Todos estos han sido guardados por algun tiempo y aun estan sujetos a cambios, incluyendo esto post. Revisen mas luego. Gracias!
All these have been saved for a while and are subject to changes including this post. Check back later. Thank you!
Monday, February 15, 2010
Draft from December 1st, 2009
Creo que me di cuenta hoy sobre la razon por la que amamos las cosas. Amamos las cosas porque o alguien nos las inspiro o hemos tenido una encuentro intimo y profundo con aquella cosa que amamos. Aveces podemos amar las cosas en un nivel muy superficial, por ejemplo, yo amo las artes escenicas, pero las amo porque me gusta hacerlo, me siento bien mientras lo hago, pero nunca podria vivir la vida de una persona que vive de esto. No estoy dispuesta a trabajar en cada detalle y aprender cosas religiosamente con el fin de que algo resulte de cierta forma, para cosechar ciertos beneficios. Creo que esto tambien debe ser parte de lo que fue inspirado o aprendido.
I think I realized today the reason why we love things. We love things because either somebody instilled that in us or we have had a very deep and personal encounter with that which we love. Sometimes we can love things in a very superficial level, for example, I love performing arts, but I like to perform because I like it; I feel good while I do it. But I could never live the life of a performer. I am not willing to work on every detail and to learn things religiously in order for something to come out a certain way, to reap a certain benefit. I think that that too should be part of what was either instilled or learnt with such an intimate strength that it all becomes a part of performing. But, when someone loves something in an intimate way, there is no possible way that someone else could understand or experience that which that person loves, it could not even have to be the same kind of love that everyone has for the apparent same thing. For example, you could say that I love the mind, and yes, I do, but it began with my mind, with analyzing every thought and pattern, what was good and not good about it, what was sane and what was insane. So, why do we love things? Does everyone else have to love in the same way we love? Does everyone else have to feel the way we feel? I have learnt to love my own way, and to throw away any system that wants to make me love the way they love. I love my own way, my own crazy way, so if I love theater that does not mean that I belong solely to the theater and that I have to do everything possible to be that. I love everything I love in the way that I love it. It may be parts of it. It may only really be bits, but never tell me I dont love it, because maybe, just maybe, those bits may speak to me much more than the whole picture speaks to everyone else.
Always love life, every single part that speaks to your life and that could benefit your life and the life of humanity.....
I think I realized today the reason why we love things. We love things because either somebody instilled that in us or we have had a very deep and personal encounter with that which we love. Sometimes we can love things in a very superficial level, for example, I love performing arts, but I like to perform because I like it; I feel good while I do it. But I could never live the life of a performer. I am not willing to work on every detail and to learn things religiously in order for something to come out a certain way, to reap a certain benefit. I think that that too should be part of what was either instilled or learnt with such an intimate strength that it all becomes a part of performing. But, when someone loves something in an intimate way, there is no possible way that someone else could understand or experience that which that person loves, it could not even have to be the same kind of love that everyone has for the apparent same thing. For example, you could say that I love the mind, and yes, I do, but it began with my mind, with analyzing every thought and pattern, what was good and not good about it, what was sane and what was insane. So, why do we love things? Does everyone else have to love in the same way we love? Does everyone else have to feel the way we feel? I have learnt to love my own way, and to throw away any system that wants to make me love the way they love. I love my own way, my own crazy way, so if I love theater that does not mean that I belong solely to the theater and that I have to do everything possible to be that. I love everything I love in the way that I love it. It may be parts of it. It may only really be bits, but never tell me I dont love it, because maybe, just maybe, those bits may speak to me much more than the whole picture speaks to everyone else.
Always love life, every single part that speaks to your life and that could benefit your life and the life of humanity.....
Draft from October, 2009
Cada pensamiento que borras son planetas que nos separan aun mas lejos, perdidos por siempre en palabras eternas que no hemos enunciado; de labios, deseando hablar, con palabras, con lenguas, con besos. Tus pensamientos son caricias que nunca se le han permitido acariciar.
****************************************************
Every thought you erase are planets that separate us even farther, forever lost in the endless words we have not spoken, from lips, longing to speak, with words, with tongues, with kisses. Your words are more caresses that are never allowed to caress.
****************************************************
Every thought you erase are planets that separate us even farther, forever lost in the endless words we have not spoken, from lips, longing to speak, with words, with tongues, with kisses. Your words are more caresses that are never allowed to caress.
Draft del 24 de Octubre, 2009
Una vez hace no muy poco existian unos muros altos y fuertes.
Ellos se mostraban por toda una ciudad, queriendo ser admirados,
provocando a todo aquel que si quiera pensara en traspasar,
en encontrar su vulnerabilidad,
en querer traspasarlos.
Nadie se atrevia.
Pasaban hombres fuertes y decian: yo puedo.
Los golpes de aquellos hombres
eran como cosquillas a esos muros,
se burlaban, pero tambien se entristecian.
Ellos estaban solos, tristes, sin compania,
sin saber lo que era el amor,
sin dejar caer sus hombros ni una sola vez.
Entonces un dia paso un caballero.
Este caballero se veia flaco, triste,
sin mucho que decir, sin pretender ser lo que no era.
Se sento frente al muro y empezo a contar su vida.
El muro solo decia: se fuerte. Tienes que ser fuerte.
Era todo lo que el muro sabia. Era todo lo que conocia.
El muro habia a aprendido a vivir con dureza,
callando todo, soportando, alejando a todo el mundo,
y llorando por dentro, sin dejar ver a nadie.
Y de esta manera, el muro empezo una amistad con este caballero.
