Goodbye Note to the first Quarter of Life.
I close the last book I will ever read. That kind of book that becomes a personal bestseller; the one you’ve read at least once a year. The kind of book that never lacks of curiosity; every page full of emotions, knowledge, even disappointment. Every chapter detonating a new beginning. A new ending that you never knew would happen, but as you keep reading you understand it’s presence.
I close the last book I will ever read. Paragraphs enriched with instants and instants captured in words. Words of contrasted emotions telling tales of innocence and growth; words that protect the hopes and dreams of a child-like mind. Words that celebrate friendship and success and even words that defy the core of our long-lived fears. A whole life traped between periods and commas.
I close the last book I will ever read… And I open the first I will ever write. A whole new life awaiting to be lived, and I stand at the edge, waiting to give the first step, but not before expressing my gratitude to life itself.
**Let this be to a whole two decades of magic, dreams, love, growth, moments. Just amazing Moments!. This is a good quarter time to thank family, friends, strangers, teachers, clowns, haters, artists, lovers and just the whole bunch of names that filled my life so deeply with happiness.
Nostalgia is a blurred familiar face sitting on the elderly, almost dutch blue bench of a rotten rowboat. The water sneaking through a tiny hole that sprung a flawless leak, calmness all around, nothing else below the moonlight seems to move, not even the water reflecting the solid surface above it. A humble cry yearning time.
The motionless figure on the skiff daydreams, while the blueberry twilight paralyzes the sounds. Silence screams the truth. If time refuses to come back, the man, for sure will despise life itself. His childlike face illustrates agony in the air. Such lullaby won’t cure the wounds caused by long gone moments.
In a hopeless act of comfort, the lean silhouette grabs the delicate oars and impulses himself somewhere shallow. The boat refuses to respond to the weak initiative. Instead the wood box takes the man far away, where the sky meets the surface. In an unexplainable moment the boat hits a plain wall, the smell of fresh paint invades the mood. A confused man stands between solid walls and treacherous waters. There’s no way out, the ocean enclosed in a room and life enclosed in reminiscence.
U AND I TED
I care about myself…. I lie whenever I try to convince myself that I do things for others, or that I care for other people. If any kind of situation gets on the way the only thing I care about first is Me. But being this empty and superficial has it’s own rewards, and that is of growth.
Lately, the world is tearing apart, acting out of hand and every minute we get closer to that “point”. A point of raw indifference; the worst of human sickness. We are so sure of ourselves that everything else is just scenery illustrating our lives; we don’t care where it comes from or how it happened, but its there!, making our lives seem less dramatic.
But yet again, there comes a turn-point inside us. That’s when we realize we should be as united as possible, cause thats the only way we can grow. Together and not alone. Surrounded of millions of helping hands waiting to save our lives.
They say I’m some kind of ecologist geek; I think I’m more of a Humanist kind. I love people, that’s the reason of so many things I’ve done today.
U AND I TED
If the world shall give me one thing, she would be it. I met her for the the first time under an unbearable summer heat. She was there, posing naked, sheltering my innocent fantasies. Her almost perfect, stained skin giving away tones of grey, perfect freckles on her face. Her loud breathe deafening my ears; a mixture of synphonic sounds, harmony all around her. She stood there so tall, unreachable at first sight. We met, I afford myself to listen as she stayed awake. She allows me to travel every part of her skin; my feet softly carresing her bare breasts. That instant fed my desire. I never forgot her. I couldn’t resist hearing anyone else talking about her, fantasizing of her stately presence. She took my heart away…
I here, therefore, faithfully promise that I’ll return to you.
HOPE FOR THE PEOPLE -BY FUAD SMECK
The Night the Moon Followed me.. (Text One)
Perhaps it was never meant to happen, destiny is just words scribbled on napkins. The wind is chiming through a half opened window; outside, the neon sign of an italian pizzeria, owned by russians, buzzes slightly like a lullaby, keeping my eyes in total serenity. I knew I should have turned the TV off, but I didn’t. Now I stay waking.
She was always right, she warned me about loneliness…. Loneliness. I watch it resting on the table beside my two dollar cigarette pack and the crumbles of toast of maybe last week. I only stand up to look out the window once in a while, hoping to find just an instant of relief. I don’t even know what I’ve lost. Im sure I missed something.
