Polaroids de Amor Adolescente

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Un poema que escribí en plena adolescencia.
Evidencias de mi romanticismo.
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El amor cae del cielo.
A veces llega a destiempo,
y entonces ya es tarde para arrepentirse o suplicar.
El amor nunca muere,
solo cambia de lugar,
aunque siempre vuelve al principio del andar.
A veces queda lastimado,
a veces quiere lastimar,
para calmar alguna herida que no pudo cicatrizar.
El amor no tiene ojos,
nunca ve la realidad,
va sumergido en un sueño del que nunca quiere despertar.
Si el amor toco tu puerta,
y no lo quisiste atender,
no temas, no desesperes,
algun día ha de volver.

Diving Into the Wreck. Adrienne Rich

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First having read the book of myths,
and loaded the camera,
and checked the edge of the knife-blade,
I put on
the body-armor of black rubber
the absurd flippers
the grave and awkward mask.
I am having to do this
not like Cousteau with his
assiduous team
abroad the sun-flooded schoonerbut here alone.
There is a ladder
The ladder is always there
hanging innocently
close to the side of the schooner.
We know what it is for,
we who have used it.
Otherwise
it's a piece of maritime floss
some sundry equipment.
I go down.
Rung after rung and still
the oxygen immerses me
the blue light
the clear atoms
of our human air.
I go down.
My flippers cripple me,
I crawl like an insect down the ladder
and there is no one to tell me when the ocean
will begin.
First the air is blue and then
it is bluer and then green and then black
I am blacking out and yet
my mask is powerful
it pumps my blood with power
the sea is another story
the sea is not a question of power
I have to learn alone
to turn my body without force
in the deep element.
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And now: it is easy to forget
what I came for
among so many who have always lived here
swaying their crenellated fans
between the reef
sand besides
you breathe differently down here.
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I came to explore the wreck.
The words are purposes.
The words are maps.
I came to see the damage that was done
and the treasures that prevail.
I stroke the beam of my lamp
slowly along the flank
of something more permanent
than fish or week
the thing I came for:
the wreck and not the story of the wreck
the thing itself and not the myth
the drowned face always staring
toward the sun
the evidence of damage
worn by salt and sway into this threadbare beauty
the ribs of the disaster
curving their assertion
among the tentative haunters.
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This is the place.
and I am here,
the mermaid whose dark hairstreams black,
the merman in his armored body
We circle silently
about the wreck
we dive into the hold.
I am she: I am he
whose drowned face sleeps with open eyes
whose breasts still bear the stress
whose silver, copper, vermeil cargo lies
Obscurely inside barrelshalf-wedged and left to rot
we are the half-destroyed instruments that once held to a course
the water-eaten log
the fouled compass
We are, I am, you are
by cowardice or courage
the one who find our way back to the scene
carrying a knife, a camera
a book of myths
in which
our names do not appear.

Marketing Relacional

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lalalala.
que cagada.
primero civilizacion, despues industrializacion, globalizacion y ahora Marketinizacion.
nada nuevo que el marketing nos haya atacado como una plaga que se mete por todos los huecos
hasta por el culo (y sin vaselina)
el gran problema es como siempre, la boludez humana.
las cosas en si son simples, la realidad es muy compleja,
pero la mente humana es "simplista" (muy distinto a simpleza)
y por esa mania de ser simplista, todas nuestras preguntas de almas perdidas
tienen respuesta en el querido marketing.
cuando alguna formula muy practica funciona para un problemita,
resulta que es la formula magica para toda la vida
el elixir de los dioses.
y en esa increible genialidad
aplicamos marketing a lo que pensamos, sentimos, queremos y a lo que somos
y cuando hablamos de cosas tan humanas usamos palabras como
comprar, vender, transar, jugar, negociar, etceterar
manipulandonos como mercaderia barata.
nada nuevo. solo que ahora tiene un nombre.
como sorprende la humanidad.
pero mi humanidad se resiste.
en esto me declaro romantica, ingenua o como se llame.
y se pone peor: cuando una intenta mantenerse al margen
resulta que la plaga se multiplica,
y claro,
el mercado se hace cada vez mas "competitivo"
y exige que compitas o que mueras.
y si hay que vivir sin sentido
prefiero morir por una buena causa.

p.s. one love.