, like a fresh new bride trying to get before her man, just to see him arrive with a smile on her face and say "I was here first darling". At least I’d be "first" than him once in my life.

After all, this was a date; like with everything regards him, it’s always personal.

You’re surrounded by thousands of people yet it’s only him and you, there’s no barrier, no nothing in between.

And it’s funny how my sit was so small I could barely fit in, I looked at the ones who were going to share this with me and said "only him could bring people together like this and make them don’t care about comfort", the four of us laughed.

It seemed like we were going to be together, really close.

I saw al kinds of reactions, the ones that spoke aloud on their globalized cell phones "yeah, it’s about to start m’friend, we’re all here", the ones that looked down, onto their own feet, like praying, and so concentrated that it appeared to be some Buddhist reunion. Those nervous ones, unable to sit down, always standing and bouncing to all sides. The ones that peeped all the time, always trying to see something on the stage before the rest, those are the ones that always confuse people by letting go some little screams and making everybody think he’s there; all the heads turning and no sign of the man.

I saw all reactions, smiles, silent whispers, laughter, hugs, kisses, hands shaken, friends reuniting, it was a communion of feelings, all of the feeling human have were there, and we were all swimming into some big human soup.

I opened up; ready to let everything he wanted to give in. I wanted to breathe all those things into myself so I would never forget how it felt.

The lights went down and the heart jumped.

There he was, the living man had poured himself outta my books, albums and outta my very own mind onto the Velez Sarsfield Stadium.

How had he done that?

He had always been just an image printed somewhere, I couldn’t really tell if he was real…

Like a little kid discovering some important truth, I realized he was real.

And then, so were all the things he had whispered into my ear so many late and dark nights. His words were more vivid and real than ever.

He was a prestidigitator, the best one I had ever seen. He could turn my feelings and I upside down with just a combination of words, with the symmetry of his lyrics and the blood always spilled all over them.

I felt small, and huge.

I felt ashamed and courageous.

And it happened, there I was right in front of him, he looked at me thru the blue of his eyes and grinned.

He wasn’t really looking at me, he wasn’t really there.

I managed to walk towards him and raised my hand; he looked up, not saying anything, looking right to my eyes.

I could see my own heart there, on a plate, still beating.

- Hello – I said.

He smiled.

- I don’t think there’s anything I can really say, or want to say. I don’t think anything I say is going to impact you like I was impacted by you, so I’m not going to say anything, I just want to grab your hand, look thru your eyes and silently make you realized how purely thanked I am – I said in one big breath.

So I did. I grabbed his hand, it was warm.

I put it onto my own palm and looked at it.

I thought of how many roads that hand had traveled and how many people it had touched how many lives it had changed.

He looked at my hand, he grabbed it and said:

- Your hand’s like mine, almost the same size.

- I have my father’s hands - I said.

- Then I must have known your mother… – he said in a funny tone.

I smiled thinking of what my dad would have to say about that.

- You have impacted me, just like you said I impacted you. We’re even now.

And he was gone.

Like a blurry memory of some childhood time where you can’t tell dreams from reality he had walked away.

Once more I was left speechless.

A succession of tunes and chords flew thru the air, you could feel them floating in and out of people.

And he made me a believer.

Music could change the world, even though if he didn’t believe it anymore, I saw it with my own eyes. People weren’t thinking about the differences but melting onto each other into one big crowd of hungry ears eager to believe.

Hoping to see beyond.

It gave me hope, maybe not everything is lost.

Maybe our generation can still be saved.

Maybe just telling our feelings, speaking about our pain out loud can make a difference, just like he did.

That was all he ever did, he talked, he told stories, he’s no legend, he’s just an honest man. Maybe that’s what we need, to get honest, firstly to ourselves.

And like he came, he was gone.

Nothing said, there was nothing to be said.

No goodbyes.

How could you depart from something that’s attached to you so much?

You can never say goodbye to something that never leaves.

And when thank you is not enough, just open your hand; you never know who might grab it on the other side.

I extend my hand to you once more Bob.

About Death, Love and Life: the thoughts of a worried mind.

What happens when death strikes us?
When you feel it around you for the very first “real” time in your life?
It’s not about knowing somebody that died, but really feeling it near, not about having a death near experience, but feeling it so close you could almost touch it without even physically affect you, no, you won’t die physically, but something inside you won’t be the same, ever.

There’s something about death I could never handle, and it’s the sense of reality it leaves behind.

We live day after day without not even noticing all of us will die, everyone you know will go away.
It’s in the deepest instincts of our survival the fact that we unconsciously need to not think we’ll die, ‘cause, how could you live knowing everything you are will disappear one day?
But knowing has its chances…

Like I’ve said before, I could never deal with death, I never go to funerals or burials, I can’t talk about it, I simply shut myself, and recently I’ve tried to think why that happens. It’s in the common tongue of everyone that death, of course hurts, you loose someone dear and of course it leaves you dry, but it wasn’t just that to me, it was genuine fear, genuine horror of reality, of that glimpse of truth you get when you found out that person’s not gonna be around anymore, and it makes you think… it makes you realise, you won’t be here someday too, that death is waiting, and it’s the only thing we all have in common.

