If it doesnt work for you, Kate, what can I offer you?

Dear Kate, or should I call you Catherine? I have been tagged again by ‘Marylin’ to one of the famous blogs concerning you. So, I wonder, what can I offer you if it doesnt work out with William. There is no much I can give. Perhaps I may owe a flat of my own, but it is far away, across the Atlantic, in a country very likely unknwon by you. Very small, with only two rooms, a bathroom and a kitchen. I am, in a sense, a bohemian. I smoke all day, have a cup of tea in the morning, read, watch films, write, hang around with the mates, drink, listen to rock, pop and metal, buy t-shirts with bands on them, have only two pairs of shoes. I live an idle life, why should I get a job when I am a more or less brilliant academic who has got a scholarship? I live from what my brain can give me…

I shall never be able to give you a crown, nor jewels, nor money, nor anything. The only sport I can more or less practice is horseback riding, and not, of course, as you and William practice it. I am frugal with meals among other things. So, you better marry the prince…

All I could offer is a one night stand, and that ony if Melinda did not mean that much to me…

Around this big city

Today I went to a friend’s house far, far away. So far I thought I was in another world. Indeed. I am grateful for her hospitality. As far as I knew, not many people enter her home. I am grateful for being selected. I am also grateful of her interest in sharing music I am so foreign of. Perhaps that is the way to share what one likes, not trying to force other people to like it, but simply, to point out the reasons why one is appealed to it. So, one understands other things foreign to the ivory tower…

The Dream…

I was walking along the corridors at the fac. All of a sudden, C. came to me, as he used to. We  had some coffee. He asked me for Melinda. I told him I might go and say hello to her. Then, stupidly, I told him I was frightened. How to say hello to her? He stared at me, with the ‘dont be ridiculous’ gleam on his eyes. ‘Just -he said- get close to her, kiss her on the cheek, not entirely, just halfway… breathe upon her cheek. And place your hand on her shoulder, do not grab her, or simply place your hand; very sightly hold her with your fingers. Be subtle, give in -little by little- but give in.’ I woke up, in slight confussion. Are you, dear C. telling me how to seduce Melinda? In a sense, she was almost transparent to you. In a sense, sometimes things seem to be evolving on a very strange way…

All I knew is that I wanted to see Melinda and say hello to her. So it happened. But, things went the other way round. After waiting for a while, she came to me. Evidently, she had seen me fooling around for a while. As she was leaving, I stood up for saying farewell. ‘Hello and bye bye’, grabbing me by the shoulder and pulling me towards her. As I stood I held my breath, which I let go on the precise moment my lips were close to her cheek. I half kissed her (if there is such an action): the texture of her skin has that peachlike softness I had imagined. My soul tingled, and my hand, as in automatic, held her forearm slighlty tighter as it is used to. She placed her hand on my back and I felt the palm, extended, with her fingers tensed.

The gleam on her eyes, the touch of her hand, the sudden motion of her hand pulling me towards her…God Knows. I wonder if all this hellos byebyes are becoming a sort of seducing sequence of any kind.

Dream

First the dream: Last night I dreamnt a big black hole was, all of a sudden, opened in the sky. Things seemed to be swallowed into it: black, grey objects, as if they were made of ashes. I wonder what it might mean. C. and I watched it happen. He looked at me in a ‘dont worry’ manner. I wonder what it means…

31/03/2008

Anoche, durante toda la noche tal vez, te soñé C. Una vez más, nuestra plática fue ininterrumpida como en antaño. Esta vez te veías joven, de cuarenta y tantos años, tal vez. Como en aquella foto, en la que usabas una camisa blanca con mangas arremangadas. Fumabas tu pipa y ambos estábamos afuera de una casa, esperando a que alguien se asomara por la ventana.
-Verás,- decías.- alguna vez ella fue como tu, mucho antes de que yo imaginara cómo sería de grande; sin embargo, siempre supe que iba a ser brillante. Pues no era como todos los demás niños. Su mirada siempre fue distinta.
Y entonces se asomaba por la ventana una niña que yo sabía, eras tu. Tímida, demasiado alta para su edad. Con los mismos ojos inquisitivos brillando con una extraña sabiduría. Sostenías un libro entre las manos, no alcanzábamos a ver cual.
 Fragmentos. Te veía en la escuela, solitaria, tímida. A veces jugando con otros niños, pero siempre clavando aquellos ojos que no han cambiado mucho.
C. caminando por  aquella ciudad de México que ya no es la misma. Automóviles de otro tipo, avenidas vacías, todo con mucho silencio. Y platicábamos, como siempre, con la misma familiaridad que tuvimos muchas veces.
-A ella le pasó algo, cuando era adolescente, algo parecido a lo tuyo, aunque no tan traumático. No le dio importancia. Se se la hubiera dado, alguien más no existiría.
Y reías con aquella sonrisa pícara que siempre me decía ‘¿Ahora entiendes?’
La ciudad derruída. 1985. Te vi C., tratando de sacar a alguien (algo) de los escombros.
Y la vi a ella, fragmentariamente, haciendo su vida. Creció, hizo su carrera, olvidó. Sin embargo, aquello quedó ahí, durmiendo, sin molestar. Entendí cosas que no recuerdo. Me explicaste cosas que no recuerdo.
Tan solo recuerdo tu mirada y como siempre, la certeza cuando me decías algo, aquel ‘creeme, no te estoy mintiendo, es algo serio.’

