"MECHANICAL ANIMALS"
We were neurophobic and perfect
the day that we lost our souls
Maybe we weren't so human
But If we cry we will rust
And I was a hand grenade
That never stopped exploding
You were automatic and as hollow as the "o" in god
I am never gonna be the one for you
I am never gonna save the world from you
But they'll never be good for you
Or bad to you
They'll never be anything
Anything at all
You were my mechanical bride
You were phenobarbidoll
A manniqueen of depression
With the face of a dead star
And I was a hand grenade
That never stopped exploding
You were automatic and as hollow as the "o" in god
I am never gonna be the one for you
I am never gonna save the world from you
But they'll never be good for you
Or bad to you
They'll never be anything
Anything at all
This isn't me I'm not mechanical
I'm just a boy playing the suicide king
"APPLE OF SODOM"
I found the center of fruit is late,
It is the center of truth today,
Cut the apple in two,
Oh, I pray it isn't true,
I found the center of fruit is late,
Is the center of truth today,
I cut the apple in two,
Oh, I pray it isn't true,
I've got something you can never eat,
I've got something you can never eat,
I've got something you can never eat,
I've got something you can never eat,
I drained my heart and burn my soul,
I trained the core to stop my growth,
I pray to die in space,
To cover me in snow,
To cover me in snow,
Cover me in snow,
I'm dying, I hope you're dying too,
Cover me in snow,
I'm dying, I hope you're dying too
I'm dying, I hope you're dying too
I'm dying, I hope you're dying too
I'm dying, I hope you're dying too
I'm dying, I hope you're dying too
I'm dying, I hope you're dying too
I'm dying, I hope you're dying too
I'm dying, I hope you're dying too
Take this from me, (hate me, hate me,)
Take this from me, (hate me, hate me,)
1, 2, 3, he is a speed bump mannequin,
1, 2, 3, he can't move just stand still,
1, 2, 3, he is a speed bump mannequin,
1, 2, 3, he can't move just stand still,
I've got something you can never eat,
I've got something you can never eat,
I've got something you can never eat,
I've got something you can never, ever, eat.
"TOURNIQUET"
She's made of hair and bone and little teeth,
And things I cannot speak.
She comes on like a crippled plaything,
Spine is just a string.
I wrapped our love in all this foil,
Silver-tight like spider legs.
I never wanted it to ever spoil,
but flies will lay their eggs.
Take your hatred out on me,
Make your victim my head.
You never ever believed in me,
I am your tourniquet.
Prosthetic synthesis with butterfly,
Sealed up with virgin stitch.
If it hurts baby, please tell me,
Preserve the innocence.
I never wanted it to end like this,
But flies will lay their eggs
Take your hatred out on me,
Make your victim my head.
You never ever believed in me,
I am your tourniquet.
What I wanted.
What I needed.
What I got for me.
What I wanted.
What I needed.
What I got for me.
Take your hatred out on me,
Make your victim my head.
You never ever believed in me,
I am your tourniquet.
Take your, take your
hatred out on me
I'm not proud with me
I never ever believed in me
I am your tourniquet
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Sour grapes and apples of sodom: A dead nature.
You never got it. And you never will. 'You're a catholic bible maniac' Woah. That's some news! You really didn't notice before? Of course you didn't. You never got it.
You, more than anybody else, would have to understand. But you can't, and I can't really blame you. I am the poison and the tourniquet. Why did you choose to be with him? And made him dream about a life together and kids and getting old together by the fireplace just to tell him after 4 years that no, that it wasn't what you wanted. That things had changed, and you had changed. That for you he was just a father figure. That you never wanted him as a man. Is that what I was supposed to do? Maybe. Maybe we'd make great love for 4 years or more then one day, while you're believing everything is going great, I'd wake up and tell: "you know what? from the beginning, you were just a mother figure to me. I don't want to be with you. Actually, there's another person that I like. But it doesn't has to do with you. So you better leave me for I plan to be with this new great person I found. :D". Wasn't it what you wanted to do? with him? but things didn't turn out as expected. Yeah, that happens a lot. Because I don't think you had planned all of that for him. You told me you were poison but I really doubt that you planned to spread so much shit on his walls. I don't think you're the kind of person that comes in and out of the life of a person with the sole intention to hurt them. Although that was what you told me the whole time, remember? "I will discard you and replace you when I get tired of you, when I grow bored of you, just like it happened with him". But I've never thought you're that kind of person. But it seems that you think I'm that kind of person. Actually I think it'd be fun being a person like that. The idea puts a smile on my face. It's an interesting reality. But maybe I don't have the guts for that. It tooks you four years to realise that he wasn't the man of your life, but a place where you took shelter from the things that troubled you then "he give you warmth and and strenght" according to your words. It took less time for me. But does that make those 4 years, 4 years of lies, hypocrisy, betrayal and wickedness? Were you playing with him all the time? Didn't you feel anything for him? Was it just a fake? When you told him you didn't want to break up with him and that he was the only man you liked, then yo ran to me and kissed me, were you just being a cold, heartless bitch that wanted to play with his feelings and stomp upon his heart and devotion? I don't think so.
