Rondeau 2

Feeling frustrated, time goes by,
nothing shifts as I look the sky,
sure that someday it will all end,
but that is no excuse to bend,
so I hope that soon my tears dry.

I think it is my time to fly,
yet no one lets me, don't ask why,
but hopefully my wounds will mend,
feeling frustrated.

Maybe it is because I'm shy,
that I can't adapt to this lie,
all the messages people send
with bad intentions, at the end
they just help me to justify
feeling frustrated.

the Great Escape..

Trapped behind walls and doors,
trees and leaves,
people and mess,
just trying to reach the sun, the sky,
just looking for the great escape.

Kids.. genuine kids...

Into the Fire...

Come on, come on, put your hands into the fire...
Tal vez no sepas lo que viene, tal vez mueras,
pero tal vez no pase nada.
Caminé sobre fuego y no me quemé los pies,
viví la vida y con éxito terminé.
Hay que enfrentar los miedos, si no sólo somos cobardes,
y los cobardes verdaderamente no aportan nada.
Preocuparnos por las cosas sin que todavía pasen
es sólo una manera de amargarnos.
Por eso es bueno entrar al fuego, a lo oscuro,
a lo desconocido, pues no sabemos si realmente es
dañino o sólo una nueva forma de crecer.

Dog al Attack...

Siempre alerta, siempre listo, nunca atrás...
sólo necesita la indicación para actuar...
cualquier amenaza es inútil...
cuando tienes un guarda espaldas como éste...

Con su olfato, se entera de lo más distante...
con sus oídos, acata las órdenes de su dueño...
con su instinto sin embargo, nos divierte...
y al ver esta pose lo bautizo como: el dog al attack..
:)

El tiempo mas feliz...

Hace una semana fui a ver una obra llamada "Tres Mujeres Altas", que después de muchas risas y muchas historias, se hizo entender como un análisis de la vida y de los momentos más felices de una mujer. En la obra, la vida de una misma mujer se dividía en tres etapas, interpretadas cada una por una mujer distinta. Estaba una mujer en sus veintes, una mujer en sus cincuentas, y una mujer anciana. Ellas debatían el porqué su etapa era la más feliz. Una decía porque no había preocupaciones ni responsabilidades, la otra decía que porque ya había adquirido experiencias, no solo para recordar, sino para aguantar lo que llegaría después, y por último la más anciana selló la discusión diciendo que el momento más feliz, es ese en el que finalmente puedes descansar, sabiendo que todo está hecho y que solo lo puedes recordar.

Tengo que admitir que la obrita esa me dejó pensando y cuando salí de la sala, yo estaba sumamente de acuerdo con la vieja. Pero después de darle mente y darle vueltas en mi cabeza, no me encajaba tanto así, porque uno siempre oye a los abuelos y los más viejos diciendo "Ojalá y yo hubiese hecho tal cosa cuando joven... " Cuando tiré estas fotos, me quedé pensando, y ahí todo cuadró. Me di cuenta que la etapa más feliz, es ninguna no existe. Solo existen los momentos felices y esos con quienes compartirlos.

Nuestras noticias...

Es un titulo muy interesante no? "Memorias de un año duro, con paseo en metro incluido."
No es que quiera meterme en temas de política, pero es totalmente cierto. Ahora, no creo necesario culpar al gobierno por que éste tenga los deseos de convertir a la República Dominicana en un país mejor, creo que es más culpa de nosotros mismos. Imagínense, construyen un metro en cuatro años, y en un día ya lo desbaratan. Construyen un puente, y le roban las barandas de protección, ahora el peatón que trate de cruzar por el río Ozama puede caerse por cualquier mala pisada. Pasa el camión de la basura y detrás de éste aparece un gracioso que tira la funda de Doritos en el piso. Honestamente, no podemos poner el cambio de un país poblado por alrededor de 8 millones de personas en los hombros de uno solo. El cambio lo tenemos que lograr trabajando juntos o nada. Buscar el camino fácil puede ser una buena respuesta ahora, pero no a largo plazo. Volviendo al título del periodico, memorias de un año duro, porque lo quisimos, y el paseo en metro, bueno, algo tiene que salir de todo esto.

Truth about time...

Time does go by very quickly,

you think as you breathe heavily,

you know minutes are passing

but you don't notice as you're talking.

We do what we want but barely,

time does go by very quickly.

And as life goes by we miss it,

those moments are gone, we keep fit,

they won't come back, so we give in,

knowing someone's counting each sin.

Time does go by very quickly,

we see as we walk steadily,

we grow up, we become mature,

it is just part of our nature,

we embrace it, since really,

time does go by very quickly.

