Values

"It is interesting how humans excuse their decisions based on their own scales of values ​​(or prices) by saying that much of it is the fault of technology, also invented by themselves. In a crude matter, technology is not neutral, but neither negative or bad nor positive or good. The motivations for creating, developing, and deploying it have a bias, a clear position given by the human and the group to which he belongs. The table of prices is organized from necessities to ambitions, and the priority of urgency is that both bring him closer to survival.  She had made her decisions and had a good time with them. Although now, she mostly felt alone and miserable. Or rather, lonely and miserable. She had had all the sex some could dream of, felt so many penises in her mouth, enjoyed sizes, and types of ejaculations (and herself orgasms), had gotten tired of smells and tastes, and although she complained that no one stayed, that was her. And she knew it and enjoyed it, but it was good to say it. She once met someone who didn't care about her extraordinary sexuality, but what did matter to her was her stupidity and lack of empathy. She wasn't stupid, dumb, or naive, but she was quickly a victim of an entire system. The same one she complained about but also guaranteed. Her miserable loneliness was not about watching the sunset, holding hands, and thinking about a wonderful world, no. It was about actually having sex with it until the next dawn.

Ambition is not the same as greed. In their desire for accumulation and power, human beings are capable of hoarding at the expense of others and even denying the needs of others, letting everything they possess and will never use rot or be lost, even if others have nothing and die. This reality also generates hatred among the oppressed towards those who free themselves or propose freedom, not towards the oppressors and the greedy. The oppressed, in their desperation, want to see everything burn; they cannot understand with empathy the absolute need for a break towards liberation (rebellion, a dangerous word in times of censorship), and of course, they take and steal the phrases of humanity and fraternity to confuse and guarantee their own subordination. It is dangerous to life itself, but they don't care. She decided to disappear. Well, in a way. She was there, but she didn't respond. She read what he wrote, followed what he did, and subtly let him know she was there. In her ego, she thought that he would be after her forever, but his time had passed. He, of course, thought about her, but not in the way she imagined everything was. It wasn't a question of improvement but of tiredness and distraction. And that distraction, little by little, turned into other interests. In others, different from her. But she didn't know that.

But it is easy to blame things (not those who invent them) and to blame the inanimate or the divine, but not to assume and recognize. Even when it is possible to decide to break up, contrary to fear, it is preferable to blame the strange, the external, that which has nothing to do with it because it is preferable to recognize who that is. Digital technology and AI itself, invented by men, are perfect for assuming all the blame and guaranteeing the continuity of oppression and surrender. Of course, boneheadedness guarantees the search for guilt, even in objects. Seeing if she responded to him on any social network was already a morning habit. To see if she had updated one of her videos or if she simply checked on him with some lost photo. In some way, all of this did not allow him to break away, but it was because he did not want to. What did he want? He did not know; thinking about her was still an addiction. For him, it was clearer what he did not want, and just like her since her simultaneous lover with him, or her second after him, she did not care, except for her own ambitions paid for by her sexual passion, justified by her needs. In any case, she enjoyed it and made others enjoy it. That was the difference between her and other women.

Fueled by fear and hatred, opportunity (and the associated opportunism) helps this shamelessness and irresponsibility. Not for nothing, in civilization, those who guarantee their supremacy and power are those who manage to take advantage of others via technology. So, the individual can reason, and to do so correctly, he must know, and the acquisition of that knowledge (not an accumulation of information) can be openly discussed; it must be done that way to ensure that responsibility and non-neutrality in full conscienceless. The latter is achieved not only with clear knowledge but also with a little human values, not prices. He thought he gave value to everything, everyone, and his friends, but in reality, he marked them in prices and costs. His values ​​were supported by what he coveted and what he collected. But his money was insufficient to buy or obtain something that would allow him to be. His whole life was determined by possessions and havings, not by real achievements. He was not someone he was getting. And that did not allow him to be delighted or sleep. What bothered him most was the resilience of those from whom he took things and people. And also how his money lost value when he bought useless things, especially because there was always someone with something more. Much more than he had. Unbearable, but that showed that he had something, but he couldn't be. Nobody. Nothing."

