Una carta para Colombia; acerca del coronavirus.

La aclamada novelista italiana Francesca Melandri, quien ha estado encerrada por casi 3 semanas a causa de la epidemia del Covid-19, ha escrito una carta a los europeos ‘desde su futuro’, describiendo el rango de emociones por el que la gente va a pasar en las próximas semanas. 

Una carta a Irlanda desde Italia.

Te escribo desde Italia, lo cual significa que te estoy escribiendo desde el futuro. Nosotros ahora estamos donde ustedes se encontraran en unos días. Los gráficosde la epidemia nos muestran a todos en un baile paralelo entrelazado. 

Nosotros solo estamos unos cuantos pasos delante de ustedes en el camino del tiempo, así como Wuhan solo estaba unas semanas más delante de nosotros. Nosotros los observamos cómo se comportan como nosotros lo hacíamos. Tienen los mismos argumentos que nosotros teníamos hasta hace un poco tiempo, entre los que dicen ‘es solo una gripa, ¿porque tanto cuento?’ y aquellos que ya comprendieron. 

Mientras los observamos desde aquí, desde su futuro, sabemos que muchos de ustedes, cuando les decían que se encerraran en sus casas, citaron a Orwell, e incluso a Hobbes. Pero pronto estarán muy ocupados para eso. 

Primero que todo, comerán. No solo porque si, será una de las pocas cosas que aún pueden hacer. 

Encontraran docenas de grupos en redes sociales con tutoriales de como pasar tu tiempo libre productivamente. Se inscribirán en todos, y luego los ignoraras completamente después de unos días. 

Sacaran literatura apocalíptica de sus estantes, pero pronto se darán cuenta de que no sienten ganas de leer nada. 

Comerán de nuevo. No dormirán bien. Se preguntaran que le sucede a nuestra democracia. 

Tendrán una vida social en línea que no para – en Messenger, WhatsApp, Skype, Zoom… 

Extrañaran a sus adultos mayores como nunca lo han hecho antes; el darse cuenta que no sabes cuando los volverás a ver te caerá como un golpe en el pecho. 

Viejos resentimiento y rencores parecerán irrelevantes. Llamaran a la gente con la cual habían jurado no volver a hablar nunca más, solo para preguntarles: “¿cómoestás?” 

Muchas mujeres serán golpeadas en su hogar.

Se preguntaran que le sucederán a todos los que no pueden quedarse en casa porque no tienen una. Se sentirán vulnerable cuando salgan de compras en calles vacías, especialmente si eres mujer. Se preguntaran si así es como se colapsan las sociedades. ¿Pasa tan rápidamente? Bloquearan esos pensamientos y cuando regresen a casa comerán otra vez. 

Se engordaran. Buscaran entrenamientos virtuales para hacer ejercicio. 

Se reirán. Se reirán bastante. Ostentaran un humor negro que nunca habían tenido. Hasta la gente que siempre se ha tomado todo seriamente contemplara la absurdidad de la vida, del universo y de todo. 

Harán citas en las filas de los supermercados con amigos y amantes, para poder verlos brevemente en persona, mientras siguen manteniendo las reglas de distanciamiento social. 

Contaran todas las cosas que no necesitan. 

La verdadera naturaleza de la gente alrededor suyo será revelada con total claridad. Tendrán confirmaciones y sorpresas. 

Literatos que han sido omnipresentes en las noticias desaparecerán, sus opiniones de repente serán irrelevantes; algunos se refugiaran en racionalizaciones a las cuales les carecerá tanta empatía que la gente dejara de escucharlos. La gente a la que han pasado por alto, en cambio, será reconfortante, generosa, confiable, pragmática y clarividente. 

Aquellos que te invitan a ver este desastre como una oportunidad para que el planeta se renueve ayudaran a colocar las cosas en una perspectiva más amplia. También se cansaran de ellos: chévere, el planeta respira mejor porque las emisiones de CO2 han disminuido, pero, ¿cómo vas a pagar las facturas del próximo mes?

No comprenderán si observar el nacimiento de un nuevo mundo es un asunto impresionante o miserable. 

Pondrán música desde sus ventanas y jardines. Cuando nos vieron cantando opera desde nuestros balcones, pensaron “ah, esos italianos”. Pero nosotros sabemos que ustedes se cantaran canciones para subir el ánimolos unos a otros. Y cuando toque I Will Survive desde sus ventanas, los miraremos y asentiremos así como la gente de Wuhan, quienes cantaron desde sus ventanas en febrero y asentían mientras nos observaban. 

Muchos de ustedes se acostaran a dormir jurando que lo primero que harán cuando se acabe el encierro es divorciarse. 

Nacerán muchos niños. 

Sus hijos recibirán clases por internet. Serán horribles molestias; te darán felicidad. 

La gente mayor los desobedecerá como jóvenes revoltosos: tendrán que pelear con ellos para poder prohibirles que salgan, para que no se infecten y mueran. 