* Specially in this city, where you take longer on the way than on the actual errand.

Al horizonte...

De verdad me pregunto qué es lo que él mira...

Realmente está supervisando a sus inferiores, como se supone, o simplemente mira al horizonte, con la esperanza de que las cosas finalmente cambien para bien.

La verdad es que todos hemos pasado por eso...

Todos hemos mirado a algún lugar en blanco, imaginando un futuro mejor.

Bueno, seamos claros. Ya no es tiempo para mirar, ni imaginar, ni soñar, ni nada de esas cursilerías. Es tiempo de actuar. Es tiempo de hacer nosotros mismo el futuro que queremos para nosotros. Al eso es mejor que quedarnos parados mirando en el horizonte esperando por un futuro que nunca llegará, porque nada cae de una mata porque sí, siempre hay que hallar un motivo.

Rondeau

As you walk throughout the long way,
you can feel the wind in the bay,
the water that goes through your toes,
it tickles, but that's all it does,
that's when you think you're there to stay.

You don't mind what the people say,
those things will never ruin your day,
that's what you think when the sea goes,
as you walk.

It's the first time you've felt so gay,
and now in the sand you just lay.
But hurry, you do not want foes!
Sadly that's just the way it goes,
you will see how the slow ones pay
as you walk.

The City

I feel the noise drowning my ears,
that's just the life in the city,

so crowded you can't move freely,

with such disasters, my real fears.

I see the people being mean,

that's just the life in the city.

They won't let themselves think clearly,

and the lies are not any lean.

The sun won't arise anymore,

that's just the life in the city,

I try changing reality,

but by the end I just feel sore.

Thoughts won't come through, my mind is blank.

That's just the life in the city,

I want to carry on really,

but my last idea just sank.

La mente de una fatalista.

Antes que nada.. gracias a Margaux Joffe por tirar esta maravillosa foto..
I love you and I miss you Miss Joffe!

Ella vive en un mundo de cristal,

donde sus sueños son prioridad,

y no dará paso a más nadie,

ni escuchará a quien diga que nunca podrá.

En sus fantasias y sueños, reprimida por la sociedad,

ella está decidida y sabe que,

de una forma u otra una diferencia marcará

aunque en el presente nadie la entienda.

Busca solamente el escape,

busca la salida, un futuro,

trata de romper todos los parámetros,

ella sólo quiere hacer lo que le guste.

Aunque en un lugar tan pequeño,

el pensamiento liberal es imposible,

y pues todo se reduce a la simpleza

de pensar más en el otro que en uno mismo.

Pero poco a poco, a medida que entra en detalle,

ella se va dando cuenta de que nada es fácil,

y aunque es determinada y ambiciosa,

también es fatalista e insegura,

y así mismo su mundo se derrumba.

Ahora ella solo ve a otro desde una ventana,

una ventana imaginaria,

ve a áquel que tiene lo que ella alguna vez quiso,

lo mira con desprecio, con prejuicio,

y todos saben que es la envidia lo que corroe su juicio.

Sin mundo alguno, y nadie a quien recurrir,

ella se aísla en sus pensamientos y al dormir,

sueña con lo que nunca tuvo y nunca tendrá.

Ahora que todo se fue en picada, ya no hay diferencia,

no hay sueños, no hay ganas, ella no es nadie en verdad.

The Split of a Second.

