WRITTEN. This kind of morning.

This quiet kind of morning. Wet streets, green shadows, grey light. This kind of June breathe. The silence. The timelessness. Your soft breathing sounds. You, sleeping over the couch. Our living room. Nothingness.
This kind of Monday. Rainy Sunday, yesterday. The time has stopped. The outside world, disappeared. You and me. And nothingness.
The atmosphere that I have dreamed when I decided to bring you to this world. 
You, my piece of cotton. Sometimes I still don't believe you are real. I forget you transformed me into a mother. I look at you and wonder if it was truly me the one who did it. I made you. I brought you. Now, I look after you.

The last days were happy but full. Grandpa was here, aunt and uncle too... They came from far away to see you. A lot of walks through the neighborhood. A lot of sound from the city entering through your ears. You were always kind and quiet. Being peaceful in the arms of others. Being the cute little cloud they came to meet. 
But it made you tired, I know. You were exhausted and you let me know. In the night it was getting harder to fall asleep. Therefore, today we do nothing. Yesterday we did nothing. Because you deserve the silence. You deserve the emptiness. You deserve the sound of the rain falling, making you relaxed. You deserve the Sunday and the Monday so you can sleep and dream and float while papa and me watch you to exist.

It is what I want. This kind of life. 

.PERSONAL. To be pregnant: The Greatest Condition.

Someone asked me to write about how I feel with the pregnancy. I would like to say: Oh! I try to not think so much about it and to let it happen casually and naturally, as the rest of things in life. But... the truth is that I think about it a lot. 

To be pregnant is a truly peculiar experience. Pregnancy is a long period and you go trough lots of different feelings, sensations and experiences that mutate every day since the first one you noticed you are pregnant.  
At the beginning it is more of an idea than a sensation. And if there is some sensation it would probably be sickness. The awareness of the situation grows as the baby grows inside of you. At the fifth month it starts to be a physical reality: you get to feel it inside. Then you can experience how it moves and realize that it's something independent from your body. When this happens is when you become aware of the potential of your organism and probable you are shocked too by its capability. That's the amazing part of the process. You feel powerful and your satisfaction is immense. 
Until here everything is juts perfect. But, like always in life, there is another side of the coin: the darker one. You are carrying an enormous responsibility. You are the keeper of the life you are creating. That's something everybody is reminding you continuously. You see yourself in the obligation to become the best version of yourself you can be. There is no excuse anymore to not have a healthy lifestyle. Because, you know? It's not only about you, lady. In fact, it is not longer about you but about what you are growing inside. So you have three options here: You become this ideal version of yourself, or you lie about your habits or you get used to be continuously judged by others (specially by those who didn't go trough it). For sure, forget about smoking, about drinking alcohol, about eating junk food. Forget too about too much sugar, too much salt, too much caffein... Forget about being too lazy or too active. Do not take any risk! Forget about things you never thought about before in your whole life. In other words: become ascetic. The people who love you (and, as a extension of yourself, the child you are bringing) can get really, really tense. Especially when some medical complication happens, even if it's a tiny one. You get tense too and even pissed off with your body to not be good enough for the task you are realizing. Even if you know that there are certain things that are out of your control and that you aren't guilty of them, you get mad. 

In my case the problem was that my cervix was getting shorter. The little one inside of me was getting ready to go out way too early to be able to survive. To avoid an early birth I had to be lying on the bed as much time as possible. But the process is actually hormonal so I saw myself in the situation of renouncing to the last enjoyable activity I had left: sex. The oxytocin is the hormone that your body liberates when you have an orgasm but it's also the hormone that promotes the birth. The orgasm relaxes the muscle (cervix) that holds the baby inside the womb too. Therefore my last and healthier pleasure was also censured. To not be able to have sex is probably the hardest think to remove from my daily life. Orgasms keep me relaxed, satisfied and connected to my body. Sex keeps me fit and connected to my partner. To not have sex increased the tension inside of me and between me and Manfred too. 
This whole "medical complication" thing has been going on for the last weeks together with moving from our apartment and to another city. Manfred started a new job.... Lots of things! Now you can imagine why my blog has been a bit abandoned lately. Happily we are kind of established now. My cervix is stable and not getting shorter but I am still afraid to have sex. Now I am in my 31st week (perhaps already in the 32st) and I am in a mix of being tense, bored and horny. I look myself in the mirror and I feel proud. I cannot believe I actually manage to quit so many of my habits. I can't believe that it's being easier than I ever could imagine either. What is less easy is to make a conclusion about all things I am talking about. Oh! Pregnancy, what a complicated thing! And yet, it is the purpose of our life as human-animals on Earth.

