Today, during an otherwise shit commute to work, I’ve randomly remembered where I was 10 years ago. It would have been impossible for me to foresee my achievements, mistakes and changes.
There’s something similar about it, despite it being a zillion miles away. It’s a time for struggle, but only temporary. It’s a time for pushing my limits, but being kind to myself. It’s a time for change, but only for the better.
Here we go again. Let’s do what we do best.
La lista de nombres y lugares es interminable. Los conceptos, ideas adaptadas al mercado de lo alternativo, o clásico, u oscuro, son éxitos comerciales en sí mismos. Cada gusto tiene su propio medio de difusión personalizado, lo que lo convierte en algo muy lucrativo hoy en día, con virtualmente toda la humanidad siendo capaz de acceder a esta nueva oferta.
Yo me callo y escucho, no tengo ni la menor idea de lo que está ocurriendo. Cada vez más a menudo. Mi mayor miedo es no dar tiempo a la inspiración para crear cosas nuevas, con tanta rutina y tanta dependencia, mientras de un modo u otro este constante bombardeo de oferta de bienes de consumo consigue siempre llegar a su destino.
Me aterra admitir que el bombardeo propagandístico en todo ámbito del arte cala más hondo que el esfuerzo o fuerza de voluntad para interpretar el propio medio del arte, adoptándose posturas cómodas en dicho consumo en vez de cuestionar TODO.
Eso es el ARTE. La necesidad de poner en tela de juicio toda idea preconcebida y ser capaz de volcar ese pánico constante a un medio físico, el que sea.
When I was a child, I was certain that when I grew older I wouldn’t change my views in the world.
Of course it didn’t happen like that, and actually developing my own way to see the world according to my new experiences has always been one of my main focuses in life.
You would imagine that those memories and experiences then have marked a reasonably relevant footprint and, if anything, that I have learned from them.
However what at a given time looks like everlasting pain, is difficult to recall exactly. Who would want to? Your memory refuses to accurately record trauma. It’s a self defense mechanism, to avoid permanent damage.
This is why, every time I sink to the bottom, it’s not until I’ve hit bedrock that I realise what happened. Before getting to the bottom it’s all wondering and mental replay. Torture, really. Unavoidable, craved torture.
On the other hand, once you are deep down in the seabed of your shivers, the only thing left to do is propelling yourself back to the surface.
The ultimate scare tactic: everything is open-ended, left for discussion, TBC, up for review. What is this, is it democracy, is it terrorism, is it market oriented capitalism? Is it just plain bullshit? What are you voting for, what can and cannot you choose?
Let me enlighten you, fellow idiot:
You choose your right to be scared of a particular subset of things or a different subset of things. You don’t choose independence, you don’t vote for the preservation of a national identity, you are not even voting against foreigners. You are electing a fear of your own, one that you can call yours. You are choosing between established rot or foundation-less hesitation. Constant decay or doubt! Those are your only options.
And guess what?
You always lose.
Let me tell you something. Fear has allowed a very particular group of people (and their heir) to dominate countries for centuries. A flag is a piece of fabric, a passport is a piece of paper and your identity is actually only so thanks to the fact that we have thousands of different cultural backgrounds, call it tradition, religion, call it gastronomy or art, call it whatever the fuck you want: without perspective, you wouldn’t even be conscious of your own color. And what is an agreement based on a flag, a border, a particular citizenship?
Guess that one for yourself buddy. I am too busy dealing with an endless streak of bureaucracy that will effectively change nothing in my head, or life, apart from promoting further decay and perpetuating the constant hesitation that already exists all over this modern political scenario of ours that exists purely fueled by terror and shame.
From time to time I become obsessed with the idea of doing something of relevance with my life. It would have to be something fulfilling both in its usefulness – there’s room for argument in there – and its spiritual depth. Something that you would hold, or look at or think about and feel immediately lifted to a higher, better place. A happier place.
Living is about being happy. We achieve this both through most bizarre and simplest ways.
Sometimes – more and more often as we grow older, perhaps – happiness becomes a sort of currency that goes to the detriment of others’ happiness. As if there was a limited pool of it sitting somewhere and it fluctuated according to our actions like a moon-driven tide, pulled in cycles that remain yet to be figured out.
Some other times the chance to be happy is just in front of us, too frightening to even look at it. It seems never-ending, vast and free. Full of possibilities in itself, an enormous source of delight. Some people take the leap and march ruthlessly towards a fearless existence, some others turn to the twisted version of the path to joy.
Of course, like many other things in this life of ours, there’s little room to judge which one is better than the other. After all, every single of us have different priorities marked by our own experiences and goals.
Estertores es una realidad desde ayer.