I have suffered, as everyone, and every time I swear myself "this is the last". Let me tell you a secret: deep inside, I know it's not. 

I met this guy one time, I like to call him "whisper" because he was just like that, a little secret told with bated breath. I felt him like a breeze, transient and intense. The one you think is just a caress that grabs directly your bones, breaking through your heart. And just like that he left, leaving me wanting to know more about that secret. 

Then I felt the angry, the pain and the burden. Also I felt surrounded, crushed by the light. Knowledge, they call it, when I didn't ask. "You are sick of ignorance" they said to me, I couldn't see even when it was in front of me. 

After all I kept walking on those crowded streets, naked to the feelings, wanting to believe. I felt the cut of the frozen air, actually I couldn't dress up without help. Not just my body, my heart and my mind, my whole self was shaking waiting for a raise, wanting to be covered even by a giant hand. 

I met other one, this time his name is "scratch" because he was just like one of them, like a huge scorch in my skin. I felt him warm, whimsical, uninterrupted. I tried to stop it while it was dismembering me. But all I could do, all I can do, is still being waiting here for the next time, because it hasn't been the last.

Brave young girl

When I was young my mother needed to hire a girl to look after me because she had to work on weekends. The first girl she hired was Amara, or Tamara, I don't remember exactly. This girl was so kind and funny, at least when my mum was around, but everything was different when she wasn't at home.

When I was three years old and I lived in the house I call "the small house" she was our neighbour and she was 16 years old. When she begin she was perfect, but the time past and she started to be weird. I didn't know what was happening because I had fun (don't misunderstand me, she didn't try to have sex with a three year old girl, she wasn't that bad) and I never told anything to my mum.

She used to invite her friends to our house when my mum went to work, always five or six people, but one day she decided to go out at night. We went to a park, and it was nice because they taught me how to swing, but then they told me this story. 

The story was about monsters who use power cables from the towers to go into the houses and possess people. The monsters had long sharpened nails which they used to kill people. They told me to ask my parents every morning if they were my parents, and if they said "no" with a weird voice, I had to run for my life into another house, and expect not to find more monsters there. 

Then they asked me what I was feeling, I was shaking, and I told them "I'm feeling like someone is caressing me with a stick" and they explain me it wasn't a stick, it was a nail. When we arrived home, I lay on my sofa and she asked me to sleep, but I didn't want because it was too soon. Then, she seemed to be petrified looking behind the sofa, and she said she was seeing the monsters and asked me PLEASE to fall asleep because otherwise the monsters would kidnap me. I thought it was a joke, but then I started to hear voices, whispering my name, and I covered myself with a blanket and tried not to think about the monsters even when I was feeling like they were touching my arms and my legs. Then, I did fall asleep. 

I didn't told to my mum I had gone out with Tamara/Amara because they had taught me how to swing and I wanted to surprise her someday when we went to a park, but this was the reason why I started to feel fear of the dark. 

When I was five we moved in another house I call "the broken flat" and she came to look after me even when she wasn't our neighbour anymore. She didn't invite her friends, but we always played with a video-game which consisted in shooting dishes and things like that. One day she told me to wait because she was going to use the phone box under my house, so I sat on my sofa and wait for her. I fell asleep, and when I woke up she wasn't there and the whole place was so dark. I  tried not to look to the corridor because it was full of strange shadows, took a chair and put it under the window so I could look outside and see if she was in the phone box, but she didn't. I was scared, so I sat on my sofa again, covered my body with a blanket like if it could protect me from the darkness and wait for her. I slept again, and then woke up, and she still wasn't there, so I started to cry because I couldn't stop watching the dark corridor and I constantly felt shivers thinking about the monsters that could had kidnapped her. 

A few minutes later a friend of my mother (Angélica) came into the flat and asked me where was the girl, then Amara/Tamara entered and Angélica shouted her for leaving alone a five year old girl all night. They waited to my mum, who fired her and then hugged me almost crying. She told my I had been so brave and she asked me to forgive her, but I was okay and I didn't understand at all why was everyone so angry. It was scared and Amara/Tamara had been bad with me but, at least, she had taught me how to swing. 