Extraordinaria

"Muchas cosas que dan rabia, en realidad en un futuro darán risa. No es una cuestión de intransigencia, de actitud desafiante o de cinismo, aunque podría decirse que hay cierta insubordinación y sarcasmo, este último permite no solo aceptar lo intransigente sino también, la misma sublevación hacia la realidad, esa misma que podría causar ira, pero que si se permite que llegue a esa punto, normalmente ocurre una tragedia. En ese sarcasmo y ambigüedad humana, finalmente se reconoce que lo importante ante el desagravio es la inteligencia con la que se logra actuar, ese razonamiento al que no se le puede dejar de lado, aunque la rabia misma sea un derecho. Había sido una mañana calurosa para ser otoño. No podía decir que era el verano indio, sino reconocer que es una cuestión de cambio climático. En otros otoños, por su desesperación ante el agravio, se sentía triste y solo. Hoy estaba solo, pero no triste. Los años y una que otra lectura le daban las palabras para describir magníficamente su libertad. Frágil, cómoda y de cierta manera envidiada por otros que lo único que sabían era tomar lo de aquellos que como él, eran hombres libres, ya fuera esa toma por una compra, pues ellos piensan que todo tiene precio, o robándolo, pues nadie puede ser feliz más que ellos. Pero esos otros estaban lejos, a miles de kilómetros, envidiando lo que no son, a pesar de todo lo que tienen. 

La agresividad sin embargo, no puede considerase un derecho, ni la opresión justificada por la ambición.  O tampoco aquello que es el oportunismo ante la confianza que da el otro, excusada por el deseo y por la supuesta debilidad del que es engañado y traicionado por confiado. Es tan extraordinaria la nueva presentación de valores que pareciera que la agresividad y las acciones de la ora para defenderse y ser fuerte que la humanidad difícilmente podría alcanzar una paz, aunque si una tensa y supuesta calma en la que las traiciones serían consideradas las acciones propias de los humanos, tanto como la codicia. Y es triste pensar que al pensar el toda una especie aquello que la distingue de las otras, es lo que la hace peor. Un sueño. En él se encontraban como amantes y tenían las conversaciones previas al hacer el amor y posteriores a ellas. Caminaban tomados de la mano, asistían a la observación mutua de la cotidianidad y aunque al principio tenerlos le molestaba, a veces se inquietaba y no lograba dormir al esperarlo ansiosamente. Su ambición que le llegaba en algún momento del día cuando las cosas se ponían difíciles y aunque existía en sus momentos de reflexión el temor que ese esperar esos encuentros mientras dormía con ella, reía y luego lo olvidaba. Ella aún vivía y había tomado otras decisiones, y ya ante tantos años ni siquiera pensaba en el. ¿Porque habría de hacerlo? Bueno, eso era lo que él pensaba, pero la realidad era desconocida. Lo único certero es aquella parte irreal de una manera extraordinaria y eran sus encuentros mientras dormía. 

Por eso en calma, se busca resaltar otros rasgos humanos. Y se resalta la calma para no exaltar lo equivocado, sino aquello que realmente sea aprendido, aceptado y si, divulgado. La misma calma que permite la reflexión y que de una u otra manera evita que por agresividad y cualquier motivación que garantice la estupidez y la violencia, se justifique lo injustificable. Aquellos humanos que se han aprovechado de la agresividad y el miedo, saben muy bien que parte de la opresión es mantener las mentes y cuerpos ocupados, sobreviviendo y anhelando lo de los otros, al precio que sea. Porque si, lo de aquellos quienes envidian, debe tener un precio según ellos. Una mañana nublada y fría. El sentir el café no solo en sus labios, sino bajar por su garganta le daba esa tranquilidad, contraria a lo que se supone que debe dar el café: un supuesto empuje instantáneo para que cualquier cosa sea recibida y realizada con el ánimo que no se tiene. Pero el en realidad encontraba en el café la calma extraordinaria, su momento de robarle minutos a la civilización sin importarle la caída de su moneda, de su precio ante los otros ciudadanos, pues en ese robo de tiempo (que en realidad no era así, pero esa civilización lo tipificaba de esa manera) le mostraba a los otros la extraordinaria libertad que él poseía. Y eso, daba envidia.

