¡Y qué pequeño que soy yo! Mayo 31, 2009
Posted by Closto in Existimationes, Littera, Themae personales.6 comments
Hoy tengo el corazón encogido. Me siento nimio e insignificante. Hace tiempo que creo que parte de mi vida se ha ido al traste. Mis ambiciones se vuelven preocupantemente moderadas, mis fuerzas se reducen a números de fácil manejo y mi motivación se ha quedado sin gasolina. Siento que hay un mundo fuera que me estoy perdiendo y que no tengo ni ganas de fuerzas de retomar el sano trabajo.
Me he dejado engañar por mí mismo y me veo arrastrado a una laguna en la que nadar es exquisitamente placentero pero perfectamente inútil, como diría Oscar Wilde. Hay un millón de trabajos, estudios y empresas que debería estar llevando a cabo pero he dejado que me drenaran las ganas de moverme y ahora sólo me queda un resquicio de aprendizaje y voluntad de conocimiento muy limitado y pasivo. Me he ido quedando vacío tan lentamente que para cuando me he dado cuenta, ya sólo soy una caricatura de lo que era. Mis inquietudes y mi labor se han perdido en el tiempo por culpa de la pereza y el desánimo y ahora estoy perdido en las aguas del placer absoluto y el lujo inmerecido.
La escena está pidiendo a gritos un mar de lágrimas pero yo soy incapaz de hacer nada porque he sido atado por mis propias cuerdas en mi propia caverna. Platón me ha atrapado incluso después de que yo anduviera jugueteando entre lo que creía que era la entrada a su cueva.
¡Ay, cómo añoro ahora mi juventud, en la que tenía a gente que me motivaba a seguir a delante! Creo que me he dejado atrapar en mi propia trampa y ahora no sé cómo salir de ella. Necesito esos estímulos que empujan a uno a hacer de la suya una vida de provecho. Ojalá tuviera la suerte de que pudiera volver a aprender de alguien, de sentirme ignorante y vulnerable. Necesito que alguien me guíe por la vida.
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Réquiem a mi vida.
Hoy me siento estúpido, humillado y diminuto. Bien lo define ese pequeño extracto de la famosa canción de Pastora Soler. He perdido la seriedad. Pero lo que más vergüenza me da, incluso más que yo mismo, es que mi propio corazón, y lo digo con la mano en el pecho, se me ha encogido y los latidos me dolían ligeramente, como cuando se le va la vida a alguien, al pensar en mi estupidez, en mi imbecilidad y en el lamentable estado en que he dejado mi vida, hecha trizas.
Tocados del ala Mayo 20, 2009
Posted by Closto in Existimationes, Homines, Littera, Themae personales.6 comments
No sé por qué a veces tengo tendencias masoquistas. Después de un duro día de trabajo intentando rasgar un aprobado en historia de la lengua, llego a casa y me pongo a oír hablar a un crío. No es ni mi hermano pequeño ni mi primo ni un cachorro de humano abandonado en una esquina, pero apesta más que todos ellos juntos.
Resulta que hay en el Perú un chaval de ocho años que ha recibido del Señor el regalo más grande que a día de hoy el todopoderoso se digna dar: la gilipollez. El pobre ha nacido en una sociedad estúpida e impositora a la que no le da más el cerebro y se resignan a aceptar la idea de que un tal Jesús murió y se fundió con su padre y una cosa que a veces parece una paloma con la mayor de las disposiciones. Hay que reconocer que se lo grabamos a fuego con persuasivas técnicas alrededor de 500 años atrás. No obstante, los muy idiotas se lo creyeron de verdad, y así está la cosa hoy.
Os voy a presentar un vídeo en el que el mismo chaval lo dice todo. No os asustéis por su manía por andar con el baile de San Vito, puesto que son cosas de la edad y de que no sabe ser serio (es un crío, el probín).