Amaneció y de algún modo, aún escuchaba tu voz dentro de mi. La certeza me persiguió durante toda la mañana. Sin pensarlo, como arrastrada, tal vez, por tus manos que me tomaron desde el mundo de los sueños, fui a comprar la botella de vino.
Aquella botella con un velero en la etiqueta. Aquella botella que decía, tenía aroma a tabaco, clavo, vainilla y manzana… ¿Coincidencia? No lo sé. Explícame tu C., desde aquel lugar en el que las cosas no se ven como las vemos aquí.

There is no future left at all.

Tomorrow I shall have no telephone for god knows how long. We are poor, wretched and so on. I hate this feeling of being miserable. So, I do not know when shall I be able to write on this damned thing again.

Today I had a weird conversation with mother. She seems to suffer quite a lot thanks to the burden her husband has become. She begins to feel suffocated and caged. She feels the certainty of a ‘there is no future’. She said to me something I never thought she wld say: “When you find someone, take into consideration that she has a stable job, or at least some fixed income. I know it’s terrible to say, but its the true.” She knows there is no way she can push him to do things. She knows there is no way she can push him to keep the house going, for the household survives with few things. And the house (the flat) is hers. So, there is no rent to pay and so on. There’s no way to push him now for a fixed and sufficient income. Plus, he is ill and refuses to accept it as a whole. In a sense, he thinks of himself as indestructible. He has a cough which sounds rough and liquid. Yet he smokes and keeps dusting the room where filth gathers. He thinks there is no such thing as flu.

Anyhow, I shall not care a rap. Only for mother, of course. It has always been the same kind of shit: worthless men deserting in whatever aspect of life. She cares for her health and is getting tired of caring for him when he doesnt care for himself. Why? Why this kind of things happen? Sometimes he pisses me off, all of what he is, all of what he represents. In a sense, I am so like grandmother: I get annoyed when he eats the way he does at table. But it’s my fucking background. I remember hating also when at the other grandma’s house my cousins threw food one to another in a kind of game while we all ate. I found it disgusting. And I was not yet eleven. Just the same, I find disgusting how he eats from the saucepan. Or how he always remains hungry, no matter how much he eats. Or how he hates people for the sake of hating them: because they have got more money, because they drink a lot, because they have got cars, because the do whatever the fuck. And I find so naive how much he spends on those goddamn lotery tickets expecting to get a huge prize wich shall never come.

Mother is realising. Mother is getting sick and tired. Mother gets depressed because she sees no future at all with this man. Mother realises that this shit has been the same for ten years. Youth escapes her and she still wants to live. How can I help her? I am uncertain. All I know is that I have become, once again as in times of crisis, the pillar of the household. Who remained with the head upon her shoulders when grandmother died? I did. Now, again. My health cannot crack down. Not now. I must keep the scholarship, otherwise, who will feed the children? I must keep my temper. I must support mother. And I must, sometimes, simply stand him. There are days when we do not speak to each other. There are moments when we do not look at each other. And again, as before, I wonder…do I live with a stranger? Yet, there is a certain kind of love and affection which had been created in moments of crisis. Nevertheless, he is like a stranger, stubborn and wild; like a stranger, who sometimes seems not to care for us. I mean, he doesnt have to care for me, but yes for her. And he claims to love her. Does he? Does he? Is it possible, when he does not love himself? Its all so uncertain. It all sucks. It’s like a shade of darkness. It is like Caleb said ‘hard times are coming’. Oh, really? Now I am realising. He was utterly right. God only knows how we will get through this.

I hate this feeling of inminent shattering. I hate this uncertainty and this drifting towards nowhere. This time, this is not my ship and there is no way I can command it. All I can do is sail besides mother in case she needs me.

What have I become?

