Most of the people and things I love to the bones were beautiful, bountiful accidents at the very beginning. It would be risky to abridge memory without blotting out the essential. The true relationship between cause and effect is largelly concealed to the conscious mind.
My heart is the ball losing momentum before choosing black or red, odd or even and then falling on to the wheel. They used to sell cameras saying you press the button and we do the rest.
It never was that easy. The whole process takes so much responsibility that I fluctuate between elation and an overwhelming sense of failure from one click to the next.
Some days she arrives home from work totally worn-out. She barely drinks a glass of hot milk and passes away, chronically sleep deprived.
I stay awake with blurry eyes, looking at her, feeling like an impostor, wondering what happy chance put her in my way and how can I make myself deserving of such beauty.
While others spend hours playing X-Box or Wii, I have chosen impatience, expectancy, distress, distrust and fence-sitting fibrillation as my favorite entertainments. I take photographs of the other half of my whole. Starting from the bottom, attempting the way up.
I sometimes feel like things are starting to fall into place and suddenly I’m brutally assaulted by questions about my so called talent. Something goes really wrong with my self esteem.
Tailcoated men walk by the reflection I’ve built of myself on a fuzzy mirror.
Published on mayo 4, 2009 9:24 am.
Filed under: Autoestimas, Observaciones, Pictures Tags: blemish, Intimate Gallery
Most of the people and things I love to the bones were beautiful, bountiful accidents at the very beginning. It would be risky to abridge memory without blotting out the essential. The true relationship between cause and effect is largelly concealed to the conscious mind.
My heart is the ball losing momentum before choosing black or red, odd or even and then falling on to the wheel. They used to sell cameras saying you press the button and we do the rest.
It never was that easy. The whole process takes so much responsibility that I fluctuate between elation and an overwhelming sense of failure from one click to the next.
Some days she arrives home from work totally worn-out. She barely drinks a glass of hot milk and passes away, chronically sleep deprived.
I stay awake with blurry eyes, looking at her, feeling like an impostor, wondering what happy chance put her in my way and how can I make myself deserving of such beauty.
While others spend hours playing X-Box or Wii, I have chosen impatience, expectancy, distress, distrust and fence-sitting fibrillation as my favorite entertainments. I take photographs of the other half of my whole. Starting from the bottom, attempting the way up.
I sometimes feel like things are starting to fall into place and suddenly I’m brutally assaulted by questions about my so called talent. Something goes really wrong with my self esteem.
Tailcoated men walk by the reflection I’ve built of myself on a fuzzy mirror.
Published on mayo 4, 2009 7:00 am.
Filed under: Remix Tags: all about me, anima mia, cartography
Trying to penetrate the feeling (entre lusco e fusco) I realized that my deepest craving as an author has always been hunting the story that I can’t write, but you can shoot. Writing is about chaining tentatives. Shooting is about stopping time just when the moment fades.
Published on mayo 1, 2009 7:00 am.
Filed under: Camera, Forest and birds, Sense Tags: all about me, anima mia, the moment
I bow to the humble heart that comes to nothing so I can feel the miracle of what you saw without trying to own it by definition.
Published on abril 30, 2009 7:00 am.
Filed under: Departure of reality, Forest and birds Tags: Who are you?
It’s what I can’t name in these photographs what haunts me when I am not watching them.
All the questions that rise up (stories, exotic nature of strangers, serendipious glimpses of night dreams) are symbols of my faith. All this beauty offered to me, all these secrets, tangled, abounded, inexhaustible, like mirages over the shadows of a desert.
Published on abril 29, 2009 7:00 am.
Filed under: Camera, Street Tags: exotic, unexpected
I clearly remember the day I found out what was going on. The powerful sense of relief and emptiness numbed every single emotion, including betrayal.
I knew I was about taking the biggest leap in my whole life. My hands against the light reminded me my grandfather’s. Suddenly aged, panthocratic, yet innocent and bursting with the urge of creation. I also felt the whole body shaking, the fear of going mad and then, the rest of fears collapsed in two: losing them and not being enough.
I changed hundreds of diapers with those hands. I shot thousands of photographs over their beautiful faces as they were growing up. Now we have to travel far to spend a short weekend together. Now I am the weak one, the deadbeat dad, even though financially supportive, a hopeless failure.