Such as it is, as hard as it is to accept and to deal with because it brings “eye opening” truth about you, suicide it’s even harder to handle.

When someone decides to end his or her life, there’s always a sense of “unnatural” in the air. But I ask myself, what’s natural about death? What’s natural about trying to hang on to life and experiences and feelings so bad for an average of 75 years when you know all it’s gonna go away in the end?
Natural death it’s also unnatural.

So, there’s gotta be something more, something worth living for, and there is. To some of us, there is.
And sadly to others there isn’t.
I could compare having or not the will to live with a lottery, but I would be risking myself of sounding vague and uncommitted, which I am not, so I’ll say this, there are old economic forces we live under, some of those determine how we live, with who, and in what circumstances, if we’ll go to school, if we’ll go to jail, if we’ll take drugs, everything’s sunbathing under the sun of Capitalism, and so do we.
It’s been said you have choices, but do we?
What are the odds a young poor kid living in a roofless house will ever get to be what he really wants?
What if the examples he sees since he was a baby are having a street business selling hot dogs, or stealing, or dealing drugs?
What if the highlight of this young boy life is having a baby at age 17?
And yes, I do have a point, because of course not only poor people kill themselves, but there’s also something about rich ones.
What happens when you life your life from one material thing to another?
What happens if you come to this world to a loveless mother cared more about her nails and hairdo than you?
What happens when the only woman who resembles to be a mother has to go away ‘cause she’s an illegal employee and you’re parents “will never do that to the country” so they fire her?
What happens when you start filling your full of wholes life with everything you can get?
What happens when you can get everything you want but not everything you need?

Coming from a working class home, the issues are the same, and they’re all related to economics. There’s a force working upon you and you don’t realize it. You NEVER kill yourself because you were sad and tired about this world. You kill yourself because this world was tired about you. Because there was something missing that should have been there for you, not because you ditched something, you were ditched by this system. All throughout history people have committed suicide, I’m not mental, and I’m not blaming Modern Capitalism and Globalization only. But there’s something about POWER that moves every man, from the tiniest to the biggest, and after all it’s always about how we feel inside.
Either you feel powerless or within power.
Either you have the power to live or you don’t.

And we go back to the choices, have we got them?
There’s only one choice. One real choice, and that’s to terminate ones life. That’s the true choice every single being has. But it’s “oh so” unnatural, you’ll go to Hell if you do, ‘cause you’ll be attempting to your own life, and deeper and between the lines, you’ll be attempting to the system. You’re saying “fuck you all”.

But what about love?

Unfortunately this is not a PRO-SUICIDE writing, I’m not that courageous, this is about choices. It’s in everyone’s need to know if you make a choice, there’s gonna be consequences, and if you are willing to take them on your own. Of course after you’re dead nobody’s gonna reclaim them to you. But there’s something that also bonds us all, yeah, cliché, LOVE.

Either we have the power to love, or we don’t.
Either we feel love, or we don’t.
And to our tired eyes it might seem we don’t have it when it’s there, that’s the magic of being a human being, we fucked ourselves up as much as we can to then be able to go forward. Like a snake leaving behind its skin.

I’ll come down to this, when someone decides to take their own lives, it’s always about love. Love had, love taken, love quitted, love forgotten, love given, love not heard, love not seen, love’s everywhere in every single form. And we long for it so much we forget our bodies, we don’t care about them anymore, and we pull a trigger one Monday night.

I had to write pages to understand and to see what I couldn’t, blinded of selfishness.
I had a friend who wanted to die.
He didn’t care for this world and this system just wasn’t built for him, he was too delicate, too pure to be here, one night he shot himself.
He was so desperate for love he couldn’t wait for it no more, and he went into a state where his body was just a wall between himself and complete serenity of mind.
So he tore that wall down.
He said his goodbyes, he told me he was already tired of this world, that he had the need to go, that it had been enough for him.
He had made a choice.
A choice beyond my comprehension. A choice it took me several months to start to unwrap, and a choice I will probably never get. But he wasn’t asking me to understand him; he was asking me to remind him that he was loved, by me, by all. And I did. So when he finally pulled that trigger, he felt loved. What else do we need?

It’s all about choices, when we decide to let somebody alive as much as we can when that person’s dying in a Hospital we’re choosing, we’re choosing sometimes over their own wills.
When we try to convince someone to not pull a trigger onto their heads we’re choosing, we’re choosing not to listen to them.
And when somebody decides to go, they’re choosing, what makes them different from us?
How mighty are we that we have to make them stay?
When their existence it’s a living pain.
How powerful do we feel when we realize there’s a limit to our power?