No ace falta que lo oigáis todo puesto que ya lo ha hecho vuestro amigo Closto por vosotros. Fijaos en que hasta os marco los mejores momentos. Empezamos por el minuto 1:23, en el que el chiquitín inconsciente blasfema en contra de Dios al decir que el Señor folla. Folla, y cómo folla el hombre. Puesto que para crear tanto hombre ha tenido que echar muchos polvos.
Es increíble cómo estos chavales son tan precoces. Este crío empezó a leer a los 3 años y a sus jóvenes 8, cuando la gente normal se dedica a aprender las líneas más generales de historia, lengua, matemáticas y esas cosas, él se pone a estudiar la Biblia (2:30). Yo me pregunto si este mocoso sabe algo del mundo y de la vida. Y ya no me atrevo ni a preguntar a sus padres si son gilipollas al leerle la Biblia en vez de cuentos, que para algo son para niños. Cuando los niños apenas saben hablar, contarles las aventuras de tipo que vivió hace 2000 años en un lugar tan alejado para ellos como Israel (o circundantes) que además habla como sus tatarabuelos es una irresponsabilidad. Y descartado queda que el niño sea un prodigio o un superdotado porque esa gente piensa. Es normal que los otros niños lo miren raro y crean que su madre lo parió a hostias.
Hacia el minuto 4:30 el chico dice algo que a mí me ha puesto los pelos de punta: dice que quiere ser presidente de Perú. Vale que Perú no valga mucho, vale que Perú no pinte mucho tampoco en el panorama internacional, vale que Perú no sea uno de los más prósperos ni mejores países del mundo, mas el mero hecho de que un enano que ya alberga en sí sentimientos tan terribles como los quemarca la religión quiera gobernar un país es algo que no se debería consentir. En los suburbios internacionales quizás si se permita que se hagan ese tipo de cosas deplorabales debido a su inteligencia limitada y su actitud relajada, pero sigue siendo algo que debe evitarse a toda costa.
El siguiente gran momento del crío empieza en el minuto 6, cuando relata su primer gran milagro (aunque milagro es que no lo dejen morir de hambre para ver si aprende). Lo más curioso, y es mucho más que su poder de manejar el clima, es que él predicaba con 3 años. Según él dice (7:02-7:08), estaba preicando en la sierra de Perú (vamos, hablar a aldeanos. ¿Qué no se van a creer ésos?), “hace cinco años atrás” (8-5=3, si me permiten recordarles). Sigo pensando qué hace un niño de tres años debajo de la lluvia en una sierra hablando de las maravillas de un hombre que, de no ser porque él todo lo puede, estaría hecho una mierda tras milenios (o una eternidad) sin comer ni beber ni cagar ni mear ni ducharse ni tener cremas para las arrugas. Señores padres, cuiden a sus criaturas, que luego es normal que salgan a ustedes. Y, niños, pensad bien en las mentiras que os preparáis porque luego la cagáis y caéis con todo el equipo.
Si habéis llegado hasta aquí (viendo el vídeo sobre todo), notaréis el cambio que pega el chico de cuando habla como una “persona normal” con el entrevistador a cuando se pone a predicar. Los que por normalidad mental no hayáis podido soportar este martirio, podéis ver cómo cambia hacia el minuto 8. Notad por favor su “confución” en su “ajpiración” a dar un buen discurso. Ese tono político, esa exageración en la pronunciación, esa precisión en el cambio de tono y esos exagradísimos ademanes dicen mucho de él, y no es en su favor, aunque a muchos (y a más entre ese pobre público chileno-peruano) se los meta en el bolsillo con su actuación del tres al cuarto. ¡Ay, cuánto mal hace la falsa inocencia de un diablo disfrazado de niño!
En fin, como el crío no se cansa, hay una segunda parte del vídeo que dura algo menos. Aunque siento estropear vuestra vista y oídos, aquí os dejo el vídeo:
Nada más empezar, el chavalito evidencia su chulería (“déjame temrinar”). No es una forma muy loable de darse a conocer a los que no tienen el tiempo que perder con sus estupideces. No obstante, ésa es la vida de un crío que se encierra en un cuarto que tiene en su casa con un libro que hace 500 años no se podía traducir.
