Sobre las etiquetas y el puzzle en el que vivimos (conversaciones de martes noche)

A: eso sí que es cierto... ¿por qué el tener que etiquetarlo todo...?

D: porque sino no podríamos hablar. Imagina un mundo sin etiquetas y categorías, si cada vez que yo te quisiera decir 'he visto a un grupo de emos en el tren' tuviera que definirte qué es un emo para mí, qué es un emo para la sociedad y qué es un emo para ti y contrastar todo eso, la frase esa se convertiría en un monologo.

A: a ver, sí, pero ¿por qué autoetiquetarse? A eso no le veo sentido... Yo he parado en sitios de todo tipo y he vestido de mil formas y jamás me he etiquetado, más de "yo soy así, y mañana vete a saber"

[D: 'he visto un grupo de gente que toda vestía con ropa llamativa en cuanto a su forma, con colores neón y brillantes adornando un negro principalmente, con peinados asimétricos, con la raya al lado, muchos de ellos con flequillo que le tapaba el ojo, algunos con el pelo largo y otros con mechones en punta, el pelo también lo tenían con mechas de variados colores, la ropa y los bolsos llevaban estampados tales como calaveras y estrellas, y el maquillaje era cuanto menos llamativo, además escuchaban my chemical romance y tenían aspecto de a) colocados b) hiperactivos c) deprimidos, todos junticos en la estación de tren']

D: uno se autoetiqueta sobre todo en la adolescencia, porque uno busca su sitio en el mundo.

A: yo, de adolescente no tuve necesidad de decir que soy punky, heavy, rockero, o las mil cosas que me han llegado a gustar.

D: sí, pero tu eres raro. Lo normal es que uno, al crecer un poco y dejar de ser niño, se de cuenta de que el mundo es mas amplio que papa, mama y el cole, y a muchos eso les da vértigo. Ven el mundo como un lugar enorme, y necesitan saber cuál es su sitio en ese enorme puzzle. Lo mas fácil es encontrar un puzzle más pequeño que te guste, y ver si tu pieza encaja ahí.

A: a mi vértigo no... yo me abrí de brazos y dije "a conocer se ha dicho" y seguí mi camino.

D: sí, pero ya he dicho, tu eres raro.

A: soy consciente de ello... lo soy y no me disgusta.

D: la mayor parte de la gente, conforme crece, se da cuenta de que el mundo, si bien es un poco puzzle, y todo el mundo encaja en algún lado, si miras la imagen, es un patchwork en el mejor de los casos. Es un puzzle de una fotografía cambiante de la entropía en estado puro. (Y dios, acabo de soltarme frase de estado de facebook)

A: joder... me pones nervioso. Totalmente. Me encanta cuando te las sueltas :D

D: El asunto es que acabas cayendo en la cuenta de que no encajas en un sitio porque seas gótico o seas rapero o flamenco. Encajas aquí porque aquí, en este punto de la matriz espacio-tiempo, has dado con las piezas que en este momento tienen los salientes justos para tus entrantes. Con unos coincides en unas cosas, con otros en otras, pero hay un nexo, un nexo frágil, que cambia, que evoluciona conforme tú, tu medio, tu ambiente, el medio de esa otra gente y la propia otra gente evoluciona, y dejas de necesitar una etiqueta, porque tú eres tú, y encajas porque ¿cómo no ibas a hacerlo? Esto es un puzzle, al fin y al cabo, ninguna pieza sobra, aunque lo parezca.

24 years ain't enough

You may not have been my grandmother by blood, but you sure were family. You cured my scraped knees when I fell to the ground, and gave me sweets on weekend evenings, and taught me how to cook and how to be tender. You showed me love through kindness and faith in me. My smiles were sincere when they reciprocated yours, and I truly believed that if I had been your granddaughter by blood, you wouldn't have loved me more.

Tonight you will sleep and you will rest. It may have been too much, the pain, and the only thing I wish was different was that I would have loved to be there. I wish I could have held another conversation with you, let you teach me yet another recipe, let you show me through your everlasting tenacity how I want to be at some point.

And I may have tears in my eyes and a heavy weight in my heart, but I'm glad we met in this life. You may not be here tomorrow, but the love remains the same.

Runas y hemoglobina

Pienso coger la cuchilla más afilada que encuentre y reescribir Inguz, Kano y Eihwaz sobre tu piel, una y otra vez, hasta que tu cuerpo se rinda y quede una cicatriz plagada de recuerdos de dolor, placer y tú y yo. Pienso dejarte coger la cuchilla más afilada que encuentres y que reescribas Inguz, Kano y Eihwaz sobre la piel de mi cadera, sangre y alcohol, para que quede para siempre escrito lo que dijimos aquella mañana, tras volver del castillo, para que nunca se olvide que un día nos vimos con el alma al desnudo, nos asomamos al vacío de dentro, y encontramos un espejo.

A dying star

Suddenly, without knowing where from or why, the strength is back. I'm on my way to a dying star, bursting with light, burning with heat that comes from within, and I know, I know that it will be fine. Xibalba, baby.

