Questions

"As humans, many wonder to what extent and when they should bear the historical blame carried out by their own ancestors, their ancestors, and if it is possible to denounce at least what the victims of their forbears do today, which is the same thing that was done to them in the past or much worse since this is the 21st century. How to denounce genocide or injustice without being called racist, xenophobic, hostile against a nation, or complicit in the sins of the past? Has the human individual lost his conscience for the convenience of a few and comfort in the face of fear and terror? For money? For a power? The questions are so simple, and the answers are clear and evaded due to the fear and anger that come from helplessness. He had already decided to send everything to hell because not only had fear and comfort won, but no one cared about a supposed legacy. It was simply a matter of time before civilization fell, and he, with a bottle of wine and hopefully drunk, would watch the world burn with sadness but with the clear conscience of having tried something different. -Being in the ass of the world, looking for the ass of the world's ass, is complicated - it was said. But then he remembered that place between the jungle, the mountains, the sea, and the Caribe. Where he was once happy without fear. He smiled. Is there any better place to see everything burn and even better with a glass of rum and perhaps a mulatto woman next to him? No more questions. He smiled and decided to send everything to hell.

Without a doubt, humanity (global, even if it sounds arrogant) is facing a moral and natural challenge: the protection of life itself and of the collective conscience as a species in the face of a system invented by themselves and founded by greed. This challenge is not even historical but instantaneous. It is experienced at all levels and depends on brave young people and stubborn and fearful old people, compared to completely avaricious and mean others. Yes, globalization and the success of the diversity promised by the free market exposed the darkness of that same system. And there is no need for any type of fallacy or hypocritical response: it is clear, and it is a question of oppressors against free minds. And it is these, in conscience, that will guarantee life. The former do not care since their gain is as long as they can enjoy it. And then die and take most of the others with them in death because of their selfishness. It is difficult to write and think in the first person, and even more so when your greatest aspiration is to contribute and be free. Maybe that's why he was so fragile and so readily betrayed. Many would understand if he were an artist, but he was simply someone whose curiosity (like desire) led him to try to reduce gaps in freedom. But he, in himself, was an opportunity, a papaya to sabotage or take advantage of. Make fun. Thus, writing in the first person, he began his log with a date of April: the sea was expanding again, and no one understood why he did not want to be a commodore or an admiral at my age...

Humans are afraid and remain silent when one does not have that supposed power. Fortunately, some do not care about repression and are courageous despite their fragility—despite life and what it represents. They are the ones who, in one way or another, have allowed the experience (not simple survival) and, one can dare say, who guarantee hope in the face of decay and fear. Yes, they guarantee transcendence. (Silence). Convenience taught that, and in countries like these, the survival instinct is in different ways. The hatred of others, for example, towards freedom (mental, intellectual, and, I would dare say, even spiritual) was enough to want its annihilation. My annihilation, and the best way, was to dehumanize me. One hundred years earlier, they had been the liberal dogs; thirty years, the communist dogs; and today, they were the progressive dogs. Of course, after asking for the rivers of blood, they would go to their services as before they went to the churches. They would dress in white, while their husbands would go with their own lovers of color or brunette or from the neighborhood, and their daughters would dream of that gringo who knows what they can get here for free if they are the daughters of so-and-so and at a very low price. If they are from the neighborhood, it costs them a lot on their land. especially because it costs them brains. Still, it is not a question of hate but of laziness. Is it worth giving a little life to this society?

You think more about the easy answer (not even the possible answers) than about uncomfortable questions. Thinking about them is complex and dangerous for a humanity that destroys itself and, in the process, the life that surrounds it. It is not easy to have some hope when what is moral is not legal. Legality guarantees injustice, inequality, enmity, and oppression, not to mention modern slavery.  Consciousness as humanity is so difficult despite all this knowledge... (Sigh) He preferred this solitude than dragging with all his sadness someone who couldn't stand it because, on the one hand, he was only interested in his wealth and, on the other, the pleasure of the night, not the tranquility of what would be left of it and of the next morning. That was why every afternoon when he walked from the old cafe, increasingly decadent and gray, to his room in the old city, he was grateful for his latest divorce. She couldn't stand it. Having a conscience at the end of your days is unbearable."

