The System

"Humanity prefers the end of itself than ending the system that overwhelms it, which it created itself, or at least a few of them, humans. It is not difficult to be outraged or recognize how one pays to be a lackey and a vassal. Slaves, servitude, hungry and greedy: are there other words to describe this part of what is called civilization? Then, it is understood why the common dream is chaos and destruction as liberation since all the motivations to build seem to have been eliminated. At the end of the day, her mentality was that of a modern slave. Perhaps it was religion (monotheistic, extreme Catholic), her sexual frustrations, her gender in a patriarchy, or simply not understanding that it was another continent that emancipated her and not where she tried. It was confirmed that not only because she was a woman, she was good, she commanded, but she didn't lead - he said it because he was already tired of thinking about it in silence, despite all the accusations he would indeed receive of misogyny. But, it is not always a question of gender. And would follow and has followed extraordinary women leaders in her life. But I couldn't follow her.

Some humans only find their success in stripping others. Many times not because they want it, but because it is crucial to take away from the other, and that other is not the opposite; it can be its friend. Greed then becomes entrenched in the way of being human, but is it not instead a construction of civilization? It is then, when to give the answer, that definition appears around "the system", which seems to be comfortable, but it is for some, not for all. And it does not guarantee survival, nor does it ensure expansion. The system is a  mental construction to guarantee permanence. Jibril somehow found satisfaction in taking things from others, but not because he really wanted to. His pleasure was greed in the face of the impossibility of creating a single purpose or inspiration. Therefore, Jibril enjoyed talking about her to his friend. He enjoyed it when he managed to seduce her (with his acquisitive power, as Jibril named his money) but not when his friend didn't care. So he abandoned her, but every time he could he brought up the subject. She got what she wanted, and so did he. The human system of the Caribbean guarantees these transactions. For his friend, it was sad, but that doesn't matter to the system.

However, it is possible to observe a transformation to leave the system, not necessarily in chaos, but it is scary to those who dominate it and those who are slaves to it. The servant feels more fear than the oppressor, without a doubt. The freedom and expansion are reckless. And that is why it is so difficult to assume it since it implies a human will, not a supernatural one. It is a matter of responsibility and commitment to humanity, not civilization. I loved watching her read. Feel that she listened to me when I spoke about the world and how I saw it. I thought she loved me. Maybe she did. Don't know. Does it matter now? I loved taking her with me to see the paintings and learn about the world's history and the sunsets. Together. Watch those movies with her, and sleep on her lap sometimes (in the middle of the film). Wake up and make love. Maybe he loved me. It doesn't matter. Today she speaks ill of me, which was boring for her. Does it matter? No. In those moments that exist in time, I loved her, and everything was real, even her orgasms, and that's enough.

Elsewhere, hope becomes a reality. Human beings meet, in their diversity, and build. In a new renaissance, humanity learns, remembers, interacts, and creates, not obeys. Despite hatred and fear, thought strengthens the (human) will and recreates reason and conscience. The appropriate interlocutors, the words that are sufficient and never excessive or imprecise, are said without fear, without the need for any struggle, only what continually flows to simply finish the system and take a long time to create a unique one. She had decided to look for him, to leave all her pride and everything that had somehow distanced her from him. She didn't know where she was and if he was even thinking about her, although he did for a long time and tried to prove it. Then, the search was sufficient and safe in it; not only would it be found again. It was not a question of forgiveness or forgetting... they were decisions, which is enough. She understood it had been years. A long time surely, or not at all, perhaps. He then took that chest and began one by one to read the letters sent by him. Some even in sealed envelopes. her tears began to flow down her cheeks... could her arrogance be so cruel? Not with him, but with herself. And from those letters, she began her quest for him. She, another woman looking for another man very different from the one she abandoned."