I wanted him alive, I wanted him to smile at me and say silly things, I wanted him to hug me and tell me the monkeys were coming to get me thru the window.
He didn’t wanna do that anymore.
He made a choice, and I loved him, he was my friend.
He wasn’t weak, I know I am, he wasn’t a coward, I know I’ve been so many times, he just made a different choice.

So I respect his choice. It hurts, but he was in pain for us all by staying when he didn’t want to. He was in pain for too much time. It’s time for me to feel some of his pain too, and I don’t mind, because there’s something that makes us all eternal, something that completely gets out of the system, and that’s love.

So going back to the beginning, no, this is not writing about “let’s all kill ourselves ‘cause life sucks” no, if I have made you believe that I ask for your forgiveness.
This is about death, and the life that can come from it.
About death, and the reality that strikes you when you really feel it.
The reality that everyday, it’s a last day, a slow goodbye, and the one thing you should be doing is only and simply one: look for love.
If you haven’t found it, look harder, if you still haven’t found it, look even harder.
One day you’re gonna wake up and see you’re 75 and you were looking for love in everything all your life, and that’s something to be.

This is the most honest thing I can say, I opened myself up, and this is what I see: there’s gotta be love in everything you stand and fight for.
The greatest revolution must come from love.
After all, is there anything else?
You got one life to do it.
Wanna start?

BRMC Blog en Español

Para los motoqueros rebeldes que pertenecen a algún club.

