Scent of... tango

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Sunday, November 21, 2010

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I've written before about wanting to dance tango. And about youtube and stuff.
So, next year...
I thing time has come to do something about it.

Letter from the past

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Saturday, November 20, 2010

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Dearest Kite, do you remember 3 years ago, we made a letter to our future selves?
Do you remember when we were even younger and MORE foolish?

It is kind of a nice thought to see how much I've matured, how much I've dealt with stuff I feared to do back then. It is also kind of cute to see how naive you really were compared to what you now have seen and done.

The problems are very different now, the anxieties and teenage angst has nothing to do now than from back then. I always assume I'm changing, but once you see an example of what reality was back then, it is really eye opening, I suppose.

I was just curious dearest Kite (and D, and rest of the reading family) have you read your letter? Who was that teenager? Were her hopes of the future futile? Did it turned out to be just as expected or even better?

What can the present tell you about your past future?

Mine tells me I'm a more complete person now. I've faced many of the monsters in the closet, so to say. And I'm definitely much more satisfied with my life now than I used to be, even if that is hard to believe...

Now I'm just thinking about the future, will I look back and see the actual present as a silly dark time? Perhaps, I can just hope the uncertainty will favor me (us).

Water and Slowmo

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Friday, November 19, 2010

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Slow motion.
I would spend lots of money on a decent camera.

THE BLOND SALESMAN

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Thursday, November 18, 2010

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I was playing with my mind toys as I do, playing inexistent movies in my head of possible futures, rotating ideas about the atom, the thought and everything in between, thinking about how awesome is to be young and restless. Playing like a child. And then came the blond salesman.

The blond salesman is an old acquaintance, who's actually a friend, but for dramatic purposes he shall remain an acquaintance. He became tall last summer and is blond, the blond salesman. And he sells things. At times.

And so I was playing with my toys, wearing my oberols, and singing about how super fantastic was to be me, so witty and dramatic and full of unexpected ideas.
(I was in the living room, the light was yellow and some dim smoke gave the ethereal sense of meaning to my purposeless playing. Light come from above, then the door of the living room is knocked)

(MOTHER appears from behind the curtains)

MOTHER: Who could possibly be that?

(I shrugs)

(MOTHER opens the door and there he is, THE BLOND SALESMAN. White light covers THE BLOND SALESMAN for all the audience to see him as he poses, his hair shines as he fixes his tie)

MOTHER: Sweetheart! Come say hi!

( I leaves his toys and runs to his oddity vault and gets out a tie with plastic holder, I slips it into the oberols and then walks shyly to the entrance)

I: Hi, how are you?

THE BLOND SALESMAN: Fine kiddo, how about you?

(I & THE BLOND SALESMAN start a conversation about decisions, while I tells his experience as if it was ground-breaking and the most interesting of things THE BLOND SALESMAN listens with attention and nods every few sentences. I keeps talking because he knows the entire audience is amazed by his tales)
(Voice from the back is heard, light illuminates I as to show it's his voice)

I'S VOICE: THE BLOND SALESMAN is so simple, I like him, there's so much I can teach him, but of course just to a certain point, because I'm me, and well he's he

(And so I concludes his story and takes a cookie from the cookie jar. THE BLOND SALESMAN has a notebook where he's taking note of whatever stupid information I just gave. Then MOTHER proceeds to ask about THE BLOND SALESMAN's life, and so he begins narrating)

(Light now illuminate THE BLOND SALESMAN and the light of the rest of the room is slowly fading)

THE BLOND SALESMAN: -gibberish about school- but I haven't rested in a long time -gibberish about having a job, doing great at it and having big responsibilities- sure it seems hard, but i manage -gibberish that states he's clearly a grown-up, having responsibilities, people depending on him and getting by by his own means- but you know, that's life.

(When the room is the darkest, the actor of I is changed from being a 5 year old in oberlos eating a cookie, to a 20 year old man with tight oberols eating a cookie. The lights turn on in the room, revealing the now changed I. I begins to see himself, all chocolate dirty from the cookie and with unfitting clothes. He's shown uncomfortable and panicked. So MOTHER begins to talk to I)

MOTHER: When will you start having responsibilities? How old are you anyway and what have you made of your life?

I: But... I'm a philosopher, I... think things beyond all of your comprehensions. (his voice begins to crack)

MOTHER: That's just because of all the free time you've got in your hands

I: I'm a philosopher-scientist and I will not stand a second more of this treatment (he says, crossing his arms and putting a big frown)

THE BLOND SALESMAN: Don't worry, you're really smart, and it's going to be long for you to need to do something for real. How old can you be? Six?

I: Shut up! You're dumb!

MOTHER: Don't be rude, he's clearly superior to you in every single aspect that matters in the real world. He drives, he sales, he's technology savvy, he's even got a girlfriend. You can't even keep a goldfish alive.

(I frowns and begins to cry in the middle of the stage, then throws himself to the floor and sobs with his hands in his face)

(I'M THE PENGUIN appears from behind the lamp, he can't be seen by THE BLOND SALESMAN and MOTHER simply ignores him as he walks to sit besides the 20 year old crying man)

I'M THE PENGUIN: Hey, this is silly and dumb

I: It is ALL silly and dumb! I hate him! He doesn't know it's all silly and dumb, he's even a neoliberalist, he hasn't ever heard of Kierkegaard! I'm special, I'm smart.