Things always turn out to be ironic; it’s easy to confuse irony with sympathy. I always felt life was being kind, then, you just learn it was laughing at you all this time. Tender Hypocresy. I grew up loving the smell of cotton candy on a sunday walk with mom; maybe it was too sweet. Nothing is ever sweet.
I swallow more of my self-conscious prerogatives. Gin tastes useful when mixed with neglecting theory. If only I just had slept. I should’ve turned off the goddamn TV when I had the chance.
I lay inert watching the street lights play on my ceiling, they follow each other forming kaleidoscopic harmonies. For an instant I’m fully gone; the lights are out. I impulse myself to reach out to the window, one more look, that’s it. As my pupils adjust to the dusty dark night, I only reach to see a slim shadow leaning on the window display of the tailor’s shop. It could be staring right at me, laughing at me as everything around me does. I’m too indifferent to think, but I stand no chance. I will not be mocked again.
Plastastic… (or something between plastic and fantastic)
The say old cities were built with gold. Luxury and ambition all over the place. The late promise of equal growth. Today we make them out of plastic…. even the smell of our home-made dinner exquisitely blends with the rotten, yet aromatic odor of human insanity.
We are plastic. Blood cells are in need of it. If we stop consuming, we stop moving. Our existence pends in the unrealistic shine of plastic.
I’ll recognize my obsession to it. I’ll keep using it, eating it and even share it, but god, don’t take away my synthetic addiction… the one that only melts in my mouth.
Cream & Mud
I have the sudden impulse of vomiting the cynic thoughts that revolve my hunger. The kind of thoughts with creamy appearance. The delicate premonition of flawless spaces enquired by the risk of gravitational hope.
Each thought drains like spittle on walls, barely clinging on the jagged surface. I could assign each one of them a different color. I watch as they differ, but there is no need to assign colors to my thoughts, they already did that for me, as if my head is a blender in terms of negotiation.
Other times the mud chokes my throat; that mucous tunnel that connects the mind with the heart. It’s exhausting to repel the saturation, it even tastes natural, but not pleasant. I hate mud on my throat.
I watch each night as they slip away through my nostrils. I feel the irresistible heat, burning from inside. I clench my teeth to detain the thin air crashing into my tongue. We twist. I savour them for a last time. They still taste of cream and mud.
“In the long history of humankind (and animal kind, too) those who learned to collaborate and improvise most effectively have prevailed”. Darwin hesitated. Then, with a sudden impulse, he added a single grin and vanished to the opaque scenery of crowded foliage lingering a strange odor of challenge and venture.
He had been in my mind for quite a while. Repeatedly I’ve played this foolish hand-made scene in my mind, as if only my imagination kept the detailed truth of a non existent moment. Still he stands there, defending the arguments that led him to my copy of a NatGeo June, special report.
I dared to go deep in the multi-complicated machinery of Darwin’s studies. But all my eyes could understand was “evolution” and two or three “nature”. Everything else just blurred. And I have to acknowledge that I have a weak mind when coming to science and politics. This Natural Philosophy just vanished my curiosity.
Too many questions arrived to the concept of “Human Nature”. I’ts all clear when we talk about evolution and natural selection, indeed. I believe, and so it appears that millions of people chose to follow the gifted knowledge of this English naturalist. But it’s still a very complicated perspective… I’m thankful but I wouldn’t bother to go deeper in questions of origin, human nature and the everlasting truth that we were all once monkeys.
Human nature is not contained in the analysis of science. Human Nature is something less sophisticated… It’s something more simple. Human Nature resides in our sympathetic emotions, those emotions we share as a humankind. It’s in our nature to love, to share, to lend helping hands, to cherish the people that surround us, to give and take respect. We are the nature in harmony and the innocence of a child; the growth of courage and the gift of empathy. We hug, we kiss, we make love, we laugh, we cry, we dance.
My theory on human nature is still in process of development, I may be wrong and I’m aware that this script doesn’t fit with all our surrounding situation; A reality of hunger, exploitation, ambition, misguided power and other stuff. But we choose to either feel right and start to change or choose the other way, full of conflicting emotions, defensiveness, confusion and misunderstanding. It’s our chance to inspire change.
One thing I did learn from Darwin (and it was the only thing I could understand from him): “It is not the strongest of the species that survives, nor the most intelligent, but the one most responsive to change”. (Just read it in the poetic way).
And just if you feel this is too optimistic (and feel nauseous of too many happiness) you might as well stop following this blog, cause there’s a whole lot of optimism coming this way!.