Escuchar, Incomodar

"Los humanos, parece que dicen mas las cosas que en el interior los acoge y excita mucho mas de lo que realmente son escuchados. En eso, pareciera que pueden son muy buenos expresando, pero pésimos escuchando. Y en la escucha, pueden aprenderse muchas cosas, y por supuesto, el aprendizaje no solo incomoda a los habladores, sino también, cambia a los que logran escuchar. Tanto por el dolor, que es lo mas notable, como aquello que puede llegar a regocijar, a reunir las respuestas ante preguntas que incluso, no se atreven a ser expuestas. Escucho los murmullos pero también los llantos de la guerra. No se trata ya de pensar de los gritos de odio, o de temor. Si, la humanidad ha sido brutal, pero ahora, en su silencio (impotente), puede escucharse lo adecuado y aquello que conspira contra la vida misma. Ese zumbido, ese ronroneo humano que no genera ni una risa, ni un llanto. Uno que otro poeta logra extraer algo de significado a ello, pero cuando lo escribe o es asesinado o se suicida. Escucho los murmullos pero no los entiendo. Puedo darles cualquier significado, diferente al evidente, diferente al real. Escuchar, incomodar, sobre todo cuando ya deja de ser un secreto el acto mismo de la insolencia. 

Las palabras dichas por los muertos, parecen ser aquellas que mas se escuchan. Sino leídas. Y más aun si el escuchar, incomodar, parte de aquello que es evidente pero que faltaba la descripción y materialización misma del hecho, en palabras que no solo se replican, sino que permanecen en el tiempo. En tiempos pasados, aquello causaba vergüenza, actos de contrición y penalización. Pero la vergüenza se limpia con riqueza y la misma fé enseñó a hacerlo, por si acaso. Pero hoy, la sociedad misma homogeneizada felicita y simplemente, banaliza la acción y la decisión si es conveniente hacerlo. En últimas su nombre significa hijo y a pesar del odio que sentía por su padre, era como él y por supuesto, disfrutaba del dinero que le había dejado, lo suficiente para incluso estar por encima de los privilegiados. Sin embargo, los celos y cierta rabia hacia si mismo por ser incapaz de ser lo que quiere (para mantener su dinero), lo agobiaba. Tanto como aquellos que intentaron ser sus amigos y aquellas que intentaron amarlo. Al fin de cuentas, a él solo le interesa a quienes puede comprar. Así los controla. Pero como suele pasar, a pesar de aquel poder adquisitivo, siempre hay quien tiene mas y siempre hay quien se cansa de lo que implica tener, para buscar ser. 

Los muertos dan miedo y tristeza. "¿Se puede “vivir” aun cuando se conoce lo que no está bien?" es una frase que no es tan original, pero se puede cambiar, con un, ¿se puede banalizar aun cuando se sabe que aquello es importante y contribuye a la decadencia? Una pregunta demasiado larga, que muy a pesar que se puede responder con un si o un no, puede no decirse nada y esa es la respuesta que perdura en la humanidad desde hace siglos. El silencio, el murmullo y las palabrejas encadenadas son entonces las respuestas que no contribuyen sino a mantener la ignorancia y la irresponsabilidad. Ya no importa entender. "¿Se puede “vivir” aun cuando se conoce lo que no está bien?". Yo diría que si, pero no es una cuestión de poder, sino de deber y de entender que es vivir. En tiempos pasados creía en la conciencia, y más en la de la sociedad. Pero la religión y aquello que satisface y se monetiza simplemente la anula. Sobre todo porque en últimas, siempre hay un "por si acaso", para evadir la justicia humana y mentirle a todo el mundo sobre aquella justicia divina, inventada igual por el hombre. Poder se puede, pero no se debería.

Escuchar, incomodar. El hablar al final no incomoda tanto cuando se dicen las palabras correctas, adecuadas, cómodas y que solamente estén allí para aumentar el volumen de la incomprensión y la necesidad misma, tanto del murmullo como del silencio. Entonces, queda aquellas oraciones escritas, que se aprenden, en esa intimidad. Algún experto humano diría que igual se escuchan pero no importa. Aquello que realmente es trascendente es que permite algún tipo de aprendizaje y de miedo ante ese entendimiento. Y ese incomodar posterior genera dinamismo y un poco de entusiasmo a quienes están cansados y asustados ante todos los muertos. Tengo sueño. Caminé por las calles que hace unas semanas recorrí de noche, tarde, entre ebrio y feliz, solo que esta vez fue en la tarde y completamente lucido. Descubrí otros colores y mi voz en otra lengua. No reconocí mi sombra, pero si el hecho que acá, extranjero, es mucho más cómodo que allá, extraño. Y sobre todo, despreciado.  Hay muchas maneras de desprecio - se lo dijo alguna vez a alguien - y aquel es el simple hecho de anular. No es olvido, es cancelación. El olvido es libertad, la anulación es un encierro en el cual, el silencio ahoga y aquel murmullo encadena."

