Take me to the other side

This is the story of a poor prince, a very poor prince who’s sexuality is being debated by millions all over the world.
Who cares about a prince’s sexuality? Many people say nobody should, and nobody should care about a person being called a prince either, but lots of people do, including the ones that call themselves kings and queens who at an early age teach their children about being special and paying a price for it, because no precious gift comes for free.
Some of those that believe themselves special decide that having no privacy and having to feed all their vassals gossip needs is too much in the name of a title that very few people follow, so they decide to deny themselves that title and become humans like the rest of us, but most don’t want to be simple mortals and prefer to keep the title their parents gave them even if it means that at a certain point in their lives their sexual preference will be questioned by many newspapers all over the world for several days or even weeks or, what’s worse, for the rest of their life.
So, Who cares if a prince is homosexual? Should the prin
ce himself care? I have the feeling he doesn’t, after all why should he suddenly care if he has been living that way for most of his life? Could we think he cares because it’s a disgrace to his family? Can we assume his family didn’t know? Can we really believe his family cares if the world knows about this or not?
What if nobody in his family cares if it’s made public or not?
That would mean that only this prince’s vassals are the ones interested in the matter, which would make the whole thing even more depressing than having a person believing to be a prince that came from a royal family designated by God.

«Oh, señor, por favor, haz que se callen».

La ultima entrega en los comerciales de pollo frito (en mucho aceite), con la familia modelo, una de esas familias mexicanas que nunca parecen pisar los expendios de pollo empanizado y frito en aceite (mucho aceite) se disponen a comer en una mesa de plástico no fácilmente reciclable y la madre le dice a la hija «dale gracias al señor» como en «dale gracias al creador por haber hecho posible que tuvieras comida en esta mesa» y la niña corre a darle las gracias al puberto despachador de pollo empanizado y frito en mucho aceite (mucho, mucho aceite) y comienza a enumerarle los nombres de la comida rápida hecha de pollo frito en aceite (bastante aceite) por las que le da las gracias al empleado.
Para vender ya no hay limites, eso quedo clarisimo después que de Chabuelo tuvo de invitado al holograma de Santa Claus pidiéndole a los niños que no compraran juguetes piratas porque le afectaban a su economia personal, a la de un Santo, pero digamos que una cosa es la religión como santos o imágenes de la Virgen en las papitas y otra es «El», el dador de
vida, creador del universo y la tierra. Si los publicistas no pueden pensar en algo mejor definitivamente esos son hijos de Lilith dirigiéndose a sus hermanos consumidores y no seres creados a imagen y semejanza de el Dios único.

Kitsch shite

La merde, I always prefer that word to it’s many variations.
I’m not a snob, but I read something interesting yesterday, about shit, a long part of a book dedicated to shit matters, shitless entities, a word with no shit and a world full of invisible but intuitable shit.
Questions, questions, if shit is sinful, why do we humans produce it? If it’s not, why do we humans produce it? Is shit human? Is it divine? Is is evil?
I personally never asked myself those questions, after all, I couldn’t give a shit if gods and saints did, but what I did often wonder in my young years was, If our human body is perfect, why does it need to eat and shit?, Shit is perfect too?, If shit is perfect why does it looks like it’s the garbage of our bodies?, Is a world with no shit a world with no food?.
Shit is not good, some eat it with allegations of it being a miracle cure but no miraculous event beyond people eating shit has been proven. But if shit it’s still as necessary as sneezing, as urinating, or even as necessary as sleep, why doesn’t it seems natural? Supermodels don’t shi
t, neither do rock artist, pop boy-bands, our boss, our teachers, our lovely girlfriend, nobody shits as far as the world is concerned, they can throw up a whole meal, they can spit swears until their tongues hurt, but shit, that’s some big stuff.
Nobody wants shit, not the one we produce, not the one of others, only some parents don’t mind their babies shit and some pet owners don’t mind «fluffy’s» shit all over their favorite sofa; Will it ever arrive the day when we see shit as we see a squeezed empty can of coke? Will we ever be able to accept shit as part of us and the world we live in? How would the world change if we stoped denying shit’s existence? Would it change? Would it be full of shit? Would that be bad?.
And I must say that all this shit talk wasn’t what I had planned to say about shit after I finished reading those lines on shit, I have to admit that with the progress of the hours I forgot every word I was going to say; merde.

