Månad: mars 2008 (Sida 2 av 2)

LAND, © 2008/Roberto Romero-Molina. San Diego-Tijuana Border (aerial view) with phrase scaled to desired dimensions of intervention. The approximate dimensions of the intervention are 1.8 x 7km. and spans from Border Field State Park and Playas de Tijuana in the west to Brown Field Airport and the Aeropuerto Abelardo L. Rodriguez in Otay Mesa in the east.

*You just gotta love the military stencil font. And if you don’t get it you don’t deserve to be from Tijuana ese!

Original can be found

– Increasingly, my heroes tend to be people who seem to enjoy life or people who manage to eek out a living out of their ordinariness.

I heard this on the telephone. On occasions my telephone nabs a conversation or two out of the blue. I usually hang up the receiver and try to get a normal tone to go about my business. God knows the very first year I tried to do away with the nuisance but the local phone company doesn’t prioritize lesser lines like mine. Five years later I am still waiting for my complaint to be filed. Sort of makes one feel left behind by the internet age. Eitherway, I can say on my behalf that I at least switched to tone dial before skype came to be imagined yet somehow this switch to tone has yet to impress me as the reader can very well attest for itself.

It wouldn’t take me long to figure out whose tête-à-tête fortune had me eavesdrop. But if a benefit has been derived out of the crossline is that too much interference can be a cause of mental distress the likes that befit that new adage, one needs X like one needs a hole in the head. This small town doesn’t afford the luxury of anonymity. Specially when one knows that said luxury usually tends to arrive in due time, one mustn’t rush, the goods are delivered sooner rather than later.

Am all for privacy, believe me. Yet the forefathers of the right to privacy all lived in big cities. I swear, I am party to all sorts of public displays that would certainly leave a city lover flushed red.

Anyhows, I bring the subject up because I was somehow tempted to continue hearing the conversation but by the time I reacted to my own thoughts my habit of hanging up the phone had beaten me to first base and when I lifted up the earphone and was ready to satisfy curiosity, I got a tone.

Yet the string of the conversation that I nabbed pulsated vibrantly across my ear drums like a tic toc fills the silence at times. It filled a void that lacked words and overhearing the unwelcomed string of thought sort of put things to place. Normally I don’t rush to write down these catharsis, in fact, it took me several years before I could muster the gull to do so now.

Usualmente me dejo asombrar por el paisaje sueco.

Camino las calles asfaltadas, nórdicas, salobradas.

He descubierto que el misticismo que compuso lo consuetudinario ha dejado su magia a un lado y el sabor de la realidad, como el sabor a metal, ha logrado penetrar los poros de mi existencia, como un vil tóxico extranjero a mi constitución.

Miro mis entornos, el gris, se ha vuelto normal. Uno se pregunta, cuándo, a secas, como si la falta de interrogativos al pronombre interrogativo fuere en sí un acto del pensar. Cuándo regresaré. El eterno retorno al clímax.

No quiero saber la fecha que perdí la noción. Ni el segundo en que no importó escuchar la advertencia de su perdida. Ni cómo vine a dar a este pérfido mundo petrificado. Heme hoy aquí.

Las perdidas significan empiezos como morder un pan de piña cuyas boronas se roban granos de azúcar que el paladar nunca sabrá saborear. Mis dedos lambisquean lo que fue y solo pienso en el nombre de la esposa de Lot.

Pero sí extraño adorar el entorno. Dan ganas de perderse total de nuevo. No es que añorar no tenga lo suyo sino lo que cala es la inercia que le acompaña.

De seguro que después de esto no habrá ni cómo regresarle la reputación que Suecia tiene de erótica, en fin, va. Por estos días poner el título de la entrada ésta en la barra de búsquedas de noticias suecas sacará a relucir una pequeña nota que alcanzó una distribución nacional y lo cual no dudo atraerá también un poco de noticias internacionales.

Va traducida al español.

Un hombre hacía el amor a una bicicleta para damas.