Longtemps

"Le longtemps pourra être consideré comme demain, o hier. Il y a longtemps, par exemple, que les humaines traversent les continents et la mer pour survivre plus que par curiosité, mais hier, les morts que déjà personne cache, montre que les gens changent, mais pas les besoin malgré la frivolité imposée. La même que d'un façon correcte pourra être consideré comme important pour garantir la forme mais pas le fond. Donc, les humaines que se sont accommodés socialement,  arrivent au moment individuel de sa mort avec une insatisfaction de vie. Ses réussis, sont eux que sont simplement imposés et commodes, mais pas vraiment pour se maintenir dans le longtemps.  Je reconnais ton regard de longtemps et comme nous avons marché sur les rues, avec l'orgueil d'être l'un avec l'autre. Moi avec toi et toi avec moi. Alors, qu'est ce qu'a passé? La réponse n'est pas importante, vraiment. L'importante a été notre temps ensemble, les nuits que nous avons fait l'amour et nous nous avons endormi. Comme nous, nous avons réveillé le matin mais aussi, comme toi, t'est parti et comme je t'ai laissé partir. Il y a longtemps j'ai insisté là, je me suis trompé, mais pas aucune insistance vers toi, vers nous.  Et toi? Non plus.

Vieux et solitaires ils se souviennent des temps et les forces de la décision et des conséquences. Mais, d'une façon bizarre, depuis longtemps les conséquences évidents sont rien à voir avec les actions préliminaires ou au moins avec les visibles. Il est impossible de dire qu'est une question de chance, ou d'impunité parce qu'il sera facile de l'exprimer mais dans le détail, la incompréhension suffit pour alimenter la frustration et en plus la méfiance.  Alors, jeunes mais aussi solitaires quelques humaines essayent de trouver des réponses là, où il est evidente de pas la trouver malgré la insistance. Dix minutes, pas de café. Neuf minutes et je commence à oublier ta voix. Huit minutes et aussi ton regard mais aussi les possibles rêves ensemble, et je dit possibles parce que je ne suis pas sur d'avoir partagé avec toi quelques uns. Sept, six et le suspire ou un ange qui passe. Après le silence. Est ce que t'as apprécié le silence un jour, même si on se dit rien au moment que nous devons nous dire tout? Je n'attends pas que ton visage insensible. Pas des larmes, mais aussi ma frustration. Cinq, quatre et trois. Et si le temps commence mieux à augmenter? Deux minutes et encore, je me demande si tu penses en moi. Mais dans le minute un, dans le moment zéro, j'oublie la question et je m'en fou de la réponse. 

On pourra considérer l'expérience suffisant pour avoir la raison d'après tout ça qu'a été vécu et plus, s'il existe la réflexion sur les faits, et les décisions mêmes, un peu pour avoir une clarté sur les conséquences et comme sont constitués comme d'apprentissage. Mais, les interlocuteurs, les événements semblent se répéter. Il est le problème de l'insistent et pas nécessairement de l'insistance. Simple: l'insistant devient têtu. Et l'entêtement est insupportable. J'ai commencé à écrire depuis Bruxelles: une phrase. Deux lignes. Après à Jülich, mais le plus interessant (grâce au mauvais internet) est la fatigue et la vie de la journée en autres langues. Entre Lyon et Grenoble, n'a passé trop de choses, pas moins à Paris, malgré que j'ai marché entre la Garde du Nord et l'Opera. Si je n'avait pas une valise, il sera sur que je marcherai plus. Léyzieu, pas de réseaux, mais si la déconnection nécessaire. Il n'y pas longtemps que j'ai eu peur de ça, mais aujourd'hui, encore une fois à Grenoble, je pense que je l'aime bien. 

Il y a longtemps... cela pourrait être oublié. Mais les humaines préfèrent l'ignorer sans que le temps passe, comme si cela le ferait ne jamais exister, ou en réalité l'oublier. Mais ça nourrit l'irresponsabilité et l'impunité dans un monde des innocents et des culpables. D'un autre côté, ceux qui en veulent à l'oubli de l'autre, non seulement ressentent de la douleur, mais apprennent aussi à haïr. Et l'haine est la plus forte des sensations humaines, c'est pour ça la violence et la terreur. Les humaines qui essaient de le dominer finissent généralement par engourdir et ils deviens incomprensibles. Alors, il est mieux de la sentir, mais pas de la maintenir, longtemps. Elle a promis un baiser et ça à suffit pour le faire marcher un peu plus d'une heure, encore une fois, sans le baiser, sans le faire l'amour n'on plus ou au moins de recevoir quelque chose que le pourra dire que malgré tout qu'a passé, pendant longtemps, ne se répétera pas demain, ni ce soir. Mais, il a marché encore une fois tout seul: August Sembat..., Place Pasteur, Chavant, la MDE... après Albert Premier de Belgique, Mounier et finalement, la même lit. Autres chansons, mais le même vide et la même fatigue. Une promesse."