But I don't seem to have those privileges. I must be perfect, your perfect superman. And if I can't be, then "It wasn't with me. it had nothing to do with me". I now remember when my cat was dying and you was so full of indignation and offended that I wouldn't risk make a 3 hours trip with my cat with SO BIG chances that it'd kill her, and how you said you wouldn't help me then. Your main concern wasn't my cat, was it? "I thought you were running away" you said. From you I reckon. Yeah, I guess you are the personification of compassion. You act so much like him and your mother sometimes...
Sorry, but I always made clear that I didn't come to save you. That only you could do that and that I'd only bring chaos to your life.
I didn't deceive you out of your house. I was outside. You saw me and came to me. And I told you that I was the Devil himself, literally and explicitly, and that you could eat of my apples if that's what you wanted. I told you that I wouldn't give you answers, just questions. And I always kept my distance, remember? And it was you who told me that you were surprised that I had accepted so fast that you loved him and we had no chances. Remember when you came and told me about your problems with him, and me, in spite of my situation, said "If that relationship means so much for you and him, you should talk to him and do everything you can to make it work." Or when I told you "I'd tell you to run from me as far as you can and forget that you ever knew me. Knowing that you suffer hurts me and I think you'll suffer less if you erase me completely instead of having me in little drops." I insisted too, that there was an ugly side of me that you'd hate, that I could be everything you love and everything you hate. I was blatantly honest. I always showed you who I really was, but you only saw what you wanted to see, no matter how much I insisted.
Do you know sometimes I doubt about you too? What was my place? A supplanter? A replacement? Someone to help you out of the new pit you were in as you said. "The rose world is for him". You were just hungry for me as you clearly put it many times. Obssessed. You were starving and wanted me to ease your hunger, was it? And since I didn't, you throw a fit. Sometimes I really wonder if it was like that. Because your obsessive and vitriolic behavior makes me think so. You begin to sound like a spoiled kid. What I describe as a warm and beautiful shelter, you call a house for hobos. If I'm glad 'cus I know that you're getting better, you insult me and insist on that stupid idea that I just give excuses to get rid of guilty feelings. Are you surprised than I'm glad for that? Would you feel better if I was jealous? If I was hurt? I don't have any guilty feelings and you won't cause any or hurt me if that's what you want. Hate me, insult me, spit on all the memories that still remind you of me. Even when sometimes it annoys me, I cannot help but understand you and I hold no grudges against you. It's sad that in our blindness we gather thorns for flowers. You're so drowned in all the suffering you've had to bear that you can't hear what I'm saying. But it doesn't matter. If mescaline boy makes you smile again I'll be glad for that. But not because he's cleaning the shit I left on your walls. I'm proud of my 'PAINting'. That beautifully horrible Dead Nature.
You said once that few things made so much sense for you as the phrase "Everything is good in the end. If it isn't good, it's not the end". So keep moving on. It's not the end now, obviously. It will be good. In the end. And if you don't remember me, don't think of me, and it had nothing to do with me, if I'm not the person you loved, and I'm just "one of millions of persons that you don't care for", if I'm a perceptual error then stop coming here to read "the same old stupid story that only I believe". These are just stories for them to read. This is just a vagabond's journal and you won't find anything here but ghosts, carcasses, rotten bugs and faded memories of someone you hate and would like to forget.
THE END.
Lucy Phermann © November 25th, 2006.