A mediados del vídeo (2:15) el mocoso se pone a cantar una preciosa canción de un tipo que va a quemar una ciudad. El chistoso pirómano aconseja a sus hermanos a que se larguen como alma que lleva el Diablo. Benditos los cojos que no pasarán frío. Graciosa es la frase en la que dice “iglesia, camina”, como si esa institución eclesiástica pueda avanzar. Cuando los pensamientos de uno están anclados milenios atrás, ir hacia adelante es imposible. No en vano dicen que la iglesia que arde es la que más ilumina.
Para terminar esta serie de despropósitos en contra de los respetables sentidos (en algunos casos) del lector, me dispongo a poner un último vídeo en que, para variar, el famoso peruanito nos cuenta incluso algún que otro chiste:
Me hace mucha gracia que, sobre todo al principio, sus gestos triunfantes y sus gritos de colegiala parecen más sacados de un manga japonés que de una escena de la vida real de un pueblo que no anda precisamente a la cabeza de los calidad de vida. Asimismo, es muy gracioso que diga que (0:24) seamos la perfecta creación de Dios. Tan perfecta que no hay institución, tirano, rey, asesino ni dictador que haya matado más que la Iglesia (incluso casi más que todos ellos juntos). Tan perfecta que incluso lo ha parido (junto a varios más que se le parecen). Y todas esas risas se echa sin contar cuando pone gestos de rapero y se mea en la “evolusióóóóóóóóóóóóón” (corasóóóóóónnn, corasóóóóónnn).
Atentos también al chiste de los monos porque nos prepara con sus gestos a lo “I was robbed by two men” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jTFsjchAw8w) pero abriendo las piernas (2:15). Así que como los monos hacen monitos, parece ser que sólo existe esa férrea conexión, inquebrantable. Por eso no existieron ni dinosaurios ni existen ahora razas híbridas de animales e incluso de plantas. Por eso es tan gracioso el muy hijo de puta, porque habla como el aldeano que contaba chistes en “Noche de fiesta” todos los malditos sábados. Con éste no se podría llegar a saber nunca lo que fue primero, si la gallina o el huevo.
En fin, muchas cosas más se podrían decir de esta pequeña sanguijuela a la que le han comido el cerebro y que se lo comerá, como si de un zombi se tratare, a mucha más gente para que esas chorradas que suelta como perlas se queden enganchadas en la mente de todos ellos y así puedan propagar su sucia doctrina, que choca con todas las doctrinas del mundo y se proclama vencedora por la gracia de Dios en contra de su voto de humildad y el pecado de soberbia.
Pero, pongámonos serios por un momento. ¿Alguien le ha enseñado a este crío lo que fue la Edad Media en Europa? Claro, América pasó directamente al Renacimiento sin tener que sufrir las guerras por interés, los matrimonios de conveniencia (bueno, eso sí se conoce), las Cruzadas, la Inquisición, la Reconquista, la corrupción eclesiástica (eso también se conoce), el secretismo en el arte de la escritura para llevar un pequeño foco de luz a través del tiempo… El día que alguien le enseñe cómo se vive dominado por ea estupenda doctrina, el día que se divierta viendo cómo dos tíos se pegan con un largo trozo de madera montados a caballo, el día que vea guerras en las que hay más sangre que contaminación radiactiva y el día que se queme a medio mundo por cosas que ni una décima parte ha hecho, entonces quizás se dará cuenta de lo que supone tener que seguir a un grupo de iluminados que viven de puta madre sin prestar atención ni a sus votos ni a sus obligaciones ni a la razón incluso para las cuestiones más nimias (como el llevar la cultura y la educación a todos y no a los que son tan o más interesados que ellos). Bueno, me equivoco, porque él sería uno de ellos, y sólo los imbéciles y los gilipollas que lo vitorean y aclaman acabarían callándose los loores. Bueno, tampoco, porque siempre serán tan imbéciles y gilipollas como ahora lo son.
