Todo loco empieza por aparentarlo. Pelos largos, ropa
oscura, maneras diferentes a las convencionales de proceder, reclusión
emocional y orden de arresto domiciliario a la bravura de expresarse. O todo lo
contrario. Nada de medias tintas. Todo talento que se precie, o no, debe tener
un sometimiento. Ya sea amoroso, afectuoso, deseoso, aventurero, de carácter,
social...
All crazies to start, it looks it. Long hair , dark clothing, unconventional bizarre ways of proceeding , emotional imprisonment and house arrest by the bravery to express . Or the opposite. No half measures . Every talent that price, or not, must have a submission . Whether loving , affectionate , eager , adventurous, character , social ...
La gente busca ser apreciada, ser parte de algo más grande entre lo que sentirse aceptado, escondido, protegido de la lacra de la soledad, unido a alguien, a algo, vinculación ante el temor de ser considerado raro. Y en cambio a los raros, les da igual. Por eso son raros. A los que no se bajan los pantalones ni se bajan del burro en sus planteamientos y siguen su camino en la más estricta autocracia y autarquía personal, sólo rota por puntuales necesidades, se les define como raros.
The people you looking to be appreciated, to be part of something bigger between what we feel accepted , tucked away from the scourge of loneliness , coupled with someone, something linking for fear of being considered weird. And in contrast to the rare, to they don't care. That's why they are rare. Those who do not drop their pants and get off the donkey in its approach and go their way in the strictest personal autarchy autocracy , broken only by occasional needs , are defined as rare.
Los raros, son los que no hablan o hablan demasiado, son aquellos que dicen, sin decirlo, que son raros. Los raros son los que entienden más allá de las palabras, la agresividad de un gesto de desprecio, la burla de un acto desinteresado cuando alguien pasa por la espalda y prevén la puñalada antes de ser imaginada por el/la "otro/a" a quien ven llegar por la retaguardia. Raro igual a desconfiado. Por tanto, todos somos raros, anoto en mi libreta de detalles a tener en cuenta para estudiar en los exámenes de la vida.
Rare are those who do not speak or talk too much are those who say , without saying it , they are rare . Rare are those who understand beyond the words , the aggressiveness of a gesture of contempt, the mockery of a selfless act when someone passes back and to provide the stab before he have imagined by the one who are arriving from the rear. Bizarre is equal to untrusting . Therefore, we are all weird , I write down in my notebook of details to consider in the study of exams life.
All crazies to start, it looks it. Long hair , dark clothing, unconventional bizarre ways of proceeding , emotional imprisonment and house arrest by the bravery to express . Or the opposite. No half measures . Every talent that price, or not, must have a submission . Whether loving , affectionate , eager , adventurous, character , social ...
La gente busca ser apreciada, ser parte de algo más grande entre lo que sentirse aceptado, escondido, protegido de la lacra de la soledad, unido a alguien, a algo, vinculación ante el temor de ser considerado raro. Y en cambio a los raros, les da igual. Por eso son raros. A los que no se bajan los pantalones ni se bajan del burro en sus planteamientos y siguen su camino en la más estricta autocracia y autarquía personal, sólo rota por puntuales necesidades, se les define como raros.
The people you looking to be appreciated, to be part of something bigger between what we feel accepted , tucked away from the scourge of loneliness , coupled with someone, something linking for fear of being considered weird. And in contrast to the rare, to they don't care. That's why they are rare. Those who do not drop their pants and get off the donkey in its approach and go their way in the strictest personal autarchy autocracy , broken only by occasional needs , are defined as rare.
Los raros, son los que no hablan o hablan demasiado, son aquellos que dicen, sin decirlo, que son raros. Los raros son los que entienden más allá de las palabras, la agresividad de un gesto de desprecio, la burla de un acto desinteresado cuando alguien pasa por la espalda y prevén la puñalada antes de ser imaginada por el/la "otro/a" a quien ven llegar por la retaguardia. Raro igual a desconfiado. Por tanto, todos somos raros, anoto en mi libreta de detalles a tener en cuenta para estudiar en los exámenes de la vida.
Rare are those who do not speak or talk too much are those who say , without saying it , they are rare . Rare are those who understand beyond the words , the aggressiveness of a gesture of contempt, the mockery of a selfless act when someone passes back and to provide the stab before he have imagined by the one who are arriving from the rear. Bizarre is equal to untrusting . Therefore, we are all weird , I write down in my notebook of details to consider in the study of exams life.