USEFUL LINKS FOR READERS:
Apple of Sodom
Mythical Plants of The Middle Ages
More on Apple of Sodom
Article on Apple of Sodom
About the song
Contemporary Version of Aesop's fable 'The Fox and The Grapes' by Ann C. Palica
Saturday, October 07, 2006
The Helium Balloon. A tale for kids By Lucy Phermann
Para la versión en español lee: El Globo de Helio: Un cuento para niños Por Lucy Phermann
When I was a little boy I always wanted a helium balloon. I never had any. Somehow, my parents always avoided to buy me one. I suppose that they did not want to take the risk that I'd lose it and begin to cry. It's the irony of the balloons. The children know that the balloon will explode at any moment, but even so they do ANYTHING in order to get one. It is fascinating how much they mean for a kid. Something as simple as a rubber bag full of air. So simple, but something that provides so much diversion at the same time… and how tragic it is to lose it. How sad when that moment arrives, that we denied in our minds. That we simply did not accept. We wanted it to last forever. But it was a futile idea, and we did not escape from reality. Of all the helium balloons, some especially called my attention. Those that had left the hands of their owners and were floating up to the sky, higher and higher, until they got lost among the clouds. Getting lost. One of the greatest fears of a child and of an adult also. Did you ever go astray, at least for an instant, being found out of the protective presence of your parents? Sure that you did. Do you remember that terrible sensation of anguish that seized us just then? The terror set against the possibility of never returning again to the sure company of our parents, to find us defenseless to dangers that perhaps we didn't even know? Well, the story that I am going to tell has a lot to do with that sensation. And with the helium balloons of course. There was upon a time a helium balloon. When it was born, they hitched it to a bunch of other newborns helium balloons. It never felt comfortable with this. Being tied did not please it. Besides, the breeze blew, making it hit against its brothers. They did not seem to care about this. They were like little puppies waiting for a kiddo to buy them and play with them. But for the balloon, the string that held it was a fetter that kept it from going to those places that it longed for. And, how curious is life!, it happened to be that the string was tattered in a point and it snapped. The balloon did not think about it two times and left flying, toward its freedom, toward its dreams. Its happiness was so much that it almost explodes. Finally, it would be able to reach the places that it only had dreamed in its helium-filled-interior! It was going high, challenging gravity, while humans and other balloons continued tied to the ground. At first, some child noted him up in the sky and stared at it for a while. Until the buildings or the clouds covered it. Or until the sunlight dazzled their eyes. Or simply until they lost interest in continuing watching, which did not take a lot of time. And the balloon continued going up, each time getting further away from the planet. Of that world full of children and of balloons and other strange creatures. And soon, nobody there remembered the balloon anymore. It was an alien entity, ignored. And the balloon continued going up, crossed the terrestrial atmosphere and found itself into space. It was more beautiful than it had thought, and more terrifying than it had imagined. It saw the Sun, Mars, Jupiter, Venus. It saw galaxies, nebulas, white dwarves, saw stars being born and dying, in an spectacle only witnessed before by Gods. And the balloon continued going up. And years passed, decades, centuries and for some reason, the balloon did not explode. Could it be possible that God had forgot that it existed?
Now the balloon realized that it would be wandering for always in the nothingness. There wasn't anything around him anymore. It didn't know how much time had passed since it had abandoned that place. That place where it was born and that in spite of all, was the only thing that sometime had been its home. And now it would never return there. And while the time passed, the helium balloon simply continued floating in the desolate immensities of the infinite. And thus it was forever, wandering, floating, going up. In the nothingness. Alone. Eternally.
Lucy Phermann ©2005
When I was a little boy I always wanted a helium balloon. I never had any. Somehow, my parents always avoided to buy me one. I suppose that they did not want to take the risk that I'd lose it and begin to cry. It's the irony of the balloons. The children know that the balloon will explode at any moment, but even so they do ANYTHING in order to get one. It is fascinating how much they mean for a kid. Something as simple as a rubber bag full of air. So simple, but something that provides so much diversion at the same time… and how tragic it is to lose it. How sad when that moment arrives, that we denied in our minds. That we simply did not accept. We wanted it to last forever. But it was a futile idea, and we did not escape from reality. Of all the helium balloons, some especially called my attention. Those that had left the hands of their owners and were floating up to the sky, higher and higher, until they got lost among the clouds. Getting lost. One of the greatest fears of a child and of an adult also. Did you ever go astray, at least for an instant, being found out of the protective presence of your parents? Sure that you did. Do you remember that terrible sensation of anguish that seized us just then? The terror set against the possibility of never returning again to the sure company of our parents, to find us defenseless to dangers that perhaps we didn't even know? Well, the story that I am going to tell has a lot to do with that sensation. And with the helium balloons of course. There was upon a time a helium balloon. When it was born, they hitched it to a bunch of other newborns helium balloons. It never felt comfortable with this. Being tied did not please it. Besides, the breeze blew, making it hit against its brothers. They did not seem to care about this. They were like little puppies waiting for a kiddo to buy them and play with them. But for the balloon, the string that held it was a fetter that kept it from going to those places that it longed for. And, how curious is life!, it happened to be that the string was tattered in a point and it snapped. The balloon did not think about it two times and left flying, toward its freedom, toward its dreams. Its happiness was so much that it almost explodes. Finally, it would be able to reach the places that it only had dreamed in its helium-filled-interior! It was going high, challenging gravity, while humans and other balloons continued tied to the ground. At first, some child noted him up in the sky and stared at it for a while. Until the buildings or the clouds covered it. Or until the sunlight dazzled their eyes. Or simply until they lost interest in continuing watching, which did not take a lot of time. And the balloon continued going up, each time getting further away from the planet. Of that world full of children and of balloons and other strange creatures. And soon, nobody there remembered the balloon anymore. It was an alien entity, ignored. And the balloon continued going up, crossed the terrestrial atmosphere and found itself into space. It was more beautiful than it had thought, and more terrifying than it had imagined. It saw the Sun, Mars, Jupiter, Venus. It saw galaxies, nebulas, white dwarves, saw stars being born and dying, in an spectacle only witnessed before by Gods. And the balloon continued going up. And years passed, decades, centuries and for some reason, the balloon did not explode. Could it be possible that God had forgot that it existed?
