Stories and Poems (Historias y Poemas)

Searching for the walking words (2013)

In the past Greek gods created walking words, which travelled to the beings of the Earth. The purpose had been to allow the little beings of the Earth to communicate, write, sing, cry, act and ultimately express themselves in diverse ways. These walking words went on to form these little beings of the Earth, which disentangled every letter, designed rows and columns with them and played with them as if they were a football. They painted them with colours as bright and as dark as the spectrum of the wonders of life. And from a colourful palate they engrained it with their feelings, their art and their poetry.

The now, and soon to be, transformed and coloured world of the words were to give rise to culture, literature and politics amongst other things. However, at times, the gods, perhaps as a bad joke and intentionally, forgot certain letters and certain words. As leisure and as a past time the gods provided completed words to some and as time went by they forgot to add essential words such as hope to a healthy majority of the little beings they had created.

Today as a result, we have certain words, which are in need of letters to complete key words such as hope.

As conflicts started to erupt, the little beings of the Earth demanded the return of their words and letters to complete sentences, their poetry, their literature and ultimately, themselves, which had been appropriated years before. As large divisions in the Earth started to erupt because a small section of the population possessed the use and appropriation of those completed words, a young and inexperienced clandestine group started to demand and claim the return of completed words or letters to the gods.

– They have forgotten about us! Hand us back our words and letters! – After all, they had used them for a long time and the inequitable distribution of words had begun to make life unbearable in certain excluded areas of the Earth.

Until one day, finally, someone declared:

– The gods? Damn the gods! It’s time for us to act as gods and start fabricating our own words! Let’s build them ourselves. Let’s make them speak. Let’s make them dance with us, rather than being danced by them. Let’s abolish the system that has made it impossible for us to use and access them.

– Which word should we fabricate first? – Someone said quaintly while others watched Let’s begin with the word HOPE- they began with the letter H, it took years, it was a massive project, but they finally managed and were congratulating each other. It took further years to complete the last 3 letters and they ended exhausted but with an endless feeling of self-fulfillment and worthiness. The process was hard, they dedicated time and effort, in particular, struggles against those in command of the letters and words, the 1%. Now that they had it, aware of the conditions and problems of the struggle, it was time to start building new letters and they did so, at a slow pace but with a lot of passion.

The elites and the Gods were scandalized by the theatrical performance of the people in the towns, villages and cities of the Earth whom ultimately wanted to create and build these words.

The passion was short-lived for the many who lost the letters from key words. The problem was that many letters and words would escape and dance with the enemy and some words would walk away frightened by the Gods and their repressive dominance over them.

So the quest started once again with the startling question: How do we move forward and how do we progress? Nobody had a clue so the quest began with the search for the walking words. The words were conscious entities which like many humans had been searching for people to take them and narrate their stories, to embed them with other words, with their own history, with their difference and ultimately with their resounding manifestation for participation.

Today, as this short story shows, the Euro zone is in quite a deficit, not of money, but of words, in particular, walking colourful words like hope. Differing from the use of the words used by politicians, orators and economists, social scientists that affiliate with the inflation of high language fully embedded by technocratic and exclusive words for those in power, words pronounced by the people are in great deficit. We need more words coming from and by the people from below who can enact their own active equality: their own equal capacity to think, comment, reflect and demonstrate that they too are subjects of the word.

So, having said that, let’s start building it ourselves, the 99%. Let’s start creating other and new words to create better ‘Worlds’, for the years and generations to come.

Let’s start; if we are going to start anywhere, within ourselves by recovering, re-appropriating and constructing our own words like the word HOPE. 

Escritos y Más Escritos II (2013)

Las palabras se desgarran, mientras se inundan de angustia en un sin sabor melancólico y depresivo incauto. Se diluvian revoloteando en la mente y en las consciencias internas de la gente sin producir efectos ensordecedores más que un mero sentir de esa interminable amnesia, melancolía y degeneración de la humanidad. Ellas nos sobrevuelan sin que los reconozcamos y sin mirarlos, sin darnos cuenta de que nos aclaman con gritos voluptuosos pidiendo ser utilizadas para expresar, sentir y vivir. Nos hacemos los locos, o no las escuchamos, y si lo hacemos no las reconocemos ya que nos suenan lejanas, vacías, ínfimas y indescifrables.

Quizás coinciden con nosotros a través del encuentro, a través de las pausas, y las interrupciones pero no nos impactan y tampoco nos sorprenden. Se mueven y se cuelan entre nosotros esperando su turno impacientemente, y al no llegar nunca ese momento eventual, se dispersan pronto de una forma caótica en el abismo entre tanta palabrería é implota por doquier en una realidad insostenible. Eso si, si llegan a toparse con nosotros por casualidad se resquebrajan, pasando ha esconderse entre susurraciones, entre silencios, en la pasos circulares atolondrados en el espacio intemporal para sobrevivir ad infinitum aisladas condenadas a una inhóspita soledad, atadas a sus recuerdos como si yacieran entre los ecos de las viejas salas de bibliotecas amontonadas entre todas ellas pulverizadas por el olor a madera (albañil).

No, ya no son lo que eran. Parece ser que las palabras han pasado de ser un arma para los desposeídos y desgarrados de este cruel mundo a pertenecer a un mundo ajeno, distante y a ser olvidadas entre decenas de conciencias. Aun así, ellas siguen estando ahí, muy presentes, esperando inútilmente ser rescatadas. ¿Por qué no se van? ¿Por qué siguen estando tan presentes? ¿Por qué será que inútilmente piensan recobrar aquello que han perdido? ¿Qué les habrá picado que las hace esperar tanto tiempo aquellos encuentros felices, divertidos y comprometidos, y recordarlos después de tantos años cuando ya no se cometen acciones de calibre, por no mencionar aquellos encuentros donde si se topan, se acercan, y logran rozarnos, no logran concebirse con aquellos que los tratan de reconocer? ¿Estaremos púes en un paradigma electrificante en el cual las colas de palabras avivas amontonadas en su propio surplus y de inflación, repletas de nada y tan deseosos de ser sometidos aunque sea un poquito por esos sujetos andantes esperan a ser demandadas por aquellos que no las recogen? ¿Qué esperanza y qué augurio les aguardara entre tantos monstruos y zombies más que morir lentamente o ser capaz de recobrar algún color?

El ciclo del anonimato (2012)

Soy un ser anónimo,

vivo en un cuarto anónimo sin luz y agua,

en una vecindad anónima donde nadie se saluda ni se toca,

en un trabajo anónimo sin ánimos y sin respaldo económico,

vivo en condiciones precarias,

en un asiento y una mesa anónima sin preguntarse por su proveniencia ni de su manufactura,

con compañeros anónimos y con un tiempo dictatorial anónimo,

sin comienzo y sin fin,

terminando el día con una definitiva salida anónima,

para comenzar de nuevo, al día siguiente, otro día anónimo.

 

 

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