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Una historia según mi punto de vista


Está no es una historia. Es un simple recuento de mi salud visual. Desde el anuncio que hice sobre el estado de mi vista han pasado unas cuantas horas de espera. Eternizadas por el hecho de que el hospital está en Coyoacán y hay que llegar allí tomando el autobús y luego el metro o el autobús y después el trole.  O que, como cualquier hospital, tiene lista de espera hasta para las citas de rutina y entre cita y cita pasa un mes. Así y todo, el problema de ver gris del lado derecho se corrigió con la extracción del cristalino con una FACO y su reemplazo con un IOL. Incluso con el lente intraocular necesitaré lentes toda la vida y ya no seré capaz de ver de cerca como antes, que era capaz de verme los dedos a centímetros de mi nariz. Gracias a esto, habrá Merriam un ratito más. Aprovecho para anunciar que, Crimson Relish —en anglishki y sin traducción al español, ya está a la venta en Gumroad. Les dejo una probadita y EL LINK  por si les llama la atención. También pueden colgar el link en sus redes sociales y hablar pestes. ¡Toda publicidad es bienvenida!

CRIMSON RELISH

One (teaser)

Because she owned his essence. It wasn’t just his name for names can be changed. Or his soul either for there ain’t such things as souls. What an individual is, is a bunch of thoughts arranged by a mechanism of delay which gives them the feeling of will; a self to avoid mistaking imagination to reality. She owned his nightmare. She was able to break the limits of self and turn this card into reality. But…what was his nightmare?

—Can I eat your nightmare?

A month, a century, a single quiet moment of afterwards silence, lingering among two shadows riveted against the rumour of the night.

—And my prerogative to deny thus. Thou art too much of a suckling pig. Dearie

His words unrolling from a gilded tongue in a low husky voice, mocking her.

—NOT AS MUCH AS YOU ARE! — She clicked her tongue and thought <<Why the Heavens do I care asking? I should just take it!>> <<Just piss off>>

Her compact shadow shrugged the matter off and jumped down from the two story building’s roof, into the alley. With no one to witness her cat’s landing, except for her partner.

Name? Arisa. Non human. Anoon, to be exact. ¿And what the heck is an Anoon? Too complicated to explain in one go in spite of it being simple: she was a nightmare eater and she lived in a world exactly the same though very different to the one we know.

She had a job. To hunt down every single demon and devil as the only religion of her world, the Faith, stated: to fight against the infidel. Until she herself and her partner would be killed too for being what they were.

Few metres ahead, the prey of that day was too busy playing predator to notice he was being observed; as he was laying on ground his own catch: two young women who had gone out partying, looking out for a routine’s change. And he was already biting one on the neck.

That, that was a big problem. Because her partner was something abnormal among freaks. Seker was a vampire who refused feeding on blood and survived sipping green tea with biscuits so he was hungry all the time. He hated biscuits by the way. Though his stomach wouldn’t hold on to cake.

And thirst had become an ivy jungle in his throat, growing vivacious, to the luscious thick smell of the blood coming from the girls. He stood there, doing nothing, watching or should I say, getting dizzy. Nauseated and overcome with the pang of hunger.

On the other side, she was not wasting time. Her red bangs flashed on the dim light of the moon when she tilted her head to concentrate in the shape-shifter chap. Silver bullets, Holy Water and starvation filled his mind without warning. The most simple of his fears turned into bad dreams as she projected them into his subconscious.  For one of her abilities was to show someone’s mind, objects or situations which caused fear. At least enough to make them confounded.

Seker had to calm first to help her now. Slowly he breathed in, out, deeply. Fighting the panic. Recalling what happened when he lost to instincts.

Then, he briskly took out the leather gloves from the interior breast pocket of the raincoat. A bottle green raincoat. Dust to dust. The body of the chap sizzled, decayed and disappeared. As if it had been made of sand and wind had swept it away. The silver thread in between Seker’s fingers smoked off; his face and chest stained red from the blood.

Before it even started to dry, the same way the body had, he cleaned the blood on him, licking himself as cats do. Always immaculate, always neat.

            Seker knelt in front of the victims and produced a first aid battle kit.  Coagulant and gauze. The bitten one would have to wait for further assistance from the human side of the Mercy’s Army, the unit they belonged to. She lit a bengal and sent it above, to the black skies to pinpoint their location. Communication devices as radios or wires were reserved to humans. Their non human status, forbid them to get even close to one.

The green sparkles kept her attention up, on the sky. Once they’re over, she looked down and her sight caught his fragile yet taut body kneeling, trembling in repentance as he did every night.

