thewomanintherifts - Tumblr blog

[thewomanintherifts]

I can sail a boat to know the sea. The boat is in the sea. Nevertheless, the boat is not the sea.

[thewomanintherifts]

We grew up to be different people. This path has found me again but I’m not the same. This time, I am not myself anymore.

[thewomanintherifts]

XX.

One day I woke up and I was no longer a little girl. They demanded that I make money, they asked for my opinion, they insisted that I should know what to do next. They begged me to do something.

How?

I can barely walk.

[thewomanintherifts]

XIX.

I am afraid others can see me: I fear they can tell that I have no idea who I am. That I have no idea what I am doing.

Look at me, here I am. This mess, swirl, tangle, non-sense, it’s who I am. I contradict myself, I retract myself, I repeat myself. Again. Do not run. You always run to familiar places, to what’s well-known. Dive into the unknown. Go right into it. Let it fill you up.  The void swallows down routine. If every moment of your life it’s a repetition, you will be left out with nothing. The void swallows it, it will swallow it if it’s the only thing you have.

[thewomanintherifts]

XVIII.

-Look right in the eye at the horror coming from the world. Don’t blink. Don’t let it see you tremble.

[thewomanintherifts]

XVII. Eulogy to shit: the one I expel from me.

Let’s cut the nonsense. We’re already too old for Destiny. I can’t wait any longer. I need to feel in control. Althought it means I have to feel the guilt.

I’ve lost too much time trying to understand the composition of the universe. Attempting  to add and subtract, expecting the thought that doesn’t let me sleep at night comes true somehow. Waiting for the world to occur sometime,  in a way that suits me.

No more wordiness. Let’s understand! This is not an arrengement. We weren’t supposed to be. Not like a ‘supposed’ coming from that external figure called Desnity, no, it was a choice.

Waiting for it to happen without moving a finger is, sadly, a choice. The worst if you ask me now. Now.  We couldn’t. We weren’t capable of it. We thought that to give our feelings an  added value they must happen with an imperceptible naturalness. Thinking, this way, they would have an irrefutable validity of their right to be in this world. If we didn’t do anything and it happened, it was because it was meant to be, because Desnity want it so.

Where is this bullshit coming from?

No more.

I expel this shit from me.

I am capable of. I’m responsable for.

Suffer you damn, suffer now. What for now?

NOW.

I suffer now because I waited, because I kept silence so the external figure Destiny would approve my feelings.

What a fool.

Too proud and emancipated of that figure called God but I believed in Destiny. I sit and wait for what may come and don’t do anything. Just so I could say that it would happen (or not) anyway.

It’s very reasonable to recognise that I am an insignificant being in relation to the immensity of the universe, of time and nature. But how comfortable it has been to not be responsable for myself. It’s so much easier to complain that to do something about it.

-Grab each one of these aqueous pictures and make them mine. Smash, smell, spit. Tear the paper. It’s yours. The paper roll spins again. Who makes it spin around? Make it stop. make it rest. I barely breathe.

Spanish version

[thewomanintherifts]

XVI. About being.

I want to see the world. Expand myself to the point that I’m not me anymore. Scattered around. In order not to be disconnected. Be part of, though in parts. All of it, stop already. I want to pose for the photo. Here we are. I don’t think about you anymore. I no longer think about saving you.

[thewomanintherifts]

XV. Another dawn

She goes on her bike at full speed feeling alive with the burning cold that touches her skin.

Water streams down her face. It’s not rain.

Seven days has passed and that’s the only thing she felt. Not the laughs, not the screams, not the food, nor the sex  or the theatre. She feels nothing. Remember: we’re still in the same place.

[The voice has never stopped]

THE JUDGE: Speak. HIDDEN FRAGILITY: I don’t understand myself. THE JUDGE: Answer, say something. HIDDEN FRAGILITY : I can’t hear myself. THE JUDGE: Do something, imcompetent. HIDDEN FRAGILITY: I can’t feel me. THE STRIPPED-OFF BEING: Don’t sabotage yourself, for the tenth time. THE JUDGE: What are you trying for? HIDDEN FRAGILITY: What do you want now? THE STRIPPED-OFF BEING: It was you. It’s you. Just you.

You people reduce everything to madness.