To be pregnant is really nice. To feel the human moving inside of you is magical. But still, it isn't an easy experience. With all this fears and limitations it would be unfair to say that being pregnant is the best experience to go through. But somehow, people tend to say it. So let me make something clear: if you get pregnant for the first time do not let people overwhelm you with sweet clichés. It's actually difficult. It can be heavy, it can be uncomfortable and it can be very distressing. Not only for the mother but for the father too. To be pregnant is to feel responsibility in the most intense way. Somehow you come to think that you aren't free anymore. On the other side, to be pregnant is really empowering. So the question I ask to myself is: What of both things I really want, freedom or power? In my opinion you can't have both. The idea of total freedom is a misconception, I believe. Also, power always implies responsibility. So if you want to feel the greatest condition in your own skin do not be afraid of power. Yeah! This is what it is: Pregnancy is The Greatest Condition. 

.THOUGHT. The matter is what matters

I am sex, frustration and love.

I am flowers, shadows and smoke.

I am flesh, hair and blood.

Moles, pickles and holes.

Eyes, hands, vagina and nose.

I'm the things I've accumulated and the things that I've wasted.

I'm hairs in the bathroom and crushed mosquitoes on the wall.

I'm the feces I expel and the orgasms I have given.

I'm ashes in the ashtray, dirty panties and broken glass.

I'm images on the internet, a lot of papers, a lot of words.
I'm the memory of others. I'm a ghost.

I am nothing, just broken thoughts.
I'm only flesh that will slowly rot.

You must know that you are this too...

So I advise you:

Enjoy your matter while it still can carry your soul.

.WRITTEN. Mother of Hedonism

 Llaman a la puerta. Son ellos: los adolescentes. Entran, me abrazan, me adulan y escogen un buen lugar en el sofá. Suelen venir por aquí a visitarme y lo pasamos bien juntos. Bebemos té, también cerveza y vino. Fumamos tabaco y flores. 

 Aquí no hay limitaciones, ni tabúes ni protocolo; aquí ellos pueden ser ellos mismos. Yo les dejo estar, ser y parecer todo lo que les apetezca. ¡Que interpreten el teatro de sus vidas! Es así como ellos despliegan toda su belleza y esplendor. De sus jóvenes bocas surgen sus pensamientos, inquietudes y sueños. Se ríen y se sonrojan. Juegan, tontean y se tocan. La sangre fluye rápido porque es primavera.

 Yo, mientras tanto, estoy sentada aparte. Disfruto observándoles, deslumbrándome con el brillo de sus ojos, admirando sus dientes y sus cabellos. Son como querubines revoloteando en el paraíso. Las horas se van enredando con la música y pasan desapercibidas. De pronto recuerdan que el tiempo existe y se levantan apresurados aclamando el mensaje del reloj. Cuando se van, son efímeros como el vuelo de una mariposa pero ruidosos como una marcha militar: ¡Pompa y circunstancia! Mientras recogen sus cosas ríen, saltan y gesticulan. Cargados con sus bártulos me abrazan, me agradecen la hospitalidad y desaparecen.

 Yo me quedo sola con los vasos sucios y los restos del vino. Como si me hubiera caído de golpe del árbol de la manzana. Descubierta ante la soledad, me acomodo en mi sillón con la copa en una mano y el bolígrafo en la otra. Abro mi cuaderno y me pongo a escribir: escribo sobre los ángeles que vienen a mi casa. Escribo sobre su juventud, tu ternura y su picardía. Y entonces me siento ama de llaves de la frivolidad y la alegría.

Me siento madre del Hedonismo.

Somebody is knocking the door. It's the teenagers. They enter, hug me and adulate me. In the living room they choose a good place on the sofa. They often come by and we have fun together. We drink tee; beer and wine too. We smoke tobacco and flowers. 

 Here there are no limitations, neither taboos nor protocol. They can just be themselves. They can be, stay and look like as much as they want to. In my mind I say "Make the theatre of your lives for me!" Like this, they spread all their beauty and splendour. From their young mouth emerge their thoughts, worries and dreams. They laugh and get blushed. They play, flirt and touch each other.