Fraternidad

"Los humanos han intentado de alguna manera encontrar aquello que los hace diferentes, a pesar que la civilización que igualmente han creado y construido ellos mismos los estandariza. No es una cuestión de igualdad, no, sino de homogeneidad con el objetivo de una conveniencia: esa equivalencia que al final no tiene nada que ver con la equidad y por su puesto, porque hasta en el lenguaje es controversial, con aquella inclusión en medio de la diversidad y el respeto individual que de alguna manera implica una comprensión e interés genuino hacia el otro, esa fraternidad. Tomaba un trago de 43 desnuda, aun húmeda de sus fluidos y los fluidos de sus amantes de esa noche en soledad, satisfecha, ebria, despeinada, cansada y orgullosa de haber dejado cansados a aquellos cinco sin nombre, que igual le hubieran pagado, pero ella lo hizo a ellos asegurándose de verlos entre asustados y perplejos, como un símbolo de su libertad individual moderna. Lloraría después de la ducha, como la primera vez. Esta era la tercera y se decía asi misma que sería la última, pues solo quería que con solo uno pudiera amanecer y tomar un café en la mañana: caminar por la calle tomados de la mano y quizás (y eso es lo extraño a pesar que le encantaba el sexo), hacer alguna vez el amor. Con esa pasión y todo lo que hacia en violencia en sus orgías. Pero solo le quedaba un poco de 43 en su vaso antes de dirigirse a la ducha y tomar un Uber para volver y llorar sola en su apartamento, pues aquí, solo era una guarida alquilada a la cual no volvería. Cada una de las anteriores, con dos, con tres y ahora con cinco, habían sido en sitios diferentes.

La necesidad de reconocimiento y la ausencia de esa valoración individual que viene de los otros, que da la fraternidad, es lo que al final alimenta el ego, mas allá del placer instantáneo, de la ambición y la envidia. Claro, esta el deseo hacia lo que tiene el otro y eso no se puede negar, pero, ¿y si se tuviera lo propio y se garantiza esa apreciación y respeto, en seguridad y bienestar? La respuesta es fácil, pero para eso, la misma sociedad humana moderna predominante entraría en una crisis poco rentable, pues la competencia y la rivalidad pasarían a ser poco monetizables, pues la monetización desaparecería ante la colaboración, y claro, la civilización se transformaría en fraternidad. No era tan dulce como el anterior (o los dos anteriores en realidad) tragos que acompañan la tormenta de abril. Al fin llovía. Un viernes de abril, el último, e intentaba recordar otros abriles de otros años. Ya no era tan fácil, pues las fechas se revolvían entre recuerdos de amor, de fraternidad, de odio y de rutina. Pocos eran aquellos momentos realmente magnificados lo suficiente como para ser parte de un historia maravillosa, mas bien, se convertía en algo que incluso al escribirse podría ser tan aburrido como el mirar el techo. En todo caso, mirando la calle desde su balcón, a pesar de la lluvia, si recordaba aquel abril lluvioso igual bailando en La Puerta con ella. No añoraba aquello, pero era suficiente para pensar que los abriles, pueden ser mágicos en algún momento.

