all your life you are told that you are one thing, when deep inside you know you are much more. The struggle to creep out of your cocoon is so intense that you would rather stay and be eaten by the optimistic vultures. I say for you to push on, be free, become what ideally you could be. These ravenous manipulative dictators will stop at nothing and neither should you.
It's so safe to stay in their perception of you. It's a mold that for once you fit inside. I say Break it!
Be who you truly are
Monday, June 29, 2009
Monday, June 1, 2009
The Charleston Blog
Today was the best day ever. I feel finally for once the work I have put and the sacrifices I have made so far, has taken me to the start of a journey. A journey that I so badly want and have so long for awaited. Today is the start of something new, something great. The man who foresaw my future said that this was gonna be a good month and ironically, on the last day, I now know why. It's not the riches and the financial independence, it is the journey to it. A Ferrari is not going to be the same Ferrari if I buy it with easy money or with earned money, but baby I will get my white Ferrari.
Someday soon love,
My love will be,
The thing to see....
I wouldn't be in the place to be
I wouldn't be with my
baby.....
..and life is too good.
Someday soon love,
My love will be,
The thing to see....
I wouldn't be in the place to be
I wouldn't be with my
baby.....
..and life is too good.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Just Right
Interesting how weird this feels.
If your writing reflects your inner soul then,
as an old forgotten friend might have wrote,
"Go ahead and write and imagine orgasmic vowels penetrating the particles that make up paper"
"Our insides are gone and replaced by organs", wrote the soul
"Sing and dance if you can feel anything", wrote the rock
"Fly away if you have no wings", wrote the prisoner
"write what you see and you will never forget", wrote the elder
"fight when you've never won", wrote the revolutionary
"move closer when you are scared", wrote the keeper
"close the door when you see the light", wrote the resurrected
"look", wrote the narcissist
-end...
If your writing reflects your inner soul then,
as an old forgotten friend might have wrote,
"Go ahead and write and imagine orgasmic vowels penetrating the particles that make up paper"
"Our insides are gone and replaced by organs", wrote the soul
"Sing and dance if you can feel anything", wrote the rock
"Fly away if you have no wings", wrote the prisoner
"write what you see and you will never forget", wrote the elder
"fight when you've never won", wrote the revolutionary
"move closer when you are scared", wrote the keeper
"close the door when you see the light", wrote the resurrected
"look", wrote the narcissist
-end...
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
A boat story
If someone was to ask me where is the least likely place to find drugs, then I would probably say a cruise filled with old people...this apparently was not the case. So, on this boat I made friends with an Argentinian guy who was possibly one of the best people I have met in my life. Anyways, he had brought a lot of weed on the boat, so we spent most of the cruise stoned. He had also brought some shrooms with him, none of which any of us really wanted to do. We really didn't feel like hallusinating and jumping off the boat, or walking through the lobby on our knees looking at the wonderful colors that the carpets made. So, one night, the last night, we decited that if we weren't going to do them then we would have to throw them away (mainly because Chilean customs really give you a hard time). We found out that we really had no place to throw them away without it possibly getting traced back to us, so we got a couple of brownies and decided to eat them. We waited for about a half and hour and nothing happened, so we decided to get stoned. After we got stoned we decided to take a walk and maybe play some ping pong or something. All the while we were walking I noticed that my friend was not doing to well, he wasn't saying much and had an awkward looking face the whole time. We had stared our journey on the 4th floor of the elevator and we didn't make it past the 7th floor when my friend said he had to get off. We got off the 7th floor and made our way to the casino. I thought he wanted to play cards so I just followed behind him. Then I saw his hand slowly make his way to his mouth and he turned around and gave me a, "shit I need help" glare. We finally made it to the casino and so did the insides of his stomach. He threw-up all over the casino. I grabbed my friend and took him to the bathroom. Granted that throwing up on the boat is not an unusual thing, specialy when the boat was moving, as it was that night. After the throw-up scene we made our way downstairs and he appologized and told me that he had to meet up with me later. So, there I was left all alone. I hadn't began to hallusinate yet, but I did feel a bit funny. I made my way through the hallways of the moving boat trying not to make contact with anybody I knew. This then turned out to be a theme for the night. I was like a ninja walking through the boat hidding from any moving object. I had tricked my brain so much that this game I created began not to be as much fun anymore, I was really hiding in terror from everybody. I went to the game room and started to play pictionary by myself. After I found this to be fruitless I grabbed some literature and went to the kids corner, where the colorful rugs and the plushy pillows kept me entertained for hours. After, I decided that enough was enough, and I had to go to sleep. I walked into my room and woke up mother in the process. My lightning thinking prompted me to tell her that I had felt a bit sea sick so I was going to stay inside the bathroom until it went away. I told her not to worry, that I was going to be there for a long time. I went inside what would become my white dungeon. It was very bright inside and so I escaped to the shower, where I took my Obama Time Magazine, closed the shower curtain, and spent the night underneath the trickling faucet.
end
end
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Letter to Pati
2am...
