As some sort of a response to the rant: blogs post,

I think this blog has always been the prefect space to rant, in a good way.
Here lies (and lies) the story of over 1100 posts, through our last four years, a time capsule by itself.
This has an amount of significance for me beyond the obsessive-collectors-syndrome that I tend to carry. It is where my near and dear angst resides, my dreams and hopes, my thoughts, mrs. kite, n_t_ph_n_c, T_ch_ and N_____ Q.

It's where I come back to write the most painful love letter I've ever written and that I'll never send, the novels and the memory diary I'll never publish, my noble (perhaps Nobel) ideas, where the raises and falls are registered, and where the "I'm you man"¹ , the "Maybe this time", the "That's life." and the "Friday I'm in love" stupid heart comes to write.
This is where I come back to find myself (I get lost easily some days). That moment, when broken N crawls, jumps or dances towards the keyboard and finds the black brick background and Mrs.Kite patiently waiting for the next video, song, science rant, poem or (almost certainly) broken heart, is, oh well, priceless.

This place is IT.

With unmeasurable love,
Mrs. Kite



___________
1. Leonard Cohen's "I'm your man."
"If you want a lover, I'll do anything you ask me to. And if you want another kind of love, I'll wear a mask for you. [...] And I'd fall at your feet, I'd say please: "I'm your [wo]man."

My letter version of Coldplay's song "Green Eyes".

Green eyes,

I came here to talk, I think you should know that you’re the one that I wanted to find.
Yeah, the spotlight shines upon you, but how could andybody love you? Anyone who tried to do so, must be out of their mind.
Honey you are a rock, 'cause I came here with a load and it feels so much heavier, since I met you.
And honey you should know, that I could never go on with you.

But I'll love you always and forever,
I hope you undersand.
Goodbye.

Today, I would like to start by quoting some lines of (500) days of summer:

Most days of the year are unremarkable. They begin, and they end, with no lasting memories made in between. Most days have no impact on the course of a life. May 23rd was a Wednesday.

It took a long time but Tom had finally learned. There are no miracles. There's no such thing as fate. Nothing is meant to be. He knew. He was sure of it now.

And end by posting this video:

Poom dun tu rum,
poom dun tu rum,
poom dun tu rum,
POOM DUN TU RUM,
DUUUUUN.





What kind of music did you hear when you read this?
I'm very curious about this one.

While reading your post Zooranting, I wikiquoted Proust and felt the need to post this:

Mais, quand d’un passé ancien rien ne subsiste, après la mort des êtres, après la destruction des choses, seules, plus frêles mais plus vivaces, plus immatérielles, plus persistantes, plus fidèles, l’odeur et la saveur restent encore longtemps, comme des âmes, à se rappeler, à attendre, à espérer, sur la ruine de tout le reste, à porter sans fléchir, sur leur gouttelette presque impalpable, l’édifice immense du souvenir.
Et dès que j’eus reconnu le goût du morceau de madeleine trempé dans le tilleul que me donnait ma tante (quoique je ne susse pas encore et dusse remettre à bien plus tard de découvrir pourquoi ce souvenir me rendait si heureux), aussitôt la vieille maison grise sur la rue, où était sa chambre, vint comme un décor de théâtre.
---------
When from a long-distant past nothing subsists, after the people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered, still, alone, more fragile, but with more vitality, more unsubstantial, more persistent, more faithful, the smell and taste of things remain poised a long time, like souls, ready to remind us, waiting and hoping for their moment, amid the ruins of all the rest; and bear unfaltering, in the tiny and almost impalpable drop of their essence, the vast structure of recollection.
And once again I had recognized the taste of the crumb of madeleine soaked in her decoction of lime-flowers which my aunt used to give me (although I did not yet know and must long postpone the discovery of why this memory made me so happy), immediately the old gray house upon the street, where her room was, rose up like the scenery of a theater.