El hombre de 36 años se sentía atraído por las bicicletas de mujeres y las usaba para satisfacerse sexualmente. En el asiento de la bicicleta de mujeres se encontró, entre otras cosas, residuos de su esperma. Según el periódico sueco Östersunds-Posten el hombre ha sido procesado y acusado penalmente por acercamiento indebido y daños a propiedad ajena.

Ya desde la primavera del 2006 habían iniciado las acusaciones sobre el acoso. El avance decisivo en las pesquisas resultó cuando una mujer vio al hombre irse muy campantemente con su bicicleta y después detenerse y frotarse físicamente contra la bicicleta. El hombre fue arrestado en Julio del año pasado y fue detenido.

Talk about bad imprinting. ¿Funcionará así la humanidad? Digo, ¿qué es lo que lo hace a uno tener ciertas zonas eróticas, o antojos eróticos, cómo funciona una cosa así?

Este hecho me sorprende bastante. Dios sabe muy bien de que por la red hay cientos de lugares donde uno puede ver todo tipo de acciones sexuales que nada más producen una perdida de apetito sexual más que nada. Y es que la humanidad es medio rara en sus empresas sexuales. Pero ponerse caliente y consecuentemente lograr un orgasmo con el asiento de una bicicleta jamás de los jamases se me hubiere ocurrido a mí. Que alguien podría ponerse cachondo con la sola idea un asiento de bicicleta de mujer o caldearse con eso me dejo una mueca de alegría no por gusto, no me vayan a malentender sino porque es prueba fiel de que no he visto todo todavía, al parecer.

Este tipo de sensualismo es un fetiche, no me cabe la duda. Tanto así como los chones de una mujer o las medias de la tía. Intento imaginarme el fetiche, algo así como cuando yo miro el catalogo de Victoria Secrets. Pero él viendo el catalogo de los últimos modelos de Crescent o Schwinn, ¿qué pensará una persona así? ¿Verdad que causa risa?

Well the snow seems to be up for it today. Since its been gone practically all winter, today’s white downpour is almost a welcome sight. I certainly lost all respect for the darn fluffy stuff since depression decided to house itself in me due to it. It being la nieve of course. One wouldn’t believe but depression is a side effect of a prolonged sunless winter. I never realized how true this is until all ganas vanished like the moon does up in the North of Sweden during certain periods of the year. One is always tired or tires easily. I wish I knew I was depressed. You think of depressed people and the image before one is that of someone being unable to cope with anything. Not so in Sweden. I am sure half the countryside were I live suffers from that. I think I am beginning to understand why smiles aren’t that copious between December and March. At work the peak of tiredness has had its entré recently. Everybody was tired. I was even trying to cheer my students who somehow are impacted by all their surroundings. And so my brain didn’t know I was depressed or half depressed because like the rest of my new countrymen and countrywomen, we manage to eek out an existence under said conditions. I have a dumb brain I swear. No seriously, the dumbest for for all good reasons I suppose. It just refuses to send me signals I am sick or depressed. Perhaps because it knows I whine too much or perhaps if I am notified of the sickness it would go to panic mode rather easily. You’d think I know myself after hanging around this body for over 40 years, but no, am happily bliss in ignorance.

Perhaps I should get some sort of antidepressant for my new problem. Alcohol doesn’t seem to cut it anymore. It is actually becoming a bore of sorts. If I do have this problem I really wouldn’t know what do under the influence of antidepressants in dour Sweden. Just last year I was still happy jolly old me and that was enough to make me deviate from the norm just a tad enough to make me weird int he eyes of Swedes. I hate to see myself under the pill. That would be a spectacle wouldn’t it? Actually being depressed sort of suits my personality somehow. Dark, somber, bitter, acidic, wry and so forth. I suppose its cheaper for the mental health system to just send me to Spain or some half sunny land in Europe. Because that’s all it is, lack of sun. I certainly hope that is that which ails my troubled soul. Oh well, we’ll see eventually. And yeah, it is still snowing as I type this in the Swedish Highlands.