Not to worry though I will sleep...
Freud is an amazing man that I have begun to boyishly unravel. I am reading a book about him, and every page I flip seems to have the same effect as does opening a fabulous gift on Christmas.
For instance this is what he had to say on poverty:
"Our whole conduct of life presupposes that we shall be sheltered from the direst poverty...
The poor, the common people could not exist without their thick skin and their easygoing ways. Why should they feel their desires intensely when all the afflictions nature and society have in store are directed at those they love."
........
Well I must apologize for not responding to your lovely letter on Eduardo Galeano. At first glace it didn't strike me as fascinating.
Let me reword,
The poetic rhythm and the pairing of the words was nothing short of brilliant. The reason I was not taken by it was due to the content. The heart (in matters of love) for me is a place filled with frustration. Perhaps this is why Freud, a man of mind and intellect, is so fascinating to me right now. Taken this to account, I read it once more...
("Hoy llueve mucho y pareciera que estan lavando el mundo .
Mi vecino de al lado mira la lluvia y piensa escribir una carta de amor , una carta de amor a la mujer que vive con el , y le cocina y le lava la ropa y hace el amor con el y se parece a su sombra . Mi vecino nunca le dice palabras de amor , entra a la casa por la ventana y no por la puerta . Por una puerta se entra a muchos sitios , al trabajo , al cuartel , a la carcel ,a todos los edificios del mundo, pero no al mundo , ni a una mujer , ni al alma, es decir , a ese cajon o nave o lluvia que llamamos asi , como hoy que llueve mucho y me cuesta escribir la palabra amor por que el amor es una cosa y la palabra amor es otra cosa y solo el alma sabe donde se encuentran y como y cuando , pero el alma que puede explicar ? Por eso mi vecino tiene tormentas en la boca palabras que naufragan , palabras que no saben que hay sol por que nacen y mueren en la misma noche que amo y dejan cartas en el pensamiento que el nunca escribira , como el silencio que hay entre dos rosas , o como yo que escribo para volver a mi vecino que mira la lluvia , a la lluvia , a mi corazon desterrado ")
The mere thought of love makes me nauseous. An effect in which I had non while reading this particular piece. In fact, it only supported my theory on the subject matter. We are so scared to love because a broken heart feels so much worse. The closest I can compare it to is to being drunk. We hate being drunk the very next day when the effect of the alcohol wears and you are left feeling ten times worse. This is why the "vecino" has such a hard time describing what love truly is. Once you define something it is because you have identified it. Once identified, then it can shake the core of you.
That is all for tonight. I really didn't mean to write so much.
Love,
Camilo
Not to worry though I will sleep...
Freud is an amazing man that I have begun to boyishly unravel. I am reading a book about him, and every page I flip seems to have the same effect as does opening a fabulous gift on Christmas.
For instance this is what he had to say on poverty:
"Our whole conduct of life presupposes that we shall be sheltered from the direst poverty...
The poor, the common people could not exist without their thick skin and their easygoing ways. Why should they feel their desires intensely when all the afflictions nature and society have in store are directed at those they love."
........
Well I must apologize for not responding to your lovely letter on Eduardo Galeano. At first glace it didn't strike me as fascinating.
Let me reword,
The poetic rhythm and the pairing of the words was nothing short of brilliant. The reason I was not taken by it was due to the content. The heart (in matters of love) for me is a place filled with frustration. Perhaps this is why Freud, a man of mind and intellect, is so fascinating to me right now. Taken this to account, I read it once more...
("Hoy llueve mucho y pareciera que estan lavando el mundo .