Y una verdad sí que hay aquí: Dios existe y da clases de fonética, gramática e historia (entre otras) en mi universidad (y tiene una mesías y todo).
P.S.: Sé que mi crítica es pésima y mi léxico paupérrimo, mas en mi defensa diré que hace mucho que no escribo, que hoy estoy agotado y que es muy tarde para publicar nada. Gracias por leer y comentar de todos modos.
Jonathan Harker’s secret diary notes Mayo 14, 2009
Posted by Closto in Artes, Fabulae, Libri, Littera, Themae personales, Universitas.2 comments
He aquí una historia corta que voy a entregar mañana para mi clase de “Inglés para fines específicos”. A ver qué os parece. Se agradecerán los comentarios y opiniones.
Bueno, aquí os va:
3 May. It was on the dark side of twilight when we got to Bistritz, which is a very interesting old place. Being practically on the frontier -for the Borgo Pass leads from it to Bukovina- it has had a very stormy existance, and it certainly shows marks of it [...]. Count Dracula had directed me to go to the Golden Krone Hotel, which I found, to my delight, to be thoroughly old-fashioned, for of course I wanted to see all I could of the ways of the country. I was evidently expected, for when I got near the door I faced a cheery-looking elderly woman in the usual peasant dress1.
I felt strange since the very moment I stepped in. It was the kind of feeling I would have the rest of my journey to Count Dracula’s place. Even when I was shown my room, I felt as though someone was spying me.
I left my package beside the bed and looked at the window. The night had already come and it seemed it was going to be very thick. I sat on the bed and explored the room with my sight. There was a big wardrobe made of dark, ebony wood, perhaps thought for customers spending many days in the Carpathians to leave their clothes. There were also a couple of bedside tables with one drawer each. I tried to open them but one of them was stuck or locked, and I could not but giving up trying.
After drinking some water I brought with me, I slowly prepared to sleep. I took off my clothes and lay down into the bed. Although the window was closed, I felt extremly cold. An ignorant person would have probably said it was due to ghosts hovering about the place. What a silly assumption! It must be becasue of the Carpathians and the rough forests all around that land.
I speant quite a long time trying to get to sleep, but all effort was useless. I got up and looked out of the window again hopelessly trying to find some trace of life or human activity, but there was no evidence of it. I turned back and sighted. I started to feel overweighted by my situation and so suffocated. I thought of me as being a rat trapped in a tiny cage with nowhere to go, completly unaware of what is going on outside that cage. I think I ran about for a little while before falling over to the ground. I am not sure of how much time it took me to recover and stand up. I was utterly confused. I tried to remember what had happened so far and I decided that I was at some point in the dead of the night.
I don’t know why, but when I stood up and calmed down, I slowly took my clothes and dressed up. Then I left the room and headed towards the hotel entrance. I was convinced that I desperately needed to walk for a while, regardless of the cold and the snow outside. If Mina had been there, I’m sure she would have known what to do to comfort and relieve me.
The night was colder than I expected so I was forced to go for another robe to cover and protect myself. As I was fighting my way up to the room agains the extreme cold, I heard a strnage noise coming from a big room beyond the reception hall. A fleeting wish to take a look crossed my mind, but it was immediately rejected due to my sudden impossibility to move stealthily nor to behave in a natural and proper way.
No sooner had I entered my room, I fetched a robe and a large hat to protect against the freezing cold. Had I thought carefully about it, I would have felt shocked at my own insane decisions and behaviour. Still, I kept on with my plan of going out to the weather’s freezing rage. I only hoped that stupid walk would tire me enough to be able to get to sleep as soon as possible.