In Search of Lost Time: Vol I: Swann's Way, Marcel Proust

Y por las malas aprendimos a no querernos, a enterrarnos cuando el corazón apretaba, a quedarnos callados, a no escribir sobre los desamores a la luz de la vela.
¿Cómo te dejo si eres el muso de mi desencanto? ¿Si hace tanto que no escribo?
Lo malo del dolor es que a veces se disfruta, lo bueno es que mata.
Eso pasa por querer abrazarnos con los puños cerrados, con los ojos abiertos y los labios ardiendo.
Adiós.

Me dices, "No eres tú." y te digo "No eres tú."
Ese es precisamente el problema: nunca fuimos nosotros.
Y te puedo decir que me gustas cuando callas, y buscar esta noche tu boca en otra boca.
Decidir irme de exploradora y agradecerte por ser un embustero.
Quizás lo haga, quizás llore ahora y ría luego.
Pero no. Ni voy a escribir los versos más tristes ésta noche, ni me mato si te muertes.

Lo único que pienso es:
"Vaya, que añito."

And if you’re good when your body dies, will they use your bones to salt the skies?

If I die now all I want from you is to remember who I am and who I've always been.
If I die now what is the point of all my memories? It won't be long until they're gone you'll see.

Regrets, I've had a few, but then again, too many to mention.

Suena una guitarrita sin corazón.

Y pensamos que nos habla, que nos está dirigiendo la palabra. Mientras hacemos muecas al recordar ese último momento sin querer se ríe y toca algo más alegre. Para no perdernos, para tenernos al borde de la silla. Y luego regresa a su son desalmado.

Ya nos tiene ahí y lo sabe. Te dice cosas que solo tu podrías saber, como si te hubiera estado siguiendo todo este tiempo, esperando el momento adecuado para introducir una percusión que cale.

A veces cala porque dice la verdad, a veces por decir las mentiras que querías escuchar.
Y al final, querrás cambiar de melodía, pero la verdad es que estás solo, y sólo ella te entiende, sólo ella puede compartir tu dolor y hacerte disfrutarlo.

La maldita logra entrar a una playlist, y de repente estar sola, y tocar, y tocar, y tocar...

Nos recibieron con champán, ofrecido por uniformados.
Rodeadas de grandes aires de glamour de sábado por la noche.
Busco caras familiares, y al fracasar durante el primer sondeo y medio me decido a bajar la mirada y esperar a que ella encuentre a alguien a quien saludar, para yo seguir como la sombra-señorita introducida a socieda'. (guácala)
Lo esperado sucede, y comienzo a saludar por detrás y enseguida, mientras me presentan con nombre y parentesco. No está tan mal. He visto a muchas de estas personas, es sólo cuestión de que se encuentren de humor esa noche para amablemente buscar iniciar una charla con la niña perdida. La niña de 20 años que debería estar en otro lado. Quizás, sólo quizás, les interese un poco preguntarme que es de mi vida, pero no, la mayoría manda pequeñas piedrecillas (no lo hace realmente, pero así lo siento yo) con frases estilo '¿te acuerdas de mi hija? es de tu edad.' Siento que me lo dicen de manera personal, como un: 'no deberías estar aquí, no te vamos a ayudar a sentir comoda, bye.'
Ciertamente hay hostilidad en el ambiente, pero dudo que se trate de lo que acabo de mencionar. Creo que va mucho más lejos. A pocos les podría importar que yo esté ahí. Y no es que sea yo, no es el momento emo del blog ni mucho menos, simplemente no creo que a muchos les importe en principio quien está ahí. Tan pronto ven un apellido (en verdad parece que lo ven, no estoy segura de que lo hagan, quizás es solo un feeling que les da) se lanzan como perros hambrientos a discutir el siguiente negocio, soltar la risita de 'claro, claro'
Este comportamiento es válido. Todas las reuniones de esta gente son iguales, crecí viéndolas y teniendo una relación algo similar con sus hijos, pero en petite. Pero nunca lo había visto en una fiesta de cumpleaños. It's sad, actually.
Ella se va a hacer lo suyo, y me deja por ahí a la merced de las miradas que no me conocen. Tuiteo en mi soledad. Luego veo un nicho disponible. Corro, corro, corro.
Platico finalmente. Me invitan a platicar a un grupo más grande y me juro.
Se marcha de la fiesta mi 'padrino' de socieda'.
Me quiero ir.
A los dos días me entero que me aman. Que todas las fantasías Ivyleagueanas que tuve tienen sus fundamentos que no están en mi cabeza ni eran parte de una ingenuidad adolescente. Pero ahora que soy LA del tema que les interesa. Sacan el billete.
A ver que tal.