Everything you cannot understand, that’s far from your reach, you name it as if it was a mental flaw, due to its erratic nature should not be worthy of your time. Or your mercy.

You left us without time and without mercy. I still suffer. I can’t feel but I suffer. I still got a future. I don’t move along but I keep on. Because everything keeps on. -It dawns

Spanish version.

[thewomanintherifts]

XIV. “It’s just a phase” “Snap out of it” “Everybody feels a little down sometimes” It’s normal”

You people don’t get anything. You feel better with yourselves just for trying. What do you want me to do? Applaud you?

Your cold and intellectual approach, the only thing that cause us is a devastating feeling of loneliness. That ingrained loneliness we all carry inside.

You don’t know, You don’t know what is like to not be able of getting out of bed beacuse your body doesn’t answer and your mind is blunted up in a deafening scream.

You don’t know what is like to have the worst possible judge inside you reminding you how you always do the same, that you’re a failure, that everyone there hates you, that you better shut up, what is the stupidity you’re saying now, please, no one needs you, everything you do is wrong, why keep even trying, you’ll ruin it anyway, i’m not even surprised. See? I told you, why even try?

You don’t know about that bewildered feeling between not wanting to live but not wanting to die.

You don’t know what is like to walk with a body that doesn’t feel like your own.

Do you really want to undestand?

Spanish version

[thewomanintherifts]

XIII. The second scream

Everybody’s fucked up. Really fucked up. They just hide it well so they don’t look so broken, they don’t look so different, so they are not left alone. There is company in relating. What makes us different set us apart, leave us in a monologue that strugles between what must be and what unavoidably is.

We choose to must. ‘Must’ withdraws us from the intrinsic feeling of loneliness we all have borned with. That ingrained loneliness we all carry inside.

So, they don’t realise, they don’t realise that everyone is faking too.

Keeping that loneliness inside as if it was an unchaste secret. The same way we repulse the nudity of our bodies, same way those grimmest feelings terrify us and we cover them with diverse prepared layers for every occasion. As we know, that’s good manners.

Why do we convince ourselves we’re alone in this? I mean, we are alone.

But we are not alone in feeling lonely with this stripped off being whom with accusing look demands us to be fed.

Besides I know, I know that that thing you don’t want to tell me, I feel it too.

IfeelreallylonelytooIdon’tknowwhyidowhatidotoo.Whatfor.Ifeelavoidinsidemychestthatnomatterhowmuchitryicannotfill.I’vetriedsomanywaysandattheendtheonlythingicanfeelisthevoid.It’sonlyusthevoidandme.Ifeelverylonelytoo.Ifeelunpronounceablethingstoo.Igotosleepwishingineverwakeuptoo.Ifeellonelytoo.

Why is it, as much as I try, I cannot touch you? We don’t listen to each other. We’re so desparate to be listened to, we can’t hear the other one in their hysterical scream to be listened.

And so on. Can you hear me? Did I scream or didn’t I listen to you? Spanish version

[thewomanintherifts]

XII.

-I feel like a little drizzle that does no harm,  but after a while, It turns bothersome!

[thewomanintherifts]

XI. The first scream

[Moment]

What happened? Did I scream or didn’t I listen?

[thewomanintherifts]

X.

About the tenth we don’t speak about.

Canceled. We don’t want to face what happened. We wouldn’t want us to be too uncomfortable.

Until that day, we will keep repeating this state of uneasiness, missplacement, lack of love, disconnection, despair, inattention, sloth. How do you stop a motionless object? We want to stop. But we keep repeating ourselves. Chasing our own tails. Good boy... good boy.... You won’t get anywhere. You’re never getting out of here.

But we don’t speak about that at all.

[thewomanintherifts]

IX. Now (October) (or, why this generation was born tired and i’m having a hard time paying attention to you while you speak.)

Who’s these people watching me?

What am I doing? Am I getting in the way?

Come back. No, wait. No, I don’t need them. Give me back what you made me feel.

Before, every little thing was life or death, now nothing concerns me. None of that matters. The cracking sound shuts my words but I don’t mind it.

You have it all figured it out. Why do I want that so badly? -I’d get bored. But I want so desperately someone to tell me what to do next. Easier. Easier. C’mon, easier.  Not now.