Now the balloon realized that it would be wandering for always in the nothingness. There wasn't anything around him anymore. It didn't know how much time had passed since it had abandoned that place. That place where it was born and that in spite of all, was the only thing that sometime had been its home. And now it would never return there. And while the time passed, the helium balloon simply continued floating in the desolate immensities of the infinite. And thus it was forever, wandering, floating, going up. In the nothingness. Alone. Eternally.
Lucy Phermann ©2005
Can't Change Me - By Chris Cornell
She can do anything at all
Have anything she pleases
The power to change what she thinks is wrong
So what could she want with me?
But wait just one minute here
I can see that she's trying to read me
Suddenly I know
She's going to change the world
But she can't change me
No she can't change me
She has the daylight at her command
She gives the night its dreams
She can uncover your darkest fear
And make you forget you feel it
But wait just one minute more
I can see that she's trying to free me
Suddenly I know
She's going to change the world
But she can't change me
Suddenly I can see everything that's wrong with me
But what can I do?
I'm the only thing I really have at all
But wait just one minute here
I can see that she's trying to need me
Suddenly I know
She's going to change the world
But she can't change me
No she can't change me
Have anything she pleases
The power to change what she thinks is wrong
So what could she want with me?
But wait just one minute here
I can see that she's trying to read me
Suddenly I know
She's going to change the world
But she can't change me
No she can't change me
She has the daylight at her command
She gives the night its dreams
She can uncover your darkest fear
And make you forget you feel it
But wait just one minute more
I can see that she's trying to free me
Suddenly I know
She's going to change the world
But she can't change me
Suddenly I can see everything that's wrong with me
But what can I do?
I'm the only thing I really have at all
But wait just one minute here
I can see that she's trying to need me
Suddenly I know
She's going to change the world
But she can't change me
No she can't change me
Something I Can Never Have - By NIN. From The Natural Born Killers ST
Mickey: Let me tell you something.
This is the 1990s.
In this day and age,a man has to have choices.
A man has to have variety.
Mallory: What do you mean, "variety"?
Hostages? You want to fuck some other women now?
Is that what you mean?
Why'd you pick me up?!!
Why take me out of my house. . .
. . .and kill my parents with me?!!
Ain't you committed to me?!!
Where are we fucking going?!!
Mickey: Relax. It's me, your lover. . .
. . .not some demon, not your father.
Mallory: No, you're not my fucking lover!
You're not my--
You've been fucking loving me?
You been loving me real true!
i still recall the taste of your tears
echoing your voice just like the ringing in my ears
my favorite dreams of you still wash ashore
scraping through my head 'till i don't want to sleep anymore
you make this all go away
you make this all go away
i'm down to just one thing
and i'm starting to scare myself
you make this all go away
you make this all go away
i just want something
i just want something i can never have
you always were the one to show me how
back then i couldn't do the things that i can do now
this thing is slowly taking me apart
grey would be the color if i had a heart
come on tell me
you make this all go away
you make this all go away
i'm down to just one thing
and i'm starting to scare myself
you make this all go away
you make this all go away
i just want something
i just want something i can never have
in this place it seems like such a shame
though it all looks different now,
i know it's still the same
everywhere i look you're all i see
just a fading fucking reminder of who i used to be
come on tell me
you make this all go away
you make this all go away
i'm down to just one thing
and i'm starting to scare myself
you make this all go away
you make it all go away
i just want something
i just want something i can never have
i just want something i can never have
This is the 1990s.
In this day and age,a man has to have choices.
A man has to have variety.
Mallory: What do you mean, "variety"?
Hostages? You want to fuck some other women now?
Is that what you mean?
Why'd you pick me up?!!
Why take me out of my house. . .
. . .and kill my parents with me?!!
Ain't you committed to me?!!
Where are we fucking going?!!
Mickey: Relax. It's me, your lover. . .
. . .not some demon, not your father.
Mallory: No, you're not my fucking lover!
You're not my--
You've been fucking loving me?