Por otro lado, esta el problema tanto de lo racional como de lo esotérico. En ambos casos se piensa en aquella ganancia tanto necesaria como sobrante que aporta a la acumulación de bienes y no tanto a la colección de vivencias. Pero, diría que la misma competitividad no sería por ganarle al otro, sino por ser mejor. Y allí, la retribución y reconocimiento juega un rol interesante, que en algún momento los ancianos y las lecturas antiguas dicen que se garantizaba, gracias al mérito, pero que no es muy claro si se es un poco observador al respecto. Se piensa entonces, que el anhelo en realidad era lo que estaba allí, ese deseo de honorabilidad. Pero la posesión triunfante de hoy dia, no tiene nada que ver con el supuesto honor. O no en la mayoría.  Había caído en cuenta que su cinismo y exceso de materialismo serían nefastos en una noche como esta. Pero, en medio de la conversación, tal vez por los años, el poco de Cognac que le quedaba mientras ella tomaba un poco de Vermont, casi llorando, logró empoderarla realmente.  Alguna vez habia sido una mujer hermosa. Incluso las veces que tuvieron sexo a pesar de los años, de su descuido y demas él la había visto asi. Ahora, desde que decidió nunca mas tener sexo con ella, por motivos mas propios que ajenos, la veía así, pero ella no. -Algún dia sera libre - se decía mientras la dejó sonriente. Y si, ya no la deseaba, pero la amaba. Y ella, bueno, siempre lo había amado pero tendría que vivir con la frustración de no volver a estar con él, por deseo.

No han cambiado los tiempos, en esencia, solo es la tecnología y las consecuencias de la rutina y el objetivo de acumulación. Sin embargo, entre el conocimiento y el arte, las conversaciones y la misma naturaleza, la humanidad lentamente se transforma en fraternidad. Sin embargo, aquellos que por miedo, marchan con odio, ponen en riesgo esa transformación y creación colectiva. Al intentar entenderlos, sus argumentos son tan peligrosos como insensatos, pero se repiten y se despliegan exitosamente que hace que se piense en una frustración respecto a cualquier cambio y que la abnegación misma sea la única salida ante el supuesto triunfo del odio y de la arrogancia. Es una cuestión de velocidades y de no guardar silencio. Afortunadamente nunca mas se volvieron a ver. Y ella lloró mucho al saber de su muerte, aunque esta fue fingida. Otra vida, otro olvido. Igual, él moriría un poco de años después, en una de esas batallas perdidas de las mismas guerras que los unos mantienen contra los otros por codicia y costumbre. Aunque a solo los unos son por codicia y los otros por ese anhelo de liberta posible. No se supo a ciencia cierta en que bando estaba él y ella nunca supo de sus actividades ni mucho menos que su muerte, había contribuído a debilitar a los unos enormemente y también a los otros. Es entonces cuando se sabe que toda vida, una, es valiosa. "

Analysis

"Nowadays, a bit of analysis and rationality would be expected from certain members of a community, and even more so if their studies and readings would guarantee at least a bit of coherent argument. However, between ambition and arrogance, and the simple absence of compassion, empathy, and yes, evil, you can only obtain opinions that, not because of their validity, but because of the supposed image that the person giving it represents, is enough to guarantee the lie and repeat it to pass it off as a valid argument. This is never true, but it is enough in today's societies of fanaticism and likes. Therefore, humans must remember that many considered best minds accompanied the worst people at decisive moments in history. And forgetfulness and this habit of dividing people into good and bad guarantees that history repeats itself. It was easy for her to say that she was something spiritual, seeking to be different in a world in which, out of fear and hatred (which could be told the same thing), she marched with her right hand against those different from her. When they had that first sexual relationship in that alley, he understood that he could never love her, but he could desire her, and it wouldn't be for long. Is there nothing like penetrating someone who feeds his enemy? He didn't feel good beyond the pleasure of his ejaculation. Although also her orgasms. After,  he just watched her. She carried out an analysis of her contradictory words and how she ended up vomiting her racism and xenophobia with an "it's just that I am spiritual." That was just enough to smile.

