Loveless year

May all the ones who shed a tear of love for me for the past 365 days forgive me, as I am not worthy of such affection.
My focus has been to endure the loss of my own deception, as I did believe that I had found a love of my own to cherish the rest of my days.
The good news is that I have no idea when my demise is set to occur, the odd news is that the baseless search of a proper replacement came with catastrophic results to those who put their feeling in me.
I deserve love as much as any other fella but I am not able to love by request. The few times I was granted the feeling, I was a victim of its intrusion rather than a welcoming host. Still, on the odd moments where the tune was the same for both hearts singing, I was blessed with the desire of an eternal of bliss of such magnitude.
Sadly, the magnitude of the feeling was not mutual and the length was scarce, which brings me to current times, where love as no dominion, but only echoes with vague promises of whatever love may be can be heard in the dead of night over the digital waves of our time.
My pursuit of love is much based on the "baseless fabric of this vision" - a chance to share without reservation or condition; the possibility of feeling the connection through a wink, a smile, a touch, a sigh, a breath, a single demonstration of affection that would leave no doubt in the path for that most wanted road of love.
The digital airwaves have produced ironic results, a willing partner that had way too many expectations for what dreams may come, and a partner thousands of miles away that could as well be eons out of sync.
And any attempts to rekindle that which was severed exactly one year ago was received with a dire No, on the grounds of lack of reciprocity.
Attempts to approach people that share the same time and space with me have been futile, either if they have a common context or if they are completely oblivious of who I am, and find themselves surprised by the proposition that a complete strange may notice them and is willing to expose himself with the following words:
Hello! You strike me as an interesting person.
If you want to know more, I am there.

Two weeks later
A longer trial, with more facts being exchanged, only to be received with suspicion.
The current  world does not reward the brave fools who dare expose themselves to the possibility of an hello.



And like so many others, these past few summers are tragic to me.
Either my friends are far away, or I feel intolerably lonely by the deprivation of what I hold dear - my sense of conspiracy with a fellow human to inspire awe in a shared fashion.

It is impossible not to be sad for a second, when this day reminds me, of all the possibilities this year could have unfolded, if my accomplice of back then was in tune with me to conquer the world by the mere presence of love.

I guess no new love can blossom if the soil I have to offer is still tainted with the resentment of being a castaway from the voyage I was willing to share with a true immortal beloved.

A purification time is still needed. Maybe soon enough, my passion can be cleansed from all the clogged shadows produced by a path of wishful thinking .

I am getting tired of the constant failures pertaining this regard.
I want to deserve better luck and enjoy all the perks that come with it.

Delightful deceits of August

This month last year meant the end of a dream.
October after that meant the birth of an illusion
And for Christmas I was painfully free from illusions and dreams.
Reality kicked in 2017, but I still managed to give someone a deceitful illusion for the first half of January.... hurray to me :)

Now, I see myself facing what August will bring.
I was never in love with August. It haunts me with strange memories not pleasant.
I saw fires up close in the peak of the summer in 88.
As a boy, the summer, particularly during this month I would watch all my friends go way with their families for awesome vacations, where I would stay with my folks or would be taken to my grandparents house up North where there was not that much to do. Actually there was, but there were no kids my age to play with. So sometimes I would be bored.
In 2012, I saw my dreams being emptied by mere expressions of boredom.

I am trying to change my attitude towards the summer.
I am giving alone time a break.
So I pick myself and head off to the beach and read there.
As long as August does not trick me again in believing that good things will come, I think I will be fine.
But then, in 2013 I had a gift from Spain. Completely unexpected and dreamy for a few months.
It lasted all the way to February of 2014.
I guess there was no deceit there and it was delightful.

My life is like that delights and deceits.
I expect the best, but then somehow inspire the opportunity to spur its worse.
Is it my fault? Am I just a spitting  machine of platitudes? Empty words for full ideas without merit in a real world?
I wonder. I think I can be delightful in any month. But for some reason... August tends to bring me deceits.
This year, August will take me on a tour for work. That will be the delight. The deceit I will be working in motion - Spoiler alert: I bought Dramamine to avoid car sickness.

good grief. This august might make me want to throw up.
Well, I used to throw up on my way to my grandparents place... and that could happen in August... so no surprise there... but the journey then was deceitful. I wonder how it will be

I will keep you posted!