Letters

"Life is change, and the change is more scary than emotion. There are not a correct manner to write the sentence and, of course, to assume it. But the reality is that in the changes, all open hatreds are more likely to overwhelm than motivate because hate and fear are usually stronger in humans and more in society.  It should be the opposite, have that fear of facing the vicissitudes in solitude alone. But loneliness still gives sadness despite the peace that it contained. Letter 1: independent of your relativization of loyalty and friendship, what seemed most cheeky to me was not that he had sex with my girlfriend, but that when you felt discovered, you said that I manipulated your wife into hacking into your phone and thus, I conspired against your happiness. In any case, the subject of infidelity, she, my girlfriend, was the one who confessed it, not you, and in any case, I told your if you. If you had love or just desire for her. You said wish. And she, your wife, was the one who sought me out during my illness to bring me a notebook and a CD with all your chats and your insistence on "your little mermaid." However, I never deserved an apology from you, but the lie, the false accusation, the contempt, and the betrayal. 

In letters, humans seek to leave the teachings to others (those intimate, passionate, important, and debatable things that are part of those vicissitudes), but the letters have ceased to exist. Any change is possible if the past and facts are not recognizable and the decisions to affront in this consequent present. The human being then tends to remain silent, waiting for fate or what is around to calm down or simply pass. To turn the page is to be guilty or a victim, or nobody, but not responsible, even for inactivity and stupidity. Letter 2: How many people did you tell that you loved me and that I was the most important thing to you? I had already written to you many letters, and done it many times, but it is not bad once again. But I understood that it was not about the new thing that I should have said but about what you, in theory, consequently should have listened and done. You did it: I slept with him then and with him. Without understanding (and I no longer want to) if it was love or not. Or anger or desire. Or all of the above. The truth is that because of him, even though you took care of me one day, you discarded and humiliated me. Then, nameless, I forgive myself, and I forgive you.

In modern times, at the privileged part of civilization, it is incomprehensible how it is maintained between the victims and the guilt assumed or, even worse, given to others. Of course, referring to the banal, the intimate, that has nothing to do (or perhaps does and has not been recognized) with the rebellion of this humanity. It is opportune and comfortable to blame, or assume blame, or be innocent before others. But, in these modern times, it is not assuming the defense of others (unless there is a profit) or empathy or collaboration, but rather a partnership. Business is business, and the convenience and generally approved is the valid. Letter 3: I will always remember when you told me not to put your hands in the fire, when I put them in it for you, to defend you and take care of you before those who are my enemies today, but now they are your partners. The convenient and opportune thing is not to do anything with me, and of course, I don't count on you at all. I did it because I believed in you, but not anymore. And for that, this letter is a farewell. You deserve to be here, alone. I don't. In any case, I wouldn't ask you to put your hands in the fire for me, but I would ask you to let me know when the others throw the flames on you, at least so that you can run. Take care, and I hope you survive the flames alone.

What is correct, then? What is appropriate? What is convenient for many who eagerly seek, cling to the anxiety of their ignorance and stupidity? However, there are humans whose principles are extraordinary and rare. That which is extraordinary is change, is life. That is why they bother, and that is why they are despised because what has a value cannot have a price. Letter 4: I loved watching you read, but I know that this letter may end up forgotten while your life passes, how you decide to live it. Because in the end, it is a decision, and you decided that it had no value for you. But even so, I think you loved me, but everything conspired (there, yes) both they, those who wanted your body and your lips, like them, those who wanted you to be like them: wretched.  And, of course, that you and I would not walk more together holding hands. Are you happy because fate decided for you? I no longer wait for your answer, despite all my signs that I was here, waiting for you to throw yourself hard, for me, towards me. For me, you will never be little, much less a mermaid, but an extraordinary woman."