http://www.brmcenespanol.blogspot.com/

Message from Yoko Ono

MESSAGE FROM YOKO ONO

We all know that we are at the crossroads of blowing up together, stay alive maimed, or slowly die from cancer or other unpronounceable ailments we don't have the cure for. We may become the subject of experimentation of scientists as well. That's another area of control we are being subjected to. Due to many powerful controlling forces, not necessarily coupled with the right judgement, we are now surrounded by polluted water, polluted air and polluted land full of pesticides and nuclear waste.
The vast majority of politicians are bought by corporations the interests of which are to make money, and more money. Corporations are not people. They are just giant machineries working for one end: to make money. People who control the corporations are just slaves to the machinery they work for. Some of them get wise and pull themselves out. They get enormous parachute payments and run. The politicians are slaves of the slaves. They may do some posturing to show us that they are actually working for the people. But they are not. They cannot be. They need big corporate monies to back them up to be in their position to begin with.
In a situation like this, what can we do?
We, the people, are asked now, to be incrediblly, incrediblly wise. And so we are. We are getting very wise very fast. Our survival instinct of the race is waking us up. As soon as we have decided to confront the truth without anger or despair, we started to see the truth. The truth is getting more and more obvious now. The game politicians and corporations play to keep people away from truth are not working anymore. They needed people to take care of their dirty work. People who witnessed pieces of truth of what was going ..ed to speak out.
I know how it is when you speak out. You feel terribly vulnerable. You look around and see that nobody is with you. In fact, the whole world seems to be laughing at you. That was the experience John, my husband and I had when we spoke out. You should write to whoever had the courage to speak out and express your solidarity. Your letter becomes a protection for them. If tons of letters would go to them, they will not be covered up or disappear. That's how it works. Letter writing is still a very effective weapon. You should know that.
There are courageous reporters, too. Mad Cow disease was covered up for ten years in United Kingdom. A minister demonstrated on TV to show how it was safe for him and his son to eat cow meat as a strong gesture of assurance to the people. Despite that the truth came out to the public because of one photo of piled up cow carcasses taken by a reporter.
Shed light, and darkness disappears.
Use the most powerful addition to our lives called the Internet. The Internet is a revolution. Because of the internet, our world is becoming a global village as we predicted in the sixties. The internet communication keeps us together and wise. Politicians are now trying to find a way to block or mess up the internet communication. That means they know how important internet is for the people. They can bribe journalist in a few choice positions to make them become convenient mouth pieces, and they do, but they cannot bribe the whole internet.There are two very important writings on the internet I want to share with you. One was by Michael Fitzgerald called Militarism: A way of life which is in the latest issue of UTNe Reader., also online at the original magazine website THE HUMANIST.
The article speaks of how being a son of a working class navy man, he has realized how millions of Americans depended their livelihoods on the permanent war economy - not limited to people in the military, but people who worked as defense contractors. A person cannot be elected to be the President of the country, unless they are voted by the military and defense contractors.Therefore, If the President does not take the nation to war, he will not be able to stay President. The article refers to the fact that Lyndon Johnson said, privately, he feared impeachment if he pulled out of Vietnam. Well, that's a hell of a statement.
When I read this article, I felt very depressed, because it was an intelligent article pointing to a logical reality I was blocking from my mind. I sent it to all my politically minded friends, and they all became just as depressed as I was. Some came back saying, "there's no point in us making a peace effort then. it's a waste of time." I felt that way, too, for a second. Am I just an old peacenik, ignoring reality? It seemed that way.
Then I've read another article that really gave me a lift. So I want to share it with you.It was called GIVE PEACE A CHANCE which, naturally, attracted my attention immediately. It was an OpEd article in New York Times by John Tierney May 28th, 2005. It spoke of the fact that we were just facing a time of the end of the war, altogether. The logic was that "even if the war, such as the one in Iraq, was a pragmatic venture to keep oil flowing, not even the most ruthless accountant could justify the expense." The American military costs in the Persian Gulf were much greater than the value of all the oil it was getting from the region, and now the United States is spending at least four times what the oil's worth.
That was such a great news! I have been going around for sometime saying that unless Peace Industry became more viable than war industry, we would always have war, since war was invariablly motivated by possible economic gain. But now, what I thought was nearly impossible was actually happening! Peace industry was becoming more viable than war industry! Even an optimist like me, did not think that I would see that in my life time.
War in the old days was hit and run affair. You destroyed a weaker nation than yours, take everything that was valuable, and either colonize the country to further milk it, or just leave. Nowadays, you cannot do that. Because of the advancement of the media, in varying degrees people are aware of what you are doing. The whole world is watching you. So after you spend so much money on the war itself, you cannot take home anything that is not yours. More over, you have to help the country to reconstruct. What kind of deal is that?
On top of it, the whole world accuses you each time you kill a group of civilians and families. It's different from the days when you could kill hundreds and thousands of civilians and families in one go, like in Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and be considered justified.People are getting wiser because they see. That's what's happening. That is what will save us from the impending doomsday. Simply by becoming wiser, and keeping a clear vision. That's the power all of us people have. Politicians are humans, too. They don't want to be too unpopular. Besides, they may lose significant amount of votes. So they become quickly intimidated when they feel the wise eyes of people all staring at them. On the other hand, they get strangely energized, when, confused and frightened, people scream at them in anger. That is because they feed on your attention and the strong energy you send them. They could even feel heroic about weathering the storm.
Countries, too, nowadays, must do things right so they don't get criticized by the whole world. The world is watching. I wish the international court in Hague is more independent and strong. But even without Hague, when the light is shed on what is done, it is not easy to continue being unjust. The financial result of the Iraq War hopefully will discourage others from trying to solve future situations by war and violence. We are starting to understand that war does not pay, it only creates costly destruction to us all.
In the United States, some people are still thinking that this war in Iraq, like the first and the second world war, could eventually bring a lot of money to the United States - at least to its corporations. Well, all I can say is that it will be mighty difficult for one to put its hand in the pot when the whole world is looking at you. And this is not just about the United States. Every country is hoping to put their hands in the pot of oil. But this game will be over, too, when we find other sources of energy. Many brains are now trying to figure that one out.
True, our planet is in a pretty bad shape now because of human misjudgements. But the healing process is taking place now, starting with the awareness of the futility of war and violence. We can quicken the process of "healing" as well.First, we have to recognize the incredible power of our minds. The other day, I was doing a fast walk in Central Park with a trainer. He kept saying "You're thinking about something." I've realized that whenever I was thinking, I was slowing down. Well, if my body can slow down because I'm thinking about something, how much effect does my mind have on my body? It's a scary thought.
Our mind is a very strong instrument. One day, early this year, I went to a restaurant. When i finished eating, the woman who was at the next table just said quietly - "I was there at the bed-in in Montreal." I looked at her, and she looked so young, I automatically said, "you must have been a baby then." She told me how she and her friends as teen-agers heard that John and I were doing the bed-in in Montreal, and decided to drive up to see us. I actually remembered that there were a few high school students who came and wanted to see us. John and I told our assistant to let them in. They came and sat with us for a long time...probably they were there when we did the Give Peace A Chance. i didn't ask her about that. Anyway, the woman told me that the experience of being at the bed-in changed her life. It was such a big thing for her, she didn't even tell that story to her husband until they were together for a few years. The husband was smiling and nodding as she told this story to me.
The friend who was with me told me later, that he thought, also, she looked remarkably young. "But you know," he said, "all my friends died of this illness and that, and I am still here and people tell me that I look remarkably young. Do you think it has something to do with the fact that people like that girl and I have been part of "the experience- you know, the magic of it." "It's possible." I said. "Give Peace A Chance," since then, has been sung all over the world. The fact that it was made then in that bedroom, may have exerted some special power." My friend, by the way, was not there at the bed-in. But Give Peace A Chance and Imagine were like his mantra of life.Believe in giving peace a chance. Believe in the power of imaging world peace.
When John passed away so suddenly, I was feeling very bad. Not only that, but I discovered that there were people who specialized in taking advantage of widows. Nobody thinks they will be a widow, and when you are, you are so shellshocked you don't feel like speaking out about something like that. So these are things that are not spoken of so much in our world.
I was getting hit left and right. It was getting so heavy, I was worried that it would effect my health. So to release myself from the weight of it, I kept blessing the names that came to my mind, every night before I went to sleep. I would say bless jack, bless bill, bless peter like that. Whatever name that came up. Sometimes I would get a shock, and say to myself "I'm not going to bless that one, am I?!" But I kept going. I realized something very interesting. The name that came up more often than not were the names of people who were particularly not nice to me. The names of the worst enemies, so to speak. So I ended up blessing those people. Strange things started to happen. The enemies were still attacking me. But some of them were getting more interested in something else. Some of them started to have some difficulty in their own lives that made them focus their energies on those things more than on me. One group of people started to fight amongst themselves. One of them, in fact, came to me complaining about his gang of friends how unfair they were to him about his take and confessed to me what they were up to! I may have been just lucky, and the change of the situation may not have had to do with my nightly blessings. But, at least, it released me from the resentment and fear I held within me. I started to feel lighter. It helped me to move on and be active in health.
We must believe in the magic of our beings and what our minds can do. Our world is a reflection of our magical beings and our minds. Together, we are creating what we all want - heaven on earth - which is, actually, here already.
With stem cell research on its way, we know that very soon we will all have healthy bodies unless we block it with our stubborn minds.
We have to become even wiser, and we will. For an example: There is a saying that a glass is half empty or half full, depending on how you look at it. Well, we all know that one. But we cannot just say, okay so half full is how we should look at things. No. We have to go even further in our observation and realize that the glass is actually 100 percent full: 50 percent with water and 50 percent with air. Our minds have to become more sensitive than what it was in the past centuries and realize things in a deeper way - and they will. We will be aware of invisible threats and blessings: silent help and attacks we have not been aware of . Think of everything that comes to you as a blessing and everybody that comes to you as an angel. Then figure out why they are. By doing that, you will not miss the positive opportunity which is being presented to you.
So I say it again, let's believe in the magic of our beings. We are still in our embryonic period. One day, very soon, we will see ourselves living peacefully and having fun without sickness or violence. One day, we will see ourselves travel to other planets as well. It will probably be as casual as going across the Atlantic.
Though, for myself, I think I'd rather stay at home! I love this planet and the culture and the civilization we built here in so many centuries. I would never be bored with my life on earth. There are so many more good times we can have. Let's look forward to it, and not destroy our future, by holding on to our fear and confusion. That's old hat now.
Power to us people. Let's stay well and have lots of fun. Let's keep dancing together. I love you!