Anxious

Attention readers!

This morning I woke up feeling anxious. I woke up quite early. There was a erie feeling. Something is crushing my chest. I went to drink a glass of water, came back to bed and I was still feeling the same unrestfulness.

It is quite strange to feel so empty sometimes, specially after feeling so much joy during the past few days. I do not know what prompt this. Maybe I cannot shake the feeling of loneliness. 

I guess the anxiety comes from the unknown, from the inability to scrutinize what reality is offering us, but at the same time, the gifts given you cannot fully comprehend.

I'll try again to Slumber into deep sleep hoping to find a piece that is missing which hopefully will grant me some peace.

For now I would feel intolerably lonely if it was not for the care of the unique Iris.

Back in a few...

Requiem for two fantasies by an editor

Imagine, if you will, that you  have been granted the ability to dream, nay, to fantasise about two possible outcomes for your life.
One in a far away land filled with entanglements and journeys daring and heart warming to fill ten thousand life times. The other, close by, built by the specs of sand that cover any given beach. Sand that could be witness the birth of a shared look, gazing like a reflection yet unwilling, yet irresistible to condense in one second the same life times as before, but with the intensity that gods only knew when the light was born eons ago.

I tell you dear friends, this July has been a friend. Fantasies have been emerging from unsuspecting corners. But like " the baseless fabric of this vision" they leave me with the scarce memory of "what dreams may come".
For now, I sum the friendship beyond the oceans to rise my soul to heights of new comforts. I am pleased.
I do not count much more on these fantasies, but I am still thankful for the opportunity to dream. "To reach the skies" and believe that fantasies may fuel actions to shape realities. I am now content with the little visions this month unfolded.

The requiem for these fantasies is most certain, but the soothing memory will linger on, and most likely keep me going searching for welcoming strangers that appear by form or innuendo.

So as I am about to start a new week of image weaving I take the inspiration of these past days close to heart and hope that all that I do can fill others with the same contentment as "these spirits who apeared" confide in me (with words or with glances).

I am yet, a better person now. What more can I aspire to be...

Flight from the city

I flew.
I left a world of possibilities behind as the city on the edge of forever was moving further away. The delicate fantasy that once was... Was there no more. I cannot recall if I dove into it for a week, for a month, for an eternity. Something tells me that somewhere down the line I stayed there as a strayed cat that found a nest that would sooth the emptiness of  previous lonely paths.

The city showed so much promise, but like so many others, after over staying its welcoming allure, the city had no place for me. The air was too soft and the sun was too bright. The blindness was almost permanent if it was not for the heeded warnings of those who see far beyond the single nature of their own realm.

A missing link procures me. The feeling that I have been here before, down this road, but not exactly down this city. The familiar view of the clouds passing by my window remind me the unforgiving wheels of time invite me to become older, leaving new friends behind.
No fantasies are allowed in the unforgiven setting of reality. Platitudes are presumed to be the norm of the falling dreamer. Once wrapped about his thoughts of possible ways, the dreamer now awakes as a stowaway, somewhat delirious with the faint sounds of the unwilling siren.

What is it that the cities of the world seem to be populated with creatures that feed of emotion but can only dwell in logic, accept not the mere proposition that the propulsion of any dream  comes from the challenge of that the status quo and the willing to prove it wrong, hence replacing it for a review version, which allows dreams from any city to write the rule in any world.

Now, as I am about to collapse to oblivion, I am ready to surrender to the logical thought that emotional dream for the fantasy that was on this city, was sadly not to be.

And so, I carry on, yet alone, yet lonely.

But who remembers...