You been loving me real true!
i still recall the taste of your tears
echoing your voice just like the ringing in my ears
my favorite dreams of you still wash ashore
scraping through my head 'till i don't want to sleep anymore
you make this all go away
you make this all go away
i'm down to just one thing
and i'm starting to scare myself
you make this all go away
you make this all go away
i just want something
i just want something i can never have
you always were the one to show me how
back then i couldn't do the things that i can do now
this thing is slowly taking me apart
grey would be the color if i had a heart
come on tell me
you make this all go away
you make this all go away
i'm down to just one thing
and i'm starting to scare myself
you make this all go away
you make this all go away
i just want something
i just want something i can never have
in this place it seems like such a shame
though it all looks different now,
i know it's still the same
everywhere i look you're all i see
just a fading fucking reminder of who i used to be
come on tell me
you make this all go away
you make this all go away
i'm down to just one thing
and i'm starting to scare myself
you make this all go away
you make it all go away
i just want something
i just want something i can never have
i just want something i can never have
Friday, October 06, 2006
The Lady of Shalott
"The Lady of Shalott" is a romantic poem by the English poet Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809–1892). Like other early poems— "Sir Lancelot and Queen Guinevere," and "Galahad"— the poem recasts Arthurian subject matter loosely based on medieval sources and takes up some themes that would become more fully realized in Idylls of the King where the tale of Elaine is recounted.
The poem (of which Tennyson wrote two versions: one in 1833, of twenty verses, the other in 1842 of nineteen verses) is commonly believed to have been loosely based upon a story from Thomas Malory's Le Morte d'Arthur concerning Elaine of Astolat, a maiden who falls in love with Lancelot, but dies of grief when he cannot return her love. However, Tennyson himself said that the poem was based on a thirteenth-century Italian novelette entitled Donna di Scalotta, which focuses on the lady's death and her reception at Camelot rather than her isolation in the tower and her decision to participate in the living world, two subjects not mentioned in
"Donna di Scalotta.
Taken from: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Lady_of_Shalott
The poem (of which Tennyson wrote two versions: one in 1833, of twenty verses, the other in 1842 of nineteen verses) is commonly believed to have been loosely based upon a story from Thomas Malory's Le Morte d'Arthur concerning Elaine of Astolat, a maiden who falls in love with Lancelot, but dies of grief when he cannot return her love. However, Tennyson himself said that the poem was based on a thirteenth-century Italian novelette entitled Donna di Scalotta, which focuses on the lady's death and her reception at Camelot rather than her isolation in the tower and her decision to participate in the living world, two subjects not mentioned in
"Donna di Scalotta.
Taken from: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Lady_of_Shalott
Nosotros - By Pedro Junco Jr.
Atiéndeme.. quiero decirte algo,que quizás no esperes, doloroso tal vez...
Escúchame... que aunque me duela el alma, yo necesito hablarte y así lo haré.
Nosotros, que fuimos tan sinceros, que desde que nos vimos, amándonos estamos.
Nosotros, que del amor hicimos, un sol maravilloso,
romance tan divino.
Nosotros,que nos queremos tanto, debemos separarnos,
no me preguntes más.
No es falta de cariño,
te quiero con el alma.
Te juro que te adoro
y en nombre de éste amor
y por tu bien te digo adios.
Escúchame... que aunque me duela el alma, yo necesito hablarte y así lo haré.
Nosotros, que fuimos tan sinceros, que desde que nos vimos, amándonos estamos.
Nosotros, que del amor hicimos, un sol maravilloso,
romance tan divino.
Nosotros,que nos queremos tanto, debemos separarnos,
no me preguntes más.
No es falta de cariño,
te quiero con el alma.
Te juro que te adoro
y en nombre de éste amor
y por tu bien te digo adios.
Alicia (Expulsada Al País De Las Maravillas) - By Enrique Bunbury
Ni un día más me quedaré sentado aquí,
en la penumbra de un jardín tan extraño.
Cae la tarde y me olvidé otra vez
de tomar una determinación.
Alicia sortilegio de babia
en el fondo del espejo.
Alicia ni supone ni piensa,
con la luna por cerebro.
Alicia en su pensamiento
tirando del hilo de su enredo.
Alicia en el laberinto
sin minotauro me llama: ¡Teseo!
Alicia es siempre tan breve
que ya ha terminado.
Alicia dice que te quiere
cuando ya te ha abandonado.
Alicia expulsada...
al país de las maravillas.
Para Alicia hoy...
es siempre todavía.
Alicia, viajando entre lunas,
de charla con musarañas.
Alicia tejiendo las nubes
con tela que nunca se acaba.
Alicia es siempre tan breve
que ya ha terminado
Alicia dice que te quiere
cuando ya te ha abandonado.
Alicia expulsada...
al país de las maravillas.
en la penumbra de un jardín tan extraño.
Cae la tarde y me olvidé otra vez
de tomar una determinación.
Alicia sortilegio de babia
en el fondo del espejo.
Alicia ni supone ni piensa,
con la luna por cerebro.
Alicia en su pensamiento
tirando del hilo de su enredo.
Alicia en el laberinto
sin minotauro me llama: ¡Teseo!
Alicia es siempre tan breve
que ya ha terminado.
Alicia dice que te quiere
cuando ya te ha abandonado.
Alicia expulsada...
al país de las maravillas.
Para Alicia hoy...
es siempre todavía.
Alicia, viajando entre lunas,
de charla con musarañas.
Alicia tejiendo las nubes
con tela que nunca se acaba.