I'M THE PENGUIN: Still, this is silly and dumb

I: He's like that because he's been forced to, I'm caged by MOTHER inside this oberols!

I'M THE PENGUIN: Silly and dumb

I: I'm too much into what matters to me: philosophy, science and art, I don't have time for those standard lives. I won't be part of that rotten system! not me!

I'M THE PENGUIN: You're not mad because he's earning money, you're mad because this is silly and dumb

I: Shut up! You're silly and dumb!

I'M THE PENGUIN: He's more mature and has experienced more of life than you've done. He's became a man. You're still a child.

I: Shut up! I hate you! I hate MOTHER! I hate you all!

I'M THE PENGUIN: That's very mature...

(I dries the tears in his eyes and sits down)

I: MOTHER should have never compared us, it hurts.

I'M THE PENGUIN: That's better, still, it's silly and dumb.

I: Maybe I should do more things. Maybe I should start doing more stuff in the material world than in the Imaginarium.

I'M THE PENGUIN: And please loose the oberols, they're SO last two decades.

I: Shut up. You're right, I'm still a child, but just to make MOTHER shut the hell up I'll become a man. Responsible, active and bearded.

I'M THE PENGUIN: You realize you'd be doing it for all the wrong reasons?

I: Is there another way to start? This is not church, I'm not a reborn person.

I'M THE PENGUIN: Come on, let's have some drinks

I: What about the guests?*

(The whole time MOTHER was chatting quietly with THE BLOND SALESMAN, who after the queue* leaves trough the door. MOTHER goes back to the curtain.)

(I stands up and him and I'M THE PENGUIN walk towards the door, they open it up and disappear. The door shuts down on its own. The entire sceen's light fades.)

THE END

I'm always in my pajamas.

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Wednesday, November 17, 2010

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Of montreal-skeletal and such

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Tuesday, November 16, 2010

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So, I've been listening to a lot of Of Montreal lately, specially the album Skeletal Lamping, which let me tell you, is a jewel. A little sick perverted jewel that'll raise a brow or two and make you dance and want to become a beautiful dance whore (10 points if you get the reference).

And instead of telling you some introspective of mine written in such a way that nobody could possibly read it, I'll just quote what I've learned from them. Kids, take notes, this could be useful.

I'm the kind of mannequin that cheats and
Opens its eyes to the ladies of the spread

I feel like an accidental species
Some mutant love child never meant to be

Why is it white girls don't ever have any ideas?
And they don't even know what's on my channel
But that is true for almost everyone, everyone but you
My goat, my crab, my scorpion
You're my icons 'cause you're different, you're different
I love wicked wisdom

We can do it softcore if you want,
but you should know I take it both ways

Why am I so damaged, girl?

I asked your friend if you were available
She answered, not but yes, oh well, oh well, yes and no
...
Now, I'm noting the limits of our parabola
To predict the points of thou-shalt-not-return
This inbreeding of ideas is intolerable

I wanna show you off
I wanna tell you lies
I wanna write you books


I don't want to be your man
I just wanna play with you

I need you here, and not here too
how can I explain? I need you here, and not here too
...
It's so embarrassing to need someone like I do you
...
Things could be different
But they're not.


Not that all (or any >.> ) applies to me of course...




Maravillosas ocupaciones

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in , | Posted on Monday, November 15, 2010

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I will get this book for christmas.
Mr. Julio Cortázar

Qué maravillosa ocupación cortarle la pata a una araña, ponerla en un sobre, escribir Señor Ministro de Relaciones Exteriores, agregar la dirección, bajar a saltos la escalera, despachar la carta en el correo de la esquina.
Qué maravillosa ocupación ir andando por el bulevar Arago contando los árboles, y cada cinco castaños detenerse un momento sobre un solo pie y esperar que alguien mire, y entonces soltar un grito seco y breve, girar como una peonza, con los brazos bien abiertos, idéntico al ave cakuy que se duele en los árboles del norte argentino.
Qué maravillosa ocupación entrar en un café y pedir azúcar, otra vez azúcar, tres o cuatro veces azúcar, e ir formando un montón en el centro de la mesa, mientras crece la ira en los mostradores y debajo de los delantales blancos, y exactamente en medio del montón de azúcar escupir suavemente, y seguir el descenso del pequeño glaciar de saliva, oír el ruido de piedras rotas que lo acompaña y que nace en las gargantas contraídas de cinco parroquianos y del patrón, hombre honesto a sus horas.
Qué maravillosa ocupación tomar el ómnibus, bajarse delante del Ministerio, abrirse paso a golpes de sobres con sellos, dejar atrás al último secretario y entrar, firme y serio, en el gran despacho de espejos, exactamente en el momento en que un ujier vestido de azul entrega al Ministro una carta, y verlo abrir el sobre con una plegadera de origen histórico, meter dos dedos delicados y retirar la pata de araña, quedarse mirándola, y entonces imitar el zumbido de una mosca y ver cómo el Ministro palidece, quiere tirar la pata pero no puede, está atrapado por la pata, y darle la espalda y salir, silbando, anunciando en los pasillos la renuncia del Ministro, y saber que al día siguiente entrarán las tropas enemigas y todo se irá al diablo y será un jueves de un mes impar de un año bisiesto.

Maravillosas ocupaciones, Julio Cortázar
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