Made of constructions? thoughts? perceptions?

This is a warning from the future:
I spent all this month in my native city: me dejé reposar al sereno, a ver si me arreglaba. I didn't.
Turns out, I warn you, more things are about to begin, and to get worse. I do mean it.
You'll hit rock bottom one day in crying in your room. By the time you write this paragraph, you'll still be angry about something you realized a day ago. Sigh.

Algo de contexto:

This is a rant a posteriori, lol
Stop kidding yourself with stories in you head about how things could've or should've been.
I think you think it's complicated. I think you think you love me. Just stop, it's all clouds in the sky.
Things should be different but they're not. :/
As simple as that.

People like it when I play this role, the awkward kid in oberols and rim glasses fixed with tape. It's not that the character is a lovable wanker, but even if not admittedly, they all just love having me play the role to complete their plethora of bi-dimensional characters with few back story. In other words, it's nice to have diverse extras. So I keep playing it, line by line.

This is one of the best things that have ever happened to me...
I was there! :D
Belle and Sebastian-If I Fell

In every name a face, in every face a sight, in every sight a story.

by ransriggs
beautiful.

Post-modern (mortem), neo-kitsch, digital, garbage, concept, post-hipster, something something that may or may not look good at some point in time or/and space in this universe. (no way to know both).

In the same exposition (my last post) I also saw this, which I thought was genius.

The world suffers a "hard-attack"
2012
Strawberry Jell-O
2 mm. x 250 x 40

Sweet dreams are made of this
2007
Chocolate, sugar and electroencephalogram.
40 x 60 x 2 cm.

I can write your name without looking at the keybord
2010
50 typed sheets
20 x 150 cm.

This is my favorite. I have no idea why I can't flip the picture, so here it is again:

[I don't think the translation makes sense, still:]

The verb to be
(although at times you're not, you are, and though at times you're not, you are)
2011
Embroidery on canvas
5 pieces of 50 x 60 cm. c / u

I saw this and jumped in a twist of giggles and incontrollable smiles. Mainly, because it is something I would have sent.

While in GDL I went to an art exposition at the Anguiano museum. This is something I saw.


Disclaimer, disclaimer, disclaimer: I don't remember the name of the artist, this is not mine.

Everything in my head is awesome.

Runaway by The National


what makes you think i enjoy being led to the flood?
we got another thing comin' undone
and it's taking us over

This very accurately describes how I feel towards the relationship status.

El arte callejero dice tanto de la sociedad...

Yann

The Sartorialist from Amsterdam Worldwide on Vimeo.

From the soundtrack of Me and You and Everyone We Know

I don't care what you say, I want to marry a kangooro-hero.

Come for me, cover me, comfort ME.

From Stephen Fry's Podcast. :)

you should call me some time,

You’ve probably noticed that awkwardness is a recurring topic in this blog, and that’s of course because as clichéd as it sounds, I’ve always felt awkward. From 1st to 6th grade I had popular friends, but as we approached 7th grade, it was when it all started, the awkwardness really started kicking in. This lasts until now, BUT about half a year ago I started college, in a science school. Dun, dun, dun! Hello awkwardness! There’s no realistic way of putting this into words, but now that I’m almost 20, I’m from the popular people in school. I don’t mean academic popularity or anything; I mean the I-go-out-I’m-from-the-elite kind of people. Like WTF? How did that happen?
Deep down and in the surface I enjoy and embrace nerdyness. It would be sad to think that now I feel in this sort of elite because of the social and economic situation I’m now surrounded with, but probably that’s a big part of it. The other thing, that also makes me feel better is that everyone in that school is just plain mad…

It's not that I don't have any great ideas to make magnificent posts, it's just that I'd rather share this with you.Actually, this one's so great I did want to share. Source, but I found it thanks to addictive StumbleUpon. See it full size please.





There's also these, which for some reason I thought you'd love, dearest K., that is of course if you ever read this post.









Anyway, these are from a collection found here, there's more, I do recommend it. It's quite an interesting concept. Artistically, I think there's a big challenge in inserting fiction of two well known real things, which is well made. But also the idea seems quite an statement doesn't it? How we interact so much with gadgets, we sometimes couldn't live without them, almost as if they were alive, and most of us have no idea how they actually work.

Just an idea...



---
And well, dessert. I found this piece just hilarious.

Aquellos granos trajeron estas cicatrices y aquellos mihuras que nunca toreé me cosieron a cornadas el alma. Pero no me quejo; tengo amigos y memoria y risas y trenes y bares y una salud de hierro y un puñado de canciones recién salidas del horno que me tienen (dejadme que os lo cuente) orgullosos como un padre primerizo que babea. Y, de cuando en cuando, una rubia de bote me tira un beso, desde el público, aprovechando un despiste de su novio; ese idiota moreno que juega al baloncesto.