Es más que probable que en los tiempos que corren y con tanta dilatación en este paritorio de buenas nuevas, mi cerebro haya "petado". Las buenas noticias no llegan y las que nos dicen como tales, no lo son, más que para algunos. La gente sigue muriendo de hambre. Pero eso no interesa. A mi mollera le cuesta y ya no es capaz de crear nada que no
contenga odio, negatividad, oscurantismo, recelo, miedo. Miedo a perder lo poco que nos queda. El miedo es contagioso. Y también todo lo contrario, pero es más fácil someter a los no raros con el miedo.
It is more than likely that in these times and with this dilation on the paritorio of good news, my brain has "exploded". Good news does not come back and the news that tell us as such, they are not, or only for some. People are still starving. But that does not matter. To my "mollera" costing and is no longer able to create anything that does not contain hate, negativity, darkness, suspicion, fear. Fear of losing what little we have left. Fear is contagious. And the opposite, but it is easier to order to the non-rare with fear.
It is more than likely that in these times and with this dilation on the paritorio of good news, my brain has "exploded". Good news does not come back and the news that tell us as such, they are not, or only for some. People are still starving. But that does not matter. To my "mollera" costing and is no longer able to create anything that does not contain hate, negativity, darkness, suspicion, fear. Fear of losing what little we have left. Fear is contagious. And the opposite, but it is easier to order to the non-rare with fear.
Pero con todo, en la ínfima parte que queda de la corteza cerebral, la más íntima y profunda de mi
personalidad, queda un rescoldo, una pequeña brasa de lo que ha sido mi vida: un fervor de resistencia. Con el corazón podrido de tanto latido desacompasado, sigo siendo capaz de pelear y gritar que sigo siendo yo. Vivo sin usar la referencia de los biorritmos como excusa como hacia antaño. Miento. El otro día lo volví a usar. Me drogo a base de energy drink y ginseng. Busco la motivación en la fruta prohibida y no es ninguna metáfora. Me encantan el jengibre, descubierto tras la esquina de una pequeña amistad que crece poco a poco, en los zumos de papaya, pero me gustan si provocan un vuelco en mi quehacer diario. Tomo complejos vitamínicos para entender la guasa nociva de la pasividad, la injusticia y "aquello" de la otra mejilla. Tenemos la cara ensangrentada y seguimos fieles hasta la muerte de los que hablan en los altares de un guerra que ayudaron a provocar hace casi 78 años. Pero eso da igual, sigamos.But yet , in the very small remaining part of the cerebral cortex , the most intimate and profound of my personality, is an ember , a small ember of what has been my life : a fervor of resistance. With the rotten heart of to beat much , I'm still able to fight and scream that I'm still me . Live without using the reference of biorhythms as an excuse as to yesteryear. I Lie . The other day I went back to using it. I drunk with energy drink and ginseng. I search the Motivation in the forbidden fruit and it's no metaphor. I love ginger I discovered it after a friendship's corner small that grows slowly in the juices of papaya, but like if they cause a shift in my daily work. I take vitamin supplements to understand the harmful banter of passivity , injustice and "that other" of the other cheek. We have bloody face and we remain faithful to the death of those who speak on the altars of a war that they helped it off nearly 78 years ago. But that does not matter , moving on.
Oigo música sin letras, porque el exceso de información, el torrente de mentiras, los trueques que someten a la verdad y las aspiraciones modestas de los "demasiado" honrados me vuelven sordo de manos y pies. Ya no quiero separar más paja del trigo yermo que se han encargado de arruinar los dueños de los dueños de la tierra. Me asomo de vez en cuando a la ventana irreal de Twitter y Facebook, donde se escribe la verdad, donde la propaganda ocupa parte de la jornada laboral de los Community de Manager de la Nada. Dinero oscuro de "los intelectuales". Me reinvento en las
fotos. Pienso en ella. Pienso en todas las "ellas" que forman mi "yo". Me planifico las tardes (para no pensar demasiado), me subo a la red sin pies en la playa, ni platos que den envidia. Me subo en letras que no son del tesoro pero son todo lo que tengo. Sin tapujos y sin
bloqueos. Aunque alguno si que hay. Pura supervivencia emocional. De la otra, ya hablaremos.
I hear music without lyrics, because information overload, the torrent of lies, barter submitting to the truth and the modest aspirations of the "too" honest, make me deaf and toes. I don't want to separate more wheat straw of wilderness, that have been commissioned to ruin the owners of the land owners. I peek a occasionally unreal window of Twitter and Facebook, where the truth is wrote, where the propaganda occupies part of the workday of the Community Manager of the Nothing. Dark money of "intelligency". I've reinvented me in the photos. I think of her. I'm thinking of all the "they" who are my "I". I plan my afternoons (for not think too much), I get on the network without feet on the beach, or dishes that give envy. I share my lyrics that are not treasure but it's all I have. Openly and without blocking. Although I have some, yes, I have it. Pure emotional survival. Of other's things survival, we'll talk in other day.