 Meanwhile, I'm sitting apart: I enjoy observing them, being dazzled by the shine of their eyes, admiring their teeth and hair. They are like cherubs flying around inside the paradise. The hours get tangled with the music and go away with us not noticing it. Suddenly, they remember that time exists so they stand up claiming the clock message. When they are leaving they are ephemeral like a butterfly but noisy like a soldiers march: Pomp and Circumstance! They laugh, jump and gesticulate while they pick up their things. Charged to the top they hug me, thank me for the hospitality and disappear.

 I stay alone with the rest of wine and dirty glasses as if I just dropped down from the apple tree. Facing the loneliness I make my self comfortable in the chair with a wine glass in one hand and a pen in the another hand. I open my notebook and I write about angels. I write about their youth, their tenderness and their slyness. Then I feel the key owner of frivolity and joy. I feel as the mother of Hedonism. 

Self portrait by me. ;)

.WRITTEN.

Dime

¿Cuántas personas mueren cada día?¿Cuántas están naciendo este momento?

¿Cuántas hormigas están siendo aplastadas por un zapato y cuántas larvas salen de una vaina de judía?¿Cuánta fruta se pudre y cuántos capullos florecen?
Dime!

¿Cuántos niños lloran y cuántos adultos ríen? 

Dime, en este segundo, cuántas cosas están pasando que no puedo sentir. Cuántas cosas que no pensaré ni puedo experimentar.

Dime, ¿No puede mi existencia ser partícipe de todo? ¿Tengo que vivir ignorando a la totalidad del mundo?

¿Es esa tu respuesta? ¿Es la única forma de vivir? ¿Vivir y no volverse loco?

Tú no tienes piedad. No?     Tú no existes. No?

Tú estás. Tú estás ahí. Yo lo sé. Todos lo sabemos.

Pero no hablas, ni sientes, ni piensas.

Tú solo estás ahí y empujas. 

Empujas la vida y empujas la muerte. 

Ellos caen y se levantan. Caen y se levantan. Y tu empujas. 

Tú, dueño del movimiento empujas el tiempo.

Y tú me empujas. Me empujas aunque yo haga esfuerzos por permanecer aquí.

Tú eres más fuerte, más grande, más largo. Inmenso. Infinito.

Y yo caigo hacia adelante y ya todo ha cambiado. Ya no soy como antes. Todo es otra cosa.

Tú, creador. Yo pregunto. No contestas.

Me empujas hacia delante y ya no tengo tiempo para preguntarte. 

Despiadado.

Y así todos se mueven. Empujados, cayendo hacia delante al movimiento.

A la vida y a la muerte. Continuamente, hasta siempre.

Continuando interminablemente.

(Chopin. Preludio en re bemol mayor Op.28 n°15. Gota de lluvia)

Tell me

How many people die every day? How many are being born right now?
How many ants are being crushed by a shoe? How many larvae are hatching from a bean pod?
How much fruit is rotting and how many buds are flowering?
Tell me!
How many adults are laughing and how many children are crying?
Tell me how many things are happening in this second that I cannot feel. How many things that I will never think and I will never experience.
Tell me, can't my experience be part of everything? Do I have to live ignoring the entire world?
Is that your answer? Is it the only way to live? To live and to not go crazy?

You have no mercy. Have you?     You don't exist. Do you? 

You are. You are there. I know it. We all know it.
But you don't speak or feel, or think.
You are just there and you push.
You push life and death.
They fall and rise. Fall and rise. And you push them.
You are the owner of the movement, you push the time.
And you push me. You push me even if I do efforts to remain here.
You are stronger, bigger, longer. Immense. Infinite.
And I fall forward and everything has changed. I'm not like before. Everything is something else.
You are the creator. I ask you. You do not answer me.
You push me forward and I don't have time to ask you anymore.
Merciless.
So they all move. Pushed, falling forward into the movement.
To life and death. Continuously, for ever.
Continuing endlessly. 

.WRITTEN.

