INCOMPLETE WITHOUT A REAL PART

One evening, I suddenly realized a way out of my lonely linear imaginary trap:


                                        YOU.


If you exist, and you are fully real and positive (of course you are! have anyone see you not smiling?), and your feet are steady on the ground...

And if we believe love is an addition and not a mutual annihilation or subtraction...
(Gosh, I do know what a killer relationship could be, how could the beast just parasite the healthy "other" until the self-esteem drains and there is no health any longer, just a rotten puppet and a maquiavelic thread-tenser).


I could always multiply myself by myself, thinking that "one and the same" do exist (I*I*I*I*...  and there is no real part of myself, i.e. Re(I)=0 ).  So consider I am all imaginary, oh, yes,  and that I definitely exist, because I do, I just live in a perpendicular axis, and therefore I can see things rotated by 90 degrees, or maybe not see them at all.


I could not understand how this new myself to the power of myself as many times as I wish could bring me out of, either the negative part of reality (always in the shade, as a good southerner) or this my imaginary world. Isn't I*I= -1? and I*I*I=-I ?




Therefore, I should say thank YOU. For existing, been fully real, and truly positive. And for loving me (would you?).


And now let's go to sing sonnets to the kettle, which seems more receptive to my incomprehensive mental hallucinations.

             


                

LIGHT SONGWRITING

     WISH
---------------------
I would be utterly pleased if you could just sing these light and in-sign-SING-no-I-ffff-I-can't
(insignificant) words. Just take a guitar, and cuddle it with passion.
About the rhythm...oh, you tell me about the rhythm!


    LYRICS
-----------------------
   MATE OF THE QUEEN
  
   Waiting for a move on the chess board,
    I am overwhelmed by the thrill and the fear.
    Scared to be wrong, unsure of myself.
    Just watching.


    The leaves seem static from this side of the window.
    The cuckoos keep silent. The wind does not blow.
     Jumbling is the pawn, executioner and witness.
     Why your pulse has stopped and your hands do not reach?


      CHORUS          You; the rational, the logical
                                the frozen inexistent...love?
                                Me; just panic.

    Time slides slowly.
    Winter passes by.
    Getting clearer and clearer.
    -every beat brings a sigh.-
    I'm dead if I move, will die if I don't.
    Mate of the queen.
    (We just let it go).


       CHORUS          You; the rational, the logical
                                the frozen inexistent...love?
                                Me; just panic.


  
   As you are getting closer, I am further away.
   An imminent death 's tapping.
   Am not I dead, anyway?
   tip-tap-toe,                            -sinking, shrinking.
   tip-tap-toe,                           -they are aiming The Queen.
   tip-tap-toe                            -what the guns for? are they soldiers?
   tip-tap-toe                            - Here the pain.



   And every beating hurts,
   when you think on no way out.
   They are coming,
    no tricks to  mislead them!
    (if you have no sense of love).


CHORUS          You; the rational, the logical
                          the frozen inexistent...love?
                         Me; just panic.

    You are now getting further.
    The candle light dims out.
    No beating, no hurting.
    It was fate, it was carved.
    Well, we didn't have a chance.
    Shadows on the sand!
 
 
                                                 -Blame The Queen. ([whisper:]- Blame her).
                                                All blame on the Queen.
                                                Blame The Queen.
                                                Blame The Queen.

                                                Now The Queen is dead,
                                               B-L-A-M-E   T-H-E   Q-U-E-E-N.
                                                                                 ([whisper?:]- ... ).








   
   









   
   

CHANSON SUR L'AIR

Sometimes I wish I could release myself from my own body to run free,
as the souls -white butterflies- of the ancestors.


                                      [       ]
                                      [PSY]
  [PSYCHE][PSYCHE]   [       ]  [PSYCHE][PSYCHE]
                    [PSYCHE]  [PSY] [PSYCHE]
                    [PSYCHE]  [        ] [PSYCHE]
          [PSY][PSYCHE]   [PSY] [PSYCHE][PSY]
          [PSYCHE]                           [PSYCHE]
               [HE]                                     [HE]


I would then be able to feel without pre-tailored sensors.
Without the genetic weight, breaking the predictable response.

If only I could experience without the fear to unconventionality.
I wish I could create a new me every morning from the liquid essence of myself.

Sometimes I also think we live a floating lie.
 I say "floating" because we were tied to a sun-sized balloon
and left our "need of questioning " on the ground behind.

Do I believe in this unequal system, in this overcooked morality?
(it was un-freely imposed, there the issue).
I have to say I doubt. I'm not convinced.

And I wonder how to start a revolution from a single individual
while still embedded  into a solid body.
----------------------------------------------
Posted by Chinchilla Terremoto, 2014

MUJER QUE SE ENAMORA DEL AIRE

                                                                              Para Marta C. Pensando ¡en el aire!

Hoy al desayuno,tomé una de las bolitas negras que cayó del árbol de la falsa pimienta en que nos cobijábamos de niños.

No sé cómo llegó a mi mano ni a mi paladar.

El efecto fue inmediato:

                               enredaderas creciendo de mi pecho, plumas y luz de la nada.
                               Los ojos, cubiertos por una cortina de sudor salado,
                               engañando a lo que fueran rayos.


Te vi discontínuo,
a una distancia equivocada,
difractado sobre el horizonte.
El tú principal, de frente. Irradiando intensamente.
Los tús secundarios, cada vez más atenuados.
Si supiese calcular a qué distancia estás te cogería de la mano.
Te suplicaría que me acompañases.
Pero la luz en un medio tan inhomogéneo no sigue una línea recta.
Manotazos en el aire. Aquí no hay nada.
Si estuvistes, ya te pierdo.


Es casual que al apretar los dedos descubra el fruto de pimienta que, entonces, no debí tomar, falsa alarma.

Y si sonríes es porque sabes que, hace poco, me volvieron a nombrar. Curiosamente:

                                                “Mujer que se enamora del aire“.

SOBRE LA RELIGION Y OTROS PECADOS

                                                                                    A mi abuela Maria

La muerte nos iguala, en una especie de comunismo eterno.
Yo creo que, de existir, aquel Dios en que ella creia ha de ser, inevitablemente, rojo.

¿Qué sentido tiene querer conservar una religión con dogmas e ideas indiscutibles?
¿Por qué privar al ser libre y curioso del derecho a dudar?
No hay que temer a transmitir las preguntas para las que no hallamos respuesta.
¿Por qué tanto miedo a que las piezas del puzle no encajen? A que la simetría de las hojas, la imparidad de estos pétalos y la belleza fractal de aquel tronco de árbol sean sólo tendencias casuales de la caoticidad del universo.

Figure: Fractal tree. From http://blogs.unimelb.edu.au/sciencecommunication/2012/10/18/living-on-terra-fractal-2/

No quería hacer de este escrito una crítica contra lo único en lo que realmente creíste. Sigo sin entender;
y sin embargo, hoy te lloro. Te extraño, abuela.
Pero me cuesta creer que decidieses libremente estar atada.
Imagino que no soy yo quién para cuestionar cómo cada cual aplaca su miedo. ( ¿Por qué no?).


Sí. No somos nada. -Escalofrío-.
Vida efímera. Vida caduca. Vida: billete de ida.
Cada uno la lleva como puede.
Cada uno su cruz.
¿Tu Dios la de todos?



-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Nottingham, 9th january 2014.