Hapi, you got my name wrong, and something tells me you got yours wrong too. Probably you're trying to reference your mood with your pseudonym and it's alright, but maybe you would be happier if you could spell right.
By the way, I'm Mrs. K, we're not in the fusion-mode anymore.
No hapi, I don't want Glitter Effect Mouse Pointer in our Blog. I'm sorry hapi, but I couldn't think of something tackier, (well I could, maybe. No, glitter mouse pointer is too much for me)
I know you think we could be friends, but it just won't work, you're a bot and I'm a person, or maybe it's the other way around.
It's probably not you, it's me and my rejection towards spam bots. It's not my intention, and it's is not your fault, it's just the way I was raised.
Nevertheless, I hope you find someone. Someone like you that loves spam, and enjoys navigating trough the internet as they find obscure blogs like this one.
I really do.
I wish you only the best.
Au revoir.

This is my first day back home. Yesterday night was not very significant in a being-home-acknowledgment way. Still.
I wake up to see the white tall ceiling. 'This is not my ceiling' I say to myself.
It feels a lot hotter, the room is bigger, and there's a large window which I finally recognize as my old house. My 'real' house, the house I left but never abandoned.
I tell myself it's going to be a reading summer, I see the book by my side, but instead I grab my iPod and listen to some music.
Finally, when I feel too hot, I get out of bed. I go to the TV and watch some quality comedies with my brother as I grab some cereal.
And for a while, just for a little while, it is as if I never left... then, I can't find the sugar in the kitchen, or the cables for the stereo.
I realize I don't live here anymore.

They say that's life.
I was back on top on June.
Then I wasn't, and just now I'm going back up.
This last days have been too much for me. Now I just really really go to my forest and stay there for a long time. I don't want to see this city in a while. I have tons of beautiful things to read, beautiful friends to see. In this moment, I regret everything I said about the Friday I'm in love business. Lets just forget about that and go to read something, watch some movies, live the hipster life I miss so much. I need that right now. Very mucho.

I've been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate,
A poet, a pawn and a king.
I've been up and down and over and out
And I know one thing:
Each time I find myself, flat on my face,
I pick myself up and get back in the race.

I don't know how to start this particular post.
I know what I want to get out, but I just can't.
I would like to disappear for a little while, or go back in time.
But it just gets me thinking about some philosopher-convo I recently had.
And it also, somehow a reply to your last post.
Everything in life, (even life itself) might be incredibly special, or incredibly random and unimportant.
If you seat and think about all the things that had to happen to get you into a specific situation or moment, you see all the small turning points of the story, how every single detail influenced somehow what you're doing.
Does that make life incredible amazing and special? Just imagine the wonderfulness of being here and that all those elements collided.
Or does that make life so incredible random, so unspecial because in a fraction of a second everything could've just changed?

I don't know what to think right now.
I just know I hadn't felt so overwhelmed in a long while.
I want the world to stop.

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about our shining wit and our passion for irony.
about people say I'm crazy doing what I'm doing,
and flying like paper and getting higher than planes.

There's something just wonderful about communication. The ability to let someone else know something you're thinking about. It makes me think about mirror neurons, language, consciousness, and that sort of things, but it also makes me think about art, about music.
The music referenced above obviously reminds me of you, Mr. Penguin (We made a film-Tom Milsom, Watching The Wheels-John Lennon and Paper Planes-M.I.A.)
Sometimes, I find myself über engaged to a lyric, and feeling there's no best way of describing what I'm feeling than that song, to the extent of which it actually becomes annoying for being such a cliché. But I stop caring as I fall asleep with my iPod.

