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Such a faint forgotten being.
It was so soft a snore deep down.
No one could have called on.
Dragon and storm,
The sky blue black no where on sight before.
Until I was spitting salt and sand,
Without ground under my walk.
How did I get so close to sea,
To be swept by the stream?
How can this tiny being,
Tsunamis create?
Ominous lack of fangs.
Living in a small can.
— Es la estrella, amigo -respondió-. ¿No la habéis visto en el cielo?
La luz fantástica. Terry Pratchett.
— Era difícil no verla.
— Dicen que nos estrellaremos contra ella la Noche de la Vigilia de los Puercos; los mares hervirán, los países del Disco serán destruidos, los reyes caerán y las ciudades se convertirán en lagos de cristal -explicó el hombre-. Yo me largo a las montañas.
—¿Y crees que eso servirá de algo? -pregunto Rincewind, dubitativo.
— No, pero lo veremos todo mucho mejor.
Los seres humanos somos chismosos. Contemos cosas que sean como un gran chisme. Pasto kalo.
WHAT’S PERFECTION?
Does perfection exist? We’re not machines and nowadays there’s GPT chat and others to write haikus, tv scripts and Phyton code. Are we going to stop writing just because of that?
The better stories and jokes, the simple ones told around a camp fire… I correct myself from this idea for the sole reason I read Sapiens after this entry.
The best stories, the ones we happen to come upon just by entering the world, are the ones of religion, History, law and in all cases, humanity. The stories about what we are, how we are and what we should do.
Stories that have had centuries to be passed around, discussed and even persecuted. It doesn’t matter how many loose ends they have, their narrative resources exceed the life time’s length.
They’ve got silences and onomatopoeias and clichés. Clichés we admire, despise or overlook but we never ignore. The handsome some god’s child, the impossibly double bound virgin Mary (seductive because she is a virgin and seductive because we know she isn’t a virgin), the merchant who listened to a god’s voice turned into prophet, the idea of a country we need to belong to, the idea that progress always goes forward and it’s always better, the notion of being better than… any other thing that isn’t human.
IS PERFECTION WORTH IT?
Between us and the programme? I guess the programme is to win. The AI can write faster than I and I write really slowly. And not as many words as others. The programme needs a shorter amount of time to go and polish the story to the extent that all those other perfectionned stories have had the time to be polished by centuries.
A mortal person has to sit down and dream. Whether or not with a layout. In occasion, waste time talking to people. Living. Thinking hard how this and that character would react so the plot won’t feel like the “Cincinnati Kid[1]” girl who would take a pair of scissors and cut out the puzzle pieces for them to fit into the puzzle.
We have to round our pebbles as fast as we can; with glass shards in such a long beach others have left their own pebbles. Some bigger and prettier than others. I think we writers want to leave behind, at least one of those. A shiny rounded pebble.
Thus perfection is worth it. Pasto kalo.
[1] A movie I couldn’t finish watching for reasons I can’t remember but had nothing to do with it being boring.
Al principio era la playa.
Mis dedos tragados por la arena.
Mi peso de palabras añadiendo masa al problema.
Un brillo del agua.
Y un hechizo de promesa.
Nada.
Pero la marea.
Quiero ir de reversa.
Demasiado rápido,
Escupiendo sal y arena.
Una piña de latas en conserva,
El escondite de un dragón pequeño.
El cielo amenaza azul tormenta.
The female of the species. Mindy McGinnis. Harper Collins.
¿Y qué pasaría si fuera yo la que bajara, tomara una pelota de basket de la jaula y me pusiera a fingir que tengo sexo con ella? Creo que todos se voltearían a mirar. Todo el gimnasio se paralizaría y los maestros harían algo para detenerme.
Habría discusiones (de nuevo), sobre mí y lo que tengo descompuesto en la cabeza para ponerme a hacer eso. Me pasaría muchas más horas en orientación.
No comments… Pasto kalo.
Those are poemojis by Dante Tercero.
WHY THIS ENTRY AND WHAT POEMOJIS ARE?
That day, that day was Friday and I had a guest from Zacatecas, A book keeper called Lourdes1 who loves writing and who also has done a bit of poemojing.
Which, as you can see, is a sort of graphic poetry done using emojis. It was started by a young transgender writer called Dante Tercero; who was granted a National Trust for Fine arts and Culture (we in Mexico used to know it as FONCA) scholarship in 2016, given to creative young people.
Such a project, published by the publishing house Tiempo que resta, was warmly received by… the youth. Nonetheless, there is always the hater who claims: “This isn’t art” so it was not accepted by the artsy peacocks high priests with nothing but conservative ways….
Lourdes, my guest, thought the emojis are already too visible and present in daily life to ignore as communicative devices. Since such a reason was enough to try it herself and become a poemojist, she created some. Unfortunately her poemojis are a mix of more Spanish than English and… I found it impossible to translate them since the emojis have to be read in Spanish. Nonetheless, I’ll introduce them here in order for you to become aware poemojis do exist.
LOURDES’ POEMOJI IN POEMOJIS AND LETTERS
My castle has sank down!
Whether he dislikes,
Even if I want not;
No one wins against tide.
How long I’m to wait so
He is waited upon by my hand scratching his arms,
He is longed by my kiss licking his lips,
Fire over his legs waits for him to come.
And baby blue chained to my hands!
POEMOJIS ARE… POEMS MADE WITH EMOJIS
And so, those are the poemojis. A crazy invention? Not art? I only know they’re not viable for the sole reason of adding confusion to the already confusing art of reading things and figuring out what an author meant. However, art is not only about understanding, it is also about creating new ways to generate feelings. Maybe it is me who is already old.
Have you tried new ways to expressing? Pasto kalo.
I met a white wall.
It wasn't that tall.
It had sparkling eyes.
Thinking what to write on it,
I ended asking things.
The wall,
politely replied back.
It made no question on regard.
I was confused and awed.
Was I to be changed?
Were my colours to be tainted?
Or had it already ended at hi?
«Pero ¿por qué actuó Taylor en la película, si había reconocido la propaganda comunista?»
Tiempo de canallas. Lillian Hellman
«Porque el jefe de propaganda fílmica de la Oficina de Información de Guerra del gobierno federal le había pedido que actuara.Lo que hacía la película era retratar a un aliado valiente que sonreía a nuestro lado en la guerra contra Hitler. «
«Entonces, ¿por qué el arrepentimiento, si estaba respondiendo a una petición de su propio gobierno?»
«Porque se supone que uno debe prever los cambios de política del gobierno; alinearse con lo nuevo, rechazar lo viejo y agradecer la oportunidad de arrepentirse:…»
Como verán, el comunismo no fue el único régimen en el que calladito uno se veía más bonito. Las contradicciones humanas. Pero según un comentario en Youtube cuando señale que si uno escarba tantito, todos los sistemas son contradictorios, se nota que yo no sé nada. Recuérdenlo cuando tengan que denunciarme por cualquier cosa.
Yo no sé nada….Pasto kalo.