I suspect they are being lied to or denied their right to hold a strong and encouraging masculine reference. The suspicion wouldn’t hurt me so much if I could keep their hearts and minds from all harm until they are secure, self-assured, self-possessed, self-reliant, self-respecting, self-sufficient enough to choose their own fights, choose their own thoughts and heal their own wounds.
Beliefs, memory and perception are tricky. They can be deeply affected by interference and nasty storytelling. I dread the idea that they will pay the price of our faults. I dread the idea of them trapped in a vicious cycle of lousy relationships just because they were told a horror tale of deprivation, absence and neglect. It’s just unacceptable.
What did I see in my ex? What was I thinking? I don’t care anymore.
I won’t nullify the miracle and treasure of the days we welcomed them to life.
I resist to join the war. I won’t hold on to hate.
I pledge not to bad mouth and brainwash them myself.
I won’t tell them stories of saints and sinners.
My amazing girls still walk on water.
Published on abril 28, 2009 3:30 pm.
Filed under: En este momento, Mi otra vida, Textos Tags: blemish
I clearly remember the day I found out what was going on. The powerful sense of relief and emptiness numbed every single emotion, including betrayal.
I knew I was about taking the biggest leap in my whole life. My hands against the light reminded me my grandfather’s. Suddenly aged, panthocratic, yet innocent and bursting with the urge of creation. I also felt the whole body shaking, the fear of going mad and then, the rest of fears collapsed in two: losing them and not being enough.
I changed hundreds of diapers with those hands. I shot thousands of photographs over their beautiful faces as they were growing up. Now we have to travel far to spend a short weekend together. Now I am the weak one, the deadbeat dad, even though financially supportive, a hopeless failure.
I suspect they are being lied to or denied their right to hold a strong and encouraging masculine reference. The suspicion wouldn’t hurt me so much if I could keep their hearts and minds from all harm until they are secure, self-assured, self-possessed, self-reliant, self-respecting, self-sufficient enough to choose their own fights, choose their own thoughts and heal their own wounds.
Beliefs, memory and perception are tricky. They can be deeply affected by interference and nasty storytelling. I dread the idea that they will pay the price of our faults. I dread the idea of them trapped in a vicious cycle of lousy relationships just because they were told a horror tale of deprivation, absence and neglect. It’s just unacceptable.
What did I see in my ex? What was I thinking? I don’t care anymore.
I won’t nullify the miracle and treasure of the days we welcomed them to life.
I resist to join the war. I won’t hold on to hate.
I pledge not to bad mouth and brainwash them myself.
I won’t tell them stories of saints and sinners.
My amazing girls still walk on water.
Published on abril 28, 2009 7:00 am.
Filed under: Remix, Sense Tags: all about me, My amazing girls
It all started decades before failing in love with you. As a child, being true to my desire and asserting my will would lead to bitter harvests. It was my choice to be your servant so I could forget myself and rest from the burdens of responsibility.
I made you my only focus. You scheduled my breath. You payed the bills. You named my needs and picked up the suitable toys: the collar, the crop, the handcuffs.
I could secretly blame you for all mistakes while rejoicing in moral superiority.
You were the iron curtain before all things forbidden and disquieting. You set the rules to follow with subtle or blunt narcissistic chinoiserie, depending on the days, depending on your moods.
Safe, sane limits saved my craving for perfection from unexpected blunder.
But, was it really of mutual agreement? I was so eager to please, emotionally numb, voiceless and narcotized. I can barely remember what I really wanted, if I really wanted anything at all.
Maybe the problem is a virtual absence of desire. Maybe you were just a woeful detour in the search for God.
Some nights my mind feels like a a play of macabre and horrific nature. I won’t forget you hold hostages. From time to time I wonder about your new acolyte and imagine the terms of the actual bondage, praying for him.
Now, what? Now that I am truly loved, what?
Now that I’ve realized I had always been the master, what?
Sometimes I look at the mirror and I see a lottery winner with no aim, a door-to-door salesman faking the perfect smile. At last, I resolve to pay the ransom and talk to you respectfully.
It’s raining heavily in Las Vegas now. A young couple has just got married in a quirky chappel near the liquor store. Elvis lights a cigarette as they turn the corner and the small bouquet shrivels on top of a garbage dump.
Published on abril 27, 2009 7:00 am.
Filed under: Departure of reality, Street Tags: unexpected