That's one thing I wanted to put out there, the other thing, is about a conversation with our other very dear amiga y siempre compañera del desencanto. Referring to the graspability of reality, for us scientists it's all alright if the universe can actually be understood, but if it isn't, then what? She said something like: 'What if it isn't? maybe it's just like a huge canvas that we can just observe, admire, enjoy.' I answered something like, 'Maybe, but as scientists we also get to paint.' Ah, bring me some philosopher's cookies please! ( :D )
So, lets hope we can have some nice chat on that kitchen table of yours I miss so deeply.

Love.

You might remember this post: how?
It's was written last semester as I was in awe about my broken paradigms and new thought-trains.
Curiously enough, I left those thoughts resting for a while, and now they return with new teeth, to mess my head again. I don't need to tell you, my dear Penguin about all the details again, and I don't want to bore whoever is reading this with my career rants today. Perhaps next week I will. In summary you just have to add how? + Math: not for dummies . (we're always touching by underground wires, you said xD)

My point is: I have learned a lot about Systematics this year.
I encourage you to search in google images 'phylogenetic tree'. (I am not familiarized with how the order of the search results appear in google, but nevertheless...) the first result I get is this (lets call it 1), then a rather childish drawing I will decide to ignore. Then this (we'll call it 2), then 3 very similar others, and then this (3).
Sighs.
I would need some more information about how each one is constructed, but apparently, none of this is actually a phylogenetic tree. Sigh. I'm serious.
1 caught my mind today, and it's the one I do have information on, so we'll leave it to the end.
2 is (by drawing) a phenogram. (It's missing some important things but the drawing style is totally phenetic) A phenogram is built based on similarities or differences of organisms. From the phenetic school, developed in the 60's-70's mainly by Sneath and Sokal. It does not intend to reproduce evolutive history, it is an artificial criteria.
3. (same as 2, I would need more information but by drawing) it is a cladogram. From (guess..) the cladistics school, developed around the same time that phenetics, mainly by Hennig and De Rosa. It tries to be natural (although they have big internal debates on that) and it is based on homologous charaters.
1. It's a really really famous diagram proposed by Woese. He refers to it as a phylogenetic tree, but if you read Phylogenetic structure of the prokaryotic domain: The primary kingdoms. (Woese and Fox, 1977) you'll be disappointed to find as Table 1. A matrix of association coefficients, used to build... a phenogram. (which I repeat, he referred as a phylogenetic tree, and actually drew somehow as a cladogram, great.)

So, the closest thing we got to a phylogenetic tree is perhaps the childish drawing.

Phylogenetic trees are from the evolutionist school, developed in the 40's mainly by Mayr, Simpson and Huxley. They are interpreted and build in a whole different way from cladograms or phenograms. This would be more like a phylogenetic tree (though AGAIN we would have to see how was it built and all those details that go beyond the drawing)

By taking this class (Systematics I) I really expected to end up understaning how classifications are made (which I think is a complete mess), and to know the infallible method to reconstruct the evolutionary history, turns out: There isn't. Not even our beloved molecular methods (I had hopes on you molecular methods!) So we are left with evolutionism, phenetics and cladistics.

Now I'm looking forward to Biogeography, who would've thought?

You must remember this
A kiss is just a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh.
The fundamental things apply
As time goes by.

It is funny, how about two days ago I was reasonably angry, about your cowardliness and cruelty. Today I don't care that much. Today I don't even feel used by you. I feel as if you're just a friend I can talk to, never my lover, a kiss is just a kiss, I would say. Nevertheless, I feel the urge to listen to this music, this stupid love songs. It doesn't make sense. Maybe I want to be in love again. (I say again with confidence, I know I'm not in love at the moment) but it's the same damn feeling I had about a year ago. Which I regretted about 4 months after.
It's just like that that The Cure song:

It's Monday you can fall apart
Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart
Oh, Thursday doesn't even start
It's Friday I'm in love

It's just that, this time, I don't want to be in love with you.

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.

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.

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