—Condone my lust, in Heaven and in Hell, from the Fallen who forgot thy ninety beautiful names. I call your glory, you the almighty…Exert upon this humble servant thy Mercy to return to the true path. I request not salvation but guidance…—His voice was cruel and soft at the same time. His eyes met hers. They filled in sorrow and tears glistened upon his lashes.

Arisa felt it coming. It was bitter and sweet and delicious. A feeling many of us avoid like poison, or seek in order to obtain revenge on enemies. Something that makes us unable to think and spit the worse we might say even to someone we love for it makes us blind. <<Why the Pope should I remorse? Why? Why is he so heavenly fine while?>> She abhorred people praying. <<Handsome!>> <<Beau….>><<Oh! Shut up ourselves!>> Thoughts were running rampart in her mind, voiced by Arisa 1st, Arisa 2nd and Arisan. All shouting and about to nail their eyes out until she bit her lower lip to bleeding.

Calmed down and without further orders or insight tips, she kept herself butt-glued to the edge of the street. Waiting for the medic services, pretending to observe her short nails. Or scratching the many mosquito bites she had gotten due to summer like weather. Or braiding her bangs. Totally inattentive to Seker, who glanced in her direction trying to get her to do something she hadn’t.

Arisa ignored him. She knew what he wanted from her but…she didn’t feel like doing it.  She was not going to do it.

This duel of wills was interrupted short by a sudden muffled noise which startled both. Arisa took cover in the shadows. Seker wanted to, but he couldn’t. His hand was applying pressure on the girl’s haemorrhage. He glared and ordered her to go and see what the noise was. Again, she refused to do as told. Perhaps it was just a cat and he was much more suited to cats than her.

Once more, he ordered. She got pissed off but obeyed; following the sound way up for at least four blocks. To her surprise, it was just a very musical shadow singing out of tune and slurring his words:

So I’ll go to sHeaven and maat them..all virgaens to savour shex…

She walked up to him to enter his unfocused sight. The popular yet illegal song, went under a scared gasp. However, she smiled brightly to reassure the man of her good intentions.

It worked. It made him in his white stained shirt, to think she was one of those houries he had been singing about. He felt…He had expected something more modest, a bit less of a tight black sweat jacket. Perhaps something like a modest white dress. Something…come on…something…innocent.

 He smiled back nervous. Arisa made a move, getting out of his sight. The man blinked and wondered if he had had a tad too much of booze. He rubbed his eye. She reappeared, giggling.

—Where do you live?

—Sirla…

—Do you mind if I take you home? —before he said anything, she took his hands and pulled in her direction.

There, in between their bodies, was a tiny crevice of space he anxiously wanted to short. He pushed her onto the closest wall. Error. It had been her who had pulled them both. She put her hands over his belt, kissing him.

—Mercy ought to deal with the waste—said a proud voice in her ear, taking her wrist.

Seker had been able to wake the other girl and made her to play nurse. Arisa growled in frustration watching the man –all alcohol evaporated from his veins-running away. <<How long has it been since I was laid?>> she asked herself.

She shook Seker’s hand off and walked back to the two women. He followed, satisfied he had saved the man from being entertainment. The thirty one minute waiting after, happened in the middle of a silence crunchy enough to physically snap. Both of them waited in hunger. Though, Seker was used to it whilst Arisa felt it was unfair.

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¡Viva! ¡Viva la nación!


¡Viva!

¡Vivan los inmigrantes que nos dieron patria! ¡Vivan las carnitas!


¡Vivan las monjas que inventaron mil usos para el huevo! ¡Viva el rompope!


¡Vivan los nativos que raspaban magueyes! ¡Viva el tequila!


¡Vivan los arqueólogos que nos dieron un pasado! ¡Vivan las ruinas de las pirámides!


¡Viva el humano que se puso a sembrar frijolitos silvestres! ¡Vivan….los gases!


¡Viva el humano que inventó el telar de cintura! ¡Viva el rebozo!


(Aquí echando vivas para los mexicanos no incluídos en el grito de independencia y que nos dan otra patria diferente de la de los libros). Añade tu viva en un comentario.

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Hace dos años

Aquí admirando el trabajo de dos personas que conozco.

https://www.facebook.com/100000208786038/posts/4668113066538940/

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Pereza

crop unrecognizable female feet lying in cozy bed
Photo by Vladimir Gladkov on Pexels.com

“La indiferencia es una forma de pereza, y la pereza es uno de los síntomas del desamor. Nadie es haragán con lo que ama”.