La envidia no es buena. "Mata el alma y la envenena”, dice uno de los tantos adagios populares humanos, y así como existen estas frases hay quienes la exaltan para impulsar movimiento ante lo que los otros tienen y es deseado. Pero no. No puede ser así pues la ambición es una cosa y la superación es otra. Y pensar en aquello que se ha perdido por envidia y la mezquindad de los otros, o aquello que se logra por la misma codicia, dejando al final un vacío pues lo que se tiene se desgasta y siempre habrá alguien que tenga más, al final contribuye no solo a lo que puede ser considerado miserable de la humanidad en su conjunto sino a aquello profundo e individual que es mucho más pesado que aquella carga compartida, a pesar de ser garantizada por el egoísmo. Podrían estar juntos, pero su falta de empatía y razón lo alejaban de ella, a pesar del sexo explosivo que tenían. Ella era una mujer sensual y sexual. Pero no sabía decir si su falta de lecturas o más bien las lecturas equivocadas, además de un ambiente retrógrado y mal sano, le impedían simplemente reflexionar. Pensaba si, en sus frustraciones y anhelos. En su soledad frente a un computador que solo le daba exactamente lo de vivir y también, por su pasado, creerse espiritual, cuando en realidad ese pasado la había convertido en una mujer frustrada, que intentaba al menos no ser hipócrita y eso era loable. Tanto como su pasión sexual, extraordinaria. Pero, no era capaz ella de disculparse si quiera, ni de plantearse otra posible vida. Otros posibles pensamientos y si, hacia parte de ese engranaje de una civilización que logró monetizarla a ella. Y dejarla con sus frustraciones y anhelos que se convierten en rabia, ante su incapacidad de razonar.” 

Quel amour?

“Il est rare qu’aujourd’hui quelqu’un insiste en se référer vraiment à l’amour, sous peine d’être classifié comme un humaine ridicule romantique où simplement quelqu’un qui couvre comme toujours pour sa convenance délirante et désirs si passionnant et opportuniste. Très rare aussi de faire la différence quand la transaction et le visuel et l’orgasme semblent de faire partir de l’amour entre humains. Quel amour? Les artistes ont essayé pendant longtemps de donner des mots et des images et des sons comme des éléments pour pas uniquement une réponse. Plusieurs. Elle était radiante. Leur regards se sont croisés à plusieurs reprises au cours de la cérémonie, accompagnés des sourires mais aussi de l’expression, sur tout d’elle, d'abnégation. Lui, il est expert en cacher derrière ses lunettes noir, l’incroyable expression des ses yeux. Ou de moins il le croyait parce qu'elle l’avait remarqué et était heureuse de ne pas être la seule. C’est pourquoi la sourire si magnifique d’elle l’a fait briller, même si la protagoniste de la cérémonie était une autre. Lui, il pensait si c’est ça l’amour. Quel amour? L’amour impossible ou l’amour de l’imposture? Peu importe parce que seulement est un amour rêvé. 

Il est pour ça que il n’est pas facile de reconnaître et croire les expressions amoureuses. Les discours on le trouve comme des illusions pratiques par l’occasion. Très difficile de les relier avec la poésie et si il arrive à se faire distinguer comme le refrain d’une chanson’ il est juste par une mode, par l’opportunité de se rappeler de quelque chose utilitaire pour arriver au plaisir et réussir à l’image. Le problème est quand les mots que sont dit, ils sont est en réalité inspirés et pas suffisants pour décrire les sentiments, les autres normalement, ils ne croyaient pas. Pour quoi le faire? Si eux, ils commencent à croire, le système tombe et ils se reconnaissent fragiles. Pas débiles. Elle a décidé longtemps de pas le parler. Plutôt de le faire reconnaître sa présence mais aussi la cruel aptitude du silence et de feindre l’oubli. Lui, par contre non. Il a déjà appris par tout la cinquante des années d’aimer de pas réprimer sentiments et même pas de garder silence. Mais aussi, il vivre. Il aime. Il donne l’opportunité à quelqu’une de lui trouver dans la vie mais aussi il laisse la possibilité du rencontre. De se retrouver dans le port ou dans les rues. Le port, il est l’espacé de la rupture: quelque chose commence ou recommence ou finis ou ça manque, ou ça se rêve. 

Heureusement, il y’a eux qui croient malgré tout. Une croyance sans religion. Sans le besoin d’une fois ou mandat divine ou des autres humaines (En fin de compte, ce mandat divin a également à  été créé par les humaines). Et dans ce croyance, il n’est pas nécessaire la réponse sur quel amour mais si le comme aimer. Comme le faire sans la préoccupation d’arriver à se faire aimer ou la peur de pas faire exploser d’amour autre. Sans la promesse dite, mais si la promesse en action. En vie. Il regarde la vigne en automne. Une soleil extraordinaire. Le curé aussi extasie donne des remerciements par ça qu’est la création à son dieu. Dieu, en majuscule dirait père mais lui, il a abandonné les croyances depuis longtemps. Il a trouvé la signification de la divinité dans l’amour humaine et la vie. La raison de vivre et de connaître. Mais la raison n’est pas très accepté par les autres et préfèrent de culpabiliser aux dieux. Aux autres des autres. En tout cas converser avec le curé est intéressant chaque jeudi avant que la nuit tombe ou la tempête.