Mi vecino de al lado mira la lluvia y piensa escribir una carta de amor , una carta de amor a la mujer que vive con el , y le cocina y le lava la ropa y hace el amor con el y se parece a su sombra . Mi vecino nunca le dice palabras de amor , entra a la casa por la ventana y no por la puerta . Por una puerta se entra a muchos sitios , al trabajo , al cuartel , a la carcel ,a todos los edificios del mundo, pero no al mundo , ni a una mujer , ni al alma, es decir , a ese cajon o nave o lluvia que llamamos asi , como hoy que llueve mucho y me cuesta escribir la palabra amor por que el amor es una cosa y la palabra amor es otra cosa y solo el alma sabe donde se encuentran y como y cuando , pero el alma que puede explicar ? Por eso mi vecino tiene tormentas en la boca palabras que naufragan , palabras que no saben que hay sol por que nacen y mueren en la misma noche que amo y dejan cartas en el pensamiento que el nunca escribira , como el silencio que hay entre dos rosas , o como yo que escribo para volver a mi vecino que mira la lluvia , a la lluvia , a mi corazon desterrado ")
The mere thought of love makes me nauseous. An effect in which I had non while reading this particular piece. In fact, it only supported my theory on the subject matter. We are so scared to love because a broken heart feels so much worse. The closest I can compare it to is to being drunk. We hate being drunk the very next day when the effect of the alcohol wears and you are left feeling ten times worse. This is why the "vecino" has such a hard time describing what love truly is. Once you define something it is because you have identified it. Once identified, then it can shake the core of you.
That is all for tonight. I really didn't mean to write so much.
Love,
Camilo
Monday, September 8, 2008
A moment of self analysis
Three women decide to leave me for another man.
Two of which decide to never speak to me again,
and one of which is actually my mother.
If I'm not as clever,
or as equipped with the capacity to be so self analytical,
then perhaps I would be in deep shit.
Although I do believe I am experiencing a momentary depressive state of mind,
I have no doubt in my mind that I will pull through.
So three very valuable women leave and what is left,
but a very valuable life lesson.
Let it be a life lesson,
and not a way of life.
Two of which decide to never speak to me again,
and one of which is actually my mother.
If I'm not as clever,
or as equipped with the capacity to be so self analytical,
then perhaps I would be in deep shit.
Although I do believe I am experiencing a momentary depressive state of mind,
I have no doubt in my mind that I will pull through.
So three very valuable women leave and what is left,
but a very valuable life lesson.
Let it be a life lesson,
and not a way of life.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Isabel
Oh Isabel,
Never think that you are being over looked. The one that watches sees you my dear. People come and go and some never return, but the ones that stay seem to never go away. I tell you the truth my dearest, hang on and hear the things that you should hear and shut your eyes to the things that will forever blind you. You stand there thinking that perhaps this is the end, but I tell you to hang on. Soon someone will arrive and take you to places you thought you would never see alive. Hope is but a thin string we use to tie down an angry elephant with. But stand tall my dear friend, for the string will hold. The seeds that you sow will soon be the fruit that will feed your life forever and ever. So even though you might feel neglected, just know that someday you will triumph, for your spirit in nothing short of electric.
Sometimes when I look into your eyes I see nothing, for you wish to show nothing. Soon you will learn that hiding is no fun when no one is trying to find you. So I tell you my dear friend, look to see and hear to listen. Never eat without tasting, never grab without touching, and never take without asking. Be cautious in matters of love, for humanity loves too much and gives too little. The people you trust should be trusted and never doubted. The people you love should be loved and never hated. Never take anything for granted, for it all can be taken away as quickly as it was given. Life is a precious thing my dear, live it and love it. What you learn here will never be forgotten in this life and the next.
So it shall be so and forever will be
Says the mere mammal
Never think that you are being over looked. The one that watches sees you my dear. People come and go and some never return, but the ones that stay seem to never go away. I tell you the truth my dearest, hang on and hear the things that you should hear and shut your eyes to the things that will forever blind you. You stand there thinking that perhaps this is the end, but I tell you to hang on. Soon someone will arrive and take you to places you thought you would never see alive. Hope is but a thin string we use to tie down an angry elephant with. But stand tall my dear friend, for the string will hold. The seeds that you sow will soon be the fruit that will feed your life forever and ever. So even though you might feel neglected, just know that someday you will triumph, for your spirit in nothing short of electric.
Sometimes when I look into your eyes I see nothing, for you wish to show nothing. Soon you will learn that hiding is no fun when no one is trying to find you. So I tell you my dear friend, look to see and hear to listen. Never eat without tasting, never grab without touching, and never take without asking. Be cautious in matters of love, for humanity loves too much and gives too little. The people you trust should be trusted and never doubted. The people you love should be loved and never hated. Never take anything for granted, for it all can be taken away as quickly as it was given. Life is a precious thing my dear, live it and love it. What you learn here will never be forgotten in this life and the next.
So it shall be so and forever will be
Says the mere mammal
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