Sorpresivamente

La muerte es todo menos sorpresiva, todos sabemos, o al menos deberíamos tener siempre presente, que la muerte nos ha de llegar a cualquiera en cualquier instante, este, el que sigue o tal vez uno después.
Ayer en las noticias de la noche: «muere sorpresivamente el actor…» y si me sorprendió, y hasta puedo decir que me afectó el saber que alguien de quien yo casi podía estar segura había vivido, aunque nunca le hubiera visto en persona, pudiera haber muerto. Dejó de existir como existo yo ahora y como existimos muchos. Al dejar de existir, al recordarme con esto que soy y vivo en un mundo mortal me pregunto en que momento me deje mal influenciar por aquello de que la muerte no se vive y no debe pensarse, que cuando ha de llegar llegara sola sin llamarla y de mientras ni tentarla.
Toda la tarde la pase leyendo sobre el suicido, las teorías de un pacto antes de vivir y que sucede si se rompe, los niños que mueren de cáncer, sida y las almas que no descansan y se niegan a vagar sin cuerpo, sin embargo, en la noche vi las noticias y me sorprendió saber que la muerte existe, en un plano tal vez distinto al mío pero que es constantemente visitado por personas comunes y que tarde o temprano yo personalmente llegare a visitar independientemente de que tan común o distinta sea mi personalidad.
Sabemos que la muerte es lo único seguro, y de vez en cuando, una noticia, un pariente, un vecino, un amigo, un conocido de oídas nos pone en la mente «pero si yo hable con el, lo vi hace poco», nos damos cuenta de nuestra mortalidad y seguimos con nuestra vida, reímos, decimos que el espectáculo debe continuar, cambiamos de hoja o cambiamos de canal hasta que nos informan de otra muerte que seguramente fue sorpresiva.

Believe so it comes true

Can’t stand to hear comments like «I wonder what would happen if you put together inside the same room a person from Israel and one from Germany» with that «apparent discovery» voice-tone, I always feel like answering «You would get the same result that when you put a U.S.A. person next to a Japanese one, or a Spaniard next to a Peruvian, which is the same one that putting and apple next to a lemon».
Nazism, with all it’s letters and implications wasn’t born in Germany, as I’m sure I have stated before, also Germany is currently one of the few European countries whose government is not right-wing oriented, but also one of the few European countries whose citizens didn’t vote to be commanded BY a right-wing government.
Germany is still another victim of prejudice and partly-written history, like Afghanistan with Talibans, like Russia with cold war; Things, worse and much worse have happened and keep happening all over the world but nobody wants to admit it, a handful of villains are easier to handle.
Then, the image of a whole country, a society, the image refle
cting the life of millions of people, summed up in a word that is only there because 50 years later fear and hate can keep giving so much to those same very few.

Per ché?

Dicen que todo tiene un fin, y dicen que la escritura sin signos diacriticos no es escritura, pero yo no puedo darme el lujo de utilizarlos para este mensaje que sera triste y penoso, al menos no por el momento; ¿igual y en una reimpresion?.
Segun me informan Suede (London Suede pa’ los gringos) se van a separar, no mas SUEDE, no mas «BeautifulOnes», «Starcrazy», «Love&Poison», no mas «BoyswithEyeLiner» y ni aun…ni aun suedeme.
Es el fin y uno nuca esta preparado para ello.

We are the world

I feel shame!, again.
I hate re-reading what I have written as much as I hate to use the word «I» so often in this journal, still I had to face both things yesterday and with great sadness I realize I’m starting to betray the initial purpose of this diary with too much «I’s» and unbearable details of locality.
Yes, I remember the person who said that writings, the more local the more universal, but this view of the shortsighted has to end.
I won’t talk about the strange association that most people have between death and blood, I won’t express further ignorance as to why some people can’t see the difference between death and life, and I won’t inform you, my dear reader, my thoughts after I saw the musical show based on Mother Theresa’s life stuffed with scenes of Mother Theresa singing dressed as a nun and dancing a choreography along with several happy singing leprosy homeless patients, oh no, today I won’t talk about any of those subjects, not even about the uncertainty concerning death so many people have even after they hear that the «global warming» could not be tha
nks to us 80 years inmortals but thanks to that perfect star we call sun, today I’ll just say that I discovered the greatness behind the question «What?».