Alicia es siempre tan breve
que ya ha terminado
Alicia dice que te quiere
cuando ya te ha abandonado.
Alicia expulsada...
al país de las maravillas.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
In Dreams - By Roy Orbison
A candy-colored clown they call the sandman
Tiptoes to my room every night
Just to sprinkle stardust and to whisper
Go to sleep. everything is all right.
I close my eyes, then I drift away
Into the magic night. I softly say
A silent prayerlike dreamers do.
Then I fall asleep to dream my dreams of you.
In dreams I walk with you. in dreams I talk to you.
In dreams youre mine. all of the time were together
In dreams, in dreams.
But just before the dawn, I awake and find you gone.
I cant help it, I cant help it, if I cry.
I remember that you said goodbye.
Its too bad that all these things, can only happen in my dreams
Only in dreams in beautiful dreams.
Tiptoes to my room every night
Just to sprinkle stardust and to whisper
Go to sleep. everything is all right.
I close my eyes, then I drift away
Into the magic night. I softly say
A silent prayerlike dreamers do.
Then I fall asleep to dream my dreams of you.
In dreams I walk with you. in dreams I talk to you.
In dreams youre mine. all of the time were together
In dreams, in dreams.
But just before the dawn, I awake and find you gone.
I cant help it, I cant help it, if I cry.
I remember that you said goodbye.
Its too bad that all these things, can only happen in my dreams
Only in dreams in beautiful dreams.
Monday, October 02, 2006
For your demons - By Saturnus
For Your Demons
Did you fall into that raven night
With sigh and woe and lonely path ?
This song is for the demons
That haunted you in those loveless lonely nights
And for the shadows that stained your soul
For the echoes of your loss
This song is for your forgiveness
For the sadness I knifed in your heart
For the road that lies ahead
With fear and hope, loss and salvation
Did you wake with a sigh and not a smile, did you ?
Did you hear the ravens woe in this exaulted night ?
This very night
This song is for the demons
That haunted me in those loveless lonely nights
And for the shadows that stained my soul
For the echoes of my loss
This song is for my forgiveness
For the sadness you knifed in my heart
For the road that lies ahead
With fear and hope, loss and salvation
Did you fall into that raven night
With sigh and woe and lonely path ?
This song is for the demons
That haunted you in those loveless lonely nights
And for the shadows that stained your soul
For the echoes of your loss
This song is for your forgiveness
For the sadness I knifed in your heart
For the road that lies ahead
With fear and hope, loss and salvation
Did you wake with a sigh and not a smile, did you ?
Did you hear the ravens woe in this exaulted night ?
This very night
This song is for the demons
That haunted me in those loveless lonely nights
And for the shadows that stained my soul
For the echoes of my loss
This song is for my forgiveness
For the sadness you knifed in my heart
For the road that lies ahead
With fear and hope, loss and salvation
El Vagabundo
Realmente no pensaba escribirte más. No me interesa defenderme, de hecho, me agrada tu desprecio y quizá sería mejor que siguieras pensando lo que ahora piensas de mí. Pero quizá no...
Voy a hablarte con la más completa sinceridad, como siempre lo he hecho, aunque quizá ya no quieras saber nada. Pero bueno, esa será tu decisión. Repito, esto no se trata de eximirme mi conciencia de culpas como piensas.
Has visto muchas cosas de mí, y no las niego, si miras bien, verás que por el contrario siempre las he afirmado.