Aldous Huxley
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Lo que no eres

Esta es una publicación de una persona a la que sigo en alguna de esas miles de redes sociales y a quien pedí permiso para robarme su publicación para el blog, al fin y al cabo los lunes son de patchwork. Muchas gracias Kabe. La publicación fue hecha en inglés y coreano por lo que le añado una traducción libre [en exceso diría yo] al español al final.

Publicación original

신문에서 접하고 찾아본 시입니다. 좋더라고요. 😁

by Erin Hanson < Not >

You are not your age, nor the size of clothes you wear,
You are not a weight, or the color of your hair.

You are not your name, or the dimples in your cheeks.
You are all the books you read, and all the words you speak.

You are your croaky morning voice, and the smiles you try to hide.
You’re the sweetness in your laughter, and every tear you’ve cried.

You’re the songs you sing so loudly when you know you’re all alone.
You’re the places that you’ve been to, and the one that you call home.

You’re the things that you believe in, and the people whom you love.
You’re the photos in your bedroom, and the future you dream of.

You’re made of so much beauty, but it seems that you forgot
When you decided that you were defined by all the things you’re not.


에릭 핸슨 < 아닌 것> 에릭 핸슨 (류시화 옮김)

당신의 나이는 당신이 아니다.
당신이 입는 옷의 크기와 몸무게나
머리색깔도 당신이 아니다.

당신의 이름도
두 뺨의 보조개도 당신이 아니다.
당신은 당신이 읽은 모든 책이고,
당신이 하는 모든 말이다.

당신은 아침의 잠긴 목소리이고
당신이 미처 감추지 못한 미소이다.
당신은 당신 웃음 속의 사랑스러움이고
당신이 흘린 모든 눈물이다.

당신이 철저히 혼자라는 걸 알때
당신이 목청 껏 부르는 노래
당신이 여행한 장소들
당신이 안식처라고 부르는 곳이 당신이다.

당신은 당신이 믿는 것들이고
당신이 사랑하는 사람들이며
당신 방에 걸린 사진들이고
당신이 꿈꾸는 미래이다

당신은 많은 아름다운 것들로 이루어져 있지만
당신이 잊은 것 같다
당신 아닌 그 모든 것들로
자신을 정의하기로 결정하는 순간에는

Lo que no eres

No eres tu edad o la medida de la cinta métrica.

No eres el peso de tu panza, ni el color de cabello sobre la almohada.

Ni el nombre, o los hoyuelos de las mejillas.

Eres cuántos libros has leído, y todo cuanto hablas al oído.

La voz pastosa en las mañanas,

Y las sonrisas que ocultas en tu cara.

La dulzura de tu risa y cada lágrima vertida.

Lo que cantas cuando sabes que ya todos se han ido.

Los lugares a los que has ido y dónde dices “casa”

Lo que crees y a los que amas,

Las fotos en tu recámara,

Y el futuro con que sueñas calma.

Hecho de tanta belleza,

Que parece has olvidado,

Decidiendo que eras todo lo que tú no eres.

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El secreto

El secreto es no correr detrás de las mariposas… Es cuidar el jardín para que ellas vengan hacia ti. Al final de cuentas, vas a encontrar no a quien estabas buscando, sino a quien te estaba buscando a ti.


Ciudad Poesía
Mario Quintana
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Añoranza

Ice still lingering on ditch in Hardley Marshes
Ice still lingering on ditch in Hardley Marshes by Evelyn Simak is licensed under CC-BY-SA 2.0

Llueven mis ojos
El corazón late.
Zombi apocalíptico
En alguna foto desgarrada.
No es ahogo,
Es desesperanza.

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20 segundos

«Yo entrené cuatro años para correr 20 segundos. Hay personas que por no ver resultados en dos meses se rinden y lo dejan. A veces el fracaso se lo busca uno mismo»

Usain Bolt

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La frase más sexy que he escuchado nunca

National library Vienna, Austria

Si me muestras el contenido de tu librero…yo te enseño lo que tiene el mío.

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Los lectores

woman in green button up shirt wearing black framed eyeglasses reading book
Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com

“Una pieza de literatura no sólo implica un escritor pero también un lector. Hay una voz de un lado y alguien que escucha del otro. “

Fragmento. Me lo robé de English Literature en Facebook. La literatura no es sólo un texto. Es alguien que lee. Podrá no contestarnos directamente, pero escucha. Al menos eso nos gusta pensar. Gracias por leer este blog.