Walker

You were the one who gave me my first emotional blow

I seemed to be okay, but I was not

You said it was the world

Cant say if you were wrong

I'm sure you know by now

What is it like to go around

Then you were the one who told me not to be afraid

Cause one day we'll get along in heaven:

Just find me.

And now it's my time to show you that I can live

With a little bit of hope

The hope that will put us together home

I'm writing you to say you did everything right

Cause you are now the walker of the night

You were the one who left me with a letter

A letter I can't find

Can anyone tell me which his last written was?

I still remember the conversation we had about

If we should or not to say goodbye

Now I can't say it without feeling the sarrow

That led you to madness

Leaving me heartless.

And now it's my time to show you that I can live

with a little bit of hope

The hope that will put us together home

I'm writing you to say you did everything right

Cause you are now the walker of the night

Throwing my own notes I'll just take your steps

To arrive there soon

I wanna be with you

I watch your picture on my shelf

and wonder if you're even there

or instead I'm always talking to nothing.

Negative

I’m not posting in my blog, and someday I’ll have to put everything I’ve written on paper in the computer and post it, and to be honest I’m scared that when that day comes I won’t be able to find where this papers are.  I always think I do not have enough time to turn on the computer, so I’m not even downloading the notes from my teachers.

I’ve got the feeling that I’m doing things all day and that I never stop doing something, but when I think about how many productive things I’ve done, I got nothing. A teacher from the last year told me that this happens to me because I am so negative with myself that when I have to do something I start it, I think “I won’t do it well” and then leave it unfinished. She said that I don’t realize how much potential I have and that I could be brilliant if I wanted to. But then again, I’ve a mind block that keeps me away from the positive things.

To sum up, I hope someday I find this and post it… And CACTUS, REMEMBER, THE SONG IS “UNDERTOW” (include this last sentence, why not, this is a free post).

Guernica

This picture represents the pain produce by a war. I studied this one the last year and I had to make a formal commentary about it, but this time I prefer to say what I feel when I see it.

It is overwhelming. When I look at the picture I don’t know where I should be looking.  It transmits me a strong sorrow when I see the mother holding her baby’s body, the angry look of the horses; and I can even imagine myself in that room, breathing the smoke, staining my barefoot with the ash on the floor.

The colors used in its elaboration let me see in detail how strong could be the feelings of the painter when he made it, and how sad he was about this topic. It is also reflected in the way he mix the image of the characters what, talking in a non-professional way, express how confusing should be for the living beings  what was happening there. 

Boring People

There are people who ask me why do I wear black clothes instead of a colorful outfit, other people ask me why do I like zombie films because it is weird. “Why don’t you go out with friends instead of watching series?” “Why don’t you ever put on a dress?” “Okay, you did buy a dress, does it really have to be black? AGAIN? ” “Are you emo or something? You’re always so serious” (it seems that I’m a “Sirius” person *badum tss*).

Well, maybe some of you are reading me and you are thinking that there are enough people complaining about this type of people, the ones that don’t seem to be able to enjoy an action film and are always thinking about beautiful things and denying themselves the pleasure of, for example, dressing like they want because they’re too concentrated in being who other people want them to be.

AND NOW THAT I’VE GROUSE ENOUGH TODAY (THIS WEEK IS BEING ENDLESS) I’m going to link this post with a random song that has nothing to do with this, but I like it and WHY NOT.

Rock and Classical Music

There are a lot of differences between this two music genders.  It is difficult to structure my ideas, but I’ll try to explain my personal viewpoint. Bear in mind that we are talking about music, both rock and classic are a way to express our feelings and to share them with the world, so we have to know that every song is a little piece of the composer’s heart. Every note is where it is for a reason (it is called harmony) and every accord is correctly connected with the following one in order to show us an idea, an image or a feeling.

Personally, I prefer rock music. Rock artists try to communicate with the public in a different way than the classical musicians. For example, in a rock concert you stand up in the crowd and you dance, shout, sing, clap your hands, ask for more songs… However, in a classical concert you can barely applaud.  Also, the artist’s behave is different, even what they have to wear. You’re not going to see a guitarist wearing a suit, an orchestra director wearing a red t-shirt, a singer  asking for silence or a cellist cheering up the public.

I like both rock and classical music, but in my opinion classical music is proposed in a little nearby way while rock music is felt closer and it would be different if classical music were submitted in an informal way.