Ciertamente, la idea de que sigan mi camino es una idea atractiva. Es cuestión de inseguridad, narcisismo e incluso, soledad. Pero yo no pretendo forzarte a que aceptes estar sola por el resto de tu vida sólo para que aceptes mi visión de las cosas. Es simplemente que en mi experiencia, he aprendido que no es aconsejable depositar tu felicidad en la compañía de otra persona. No sólo por todo el sufrimiento que eso significa sino porque a la final lo que estás haciendo es usar a la otra persona para llenar tus carencias y esa idea no me agrada. A mí me quemó tanto la soledad, el tener frente a ti a alguien que significa todo para ti, esa 'otra rata en la jaula' y saber que no, que entre esa rata y tú nunca habría una 'juntedad', un 'nosotros', ninguna historia juntos, ni siquiera el simple roce de un dedo... Por mucho tiempo, lo único que quise, era precisamente algo que no podía tener. Siempre queda la duda, ¿es peor haber amado y perdido que nunca haber amado? quizá ambas sean igual de terribles, pero no puedo evitar pensar que aunque el primer caso quizá sea más doloroso, en aquel al menos tienes el atenuante de que, hubo algo, aunque sea por breves momentos, pudiste saborear tu sueño, mientras que en el segundo caso solo tienes la desolación de una puerta que nunca se abrió y que sabes que nunca se abrirá, y tú sólo la ves desde afuera... Y hace frío... Y pasan los años y cuando crees que ya has olvidado esa puerta, se te aparece en un sueño, con la única intención de que recuerdes, de que no olvides, que es una puerta que no se abrirá. Nunca jamás. Una puerta que fue hecha sin una llave. Lo peor es cuando encuentras otra puerta y te pasa lo mismo... Llega un punto en que eso de andar buscando puertas se te hace absurdo. Te preguntas cual es el sentido de ir por ahí queriendo entrar en una casa ajena y que te reciban como un amigo y sientas calor de hogar. Se te hace absurdamente absurdo. Empiezas a decirte "pero después de todo, caminar bajo la lluvia no es nada malo...” Y te conviertes en un vagabundo. Sin hogar, sin techo, siempre afuera, caminando. Libre. Cuando yo ya había decidido que no iba a buscar más puertas porque en realidad ya no me llamaban la atención, pasé por un castillito de lo más coqueto. Con paredes de cascarita de huevo y una puerta de algodón. Me acerqué porque me pareció hermosísimo y curiosamente cuando estaba detallándola, sin hacerme ilusiones de querer entrar porque aunque la idea me gustaba, ya yo no esperaba que ninguna puerta se abriera, alguien abrió y me dijo "¿quieres pasar? hace frío allá afuera y me caería bien una compañía" ¡y yo no me lo creía! Quedé perplejo entré. Porque me gustaba la idea. En verdad me gustaba. Y que más me hubiese gustado que poder haber permanecido allí mucho tiempo, y disfrutar de la calidez que allí encontré. Pero me había convertido en algo frío, y no hallaba placer alguno en la calidez. En vez de agregar calor, mi presencia en aquel castillito lo recorría como una brisa helada. Y créeme, que esto para mi fue muy desconcertante porque yo toda la vida quise entrar en alguna casita ¡y este castillito era de lo más fenomenal! Y la compañía no podía ser mejor. Y yo no entendía entonces que pasaba y me empecé a figurar infinidad de cosas. Ahora creo saberlo. Me había convertido en un vagabundo, y mi sitio ya no estaba bajo un techo. Y esto era una tragedia, obviamente. Para ambos. La ironía era que, de una u otra manera, las puertas no parecían haber sido hechas para mí. Ya fuese abiertas o cerradas. Chiquitas o grandes, hermosamente decoradas o solo barrotes; yo, más que alguien libre, era un exiliado. Y el exilio es curioso, porque al estar afuera puedes parecer libre, y en cierta forma, lo eres, si así lo asumes, pero la diferencia entre ser enviado al exilio y ser enviado a prisión es que en la prisión te mandan adentro de unos muros y en el exilio te mandan fuera de los muros. O sea viene siendo como lo mismo pero con más espacio. Es como la celda más grande de la prisión, que precisamente no está dentro de la prisión sino que es todo lo que queda afuera. Los limites siguen siendo los mismos muros...
Yo mentiría si digo que me gustaría volver. Pero cada día recuerdo ese castillito. Y tu cara. Y toda tu rabia y tu dolor y tu desprecio no pueden sino recordarme tu calidez, por eso no puedo lamentarlos. No... No sigas el camino de este vagabundo. No tienes porqué. Yo solo quería que, aunque yo ya no estuviera contigo, o nadie más, fueras feliz en tu castillo, porque es muy hermoso para que la tristeza more en él. Y la pregunta sigue en pie: ¿de que sirve un castillo, si estás solo allí, sin nadie con quien compartirlo? Y aunque eso sea muy cristiano, le doy la razón. Quizá sí sirva de algo. Porque hay vagabundos, que están cansados de tanto caminar solos, y necesitan un lugar al que llegar antes de seguir su camino. Y mientras estén allí, las tragedias no existen. Como la historia de Calipso y Ulises en La Odisea. ¿Y quien quita? Algún viajero podría encontrar allí su destino. Lo que sé es que sin estos remansos, la vida de los vagabundos sería mucho más insoportable, y el mundo, mucho más detestable.
Voy a hablarte con la más completa sinceridad, como siempre lo he hecho, aunque quizá ya no quieras saber nada. Pero bueno, esa será tu decisión. Repito, esto no se trata de eximirme mi conciencia de culpas como piensas.
Has visto muchas cosas de mí, y no las niego, si miras bien, verás que por el contrario siempre las he afirmado.