I hear music without lyrics, because information overload, the torrent of lies, barter submitting to the truth and the modest aspirations of the "too" honest, make me deaf and toes. I don't want to separate more wheat straw of wilderness, that have been commissioned to ruin the owners of the land owners. I peek a occasionally unreal window of Twitter and Facebook, where the truth is wrote, where the propaganda occupies part of the workday of the Community Manager of the Nothing. Dark money of "intelligency". I've reinvented me in the photos. I think of her. I'm thinking of all the "they" who are my "I". I plan my afternoons (for not think too much), I get on the network without feet on the beach, or dishes that give envy. I share my lyrics that are not treasure but it's all I have. Openly and without blocking. Although I have some, yes, I have it. Pure emotional survival. Of other's things survival, we'll talk in other day.
(Por desgracia la supervivencia últimamente también se mide casi exclusivamente en términos de economía y deuda. Pero en este frente también vamos a pelearla )
(Unfortunately lately the survival is also measured almost exclusively in terms of economy and debt. But on this front we will also fight it)
(Unfortunately lately the survival is also measured almost exclusively in terms of economy and debt. But on this front we will also fight it)
Me entrego a los restos del descanso del fin de la madrugada, a esa
resaca de mar que entra en la cabeza y te despierta con el mareo del marinero, para anunciarte
que ya se acabó lo de dormir. Toca otra cosa. Toca manchar negro sobre blanco. Aún sigo siendo yo, el que
escribe y se enamora de las actrices que observa con agrado en la pantalla, gracias a las fiestas del cine, a 2'90 € la entrada.I surrender to the remains of the end of the midnight at the sea surf entering the head and wakes you up with seasickness sailor, to announce that the sleeping have finished. Must do else. I must stain black on white. I still I'm me, the writer, who falls for actresses who I pleased to note on the screen, thanks to the party of cine to 2'90 € entry.
Cada vez con menos frecuencia y no por eso con menos ardor de empeño quiero encontrar alguien que valore mis gestos y mis palabras. Me siento, me considero, me quiero raro. Quizá a la fachada de
mi personalidad le faltan muebles en la azotea, camas en la corrala del subconsciente y un
tragaluz que ventile la casposa molestia, la ingratitud de tener que
soportarme demasiado tiempo, sin abrir las ventanas de mis sentimientos. Pero sigo
siendo yo, y aunque lo sabía, olía a muerto. Aquel que estaba metido inconsciente y borracho
en el salón de los ensayos sin acabar,olía a muerto, aquel que ensayaba donde los guiones están medio escritos, olía a muerto.
Increasingly less often and not so with less ardor, I want to find someone who values my gestures and my words. I feel me, I consider myself, I want me bizarre. Maybe the front of my personality lacks furniture, maybe I don't have beds in the rooftop's corrala of my subconscious, neither a skylight that to ventilate the casposa nuisance ingratitude of having to put up too long without opening the windows of my feelings. But I'm still me, and although I knew it, I smelled dead. He was unconscious and I drunk in the living room of trials unfinished smelled dead, who rehearsed where the screenplay is written medium, there, smelled dead.
Increasingly less often and not so with less ardor, I want to find someone who values my gestures and my words. I feel me, I consider myself, I want me bizarre. Maybe the front of my personality lacks furniture, maybe I don't have beds in the rooftop's corrala of my subconscious, neither a skylight that to ventilate the casposa nuisance ingratitude of having to put up too long without opening the windows of my feelings. But I'm still me, and although I knew it, I smelled dead. He was unconscious and I drunk in the living room of trials unfinished smelled dead, who rehearsed where the screenplay is written medium, there, smelled dead.
Puede quedar fervor de resistencia y más todavía si le damos permiso a los estragos para
exiliarse sin armas ni tiempo que perder. Armisticio, firmado también entre la voluntad
y el cáncer de los pensamientos. Desarme a los golpes de estado de ánimo adversos. Juicio de
valor por seguir aquí cuando todo está cayendo. En fin, no cabe otra opción, no es negociable solo es posible el fervor por y en la resistencia!
There may be resistance fervor and even more if we give permission to the exile to ravages unarmed without no time to lose. Armistice signed also between will cancer and thoughts. Disarmament to shock of adverse mood. Value judgment to follow here when everything is falling. In short, there is no other option, is not negotiable: is possible only by the fervor and resistance!
There may be resistance fervor and even more if we give permission to the exile to ravages unarmed without no time to lose. Armistice signed also between will cancer and thoughts. Disarmament to shock of adverse mood. Value judgment to follow here when everything is falling. In short, there is no other option, is not negotiable: is possible only by the fervor and resistance!
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