I could still hear some strenge noieses as I went back to the entrance hall, but I paid them no heed, for I imagined there were some people prepairing everything for the next day. I crossed the hall and opened the door. The night seemed calmer than before: the wind didn’t blow violently, no more snow fell from the skies above and the trees no longer whispered their fatal tune. “The sooner I start, the sooner I’ll finish”, I said to myself and started moving.
I was walking very slowly due to the snow on the ground and the cold within my body, though I knew I ought to go faster. Ten minutes after my paarting from the hotel, I realized that idea was the stupidest thing I had ever carried out. I blamed myself and decided to go back, but my footprints disappeared as I walked on as though a hellish and dark power was cast to curse me. I couldn’t even remember the way back for I had all my sensed and inner strengh working to hold up to the cold. Besides, I was just looking to the ground instead of trying to enjoy the limited sight of the city at night. I silently cursed Romania, Bistritz, Transilvania and the very Count.
After some hasty musing over what I ought to do next, I decided to try to go back and see where I got to end up. I turned back and started walking, willing to reach the hotel again. The streets seemed all the same to me, and the forest beside the town seemed to be always very cose to where I was standing. I have been surprised at it since I came to the town, for that feeling of closeness was present within me even before reaching that place.
I walked for a while without seeing any clues as for where the hotel was. To make things worse, the town seemed to be totally abandoned, for no man was outside carrying out so fool a plan as mine and no light could be seen coming from any kitchen nor bedroom. I thought it too bold to shout for help or knock at a door to ask for some directions, so I just sticked to my obstinate stupidity of making the back to the hotel on my own.
I began hearing strange sounds soon after thinking of knocking at some doors. By that time, I was already crawling on the ground’s face, like an inscet -me, part of the decent human race-, lost in time and lost in space -and in meaning. I thought I heard dogs barking, but I soon realized it was the wolves who were howling. The chill had penetrated on me so badly that I was not able to hold any feeling of fear nor any desire for running away. I thought all was lost, and I gave up. I sensed the wolves stepping close to me and I silently allowed them to drag me. “Here I come, Hector”, I said to myself.
Soon, they dropped my clothes from their sharp teeth and left me alone on the snow. I dared not move nor open my eyes in order not to see their devilish faces as they chopped my poor, sinner body into a million pieces. I sang a couple of prayers before I was devoured and when I finised I came to terms with the fact I was destined to perish among hundreds of bites of wild dogs. “What a pitiful death you’re going to die, Mr. Wisdom!”, I scolded myself. But as no tooth cleaved into my body and no bite broke apart any piece of me, I eventually decided to open my eyes slowly, still fearful of a sudden attack. Nothing surrounded me. No wolves, no teeth, no dogs, no anything. Darkness there, and nothing more. To my own surprise, I was disappointed. Was it all something I had imagined? Were the howls real? Was I cursed or had it been real? I was confused and angry, and all I wanted to do was to cry. There was no sleep for me, and apparently no relieve or hope for sanity for me. “Mina!”, I cried out, hoping the night would herald my desperate shout to her. But there was no answer.
I stood up and realized I was in front of the hotel’s entrance. The wind had already started to blow with great strengh and I went in quickly. I sat on the nearest chair and put my hands upon my face as though I was a despicable, poor devil crying in the street. I pitied myself. It was so very embarrasing I really wanted to die.
Soon, another strange noise like those I had heard before leaving the hotel aroused me from my sorry thoughts. As I was not sleepy yet and I didn’t care about anything that could happen, I moved towards the source. I knew I was being too bold, but somehow I didn’t feel remorse. What could be going on? I opened a door that lead to a corridor. A red light came out through the frame of the door on the other side of the corridor. No sooner had I touched the handlebars, the door opened and I was pulled inside the red room.