Yoko Ono, NYC

All is all, and all is you.

The night. The window. The bed, no wind. No air. Your hand. Your arm. My skin. The lightbulb. The pillow. The colours, the figures. Your eyes shut. my eyes open. Your heavy breathin' my lazy ways of going. The ceiling. Your feet. The touch of the cold walls. The memories of dreams. You're sleepin', I'm awake. You're waking, you're there. The sighs, the kisses. The sweetness of what's missing. The holyness of us. The free spirits around. The shaky fingers floating away. The sheets, the night, the end. All is all, and all is you. All is all, and all is you.

Ecosistema personal de los recuerdos.

Es extraño.

Siempre dicen que las “modas vuelven”, que lo que se usó hace años se va a volver a usar en años venideros. Y eso me hace pensar en círculos, no tan perfectos, pero círculos al fin.

Lo que nadie dice, quizás por miedo o por vergüenza, es que las personas vuelven también, las personas, los recuerdos, los lugares, los olores, los colores, las sensaciones de risa y las ganas de querer volver. Porque en realidad las “modas” no son las que vuelven, nosotros volvemos a ellas.

Cuando yo tenía 9 años mis padres decidieron que no nos íbamos a ir de vacaciones a Montevideo en Febrero como todos los años, sino en Enero, y al parecer nada iba a cambiar, pero cambió todo.

La verdad tengo que ser honesta y decir que nunca fui popular en la Primaria, tenía a esa edad demasiados “conocidos” y ningún amigo de verdad, o por lo menos mi memoria lo bloqueo lo suficiente como para entender, ahora a mis 23, que no tenía amigos en la Escuela. Todos mis compañeros de la escuela estaban locos por "los comics porno" como les decíamos, en realidad eran los comics de "Punisher" y “Cazador” que eran puras puteadas. Mis amigas comentaban al día siguiente en la escuela quien se había "tranzado con lengua" a quien y como había sido el capítulo anterior de "Amigovios". Mis compañeritos de la escuela no entendían nada, después de todo siempre estuve al margen de todo en la primaria, fue en la secundaria donde aparentemente como era yo, era ser "cool", yo no lo sabía.

Esa fue la mejor parte, no haber tenido amigos en la Escuela, porque luego, como voy a contar, la carencia de amigos, hizo a los demás que conocí mucho más gigantes e inolvidables.