Of red and pink parachutes

And here I thought I saw clear, when I couldn't have been more mistaken. I thought my sight wasn't blurry anymore, but it was a fluke of the mind, it was madness all along. And I don't really know how, or why or when, but it was there, the deceitful promise. And I believed it. I thrived on it.

It doesn't really make sense, come think about it, if past experience's anything but a lesson to be learned, but I believed it. Again, I believed it. For fuck's sake! How many times do I have to trip on a stone before I figure out there's a stone there? I thought that hey, I couldn't infer a future result from past situations, that it only took one time to refute all my theories and hypothesis. Boy, was I blind.

Well, fuck that. I know better now.

Because it's been years already since anyone's looked at me the way he looked at her. Because it's been 2 weeks and all of 3 failed attempts at getting him to meet me are telling me I should really back the fuck off. Because the same can be said about... just about anyone else, really. Because I spent a day in between covers and the only one noticing something strange was so far away he's out of my reach.

So I'm thinking that I'll stop trying, I'll be better off that way. If anything comes (and my mind really still wants to tell me that it's not if, but when), I'll figure out what to do with it. Until then, me and my cat sounds about right.

Tales of kite tails

G is dark and handsome. G is warm and lonesome. G takes me high, drops me down, picks me up. Always picks me up.

My insides shiver and stutter, G's scent clouding my judgement. Hard and heavy, bruised and broken. Trace his scars with my fingertips, groan, moan. Fuck, if this is what it feels like, I can't stop myself from screaming, hear my rugged breath over G's big, beating heart. Always on edge.

G comes back up, G dips his head lower, arousal a heady scent in the air. G's kisses are soft and tasting like myself, the tangy-salty flavour of a high coming down. I'm liquid all over, stretched over him, dropping lazy bites on his lips. "You OK?" Yes, yes, oh fuck, yes. G's big, beating heart is hammering a fast tempo against his ribs, though the rush of the moment is gone already and it's all a haze. G tries to kiss me. I let him. Always let him.

Changes

Time may change me, but I can't change time.

Situations may change me as much as I can change them. Things go back and forth like a ball in a game, one step forward, one step backward, one step to the left and how the hell did I end up here? I think I must have stepped in a loophole, a wormhole or another hole of a different kind.

In the end the only thing that stays is the determination I have to make it work. Steely, unbreakable determination to see this through, mostly unscathed.

Of werewolves and survival

It's somewhere deep inside my mind, lurking in the shadows, eating at my resolve. "You are nothing but a dark pit I spent too many years trying to climb out. I'm not going to let you drag me back down," the one guy says. A noncommittal shrug and back to square one. We've been dancing around each other for too long. You go, I follow. I go, you follow. I go, I kill you, I try. I disappear, you smoke me out of my hiding place. I kill you once and for good, except... not quite. You always come back to drag me in your bog of eternal stench.

I dance around some more. Try to forget how you said you were the one, while Brian tiresomely said that it didn't really matter. He was the king of the alley (mama) and I kissed his breath away right there. A dance pole, a greaser and the winehouse. Which brings me (fuck chaotic mental connections) to the current predicament I'm in, because man, I was ok, and then this woman has to come and tell me that there might still be more to this, that the water fountain is not sucked dry, just tainted. That the gravity never goes, even if one loses interest. If one loses count of the times one lost interest.

It never matters, because as I said, this time I killed you for good. I've grown a spine tougher than steel and roots the size of California and this time you can't sway me. I breathe your poison before it even gets here. I answer the phone. I let you go.

(Until the next time you come knocking to my doorstep, like a freaking elephant in a glass house (that sinks ships))

And let you write on me

Maybe it's the scotch. Maybe. I don't know and I don't care. I see you, I jump you. You smell like liquor and leather and you, and there's a smile in your face and a kiss in your mouth. I try not to think about it, but my own blood has turned to alcohol and I can't control my own steps anymore.

For a while others bother, for a while. Then we're left, and you open up. We drink, we kiss, we laugh. I put you in a shopping cart and let you roll, you do the same for me, but you don't let go of it. I spread my arms apart, scream and never take my eyes of you, because I don't need to look ahead, I know I can trust you. The cart hits the car, headlights break and we have to hit and run, but neither cares, as we hold hands and sprint down the street. We kiss, we hug, we hide. You speak, I listen. You take me somewhere, I follow. You want to write a new year on me, love, your name and mine. I let you write on me.

And you let me write on you.

-W-

Amber colored, sweet, mellow. The taste of it on my tongue, because the last time I tasted you it was salty with tears and goodbye.

Stolen, not even allowed, but whatever. Maybe it's for the best, maybe. Maybe it's time to search for a different light, except I don't wanna. We've been battling for years to find something we're comfortable with, but we never learned how to properly stay away. Too close to be friends, too free to get tied up. It's what happens when you make fire meet fire, it can only burn.

So we chose to stay this way. Close enough to be warm, but not so close that we'd get our bones charred, in this weird W where we're the meeting point. Fucked up, because it's either lie or cry. The option of being honest too scary maybe, although yes, it's an option, if you'll take it, but will any of us? We didn't learn how to choose wisely. So many things we didn't learn.

And now what? Withering? Letting a barrier grow between us because the world is too damn narrow for us four to walk down our paths?

But I'll let you answer that, I'll keep to my whisky and ice.