  Envejecen las cosas: las personas, los lugares, las ideas, las sensaciones, los recuerdos... Se mueren lentamente desintegrándose en silencio. Lo hacen tan pacíficamente a lo largo de los años que un día desaparecen y tu en algún momento de súbita conciencia lo ves. Tu egocéntrico y joven espíritu se da cuenta de que las cosas que ahí estaban ya no están. El pasado ha sido tan discreto al desvanecerse que ni lo has sentido.
  De pronto, en ese instante de claridad, cuando has descubierto el vacío, sientes un dolor repentino y profundo llamado nostalgia. Nostalgia si, y no tristeza. Porque sabes de sobra que el pasado no se puede retener o reproducir. Pero este razonamiento no aminora el dolor. Tu pensamiento se emborracha de melancolía, te dejas llevar por su sabor agridulce, por su efecto somnífero. Las lágrimas calientan la cabeza y se te hincha la nariz. Es como una droga.
  Me quedaré aquí pensando en el pasado, en mis veranos en el norte, en mis ingenuos enamoramientos de cuando era niña, en los viejos que envejecen y son olvidados, en el mundo que era estable y ahora se ha esparcido en mil pedazos... Pensaré en ellos para que no se esfumen del todo. Pensaré en ellos antes de que desaparezcan, antes de que mire de nuevo y ya solo haya vacío. Les mantendré vivos en mi memoria, porque al fin y al cabo eso es estar vivo. Existes mientras que alguien siga pensando en ti, lo contrario es formar parte del olvido.
  ¡¡¡Recuérdame!!! gritó.
  ¡¡¡Recuérdanos!!! gritaban.
  ¡¡¡Recuérdate!!! grité.
 Piensa en mi, ¿Piensas en mi? 
Mantenme vivo, no me borres.
Te describiré y permanecerás.

 The things become old: people, places, ideas, sensations, memories… They die slowly, disintegrating in silence. They do it so peacefully over the years that one day they disappear and you see it in a moment of sudden awareness. Your egocentric and young spirit realize that the things which were there, they are not anymore. The past has been so discreetly fading that you didn't feel it.

 Suddenly, in this clear instant, when you discover the emptiness, you feel a deep pain called nostalgia. Nostalgia itself and not sadness. Because you know full well that the past can not be hold or replicated. But this reasoning doesn't lessen the pain. Your thinking gets drunk with melancholy. You let yourself go for its bittersweet taste, for its soporific effect. Tears warm your head and your nose becomes swollen. It is like a drug.

  I'll stay here thinking about the past: in my summers in the north, in my naive crushes as a child, in the old humans who get older and forgotten, in the world that was stable and now has spread into pieces… I'll think about them so they don't vanish completely. I'll think about them before they disappear, before I look back and I just found emptiness. I will keep them alive in my memory, because after all this means to be alive. You exist while someone is still thinking of you. The opposite is to be part of the oblivion.

  Remember me!!! he shouted.

  Remind us!!! they were shouting.

  Remind you!!! I shouted.

Think of me, Do you think about me?

Keep me alive, don't delete me.

I'll write about you and you will remain.

.PERSONAL. La patria agradecida...y yo orgulloso

 Mi abuelo, que en paz descanse, era facha y un poco cabrón. Pero tenía un toque punki que siempre me gustó. Solía pasear con el perro desde la calle Santa Engracia* hasta los jardines de Nuevos Ministerios*. Allí robaba rosas para la mesa camilla o para el estante con virgencitas de porcelana del salón. Pretendía ser el español más políticamente correcto, y sin embargo, ningún tipo de norma o convención social cohibía cumplir su deseo de flores gratuitas en casa.
 Aquí le hago un homenaje, aunque la rosa no la he podido robar en Nuevos Ministerios.

 My grandfather, who rests in peace, was a fascist and a little bit asshole. But he had a punk style that I always liked. He used to walk with his dog from Santa Engracia street* to the gardens of Nuevos Ministerios*. He stole there roses for the round table or the shelf with porcelain virgins in the living room. My grandfather claimed to be the most politically correct Spanish, and yet, any kind of rule or social convention took away his wish to free flowers at home.
 Here I do a tribute to him, although I could not steal the rose in Nuevos Ministerios.

* Santa Engracia street and The New Ministries are in Madrid city.

.ATMOSPHERE. Dionysos & Eufrosine

 Las antigüas deidades griegas han regresado al mundo terrenal para recordarnos lo que sociedades modernas han restringido. Vienen a mostrarnos el disfrute, el continuo placer. A invitarnos a excitar nuestros sentidos y olvidar el dolor.
 El placer no es malo en si, solo los medios para lograrlo. El hedonismo es una forma de vida.

 The ancient Greek deities have returned to the earthly world to remind us what modern societies have restricted. They come to show us enjoyment, continuous pleasure. To invite us to excite our senses and forget the pain.
 Pleasure is not bad in itself, only the ways to achieve it. The hedonism is a lifestyle.