Ciertamente, la idea de que sigan mi camino es una idea atractiva. Es cuestión de inseguridad, narcisismo e incluso, soledad. Pero yo no pretendo forzarte a que aceptes estar sola por el resto de tu vida sólo para que aceptes mi visión de las cosas. Es simplemente que en mi experiencia, he aprendido que no es aconsejable depositar tu felicidad en la compañía de otra persona. No sólo por todo el sufrimiento que eso significa sino porque a la final lo que estás haciendo es usar a la otra persona para llenar tus carencias y esa idea no me agrada. A mí me quemó tanto la soledad, el tener frente a ti a alguien que significa todo para ti, esa 'otra rata en la jaula' y saber que no, que entre esa rata y tú nunca habría una 'juntedad', un 'nosotros', ninguna historia juntos, ni siquiera el simple roce de un dedo... Por mucho tiempo, lo único que quise, era precisamente algo que no podía tener. Siempre queda la duda, ¿es peor haber amado y perdido que nunca haber amado? quizá ambas sean igual de terribles, pero no puedo evitar pensar que aunque el primer caso quizá sea más doloroso, en aquel al menos tienes el atenuante de que, hubo algo, aunque sea por breves momentos, pudiste saborear tu sueño, mientras que en el segundo caso solo tienes la desolación de una puerta que nunca se abrió y que sabes que nunca se abrirá, y tú sólo la ves desde afuera... Y hace frío... Y pasan los años y cuando crees que ya has olvidado esa puerta, se te aparece en un sueño, con la única intención de que recuerdes, de que no olvides, que es una puerta que no se abrirá. Nunca jamás. Una puerta que fue hecha sin una llave. Lo peor es cuando encuentras otra puerta y te pasa lo mismo... Llega un punto en que eso de andar buscando puertas se te hace absurdo. Te preguntas cual es el sentido de ir por ahí queriendo entrar en una casa ajena y que te reciban como un amigo y sientas calor de hogar. Se te hace absurdamente absurdo. Empiezas a decirte "pero después de todo, caminar bajo la lluvia no es nada malo...” Y te conviertes en un vagabundo. Sin hogar, sin techo, siempre afuera, caminando. Libre. Cuando yo ya había decidido que no iba a buscar más puertas porque en realidad ya no me llamaban la atención, pasé por un castillito de lo más coqueto. Con paredes de cascarita de huevo y una puerta de algodón. Me acerqué porque me pareció hermosísimo y curiosamente cuando estaba detallándola, sin hacerme ilusiones de querer entrar porque aunque la idea me gustaba, ya yo no esperaba que ninguna puerta se abriera, alguien abrió y me dijo "¿quieres pasar? hace frío allá afuera y me caería bien una compañía" ¡y yo no me lo creía! Quedé perplejo entré. Porque me gustaba la idea. En verdad me gustaba. Y que más me hubiese gustado que poder haber permanecido allí mucho tiempo, y disfrutar de la calidez que allí encontré. Pero me había convertido en algo frío, y no hallaba placer alguno en la calidez. En vez de agregar calor, mi presencia en aquel castillito lo recorría como una brisa helada. Y créeme, que esto para mi fue muy desconcertante porque yo toda la vida quise entrar en alguna casita ¡y este castillito era de lo más fenomenal! Y la compañía no podía ser mejor. Y yo no entendía entonces que pasaba y me empecé a figurar infinidad de cosas. Ahora creo saberlo. Me había convertido en un vagabundo, y mi sitio ya no estaba bajo un techo. Y esto era una tragedia, obviamente. Para ambos. La ironía era que, de una u otra manera, las puertas no parecían haber sido hechas para mí. Ya fuese abiertas o cerradas. Chiquitas o grandes, hermosamente decoradas o solo barrotes; yo, más que alguien libre, era un exiliado. Y el exilio es curioso, porque al estar afuera puedes parecer libre, y en cierta forma, lo eres, si así lo asumes, pero la diferencia entre ser enviado al exilio y ser enviado a prisión es que en la prisión te mandan adentro de unos muros y en el exilio te mandan fuera de los muros. O sea viene siendo como lo mismo pero con más espacio. Es como la celda más grande de la prisión, que precisamente no está dentro de la prisión sino que es todo lo que queda afuera. Los limites siguen siendo los mismos muros...
Yo mentiría si digo que me gustaría volver. Pero cada día recuerdo ese castillito. Y tu cara. Y toda tu rabia y tu dolor y tu desprecio no pueden sino recordarme tu calidez, por eso no puedo lamentarlos. No... No sigas el camino de este vagabundo. No tienes porqué. Yo solo quería que, aunque yo ya no estuviera contigo, o nadie más, fueras feliz en tu castillo, porque es muy hermoso para que la tristeza more en él. Y la pregunta sigue en pie: ¿de que sirve un castillo, si estás solo allí, sin nadie con quien compartirlo? Y aunque eso sea muy cristiano, le doy la razón. Quizá sí sirva de algo. Porque hay vagabundos, que están cansados de tanto caminar solos, y necesitan un lugar al que llegar antes de seguir su camino. Y mientras estén allí, las tragedias no existen. Como la historia de Calipso y Ulises en La Odisea. ¿Y quien quita? Algún viajero podría encontrar allí su destino. Lo que sé es que sin estos remansos, la vida de los vagabundos sería mucho más insoportable, y el mundo, mucho más detestable.
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