Cuando volví de las vacaciones, Febrero estaba lleno de calor, asfalto caliente y una sensación de letargo que me encontraba a mí casi todos los días tirada por algún rincón diferente del departamento.

Una tarde con mi amiga de la infancia, la única que tuve y no compartíamos Escuela, fuimos a pasear a su perra, Gala, un espécimen digno de monumento feminista (la perra representaba fervientemente todo lo que estamos orgullosas las hembras de esta tierra, siendo posesora de una personalidad increíblemente fuerte y protectora).

Hacía un tiempo que veníamos observando unos chicos que se juntaban con sus bicicletas en la misma plaza que frecuentábamos nosotras, eran a nuestros ojos de tan pocos veranos vividos, “rebeldes” y completamente fuera de la ley, y por eso nos encantaban. Eran esas barritas de barrio de las cuales uno soñaba con formar parte y que por alguna razón “adulta” el resto del mundo evitaba.

Nosotras éramos chicas, Florencia tenía 10 y yo 9, los chicos, la barrita tenía nombre y todo: “Spander’s”, eran más grandes, entre los 13 y 15 todos. Por supuesto para nosotras esta diferencia era abismal, y cuanto más abismal, más correcta parecía.

Ese fue el verano del 92’, y al parecer faltaban muchas cosas aquel verano, aparte de marihuana para fumar, como luego quedaría inmortalizado en alguna canción nacional. Fue un verano caluroso, y quizás por eso, o por alguna razón mágica e inexplicable, fue el verano en el que pude finalmente mandar a todos a la mierda: pasé a formar parte de la barrita de mi barrio. Y no es poca cosa; mi barrio, no era un barrio tradicional, donde las esquinas están repletas de árboles y la gente duerme la siesta. Vivir en el barrio central de una capital puede ser tanto vacío como altamente mortal para los sueños de cientos de chicos, si alguna vez pudiera dar un concejo a un padre o a una madre, les diría que no criaran a sus hijos en un barrio así, mata mucha de la neuronas y lastima la imaginación. Lo único que nos salvó a todos la vida fue la Plaza Libertad, el mismísimo epicentro de nuestra barrita, el cuartel general de los Spander’s, la caja donde metería luego, a lo largo de mi vida, miles de recuerdos, de miles de personas diferentes.

De repente, se nos habían acercado a charlar, y al otro día, ya nos sentábamos juntos, es necesario creo, recordarle a quien lee, que en el año 1992 la adolescencia (o pre-adolescencia en mi caso) no sabía de computadoras, ni boliches de trasnoche, tampoco de excesos, ni sexo casual. Sin embargo estaba repleta de música, los años 90’s fueron parte del resurgimiento del Rock and Roll, luego de la superficialidad de los 80’s y su vicio por esconder, en los 90’s los chicos no teníamos vergüenza de mostrar todo, aún así lo que nos faltaba, y mostrábamos orgullosamente por las calles todos nuestros defectos. Los jeans ya no importaban más o menos por su marca, y los rompíamos en pedazos, las remeras era mejor si estaban sucias y usar camisas de franela en pleno sol era todo un reto. No se trataba de mostrar ni esconder, sino de ser lo que se era sin agregados artificiales.

Nos unía el Rock.

Cada recuerdo posee su propio soundtrack y allí descansan muchas bandas de Rock, Guns and Roses, Metallica, Blind Melon, Nirvana, Soundgarden, Aerosmith, Peral Jam… los 90’s nos habían encontrado queriendo vivirlos, y eso hicimos.

Puedo arriesgarme a decir que éramos la epítome del Rock and Roll, no teníamos ley ni nos interesaba el orden de ningún tipo, la vida para nosotros pasaba por los ligeros y diarios encuentros con nosotros mismos, con las tardes de música y charlas en la que el mundo parecía resumirse a esa Plaza, y la noche nos encontraba queriendo no irnos de allí.

Algunas parejas se formaron entre nosotros, que duraban lo que duraba una canción y aún así nunca nadie se enemistó con nadie.

Todo parecía estar sostenido en ese letargo que el verano nos había dado, y aunque los meses habían pasado y aún los años, nosotros seguíamos viviendo bajo el sol de Febrero.

La mayoría de los recuerdos que tengo están hilvanados con alguna canción, y a cada cuál lo recuerdo más por su grupo preferido, Axl tenía el pelo largo y era re flaquito, era fanático de Metallica, y estuvo una tarde, literalmente veinte minutos mostrandome aquel CD negro en el que supuestamente había una serpiente, lo logré ver después de mucho tiempo. Florencia se convirtió en la fanática más grande de Nirvana que conocí en mi vida, a Matías lo recuerdo por sus risas, y Fernando tenía una mamá que creo era estrella porno, o siempre tuve esa fantasía no sé por qué. Juan Pablo y Francisco eran hermanos y vivían a la vuelta de casa, como todo el resto, eran más fanáticos del Rock Nacional, tenían hermanos más grandes que nosotros que a su vez habían sido la barrita del barrio que nos predecía a nosotros, parecía ser que cada generación había sido testigo y partícipe de una barrita en la Plaza Libertad.