What am I? A creature who no longer dreads the mirrors. A creature who now poses in front of the camera instead of hiding away.
My neck aches, too much headbanging last night. It was, in spite of all, a nice party. In spite of the guys who did not dare to look me in the eye. I wonder why. I wonder why I looked at them and all they did was stare at the floor. And my ipod died. They might have killed it. Beer fell upon it, and it no longer works. Now I wonder if there is a solution, or if I would have to buy a new whatever nonsense. Perhaps it was time for it to die. It had given me so much, so many hours of music. Too many. It had been there in funerals and on happy parties. It gave so much, and now, I wonder if it shall simply die. Perhaps. God only knows. Is it time for a new mp3 player?

But enough of that sheer nonsense concerning mp3s. We had a good time yesterday, thought I wasnt drunk as hell. No with people I did not feel comfortable around.

I loose my hopes and then snatch them back. I long for my friends and then do not want to see them. At moments I am extremely morbid. At moments, I cannot stand one of the two I live with, yet I know that if, by any dreadful chance of fate he died I would be very sad and wld miss him.

Kate Middleton and the Ginger girl

I was a ginger girl, that is, I had red hair. I was remarkably beautiful. Strikigly sensual. I was walking along streets were I used to hang out with L. All of a sudden, Kate came across the street. The day was grey, with clouds covering the sky. She stopped at the crossing, besides me. I smiled and she smiled back. Taller than me, she beckoned. Without thinking, I entrangled my fingers with her hair. Like a cat, she almost purred. It was everything so simple, no words were spoken: there, on the crossing, Kate beckoned again, got closer and we kissed. I could not think of nothing but the easyness of the moment, she and I, tongues intertwining in the middle of the street.

The scene changes. Kate is no longer Kate, but Melinda. I am not longer the ginger girl, but simply myself. Melinda and myself inside her bedroom, the curtain drawn upon the window. The sunlight, orange and mellow, drifting underneath the window pane. ‘Stay. Do not leave.’ Her voice was clear, soft, her eyes, pleading, loving. She beckons her face just as Kate did, her hair moving slightly, falling upon her face. Words do not come. Just kisses.

Am I? Am I to be loved by you? Shall you, sooner than later, plead me to stay? You shall be my Kate: elegant, lady like, with soft and velvety hair, with gorgeous feet wrapped in silk stockings. My grandmother shall not be the Queen, but when young she used to look alike. I am not William, though once felt, as well, the burden of the family tradition.

…..(what comes next does not concern kate…)

Heir Apparent (Mirror of past and future)

I remember crossing the living room. She was there, sitting upon the floor. She would not speak to me, though there was a gleam of recognition in her eyes. The same question shone through her brown irises: “what are you exactly doing here? I can see through you.” So, there was no reproach or bad feeling in her eyes, only a wise certainty of ‘I know.’ She knows. There is no way one can hide things to children, nor when her eyes are so like mine, not when the glance becomes the same thanks to fate. It was like looking myself into the mirror, nevertheless, she had no tragedy written in her face: she has the bravery I then lacked. It’s in the blood I guess. She knows. She sees. She recognizes. She is an ally. She held once the glance of the master. So be it.

In a drunken haze I almost confessed to the Lady. I wanted, for a moment, to ask her, to plead her: explain me the meaning of the world, of Love, explain to me, as he once did, if I had made the right choices. In her eyes, in a sense, I saw me in the future. Help me, give me answers. But, the answer was there, walking under the moonlight. The answer was there, on the sensual touch Melinda gave me in the back. The answer was there, on Melinda letting me pull softly her hair.

Fate pleaded me to stay, but blood kept pouring out. Fate had made me love myself in a way, making me fall in love with mirrors and photographs when I hated them. As I looked into the child’s eyes I understood that there was no ugliness in me, only the one I had been imaginning for years. If Melinda loves me, if she likes me; she likes me with everything, as all of my friends. Why shouldnt then, love myself as I am? Trying to change it wont mean a thing if I dont change from the inside. Learing to accept what I have is what I am doing now.

For the first time in my life I feel confident. I feel strong. I feel certain of my capacities. Loosing you, C. made me see this. I had to go on without you. And many times I wondered if I could have your strenght, if I could have your security, if I could have your piercing glance to the foes. I wondered if I could prove myself that I was a worthy heir apparent. I am.

“Felicidades, colega.”

 

Face of Melinda

“What I admire of Melinda is her idealism. How she believes that everything can be better.”

Indeed. Melinda always seems to be ready to fight for justice, in the good sense. I had a wonderful evening today. Just as I thought it would be. In a sense, there was no surprise at all. The words the musicmaker said, were exactly those which had been previously uttered in the (induced) dream. I remember dreaming and not understanding what she was exactly doing there. She was playing the piano or something. She talked about music. Cant remember exactly. All of a sudden she said ‘thank you for the trust.’ The light that poured from the window was light amber. And she was wearing something white.