Trataran de no pensar en las muertes solitarias en cuidados intensivos. 

Querrán cubrir de pétalos de rosas por donde caminan los empleados médicos. 

Les dirán que la sociedad está unida en un esfuerzo común, que todos están en el mismo barco. Sera cierto. Esta experiencia cambiara como te percibes a ti mismo como un individuo parte de un todo más grande. 

Sin embargo, la clase, marcara toda la diferencia. Estar encerrado en una casa con un hermoso jardín o en unedificio atiborrado no será lo mismo. Ni tampoco lo será el poder trabajar desde casa o ver desaparecer a tu trabajo. Ese barco en el que iras tratando de vencer a la epidemia no se verá igual para todo el mundo ni tampoco es el mismo para todos: nunca lo ha sido. 

En algún momento, se darán cuenta de que es duro. Tendrán miedo. Compartirán el miedo con la gente querida, o los mantendrán ocultos para no sobrecargarlos con ellos. 

Comerán de nuevo. 

Estamos en Italia, y esto es lo que sabemos de su futuro. Pero es predecir el futuro a pequeña escala. Somosvidentes de poca monta. 

Si miramos hacia el futuro más lejano, el futuro que es incierto tanto para ti y para nosotros también, solo podemos decirles esto: cuando todo esto termine, el mundo no será el mismo. 


Of an only child & parches postizos

Forgotten how to write…

It’s all so foreign
And I feel so lonely.

Misunderstood and constantly misrepresented.

Alone; just alone…

“Parches postizos” finally starts to make sense.

And I age,
Perspective changes…
And yet; it’s all the same.

Still this feeling,
This loneliness

This constantly having to explain myself, only to be ignored;
Misunderstood.

Taken as angry,
Taken as fighting,
Taken as a burden;

And being made to feel like nothing.

Invalidated; reduced to a simple chord.

Hard to not see it all as utterly pointless.


Blurred 

Dream haze, weird imagery, horrific snaps; still unable to see what’s real and what’s not.


Him in my mind

They don’t have to be voices, 

Reason tells me there can only be one

But then again, what sort of logic is that?
Jack defies logic.

He’s reason and control.

Chaos and destruction of the self.

He’s the dreamer,

The naive one,

The fool,

The madman,

The shy one,

The suicidal.
It’s just Jack.

Acting upon my darkest desires,

Taking risks,

Being as unpredictable, emotional and contradictory as I’ll ever be. 

He’s the voice at night that won’t shut up,

The one that keeps me awake at night.
He visits frequently when we ache

And inspiration comes back.
He fights for justice;

Though he couldn’t care less if you’d live or die.

Yet he’d die without you!

It’s me we don’t care about.


Of friends; or to whom it may concern

Thank you for all the substatuses and lovely messages about friendship and trust; go ahead and block me, like you did before.

You left me once and I lived; in fact you left me not only slowly dying; you left me for dead. Yet I lived without you and when hope was lost you weren’t there.

Luckily I wasn’t alone,
And you should thank those you hate the most.
I almost OD’ed but never again
and I’m only here thanks to them.

I know in time you will see this since you don’t have many friends, but don’t worry I’m not writing with anger, I won’t spit on your grave.

As a matter of fact I’ll be here with my arms open if you ever decide to come back again.


Remember, remember; remember the 7th

Beloved Marina:

I think I never mentioned I like to write, living in different cities is hard. There are a lot of things you don’t know about the other person, irrelevant things at the end of the day if there’s love in the way.

It’s been a hell of a long year without you. I’d no idea time would fly so fast, I know it does, I live it in my bones, but a year since you’re gone? how come?

I never thought I’d be so lost without you, that I’d shed so many tears, that I’d fall so many times in a whole year. Placing stones to stumble into the same places over and over, on purpose?.

Just afraid.

I still remember you in the hospital barely able to talk, asking me not to cry…the day you died. How was I to know I’d hide so far within I’d even stop knowing myself? How could I not cry?

Your departure was the climax of many lost things in a manner of weeks and days, how could I recover by myself?

The empty room at the cemetery and that face, those curls, I could imagine your voice filled with love asking me to go on. To be strong, as strong as you always were, even in that last instant before death took you away.

I do not believe in angels and I do not believe in God but if there’s an afterlife I’m sorry for the mess I turned myself into since you’ve been gone. I know that if you can see me then you’re the only reason I’m still alive and well, you were and in my mind still are the textbook definition of a perfect godmother, a real life angel while I had the joy of your company here on earth.

I look back at 2014 and all I can say is never again; I wish you were still here and that I hadn’t lost you then. It’s been a year today but it hurts just as much as it did that day, it hurts every time I come across anything that reminds me of you. It hurts to remember but I do not want to forget.