Haven’t you ever had a feeling, when you woke up, that it just won’t be your day, that it’s just better to stay in bed and not moving from there? Well, I have. I’ve had those kinds of days when everything is just meant to be wrong, but still, I never figured that one day things could be even worse. Still, you have to wake up and move on, it is part of the routine.
That remarkable day was in fact, a rainy, cold, busy day in New York City, when I got up from bed with my left foot. I had run out of shampoo, I could not find my uniform, and there was no breakfast. Besides, just to make it better, I was late.
Getting late is awful, not only you are missing duties, but when you have a boss like Martha, it really is worse. When I try to sneak in late, somehow she always notices. Then she grabs my tiny arm with her big fat dirty fingers and starts yelling at me with her manly voice, looking at me with her bulging eyes. At this point of the day, when she starts explaining me how being late won’t sell more Happy Meals, I begin to realize how pathetic is my life. And then I come to realize that the fact of working as a cashier of McDonald’s at thirty-four is not helping either.
So what do you do when you are me, and want to improve? How do you grow from it? You know, I am still waiting for that moment in my life, where I can finally take that leap forward and make myself proud. Never thought it would be the way it really happened. Now I just kind of regret it.
Going back to the chronology of my bad day, I had just heard my boss screaming at me, when I finally started to work. The day was kind of normal from then, selling all the different options we had to offer to a whole different variety of costumers. That was until this curious man came in. It was around two in the afternoon, and he was drunk as he could ever be. Then that feeling I had in the morning, it just came back to me.
At this point, all I could do was watch and be alert, because I did not know what to expect. When he finished his meal, he just left stumbling with everything around him. Then he got in a car, in the driver’s seat, and drove off. I’m more worried by that moment, since as we all know, if you are going to drink, don’t drive. Guess my feeling was right, because he still hadn’t crossed the nearest intersection when he crashed right into another car.
I rush out to the street, panicking. I mean, I feel in my veins such a rush, everything is hectic, someone is yelling: “Call 911!” I do not know what to do, yet all I know is that I want to help. Finally, that moment to prove myself, that moment I’ve been waiting for is here.
Once I get there, all I can see is blood. It’s everywhere, and so is glass. I’m seeing the ugliest scene ever. As you might never guess, turns out that in the drunk’s car, there’s also a pregnant woman. She does not seem very hurt herself, but all she can do is scream about her baby, and how she thinks she lost it. With her, there is the drunk man, who now is unconscious. Then I see the other car, and I just can’t believe it, it is my dad in it.
Now I’m taking panic to a whole new level. I was determined to help when I ran out to the street, but now I’m frozen. Firefighters and paramedics are just coming in. Everything is going like in fast motion. Now, I finally react. I pull one of them and get him to do everything he can to help my dad. Still, my dad is stuck in the car because of the seatbelt, so it is going to take more time.
While the firefighters do their job I am holding on to my father’s hand. We are talking, and I’m trying to keep him distracted. I ask him how has been his day, and he answers in a very sarcastic tone: “It has all been very good you know, experiencing new things.” This is the part of the story where I just shut up and look to him in the eye, and tell him over and over again that he is strong, and that he will go through this, and than in a year or so we will sit together and laugh at the story. Suddenly one of the firefighters asks me to move. They are about to free him.
Once he’s out of the car, the paramedics start working on him. I’m worried sick now. We hop into the ambulance in a hurry, seems that he does not have that much time, they have to work quickly. In a matter of minutes, we are at the hospital. The doctors come and take him in seconds. Now all I can do is wait.
As he is taken to surgery, through my mind come all types of thoughts. What if I loose him, what if that was the last time I’ll speak to him, what if he really is hurt that badly? All I know is that things won’t be the same ever again. I pray, and I hope. I realize it is the first time I’ve felt this way. Seconds go by as if they were minutes, and minutes go by as if they were hours, I’m as desperate as I could be.
The doctor sends updates once in a while, but when they start sounding as the same they don’t exactly tranquilize you, but upset you more. I’ve had around a liter of coffe, I’m exhausted. It is around midnight now. Seems my dad got pretty wounded in order to need a nine hour surgery. I’ve heard from everyone involved in the accident during all this time. It’s kind of sickening. The drunk dude that caused the whole thing just had a concussion, he is going to be just fine. The woman lost the baby, which I am sorry for, but she still has the opportunity to have more. But my dad, my dad is in surgery with his life on the line, and no one knows if he is going to live.
Finally, as I am realizing how unfair life can be, and how quickly it can end, I start giving up hope. Then the doctor comes out. My eyes light up in a second. I am thinking to myself: “He is going to live, he is going to be ok, and everything will be fine. Gladly! ” As the doctor comes closer, I get to see better the expression of his face, he is not that happy. He comes and looks at me in the eye and just tells me: “We did everything we could, but the damage…”
I can not hear anymore, my legs are shaking, and I can’t stand up anymore. I just let myself fall to the floor. Tears start running through my face, I can’t speak. He is gone I think. Worst is, that morning my father was ok and by that night he wasn’t. I would never have imagined that things would turn out that way, it was the least I expected. But that day I learned how life really is, and that it can change in a split of a second. For me, that was it.
My father was the only person I had left, you see, I am an only child, and my mother died of cancer when I was sixteen. All I ever wanted was to make him proud. But for what I can be thankful today is, the single fact that I got to be with him when he was in agony, those few moments in the crash, in the ambulance. Nothing has changed from then, but everything has. I still do the same things I did back then, but now, I look life with a different perspective. As we all know, you never know when is going to be your last day, so it is better to live every single one of them to the fullest.

Sunny Days.