Today, as we walked after the rain, an amber light began to shine on the sky. We, the 3 of us, said goodbye. The musicmaker held me in a farewell embrace and said exactly the same words, with the same tone of voice as she had said before. Upon the sky, the amber ligth shone, giving exactly the same illumination I had dreamt of.

The Night and the Silent Water (such weird dreams with no LSD)

My body aches as if you had made love to me the whole night. For in dreams, you were there, making love to me once and again, and again, until I lost consciousness within sleep. I woke up at five o’clock, wondering if somehow, dreams mean something besides our desires. And I remember: your eyes, pleading, loving, liquid. I remember your embrace, warm, tight,  with longing. And I remember your feet, wrapped in black stockings. When I woke up it was as if your scent was there, between the bedsheets. I almost felt your breathing besides me. I had to get up and walk before I could really wake up.

Then, I dreamt of Michael. We were on his ship, as usual. The Night was beginning to fade, and dawn was about to break. He had a table with coffee, cigarrettes and ashtray. He asked me what have happened with Melinda. Not much, I said. You should buy her a chocolate, a single chocolate, he said. He asked me, once again, if I loved her. I replied that I did. And he smiled, saying that somehow, I had chosen wisely.

All of a sudden, the conversation had a turn I would have never expected with him, and that made me hugely embarrassed. He began talking about women, about how to seduce a woman. What a woman likes, and what a woman doesnt like, what does she expect and so on. And he asked me what I thought of what he was saying, as a woman. He even said what one should not do on the first time of going to bed. He spoke of what kind of caresses and kisses were those (at least in his so called experience) which made a woman give in. And he asked me, would you give in if so and so? And me, embarrased to the core of my soul, had to say yes, I would. What kind of words one should use and avoid. It was shocking. It was a dream. I wonder if he was ever like that. He made observations concerning Melinda. To analize the way she walks, the way she moves, the way she breathes and so on. He said when Melinda and me, if it happened, went to bed, talk to her like this and that and so on. Avoid so and so. What should be what she would expect to be different in that experience and so on.

I woke up, shocked. Wondering, if somehow, he ever was like that. Wondering, he would have never told me such a thing…. I tried to sleep again, and the dream was far more shocking…

We were at Melinda’s work. She, me and ‘Aurora Leigh’ were sitting upon the floor. Melinda rested, all of a sudden, her head on my shoulder. I was overwhelmed by the scent of her hair and all I wanted was to hold her and kiss her, but Aurora Leigh was there too, so I remained mute. Melinda got up and got out of the room. ‘Aurora Leigh’ smiled and began to tease me, then asked, quite intrigued.

‘Come on, tell me the truth. You are having an affair. I know you do, come on, tell me! Tell me! Please, is it true? She’s my friend, come on, tell me!’

All I knew is that I cldnt lie…But I cant remember what was my answer.

I woke up, feeling weird. ‘Aurora Leigh’ is a very good friend of Melinda. Such weird dreams…indeed.

 

A Strange Nightmare…

My beloved lady and her child asked me to go with them somewhere. So we went to a kind of hindu temple or something, there, Melinda was supposed to heal people or something. She asked her child to stay by my side, and so she did. Melinda then went into the water, (the child and I also were inside the water, but remained at the shore). Melinda healed one person after another, until a redhaired woman, very attractive, with long red hair, came to her. The redhaired woman became mad with rage, and, as if with thunderstrikes, threw Melinda upon the air. Melinda flew and fell above the water. She didnt sink. She remained motionless and I feared her dead. Then, the redhaired woman looked at the child and summoned a green, terrible, huge dragon. I placed myself in front of the child, pushed her back, so the dragon crashed against the wall making a big hole. Just then, Melinda woke up and grabbed the woman by the hair. She shone with intense amber light and raised the woman by the hair. “Now, you shall perish, Lucifer’s daughter!” and she drowned the redhaired woman…

I woke up and then dreamt again.

I dreamt of the kid. He was upset, because Melinda would not take him into consideration. He scorned me: ‘Dont fool me, I’ve seen how you look at each other.’ I tried to conceal but it was useless. Then he began to complain of her being an obsessive perfectionist, how she wanted everything on time and so on. I told him she never treated me like that. ‘That’s because she loves you.’ He said, quite crushed. Then I held him and told him how I could have loved him, perhaps if we had met earlier. In the end he gave up, and said that she could never love him…

Strange…