I found myself kneeled for third time that night. What I saw there shocked me more than anything I had ever seen before (Mem., hide these diary pages from Mina). The room was flooded with lust. There were some people touching and undressing each other in couples or trioes. I crawled back in amazement trying to find the passage back to the place I was before, but it was too late. I saw the woman that received me completly dressed in black locking the door and hiding the key between her breasts. It was such a disgusting scene that I covered my face again with my hands. I crawled to a corner like a child and tried to escape the horrible vision, but it was useless; the old woman came to me and ordered two young and strong men to lift me up. I wouldn’t make it an easy task, but I was not too much of a problem for the youths. The audience laughed for a moment and immediatetly went back to their sinful actions.
I was brought to another corner in which I was asked to sit. The two men would assure I obeyed, so I had no other option. I was offered a cup of slivovitz as one of my guardians help me clean my face of sweat. I was so nervous I drank the brandy right away. Then I was offered another glass and a third one after the latter. I was drunk soon after I entered that hellish room. At some point between my second arrival to the hotel and the morrow, I became part of the orgy. I did not mind at all those heretic lesbians kissing each other, nor the despisable sons of Sade, nor the condemned sodomites doing unnamble things to each other.
Had I perchance touched or kissed another boy, I don’t know. What I am sure of is the old lady introducing me to a young girl with red cheeks decently dressed. I was convinced to pay for her company while she kept me offering spirits. I feel extremly embarrased to admit I rejected none. The old woman marvelled at my enthusiasm in touching the maiden. I started groping one of her breasts from behind her. I kissed her neck and drank almost at the same time. I handled her easily. I didn’t mind the woman in black looking at us and cheering the girl to take an active part. I had fallen into complete perdition. I would have no chance for redemption, but I did not care at all.
I ignore the amount of time I spent in that whirl of lust and sex, but it seemed to me as though it was eternal. My mind was out of control and I felt completly dizzy. I was drunk and I was excited.
4 May. Suddenly, I straightened up on the bed. I was sweating and I could barely breathe. It was all dark in my room. Eagerly I wished the morrow. I stood up and drew the curtains. I could see the sun starting to rise from behind the Carpathians. “Horray! Hallelujah!”, I said to myself. I rushed back to the bed and curled up. I was afraid everything I had seen was true. It was all so real.
When the sunlight came into the room I stood up again and dressed up. I dared not go out and meet the old woman, the young men nor anybody in the room. I sweared not to look behind the door that lead to the corridor just in case I found out everything was true. Once I was prepaired, I went out of the room.
The day was bright and sunny, and everything looked normal. I talked to the old woman and inspected the hall looking for traces I might had left the day before but found none. When I asked whether anybody heard strange noises the previous night, everyone looked surprised and asked why would I ask so. It seemed my mind had made it all up. But I remembered I had sworn and cursed, sinned and fornicated. And there was also that mysterious picture I had not seen the previous day in the hall. There were two men and two women depicted there. The man was paying a procuress for a beauty maiden as he was touching one of her breasts. The other man seemed to look at me directly, as though he could move his eyes in order to look at me wherever I moved to. He had a hair-raising smile upon his face. The old woman said the picture had been there ever since she could recall.
I decided to forget it all. My coming to Romania had not been very cheering but I had some business there. I planned to get in touch with Count Dracula and leave as soon as possible. Remaining there was the last thing I would desire. Thus, I have also decided to burn these pages so no one will ever read them. Instead, I shall repent and confess in the very frist shrine I see and write a natural version of what has occurred to me these days.
Oh, Mina, forgive me.
I found that my landlord had got a letter from the Count, directing him to secure the best place on the coach for me; but on marking inquiries as to details he seemed somewhat reticent, and pretended that he could not understand my German. This could not be true, because up to then he had understood it perfectly; at least, he answered as if he did. He and his wife, the old lady who had received me, looked at each other in a frightened sort of way2.
I knew something fishy was going on in that place and decided not to delay my departure any further.
1Stoker, Bram: Dracula, page 3, Courier Dover Publications, 2000.
2Stoker, Bram: Dracula, page 3, Courier Dover Publications, 2000.
En este blog se adora a Yoshi.
Bando por la Liberación Gay.