It was a beautiful, sunny day. Definitely the perfect day for surfing. As the sun shines Dylan sleeps peacefully. He needs good rest for his competition. This day matters so much, and this competition means lots of opportunities, so he better not ruin it today. Dylan has always been an interesting guy. He lives with his mom, he is as clumsy as a monkey, he gets F in all his classes, and he is a surfer. Still, his parents say that's not getting him anywhere. Finally Dylan wakes up. When he looks at the clock, it's 10:40 a. m. Ohh damn it, he overslept, what a newsflash. He is supposed to be at the beach at eleven!
-"Damn it mom! I told you to wake me up!" -Dylan cries.
-"Ohh sorry darling, I just forgot."

That was a routine. "What can't my mother forget?"-Dylan thought as he got his bathing suit, his surf board and left in a hurry. Dylan ran through the streets and sidewalks, crashed everything that ran near him, and almost got hit by a car. But this competition, he thought, was worth it, it had to be worth it.
In a matter of minutes, what he felt like second, he could see it, the beach, the tents. But he did not see anyone there.
-"was it earlier? Is it over?"- he asked.
Still, he kept running, but when he got there he did not like the view. It was all empty. That's when he felt tears going down his face, and he felt this impulse, this thing he couldn't control. So he started screaming. In that, a man noticed and approached him.
-"Kid, what's wrong?"- asked the man nicely, trying to understand.
-"I blew it! I overslept and I blew it! This was my shot.. "- suddenly Dylan was interrupted.
-"Ohh, the competition? It was postponed. There was an accident early this morning with a shark so it was postponed."
-"Really? "
-"Yes! It's going to be next Saturday. Good luck and don't oversleep!"
As the man walked away, Dylan felt relief and happineness swept him away. He still had a chance, and he promised himself to be more prepared than ever.

Promiscuidad?

esta nota.. es mi favorita.. simplemente se acerca a la idea de realizar mis metas, cambiar vidas con mis escritos...
con amor para: beate y diane.. y la hoi.. por nuestras conversaciones de en el recreo.. jeje..
y también para el self-proclaimed "trío candente del babeque.." no se pq.. jeje.
also.. al feo por prestarme sus frases de sexo y filosofia...
<3>

Aunque muchos dicen que es necesario, que es lo común, y que está de moda, el ser promiscuos no nos define como hombres ni como mujeres. Al contrario, la promiscuidad es un reflejo de la inmadurez y la inseguridad. Lamentablemente, caemos bajo la falsa impresión de que mientras más chicas te ligas, o mientras más sean los chicos con los que te acuestas, serás más admirado y finalmente invensible. No podemos culpar a nadie por esto, porque no es culpa nuestra que en todas las series de televisión y películas jóvenes de nuestra edad sólo piensen en acostarse con otros, o que las revistas prefieran publicar esas portadas en las que la modelo lleve menos ropa. Pero cualquier persona que haga buen uso de sus neuronas llega a entender que todo eso es una gran mentira. Antes que nada, debemos ver las cosas en un plano distinto. En vez del ahora, dentro de diez años, en vez de fiesta, un tanto más de seriedad. Realmente dentro de diez años, queremos ser esas mujeres desgastadas y usadas, y en el caso de los hombres, quieren ser esos ninfómanos a los que nada les impresiona, y que no sienten nada en verdad. Es como dijo alguna vez Tom Clancy: "Creo que el sexo es una de las cosas mas bonitas, naturales y gratificantes que el dinero puede comprar. " Y a lo mejor sea cierto, porque después de todo esto no es una crítica al sexo, pero a qué precio?
Una vez más, no malinterpreten esta nota, pues obviamente no tengo la intención de escribir un sermón. Pero no reconocemos la gravedad del asunto porque sólo vemos las cosas desde adentro, nosotros contra el mundo. Mas no se necesita más de un paso para salir del círculo y ver, desde fuera, lo patético que es el depender de un número de besos, de mujeres, o de hombres, para tener una buena autoestima y una tal llamada "personalidad". Ahora, eso no es una personalidad, eso es ser un parásito o un vegetal. Sí, el sexo probablemente sea maravilloso, y también besar a una persona, etc etc, pero realmente girar nuestras vidas alrededor de esto es autodestructivo. Si es cierto eso de que los hombres piensan en sexo cada siete segundos, entonces no extrañaría que haya tantas mujeres volviéndose lesbianas a diario. Y si es cierto que cada día niñas más jóvenes se van entregando a hombres porque sí, en fiestas y en otros sitios, no extrañaría que los hombres terminen siempre casándose con las que ahora llamamos "anticuadas y monjas". Edgar Wallace no se equivocó diciendo que:"Un intelectual es alguien que ha encontrado algo mas importante que el sexo." Ahora, es nuestra elección: queremos desde ahora ser intelectuales o no?

Creciendo.

Pasan los segundos como horas,
las horas se pasan como días,
sé que suena muy exagerado,
mas hablo de un desesperado.