I used to know one thing or two. What for? -Brought me here. I’m an outcome, my body, this body, is not real.

Shut up already

You don’t know what you’re talking about, you just want to look wise. You just want your voice to speak louder.

Shut up!

-It was fun. Again.

Why do we love to tell an interesting story?

Feeding ourselves from the laughter, the gasps, the surprise, the codicious question, the attention of the ‘yes’ and the complicity of the ‘no’

-Let them go. If they run, better keep going. Don’t stop for me. Don’t come back without a notice. This is the real state.

THIS IS A STAGE.

We exist when we’re looked at.

Don’t even blink, I beg you. This coming and going is getting me at the border of a liquid state.

That’s it. There’s no hope, is it? Just ignorance and indifference. You don’t have to die for this. You don’t have to sell your children for this. But you claim for the bullets and the blood.

There’s no forgiveness

They took away our possibility of dreaming.

Torn apart from those who won’t have to deal with the world they left. May war appear to us when we turn on the corner, knocks on our doors, burst in our faces and don’t let us close our eyes.

Why do I have to wake up to a battlefield every day?

Why do you leave us with this? They take away our dreams and then they’re gone.

It’s just us now. We know nothing, this is nothing. Why? I can’t feel myself. I’m at the highest point of my emotion: Of nothingness, of despair, of hopelessness.

Who said something? Another hour of the clock. I haven’t taken a step. Thinnking about you. Of how it felt. But it has an expiration date. The paper rolled again. Don’t bother with intentions.

We’re so used to try. We’re so used to repeat ourselves. Until we find ourselves feeling nothing. Where are my guts to scream? No more talking. This words don’t say much. They might as well be complains or apologizes.

Now comes the scream. It’s now.

(Spanish version.)

.

[thewomanintherifts]

VIII.

I want to live in a world where time doesn’t matter. Where we can get rid of the constant haunt of this slippery prey that leaves us paranoid, disturb, exhausted out of running away from its remembrance, from not accepting its presence, from fearing its abandoment.

I don’t want to listen no more to the beating of my heart accompanied by the tic-toc from a clock that’s counting down the hearbeats left.

I don’t want the clock hands moving me from one place to the other:

At four busily pokes me with its finger to get me out of bed. At five with a knock of reality pushes me out of the house. And so on: six drags me inside; eight forces me to take a short step; twelve boosts air slowly; two I want to leave I don’t want to see at; four how I force myself to pay attention.

Everything finishes and starts over again because it doesn’t stop, this doesn’t stop. With or without me, it continues, escapes me.

Tomorrow will dawn.

[thewomanintherifts]

VII. Memory of a kiss that was not.

-Yes, always nothing. Nothing’s left

What is killing me? What does push me to feel nothing?

If you force yourself to feel nothing is because you’re running from something. What are you avoiding? What am I protecting myself from?

I can’t name it.

-Let’s keep it going.

[ Appareance of the ‘would have’]

Lying down in bed, me the one with the uneven corners, I think: I could’ve kissed her one more time.

Always one more kiss.

[thewomanintherifts]

VI.

Tired and turned to shit. We get killed. For not keeping silence. We get killed . For waking up one day and say ‘No more’. We get killed . For wanting to go a little further beyond this ignorance and rot we live in. We get killed. They want us to go out to change the world with tight lips and evaporated eyes but the thing is we get killed. Let’s not lose the nice custom of welcoming that incomprehensible guest made of expired chances and null hopes with a shot in the head. We wouldn’t want them to think bad of us. Because we get killed.

Thinking about the result. Always nothing. All I can hear is the microphone’s silence vibration and the unwillied cough from the sir in the third row.

                                                     ¡Go home in fear!

We wouldn’t want them to see you listening to words that soon will be welcomed with the cold metal of good manners.  Thank you for coming bullet in my head to remind me that I spoke too much. To remind me this world is like this: just like mum warned me about before I set a foot on the street. Just like I pictured it.  We wouldn’t want them to believe I wasn’t paying attention. To believe I wrote to not die but if someone read they would’ve get the same result. 

Always nothing. Neither one nor the other.  Or is it always the same?  If it’s not one thing is the other?   

 Spanish version.