I long to always remember you; for you shaped many of my dreams and inspired the woman I am nowadays. Today I look forward to starting over again, in many different ways, to find myself again. I wish I had your guidance and your care. Your beautiful smile, your independence and lovely hair. A curly girl like myself. I’ll always carry you in my heart and mind. This ‘loquilla’ will always miss you and love you with the passion of a million burning suns, a passion only a little crazy girl, like you used to call me, could embody.


Friday

What’s a Friday under confinement when everyday is exactly the same?
What difference does it make if you can’t even find the strength to get out of bed?

What’s time if your eyes are shut and your mind is blank?
What’s time if is wasted in bed doing nothing for yourself?
What’s time anyway?

What’s writing sober if that’s how you’re supposed to edit?
What’s a shower if all you do is sleep?

What’s company locking yourself up in four walls?
Loneliness at its highest peak
Evasion, headaches and just plain boredom.

Self destruction is a choice of my own
just like sobering up is an achievement of my own.

Fuck the 12 steps and its higher spiritual power
No step has been followed
No spiritual gain has come.

Fuck a God that can not be felt, seen or heard
Fuck faith for its blindness and lack of sense
Fuck a God that clearly does not care.

It has all been done on my own
Alone
Another only child in this world.


Halloween 2014

I refuse to stop dressing up for Halloween, this year as a a dalek*, and more importantly I refuse to stop going trick or treating. I’m not too old. I’ll never be.

Photo on 31-10-14 at 22.44 Photo on 31-10-14 at 21.20 #2 Photo on 31-10-14 at 21.15 Photo on 31-10-14 at 18.2 Photo on 31-10-14 at 21.19 #3 DSC00058 DSC00050 DSC00040

*In case you have no idea what a dalek is and are too lazy to look: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dalek


13th Step: Phoenix

A phoenix, turned on; captivated
by self-created flames
but eventually burnt by said fire.

30 days have now passed;
I’m feeling, creating, writing, struggling,
crying, breathing, smiling, fighting.

Never giving up
and proudly rising from the ashes.

Not to leave behind an old and destructed self
but to make peace with it
and revive the flaming passion within.

IMG_20141020_184335_863


“Getting by, looking ahead, the day you die.”

Every single junkie friend or acquaintance or even dealer loves trainspotting. I make part of said list, though at the moment and hopefully permanently no longer a junkie. Don’t get me wrong, it is a great film. However what every junkie seems to ignore or forget is that Renton chooses life at the end; and it’s never too late to do so.

Getting by, looking ahead, the day you die

“The truth is that I’m a bad person. But, that’s gonna change – I’m going to change. This is the last of that sort of thing. Now I’m cleaning up and I’m moving on, going straight and choosing life. I’m looking forward to it already. I’m gonna be just like you. The job, the family, the fucking big television. The washing machine, the car, the compact disc and electric tin opener, good health, low cholesterol, dental insurance, mortgage, starter home, leisure wear, luggage, three piece suite, DIY, game shows, junk food, children, walks in the park, nine to five, good at golf, washing the car, choice of sweaters, family Christmas, indexed pension, tax exemption, clearing gutters, getting by, looking ahead, the day you die.” – Irvine Welsh


25 Now Instead of 16 & Viceversa

It’s day number sixteen
sixteen days of confinement.

The tree leaves barely move
as the heat on the pavement increases.
No shadows; just noon.

Cigarettes and pills are the daily diet
to try and combat the angst within.

Duloxetine, Mirtapax, Xanax,
Diazepam and Oxycodone.
24 hrs lived, a day at a time;
each divided by 4hrs doses of pseudo tranquility.

Sixteen days showing the age I was
When my nights, life, solitude
and anxiety weren’t tampered with substances
but with tears and blood dripping from every cut ever made.

Hundreds of them as I compulsively kept count of them.

A 25 yrs old regressed into her teens
since recreation became dependance
not just an escape and certainly no fun at all.

The wave of mosquitoes feed on intoxicated blood
as I mark away another day off a calendar
awaiting to gain my freedom, fresh air;
and control again.


My current status & fight: Trainspotting

“Once the pain goes away, that’s when the real battle starts. Depression. Boredom. You feel so fucking low.”

Once the pain goes away, that's when the real battle starts. Depression. Boredom. You feel so f***ing low


Asphyxiated 

Am I drowning?
Suffocating?

There’s always something missing
since I’m never enough.

No place left to go.
Confinement is the only option
Not only the “healthy” or “smart” choice
but the only one when it comes to survival.

Survival of the fittest?
More like survival of the cold hearted,
clear minded one.

Eight days so far
Some days feel like home
my room, two of my best friends.

Most days however, feel eternal,
Already rotten not merely decaying.

So alone, lonely then and lonelier now,
Surrounded by walls that seem to be coming in closer in
as time ticks away

Closing in on me to make sure I go nowhere.
Cause anywhere except here is “dangerous”
everywhere that’s not made of these four walls.

Anywhere where I can find substances
or means to escape not just from time
but from my own head.