It's easy to expect a little bit of that rationality, but it's complicated to actually get it. Even doing it the same because stupidity and all that garbage around fatigues humans who think beyond their pleasure and their opportunism to excel in the midst of survival. Finding the reasons to justify that lack of analysis and argument is not very difficult. Still, it is tiring, and the problem is that this boredom guarantees silence, and silence is believed to be acceptance. In reality, it is abnegation. This self-denial is taken as a triumph of submission in a society of successful and losers, when in fact, it is one of oppressors and oppressed, while the resisters wait for the moment of outbreak to hopefully guarantee the rebellion. That rebellion of life. It was perhaps the hundredth movie he had seen about the end of the world in his life. At the end of the world, that never came because the truth is that even for it to come, the end of the system is required. And that is sinful to ask. He took the last drink of green chaud, and with that same feeling of emptiness he began Tuesday, he went to get some water. I had been lazy for years, but what more could this country offer that is good for visiting and not for living? He went out to the balcony, and from there, he saw how some drunks were fighting on the corner. Tomorrow, they wouldn't remember. On the other hand, he would remember it, and the system would continue to survive.

However, it is not about analytical solutions but about thinking and building from evidence, not lies. Humans of the 21st century seem to be beings from a civilization of fallacies, of popularity and crowds, but not of arguments based on evidence, even if that evidence allows us to make decisions and build mental models to guarantee life, not the complicated survival that in the end is simplistic. The crowd guarantees not feeling alone. To lose and oppress accompanied, and hide among the guilty like an innocent man in repressing. She didn't know why she started to remember him all of a sudden. Her did not remember his voice, as he had surely already forgotten hers, despite his tears as a wounded and confused man in a time when nothing is worth crying over. -What did I do?! -she wondered out loud, and his lover of the moment pretended not to hear while she urinated. He decided to close the door and leave her with the past of her demons while he simply smiled at having eaten one more woman. She would bathe, and she would surely be pretending to sleep facing the wall, but she knew she was sobbing, and she didn't care. He had had her pleasure, and she had had her orgasms, real or fake; it doesn't matter. He had his thing, and that was the important thing.

Humans simplify everything, which is divided into good and evil. However, that avoids any type of detailed analysis, which would be expected with all that knowledge and supposed critical thinking to get to what is fundamental and real. Propose what is concise, and of course, give the necessary confidence to that social mass that would believe in those who have the experience of the truth. In reality, it is easier to follow the good ones who are popular and monetize their influence. In any case, without thinking about monetization, there are those rebels who simply believe and resist. Well, analyzing all the facts, the truth is that resistance is what remains for civilization and not compliance, the abnegation. He decided to walk through the streets of his city for one last time. She wouldn't want to go back. He would not do it, although before, he did it out of romanticism and failed; now, he would leave for a stronger, more human romanticism and never return. He knew it, and that was the reality. He was not even on leisure because the most beautiful and dangerous time of his life began a few days after his departure. He didn't know it, and that's why he calmed down when he walked.

Dimanche

"Les humaines ont des souvenirs de ce qui n'est jamais produit. Ce souvenir est parfois si fort qu'il déforme le présent, pas uniquement le sien, et aussi marque l'avenir.  Et pourquoi ont dit qu'un souvenir et pas une simple produit de l'imagination, même une pensée? Parce que n'est pas uniquement compréhensible comme une simple construction mentale sinon,  les humaines transforment ses désir et ses frustrations en réalités, car ses événements inexistants devient une justification et non une simple excuse, la raison même pour se sentir liberé d'un destin pas choisisse, sinon supporté et donné par des autres. Dimanche. Certaines se demandent ce qui va a passer maintenant, mais en réalité, c'est déjà arrivé, et le pire est ce que cela continue de se produire de manière irréversible. Il ne s'agit pas de dystopie, mais de réalité. Et même si les choses sont pires que la fin du monde attendue et imaginé par plus que des artistes, très peu des personnes étaient conscientes de la cruelle vérité de la stupidité collective et de l'égoïsme qui permet à cette fin d'être un présent. Il pensait à tout cela tandis qu'a moitié nu avec un peu de vin rosé froid, pas uniquement pour le sexe, qui comme toujours était si merveilleux pour résister ces temps de civilisation, il la regardait dormir, si belle et si ardent, comme ce dimanche après midi.