El muro lo adopto como a un hijo
y le aconsejo. Le hizo cuentos, hasta chistes.
Y aquel caballero disfrutaba cada vez mas aquellas horas junto al muro.
El muro era bastante calculador.
Penso que esa amistad se quedaria de esa manera,
que algun dia aquel caballero se marcharia y sus vidas continuarian igual.
Un dia, el caballero le pregunto al muro: Como te sientes?
Y el muro primero se sorprendio,
despues penso en la respuesta,
se confundio, se quedo mudo, no supo como reaccionar.
El caballero se percato de aquel evento.
Se dio cuenta d elo mucho que habia sufrido por dentro este muro.
Le ofrecio nada mas que una caricia,
y el muro comenzo a romperse.
Nadie estuvo alli.
Nadie supo lo que sucedio.
Nadie se dio cuenta de lo que habia sucedido.
Ellos se mostraban por toda una ciudad, queriendo ser admirados,
provocando a todo aquel que si quiera pensara en traspasar,
en encontrar su vulnerabilidad,
en querer traspasarlos.
Nadie se atrevia.
Pasaban hombres fuertes y decian: yo puedo.
Los golpes de aquellos hombres
eran como cosquillas a esos muros,
se burlaban, pero tambien se entristecian.
Ellos estaban solos, tristes, sin compania,
sin saber lo que era el amor,
sin dejar caer sus hombros ni una sola vez.
Entonces un dia paso un caballero.
Este caballero se veia flaco, triste,
sin mucho que decir, sin pretender ser lo que no era.
Se sento frente al muro y empezo a contar su vida.
El muro solo decia: se fuerte. Tienes que ser fuerte.
Era todo lo que el muro sabia. Era todo lo que conocia.
El muro habia a aprendido a vivir con dureza,
callando todo, soportando, alejando a todo el mundo,
y llorando por dentro, sin dejar ver a nadie.
Y de esta manera, el muro empezo una amistad con este caballero.
El muro lo adopto como a un hijo
y le aconsejo. Le hizo cuentos, hasta chistes.
Y aquel caballero disfrutaba cada vez mas aquellas horas junto al muro.
El muro era bastante calculador.
Penso que esa amistad se quedaria de esa manera,
que algun dia aquel caballero se marcharia y sus vidas continuarian igual.
Un dia, el caballero le pregunto al muro: Como te sientes?
Y el muro primero se sorprendio,
despues penso en la respuesta,
se confundio, se quedo mudo, no supo como reaccionar.
El caballero se percato de aquel evento.
Se dio cuenta d elo mucho que habia sufrido por dentro este muro.
Le ofrecio nada mas que una caricia,
y el muro comenzo a romperse.
Nadie estuvo alli.
Nadie supo lo que sucedio.
Nadie se dio cuenta de lo que habia sucedido.
Draft from September 15th, 2009
Today I write you something beautiful. Something that exhales pulchritude, something colorless, something blind, perhaps something full, infinite, without questions or answers, without explanation. Today, I give you this, because no matter how much I wish I couldnt write it, or think it or feel it, it has overpowered every single intent, and taken over. This thing loves you, caresses you, desires you and wishes more than anything to sing sweet nothings or everythings in your ears. This beautiful thing yearns to hug you, call you it's own and bless you, embrace you and paint your beautifulness. This beautiful thing today wants to touch and let go, to miss you, and miss you, and have you all over again. This thing wants the impossible and unimaginable superpowered event of having you, of mothering you, of womaning you. This thing intends to exault you, and adore you, to convince you and smile you. The everything wants to be your everything, the hands want to touch your hands. The lips want to to speak with the upper, then the bottom, then the opening, then the tongue, and the rivers that unite this magical, impossible tale. Today, I want to write you something beautiful, perhaps something passionate, something too much to bear, something that breaths..... and lets out, and cannot control the thoughts, the impulses. Today, the beautiful makes you it's beautiful, the love makes you it's love, the pain makes you it's pain. I wish I had you....
Dear Soulmate, Draft from August 12th, 2009
Every happy day is a hard day for me. I can only think of the time when I can share my life with you. I don't spoil many people and it's been a while since I let someone spoil me. I wish so bad that you were here. I wish so bad to make you laugh, to kiss you, hug you, make fun of you, fight with you, make up with you... I wish I could write you all of these poems that I keep wanting to write, but I can't, because I feel like I'm betraying you somehow. I don't. I don't know you. I just know that you are alive somewhere and that you belong to me. I'm not like every other woman and I can't settle just for a good man. I need you. I need you to hold me and love me. I need you to challenge me and disagree with me. I need you to love me for who I am, not for an idea of who you want me to be, but for who I really am. I can't wait to have you in my life and share amazing moments. I want to offer you all of me and treat you like a king. I want us to make each other happy. I want to make love to you. I want to unleash all of the woman that I am, but just to you and only you. I'm waiting for you. I already feel like I love you. Maybe because I know how much I will. But I'm tired. I'm tired of dramatic and painful relationships, and I'm tired of shallow and circumstancial relationships. You know who I am, right? You know I'm not perfect right? You know I'm wonderfully imperfect, right? Please come to my arms, they ache with nothingness, emptiness, purposeless. They long to hold you.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Mis Pinturas/My Paintings
I'm not a painter but this the way I have been expressing my feelings lately.
No soy pintora pero de esta manera he estado expresando mis sentimientos ultimamente.
Growing Pains
Exploding
No soy pintora pero de esta manera he estado expresando mis sentimientos ultimamente.
Fast
Growing Pains
Too Small
Exploding
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