Tina Tinísima

La encontré en uno de los sitios mas extraños. Un sitio de anuncios personales de internet. Si hace un año alguien me hubiera dicho que terminaría poniendo un anuncio en un sitio donde ademas de promover sus centros nocturnos, su restaurante y la diversidad en general también tienen una gran sección de anuncios personales donde lo que sobran son los hombres me habría reido mucho. Sin embargo eran como las 2:00 AM de un Sábado por la noche y ahí estaba yo autoplagiándome al puro estilo de Isabel Allende. Un texto que primero fue parte de una tarea para clase de redacción y después formó parte de mi colección de escritos que algún día (aunque sea con mi dinero) publicaré. Sin embargo el autoplagio era necesario la tarea era describete a ti mismo y como siempre resulta un poco complicado y ya que hice el esfuerzo de cumplir con la dichosa tarea lo uso ahora como un texto utilitario. Le añadí unas cuantas cosas más además de 4 fotografías y lo lancé al ciberespacio. Al regresar de mi solitario viaje a San Miguel. Me encontré con 3 respuestas. La mas interesante Tina. Psicóloga y con gustos afines. Es gracioso como aveces a algunas mujeres no nos importa tanto el exterior. Nunca hemos pasado a la etapa de describete a ti misma fisicamente. Sé que le gustan los gatos, mojarse en la lluvia, el cine de arte y visitar museos. Que vive en el Sur de la ciudad yo vivo en el Centro Sur (la Roma) y que se dedica a la psicología clínica y educativa. Pero aún no sé el color de sus ojos ni conozco el timbre de su voz. Tan sólo queda imaginarla sin mas punto de referencia que Tina Modotti. El resultado es una mezcla de Tina y el trabajo de Edward Weston. Espero ser lo suficientemente valiente para traer a Tina al plano de lo real.

Have you ever felt broken?

I mean really broken. Drowning, like when a relationship ends and something tears inside you and the pain seems like its never going to end? I would feel fortunate to feel torn apart just to know that I'm really alive and I really felt love. Than never have the opportunity to feel... It's not that I'm masochist because I'm not. I don't like being hurt but that's the way it is. It's not nice or desirable it just is. Failure is always hurtful but crisis is opportunity and they say that whatever doesn't kill you would make you stronger... Perhaps this is true or perhaps is only a delusion of our minds. But as I said before I rather feel torn apart than numb. Numbness would leave where I am now.Pain makes me move on. Most people don't want to be in pain forever. But at least I can say I took the risk and totally embraced the experience of loving. Can you?

Ghosts

I get off the bus and there they are. Four ghosts piled in the corner of the sidewalk I watch them everyday on the way to work and sometimes on the way home. Always four, sometimes they look like fallen cocoons and others like a shapeless mass. Bodies, they are only bodies. They are a part of me because of the daily encounter and nevertheless they aren’t more than an entity like the light post of the same corner where I find them. I’m not interested in their existence. I’m more interested in their nonexistence. The daily expectation of not meeting with their dead empty eyes, the desire of not having to listen to their voices, the anxiety of passing by their side and being recognized as the gray shadow of everyday.
Several times I’ve met with their dimmed eyes; they look at me with the coldness of watching the emptiness. Then I speed up my steps to forget the encounter. I could change my way but I find a morbid pleasure in passing by the dead. Sometimes I wonder what they might have been before being dead or if in fact they are dead, if they are there or if they are a product of a game of my mind.
They are ghosts, they don exist, not even for themselves. And in spite of their nonexistence they receive the glance and comments of those who watch them. As if their nonexistence was their only way of being. As if there wasn’t anything previous to their death.
They are dead because no-one remembers them before all they are is this shapeless entity of piled bodies over the sidewalk. Sometimes I wonder if I’m the ghost.

San Miguel de Allende

******* I left Mexico City in search of a little peace. Four days in gorgeous San Miguel helped me recover inner peace. There I had the time to read 4 books and to find a part of myself that I thought lost. The one that doesn't want to control anything and just goes with the flow. While I was there I felt like I was in a bubble nothing disturbed the slow pass of time. There you perceive reality in a different way. No wonder thousands of foreigners stay there to retire. All the days were bright and sunny. I would never expect the burst of reality that was awaiting me in the city

Presentation

Let’s say that I’m like a collage taken from pieces of life and forgotten anecdotes, Perhaps I’m condemned to be part of the chain of forgotten anecdotes of some other lost being in the sea of moments that precede us and the others that await us. I am like the light on the verge of being extinguished in a candle: sometimes bright and shiny and some others weak and almost extinguished. It’s in this dimmed light that I reconstruct myself everyday and draw a new existence with dark outlines at times and some others almost imperceptible ones.