A mi me gustaba Blind Melon.
¿Qué decir?
Me llenó de música la vida, tengo tantos recuerdos con canciones de Blind Melon en el ambiente que es terrible, me acuerdo de las horas, de los olores, de todo, y me acuerdo de lo amargo y lo triste también, me acuerdo del banco de la plaza donde nos enteramos que se habían muerto, para mi, Shannon, para Florencia Kurt; pero eso no importa ahora.
Blind Melon fue quizás la primera banda contemporánea, al menos para mí, que de chica ya escuchaba The Beatles o Led Zeppelin, que me impactó y me rompió la cabeza.
Cuando nos preguntabamos qué nos gustaba cuando yo tenía 12 años, yo decía "Blind Melon".

Pasaron años y en 1994 con 12 años y no me importaba ser una marginada del Sistema Educativo Primario, mis días pasaban queriendo apurarme para llegar a casa, dejar la mochila e irme a la Plaza. Era tan importante ver a mis amigos todos los días como ahora es querer recordarlos.

A medida que fuimos creciendo, fue triste la evolución misma del ser humano, de la cuál formábamos parte y de la cuál no queríamos entender nada tampoco. Algunos de los chicos se fueron mudando, pero nunca los reemplazábamos con nadie más.

Hay muchas cosas y recuerdos que me inundan y me llevan a un lugar incómodo, ahora en mi pujante “adultez”, me veo a mi misma sentada desafiante en la ventana del cuarto de Florencia con una pierna colgando hacía la calle, escuchando Rock en su cuarto pintado de ciudad. Frente a su edificio vivía Fernando, que siempre tenía el departamento vacío porque sus mamá nunca estaba (de ahí mi infundada declaración de que era estrella porno) con lo cuál los chicos se juntaban a espiar desde el balcón de su cuarto a las hermanas de Valeria cuando se cambiaban, a nosotros nos causaba mucha gracia, ellas eran más grandes y formaban parte de la otra camada de los 90’s, una algo más acomodada y menos callejera que la nuestra, aunque Valeria por un tiempo también estuvo con nosotros.

Recuerdo también una fiesta en la casa de Fernando, una fiesta que nos llevó semanas planear, nosotras no sabíamos que ponernos, signo de que la adolescencia y las hormonas estaban comenzando a querer salir, ya no éramos tan inocentes.

No recuerdo como todo terminó, sé que todavía aún los únicos que seguimos viviendo en el barrio somos yo, Juan Pablo y Francisco, a los que muy de vez en cuando veo pasar por la calle, y siempre que puedo saludo con alegría.

Quizás mi cerebro bloqueó todo aquello por que fue el fin de muchas cosas, habíamos tenido una magia y una suerte que no todo ser humano tiene en esta vida. Nos habíamos visto a nosotros mismos especiales, y habíamos dejado de ser prejuiciosos para con los demás. El mundo más tarde se encargaría de devolvernos la cachetada que tan fuerte y descaradamente le habíamos dado.

No recuerdo con exactitud cuándo, pero para 1996 la barrita ya estaba disuelta, yo terminaba la descorazonada Primaria y comenzaría lo que sería el lugar donde “los verdaderos amigos se forjan”. Lo único que puedo decir al respecto es que daría todo por una hora con los Spander’s originales.

Por supuesto nos volvimos a cruzar, hasta compartimos un domingo en la casa nueva de Florencia allá por el final de 1996.

Habíamos sido demasiado atrevidos como parar querer durar. Lo que habíamos creado en esa Plaza era demasiado puro y mágico como para perdurar en la realidad, y nos tuvimos que conformar con hacerlo perdurar en las memorias.

Como me han dicho por ahí “quizás esas personas eran para ese momento y nada más” y creo que así fue. Hay gentes que la vida nos regala por determinado tiempo, y esta en nosotros poder hacer que ese momento dure para siempre. No sé si alguna vez voy a poder sentirme tan partícipe de algo como cuando tenía 12 años. Sin duda en cada canción y en cada recuerdo las bicicletas y patinetas, Gala y los primeros CD’s, el primer beso que no se dio, las camisas a cuadritos y las remeras rayadas hacen un cóctel de sonidos y sensaciones que sólo pueden percibirse con los ojos cerrados y una sonrisa en la cara.

Cada cuál siguió su camino, a algunos se nos hizo más fácil o difícil que a otros, pero sin importar donde cada uno este ahora, siempre vamos a tener ese lugar a donde volver, la Plaza siempre va a estar esperando.

Es extraño.