La méfiance reste entre la majorité et pour ça, il y aussi la peur et la rage. Mais il faut penser et écrire plus sur l’opportunité d’être optimiste et se dire qu’existent de gens, même si sont une partie minuscule pour les classifier même comme minorité qui sont capables d’aimer et penser. Rester après le sexe pendant des heures mais aussi partir avec la serein possibilité de retourner sans peur mais si avec émotion. La même que donne les réponses suffisants aux questions fondamentales sur les sentiments profondes humaines et ses conséquences. Oui je reconnais que je t’aime. Je reconnais que j’aime quand nous vivons l’amour et le désir. Même la conversation et le silence. Oui, je sais que nous n’avons pas une nostalgie par la distance, mais si la joie partage de la liberté de l’autre et la paix que donne la compagnie. Le partage. On s’aime et nous resterons amants. On a trouvé les mots pour décrire l’amour, mais le regard et l’image des corps nus sont suffisants. Notre corps. Le silence et la musique qu’est ton gémissements mais aussi les soupirs.”

True

"Humans sometimes tell themselves that nothing is worse than a wish that comes true.  Likewise, they tell themselves more than others that second times are bad, the comebacks, the beginnings where it is assumed that one has already left. It is not possible to generalize. And anyway, humans are experts in phrases that sound good for a Friday night in silence and alone. Phrases that, in strange times, say nothing more than loose words that provide only a little pleasure and minimal reflection because the truth is that when there is no time to think, anything can come into your head and leave it. And that it is true. They had been cold mornings, even from Santiago de Chile, and now, in contrast to the planet, he was going from spring to autumn, between clouds and snow, between cold breezes and rain, hoping that perhaps the thing about breaking up and having a cool head would allow him to decide something truly true. He had already tried three different types of beer in one night and only two in Santiago de Chile. Also, the lips and the voice and the cold hands of a lover. "A lover," - he repeated to himself while tasting one of the three (I say four) beers he had tried in less than 24 hours. Yes, women...- he actually said it without any nostalgia. Here alone in front of that abbey, he would try silence. 

The day, the hour, and how it is said, more than what is said, seems more reasonable and important. So much so that famous phrases are coined at moments rather than at people and become part of a collective memory. They are helpful simply because they are there and can be retrieved whenever one wants, with the will that one does not have but with the ambition of permanence or textual citation. However, phrases are often attributed to those who have never said anything. However, words are also necessary to not value the permissive silence of those who only receive orders too much. That night was not as cold as those that would soon come. However, he hoped to be able to not only sleep well but also ignore the morning chill to organize his thoughts despite the ghosts and habits of a past that refused to leave him, perhaps because of his search for pleasure or because of his old vices.  It's almost midnight - he said to himself as he looked at his watch. Alone, like everywhere, but with the peace of mind of not having any obligation beyond getting to the following day and thinking about his future. Selfish. Without weights on his back, being just another foreigner who seeks, without being transcendent, to be indispensable. At least for photography. The next morning would be cold, he said as he waited to sleep.

As they say, it seems more important than what is expressed, both in the voice and the written word. The word then has no meaning. as it is shown the same. And it is a bit strange in times when the depth of thought is actually lost (as well as creativity), because humans believe that they have created those who can think and build for them. Not to build their ideas but even to replace them. Hence, the fundamental beings of the structure will be increasingly scarce and disappear along with those phrases that fed artificial learning. Some may rebel, and others will understand the meaning of the same thing. Both would build an alternative if allowed.  That word described her well: fiery. And that enjoyed (and bought) fieryness made her whims sponsored and guaranteed to be remembered. There were other things about her, of course, but although they existed and were valuable, that was not what mattered to her. She knew how to dance and how to look. She did not need to speak or say anything. She only had to maintain her proud and voluptuous body and remain arrogant in her fieryness until the next bidder. Still, she didn't have enough words. That's true. Nor enough caresses, nor enough looks. That's what her femininity is all about. But she's not an evil woman. She just was herself.

What could he claim to allow? There is no answer to the silence, but the debate exists for much more than creating contradictions and damaging the expectations that hope gives. Hope, like faith, damages probability, and possible states, for both (hope and faith) are built on falsehoods and desires. It is true that unreal passions become much more powerful and even perceived than soft and beautiful intentions or passion itself; it is true, and like every certainty, it will have its counterexample. His eyes were already closing, and Friday was finally over an extraordinary week, he told himself as he tried to remember what it was that made it important for him to come back. Nothing. In reality, there is nothing to come back for. But hey - he said while looking for some liquor for the night - the truth is that there is nothing worse than a dream coming true. His eyes have already closed, and he feels the satisfaction of having survived August and had a good October."