¿Que a qué viene todo esto? Pues a que anochece y está lloviendo y los periódicos hablan de elecciones y yo no sabía cómo hablaros de esta boca que es, desde ahora y para siempre, más vuestra ya que mía.

JOAQUÍN SABINA

So here, I found this:

If You Can..

If you can start the day without caffeine;

If you can get going without pep pills;

If you can always be cheerful, ignoring aches and pains;

If you can resist complaining and boring people with your troubles;

If you can eat the same food every day and be grateful for it;

If you can understand when your loved ones are too busy to give you any time;

If you can forgive a friend's lack of consideration;

If you can overlook it when those you love take it out on you when, through no fault of your own, something goes wrong;

If you can take criticism and blame without resentment;

If you can ignore a friend's limited education and never correct him;

If you can resist treating a rich friend better than a poor friend;

If you can face the world without lies and deceit;

If you can conquer tension without medical help;

If you can relax without liquor;

If you can sleep without the aid of drugs;

If you can honestly say that deep in your heart you have no prejudice against creed or color, religion or politics; then, my friend, you are almost as good as your dog.

Pero en la pantalla del Ideal Cinema, cuando no daban una de romanos, el viento golfo de Manhattan le subía la falda a Marilyn y era domingo, y no había clase, y los niños de provincias soñábamos despiertos y en tecnicolor con pájaros que volaban y se comían el mundo. Y el mundo que querían comerse los pájaros que anidaban en mi cabeza... pongamos que se llamaba Madrid.

Así que un día me subí, sin billete de vuelta, al vagón de tercera de uno de aquellos sucios trenes que iban hacia el Norte, me apeé en la estación de Atocha y aprendí que las malas compañías no son tan malas y que se puede crecer al revés de los adultos; y supe al fin, a qué saben los aplausos y los besos y el alcohol y la resaca y el humo y la ceniza, y lo que queda después de los aplausos y los besos y el alcohol y la resaca y el humo y la ceniza. Tal vez por eso mis canciones quieren ser un mapamundi del deseo, un inventario de la duda, siete crisantemos con espinas.

Y cuando las cartas vienen malas y amenaza tormenta y los dioses se ponen intratables y los hoteles no son dulces y todas las calles se llaman Melancolía, todavía fantaseo con debutar sin picadores o con desvalikar sucursales de Banesto o con probar mi suerte a la ruleta rusa, pero ahora, en lugar de tirarme en Las Ventas de espontáneo, o de escribirle una carta póstuma a Garzón, o de ahorrar para una Smith & Wesson del Especial, escribo en tecnicolor la canción de las noches perdidas, para vengarme de tantas tardes de lluvia en blanco y negro, de tantos hombres de traje gris, de tantas rubias de bote que se van con idiotas morenos que juegan baloncesto, de tantas bocas adorables que nunca fueron mías, que nunca serán mías.

A word to start the year with a different perspective

I would like to start this year by posting the starting lines of a book:
Sabina. Palabras hechas canciones. Esta boca es mía.

A los catorce [parece que fue ayer] el Rey Melchor se lo hizo bien conmigo y me trajo, por fin, una guitarra. Aquel adolescente ensimismado que era yo, con granos y complejos, en lugar de empollar física y química, mataba las horas rimando, en un cuaderno a rayas, versos llenos de odio contra el mundo y los espejos. El mundo, lejos de sentirse aludido, seguía girando [que es lo suyo], desdeñoso, sin importarle un carajo mi existencia. Y los espejos, cabrones, en vez de consolarme con mentiras más o menos piadosas, me sostenían cruelmente la mirada.

Vivía en un sitio que se llamaba Úbeda. Algunas noches, mientras mis padres dormían, me daban las diez y las once y las doce y la una practicando con sordina, en mi flamante guitarra, los acordes de Blanca y radiante va la novia, o iniciándome en el furtivo y noble arte de la masturbación, o suspirando por mi vecina, una rubia de bote que suspiraba por un idiota moreno que tenía una bici de carreras y jugaba al baloncesto. Sólo se me ocurrían tres maneras de atraer su atención: triunfar en el toreo, atracar un banco o suicidarme. Lo malo es que las tres exigían una sobredosis de valor que yo [¡ay de mí!] no poseía. Yo poseía mi cuaderno a rayas cada vez más lleno de ripios contra el mundo, mi guitarra, cada vez más desafinada... Y un plano del paraíso, que resultó ser falso. Y la vida, previsible y anodina, como una tarde de lluvia en blanco y negro.