Nunca más tuvo la Plaza Libertad otra barrita. Nunca más se juntó la juventud en sus bancos y árboles a vivir a flor de piel los días. Tal vez la respuesta de nuestra separación también esté allí, tal vez el Sistema, que todo lo come, también extendió sus miles de lenguas, envidioso de nuestra felicidad y devorándolo todo, nos llevó con él. Pero no me quita el sueño.

Los recuerdos son más fuertes cuando tienen sabor a lucha., olor a pasto verde y un fuerte sol de verano.

Compartir no es Delito che...

Un amigo de un amigo, que tiene un amigo con otro amigo en común, que dicen que esta emparentado con Hendrix, tiene un Blog nuevo, donde la idea es ser buena onda, nada más.

Les dejo el link al próximo paraíso del Rock cybernético...


http://compartirnoesdelito.blogspot.com/

Pasen y vean, no se van a defraudar niños y niñas....

Blood

Our blood today's runnin'

I'm Blind like a Melon.

Yo tenía 12 años, y todos mis amiguitos de la escuela estaban locos por "los comics porno" como les decíamos, en realidad eran los comics de "Punisher" y no sé que otro que eran puras puteadas. Mis amigas comentaban al día siguiente en la escuela quien se había "tranzado con lengua" a quien y como había sido el capítulo anterior de "Amigovios".
Yo tenía amigos más grandes, algunos de ellos hasta 3 o 4 años más, y a los 12 años eso es una infinita diferencia. Me juntaba con ellos porque me querían como era, un tanto rara, es cierto. Pero ellos también lo eran entonces eramos una linda barrita de inadaptados.
Mi mejor amiga en esa época era más grande que yo, se llamaba Florencia y era fanática de Nirvana. Los chicos con los que me juntaba todas las tardes después de volver de la escuela en la plaza en frente de casa escuchaban Rock and Roll, estaba Axl que era fanático de Metallica, Matías que le gustaba de todo un poco, Fernando que tenía una mamá que creo que era estrella porno, o siempre tuve esa fantasía no sé por qué.
Y entre todo eso allá por 1994 y aún antes, porque los conocí alrededor de 1993/ 1992, a mi me gustaba Blind Melon. Mis compañeritos de la escuela no entendían nada, después de todo siempre estuve al margen de todo en la primaria, fue en la secundaria donde aparentemente como era yo era "cool", yo no lo sabía.
Blind Melon.
¿Qué decir?
Me llenó de música la vida, tengo tantos recuerdos con canciones de Blind Melon en el ambiente que es terrible, me acuerdo de las horas, de los olores, de todo, y me acuerdo de lo amargo y lo triste también, me acuerdo del banco de la plaza donde nos enteramos que se habian muerto, para mi, Shannon, para Florencia Kurt; pero eso no importa ahora.
Blind Melon fue quizás la primer banda contemporánea, al menos para mí, que de chica ya escuchaba The Beatles o Led Zeppelin, que me impactó y me rompió la cabeza.
Cuando nos preguntabamos qué nos gustaba cuando yo tenía 12 años, yo decía "Blind Melon".

Le voy a contar todo esto a Dylan Shannon cuando nazca, dentro de unos años, tal vez así no putee tanto a su madre por el nombre.

Night, arise.

So many years.
Months and days have come in and out of time as waves on a long and distant beach.
Memories seem to fade and moments passed seem to shrink inside a worried mind.
Sometimes the eyes seem so wet that it's almost impossible to see.
Dry the years, let them fade away while we grow inmortal.
Taking deep breaths of new air to feel each second. Because we now each minute counts.
And as we grow old we come to think of old days of happiness and warmth.
Long they have stayed in our dark memory.
Let them out.
Spit the poison and tell the whole truth to the world.
Each one of our victims have the right to know.
We haven't been kind, and time is having us on his account.
Scream.
Tell the moon that you don't care for anything anymore.
And feel the lies coming up thru your veins as dry blood in your arms.
We are afraid.
Because time has been bold and we haven't been kind.
Do not despair, our time will come.
And sooner or later our whole army of buffons will take over the earth.
We will laugh last.
We will soon arise.

Heart in a Cage

Julian Casablancas must have written this thinking of me....

Well I don't feel better
When I'm fucking around
And I don't write bitter
When I'm stuck in the ground
So don't teach me a lesson
Cause I've already learned
Yeah the sun will be shining
And my children will burn

Oh my heart beats in its cage

I don't want what you want
I don't feel what you feel
See I'm stuck in a city
But I belong in a field

And we gotta laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh

Now it's three in the morning and you're eating alone

Oh my heart beats in its cage

All our friends, they're laughing at us
All of those you loved you mistrust
Help me I'm just not quite myself
Look around there's no one else there
I went to the concert and I fought through the crowd
Guess I got too excited when I thought you were around

Oh you gotta laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh

I'm sorry you were faking; I would steal your fire.
My heart beats in its cage
Yes the heart beats in its cage
Alright

And the heart beats in its cage.