Los nervios se apoderan de él
tan rápido que es díficil creer,
como se pierde y deja de ser fiel,
aunque no tenga nada que perder.

La inseguridad que se apodera
cierra todas las puertas posibles
o al menos esas que él considera
son los caminos más entendibles.

Su corazón palpita con fuerza,
sus ojos abren desorbitados,
no pasa nada por su cabeza,
solo se siente incomunicado.

Bastante lejos de la realidad,
ya ha perdido todos sus complejos,
y ya no tiene miedo a la verdad,
no necesita ese mar de espejos.

Luego de esta experiencia inhumana,
no teme, no piensa, ya es otro,
descubierto con cuernos de toro
y en su pelo no se ve una cana.

Be Straight.

"Be straight," now that's a catchy phrase. We ask people everyday to be straight with us, except we might not be ready to accept the truth. And as much as we try to convince ourselves about how strong we are to know, we're still jarred after we learn those things we were not aware of. It is just as Ingrid Michaelson's song says, "we are just breakable girls and boys." But still, we keep on asking others, to "be straight." With this phrase, we choose, we choose to face the unknown, ignoring the fact that at the end, we might just regret that we chose. End of story."Be straight," there's no other phrase that represents so much, so much fear, everything we do not know. Still, we are so incoherent we keep on saying it; we keep on asking for it, just because we think we're strong enough to handle it.It also happens that sometimes, we are the ones forced to be straight with someone, about something, somewhere. Sometimes it's our turn to advise our loved ones, and still, our advice may just be too much to deal with. Although every time we finally prepare ourselves to tell the truth, something gets in the way. Thank God. Yet there's a doubt in being honest, whether we should really spit it or not. It's just that sometimes the weather may be to cloudy outside, so it might be better to offer some companion, instead of plunging that person we love to the unknown. So here is what I know. There's no such thing as "being straight." So whoever came up with such a contrivance was wrong. Even after we ask for it, there's always a truth to hide, a friend to protect, a secret to keep. What's it with us humans that we believe us steady enough to handle such thing, yet we become fretful beings with the everything that follows. We ignore those leers of those that love us and insist. We insist until we know the painful truth.I believe sometimes it's better to be naïve than to be wise. Because even after all the years of studying, all the years of friendship, all the years of toiling, and all those years of freelance, we're still breakable on the inside, fragile never goes away. No wonder kids are the only ones who handle it. "Be straight," they're unaware of the things that may hide beneath it."Be straight," it is such a utopia. That's right, it is a utopian phrase. Just like communism, or the modernist image of Latin America, it is just a distant dream or fantasy we are not ready to fulfill. You see, even when we try to be straight, we adapt the truth to our own convenience, keeping what must be kept, and telling what does not hurt. But still, it is a phrase we can all relate to. The cheating husband, the betraying friend, the protecting mother, the naive son, the wise mentor, or the curious student, the infamous rock star, or the loyal fan, truth is, they all are related to it, just like you and me. And once we use it for the first time, we are addicted to it, and all innocence is gone. It becomes time to face the things we did not know, or maybe just didn't want to. Yet we are so stupid we will not admit how broken we are by its honesty, how hurt we my get with it. So it becomes a cycle, a cycle of truths and lies that goes on and on, just with that simple phrase working as the catalyst, "Be straight."

El Paisaje

Al sentir la liberación a través de los sonidos y familiarizarse con el entorno, se van agudizando los sentidos, se va despertando el cuerpo. Y es que la civilización nos pudre, nos corroe, nos hace perder lo más valioso, nosotros mismos. No es lo mismo una fotografía, ni un video, a ver la realidad con los propios ojos. Actualmente somos insensibles, inhumanos, sin capacidad de la satisfacción alguna, somos nada. Somos un montón de huesos sin objetivos ni porqués, sin funciones, ni conciencia, somos sencillamente un montón de vegetales inútiles. POr eso es que el paisaje, nos alivia, nos humaniza, nos hace sentir maripositas. Nos conserva y nos pone en contacto con la juventud, nos purifica, nos nutre. Nuevos pensamientos corren por mi cabeza a medida que voy pisando la arena, viendo al horizonte. Una nueva corriente que se acerca y me domina, y va cambiando mi ser. Mi manera de ver las cosas, es decir, la perspectiva, da un giro de ciento ochenta grados al revés. Definitivamente la reflexión ayuda a refrescar la mente, y se siente la diferencia al regresar a casa, donde todo va y viene, no hay preocupaciones, no hay problemas, Aunque ahora en lo único que pienso es en una cama para dormir hasta el día siguiente.