Seamless scream for relevance

Instagram has ranked worst for young people's mental health according to a study.
I have used rarely as a publisher and occasionally as a viewer. To this date, I think I have about 20 or so entries.
I know that I every time I go there I end up feeling bad about something and it is always related by some post or comment by someone dear  to me. The same thing happens to me with Facebook, which in turn leads me to shut down my social media accounts now and again. My friends then react demanding my return, which I guess is another way to call for attention. But I do feel that social media is somehow toxic to me and I am not sure if it is because the way I interact with it. Maybe it is normal for me to get these down moments as a member of a species that is growing more and more into vanity, and where I realize that I do not have anything to be vain about. Which poses the question are we vain out of our acceptance by others... doing whatever we can to call the attention of the beholder.
We love to be accepted, so we use these outlets as a way to carve a perspective we want others to have of us, albeit distorted as we want others to see us under a better light. And so, we go off into to our smartphones, tablets, computers and alike to push images of places visited, people interactions, foods not yet tasted, paintings barely seen, quotes overly stated, quirky and intellectual expressions of the ego, to later jerkoff on the reactions that we hope it  might produce.
Why do we do it though?
Are we really crying out for relevance?
Do we need to find the love in the empty expression of others, by means of emojis, likes, hearts, or short sentences of support?
Do we really feel more connected to each other, now that we are promptly ready to contact anyone that is available through the networks?
These are questions that surely sociologists, psychologists, and other logists out there, are dwelling, but it seems that the outcome will not matter, because we will be carrying on, just like smokers keep on appearing regardless of the warnings by the health community. We like to some extent toxic environments, but we like to desguise it with the bipolar plant to make us feel more intune with nature, but then we scream to the person that lets a dog run freely to its contentment in a park. But I diverge.

A friend said to me, that over of us lies an elite that laughs out of our childishlike behaviour as we are engaging on irrelevant questions that biased media outlets convince us of being relevant, while we are being prompt for life styles that we are lead to believe are right for us - music, film, tv, food, books, places to visit.
Really, people! There is so much noise out there and yet cannot help but contribute for the clogging of visual content over the digital airwaves.
We desire to be meaningful, to leave some footprint in the digital landscape, but our distorted sense of satisfaction comes from the recognition  out of what we leave behind. It is no wonder that all of the social media out there allows you to like or comment. We need this. "Tell me if you like this". But the more the merrier.
For the dystopian view of a senseless world where the networth of an individual is measured by likes I turn you to Black Mirror's "Nose dive".

(Blogger app just lost some of my text). I guess I should stop writting now.)

 

Memories of love spark dreams of comfort

I won't pretend to know what happened last night.
I decided to play the 8 hour Sleep by Max Richter, that by his own admission,  is a piece intended to be appreciated while sleeping.
I know that I had a couple of dreams that were very soothing.
One was about power sockets that needed replacement.
Another was about soothing displays of affection towards me. They were inspired by a love lived not so long ago and yet still yearned. I cannot say if the music just reflected a wish that seems to be impossible to take place in the current time line, but somehow felt as comfortable as the overwhelming nature of a perfect moment shared by two people who love each other without conditions, without rules, just fulfilling a desired to be accepted by the only person that makes sense.
The dream was not sensual, but it had the kindness of a kiss invented to express recognition of existence. On that moment, the memory of that kiss, felt to me as if I was the most significant person to the one that was kissing me. It was not a glorification, but tender, cared.
How the words fail  me now. How the  poet in me is still trapped in that dream, and refuses to put in to words the intensity of a love shared on a dream.
Sadly, this is the realm of reality, and I have no substance of experience to realize the nature of that feeling.
All I know is that is inspired by a moment once shared, and now is but a wishful thinking of that which reality brings me no further. The uniqueness of the purest kiss, conceived by the fairest of those who ever lived, can only be relived in this dreamers dream, for the motionless train can no longer carry the love of two, when one is burden by some other sort of love.
Of my lover I can only say this.
I hope that she may find in this reality a love so passionate and pure, as the one I lived on my memories last night as was performed by the cast of players of my dreams.
Selfishly, I shameless confess that I wish nothing more than to be the lover that gives and receives the building blocks of memories not yet formed, but forever yearned.
Dammit I love you
The emptiness lingers still as you are no where to be found, by your will alone.
May your will keep you out of harms way and remind you of endearing memories of my love for you, so that you may wake up in a dream fulfilled by your loving memories of me.