Les humaines inventent beaucoup de choses pour résister au système qu'ils ont eux-mêmes créé. Le dimanche es un de ces jours d'invention de la civilisation auxquels il es possible d'utiliser pour résister, mais avec une certaine culpabilité. Comme la même culpabilité de se souvenir ou de penser dans un monde différent, et c'est ça la rébellion. Mais les vrais rebelles d'une civilisation ne peuvent pas ressentir cette culpabilité, mais ils sont très peu nombreux. Alors, la civilisation crée d'autres choses pour diminuer toute insurrection en elle-même. Jamais, ils n'ont plus jamais fait l'amour. Mais, même après ses nombreux amants, elle et lui, après l'extase de ce coucher de soleil, ils pensèrent l'un à l'autre. Elle en lui, lui, oui en elle. Elle avait décidé de marcher nue jusqu'à ce balcon et de voir la baie brûler d'une chaleur inhabituel d'avril. Sa poitrine était humide de la sueur de cet amant italien qui s'amusait maintenant avec elle et qui ne se souciait franchement pas de comprendre grand-chose et tous ses fluides, les siens et les siens. Elle avait les yeux humides et la pensée de cet amour qu'il n'avait jamais voulu reconnaître mais pour lequel il était reconnaissant, car c'était un chemin et non une destination. Elle regarda Sandro (ou Zandro, elle n'avait jamais connu son nom en réalité mais ça pouvait être Paolo et elle s'en fichait non plus), elle se souvenait des fois où elle dormait à côté de cet amour qu'elle-même avait non seulement abandonné mais trahi et dont il connaissait le nom complet dans les moindres détails. Elle tourna son regard vers la baie et essuya ses larmes. Elle irait chercher de l'eau pour se laver... mais elle ne coucherait plus avec cet Italien ce dimanche après-midi.

Sans aucune doute pour ceux qui connaissent le système et ont une conscience de comme les éléments d'une civilisation en lente décadence, ils s'y accrochent par différent raisons: par peur, par habitude et rarement pour profiter en réalité de lui.  Plus que des acteurs, ils sont des éléments d'un système, qui sont soit utiles à l'avidité des autres, soit qui gênent: et c'est pourquoi ils sont remplaçables. Les éléments ne pensent alors pas, ils sont là. Et ils croient qu’ils sont bons et que d’autres sont mauvais. Et tout cela garanti le ennui et l'haine, et bien sûr avec ça la préservation du même système qui met fin à l’humanité elle-même. Cependant, certains pensent qu’il s’agit là d’un type de civilisation, mais pas de l’humanité elle-même. Il déboucha une deuxième bouteille de vin rosé. Désespéré à cause de la chaleur et parce qu'il pensait qu'avec de l'alcool il tiendrait plus longtemps, il s'est précipité pour prendre un verre directement à la bouteille. Syrah. Il avait appris à reconnaître le bon vin rosé sur la Côte d'Azur, malgré sa mauvaise réputation dans le reste du monde. Mais c'était très loin de la mer et bien plus loin de la France. Résister à la chaleur et à tout ici n'était pas si facile et romantique.

Il semble que les humains préfèrent la fin du monde plutôt que la fin du système qui les retient.  Mais en réalité, ce sont les éléments d’une civilisation, soit qui se sentent à l’aise, soit qui ont peur. Cependant, la nature elle-même et ceux qui sont véritablement acteurs d’un écosystème et ceux qui sont rebelles permettront à la vie et à l’humanité non seulement de résister, mais aussi de se déployer et de s’éclaire. Ce n’est pas un faux souvenir, mais une véritable envie. Il avait perdu le coucher du soleil, mais demain il le récupérerait. Il cherchait de l'eau, un produit luxueux qui non seulement coûtait très cher, mais qui ridiculisait même toute sa collection de vieilles bouteilles de vin. Mais il avait les deux. En plus d'un peu de liberté, celle que donne l'anonymat. Celui-là même qui lui permet d'être un rebelle. Il prends un verre d'eau frais

et cherche la lune. Oui, elle se moquait de lui – disait-elle toujours – mais en réalité, elle riait avec lui.