sabias palabras de Bob Dylan para el año nuevo

Last Thoughts On Woody Guthrie

When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb
When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb
When yer laggin' behind an' losin' yer pace
In a slow-motion crawl of life's busy race
No matter what yer doing if you start givin' up
If the wine don't come to the top of yer cup
If the wind's got you sideways with with one hand holdin' on
And the other starts slipping and the feeling is gone
And yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it
And the wood's easy findin' but yer lazy to fetch it
And yer sidewalk starts curlin' and the street gets too long
And you start walkin' backwards though you know its wrong
And lonesome comes up as down goes the day
And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far away
And you feel the reins from yer pony are slippin'
And yer rope is a-slidin' 'cause yer hands are a-drippin'
And yer sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys
Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys
And yer sky cries water and yer drain pipe's a-pourin'
And the lightnin's a-flashing and the thunder's a-crashin'
And the windows are rattlin' and breakin' and the roof tops a-shakin'
And yer whole world's a-slammin' and bangin'
And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm
And to yourself you sometimes say
"I never knew it was gonna be this way
Why didn't they tell me the day I was born"
And you start gettin' chills and yer jumping from sweat
And you're lookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet
And yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the air
And the whole world's a-watchin' with a window peek stare
And yer good gal leaves and she's long gone a-flying
And yer heart feels sick like fish when they're fryin'
And yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feet
And you need it badly but it lays on the street
And yer bell's bangin' loudly but you can't hear its beat
And you think yer ears might a been hurt
Or yer eyes've turned filthy from the sight-blindin' dirt
And you figured you failed in yesterdays rush
When you were faked out an' fooled white facing a four flush
And all the time you were holdin' three queens
And it's makin you mad, it's makin' you mean
Like in the middle of Life magazine
Bouncin' around a pinball machine
And there's something on yer mind you wanna be saying
That somebody someplace oughta be hearin'
But it's trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head
And it bothers you badly when your layin' in bed
And no matter how you try you just can't say it
And yer scared to yer soul you just might forget it
And yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer head
And yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead
And the lion's mouth opens and yer staring at his teeth
And his jaws start closin with you underneath
And yer flat on your belly with yer hands tied behind
And you wish you'd never taken that last detour sign
And you say to yourself just what am I doin'
On this road I'm walkin', on this trail I'm turnin'
On this curve I'm hanging
On this pathway I'm strolling, in the space I'm taking
In this air I'm inhaling
Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard
Why am I walking, where am I running
What am I saying, what am I knowing
On this guitar I'm playing, on this banjo I'm frailin'
On this mandolin I'm strummin', in the song I'm singin'
In the tune I'm hummin', in the words I'm writin'
In the words that I'm thinkin'
In this ocean of hours I'm all the time drinkin'
Who am I helping, what am I breaking
What am I giving, what am I taking
But you try with your whole soul best
Never to think these thoughts and never to let
Them kind of thoughts gain ground
Or make yer heart pound
But then again you know why they're around
Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down
"Cause sometimes you hear'em when the night times comes creeping
And you fear that they might catch you a-sleeping
And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreamin'
And you can't remember for the best of yer thinking
If that was you in the dream that was screaming
And you know that it's something special you're needin'
And you know that there's no drug that'll do for the healin'
And no liquor in the land to stop yer brain from bleeding
And you need something special
Yeah, you need something special all right
You need a fast flyin' train on a tornado track
To shoot you someplace and shoot you back
You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler
That's been banging and booming and blowing forever
That knows yer troubles a hundred times over
You need a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race
That won't laugh at yer looks
Your voice or your face
And by any number of bets in the book
Will be rollin' long after the bubblegum craze
You need something to open up a new door
To show you something you seen before
But overlooked a hundred times or more
You need something to open your eyes
You need something to make it known
That it's you and no one else that owns
That spot that yer standing, that space that you're sitting
That the world ain't got you beat
That it ain't got you licked
It can't get you crazy no matter how many
Times you might get kicked
You need something special all right
You need something special to give you hope
But hope's just a word
That maybe you said or maybe you heard
On some windy corner 'round a wide-angled curve

But that's what you need man, and you need it bad
And yer trouble is you know it too good
"Cause you look an' you start getting the chills

"Cause you can't find it on a dollar bill
And it ain't on Macy's window sill
And it ain't on no rich kid's road map
And it ain't in no fat kid's fraternity house
And it ain't made in no Hollywood wheat germ
And it ain't on that dimlit stage
With that half-wit comedian on it
Ranting and raving and taking yer money
And you thinks it's funny
No you can't find it in no night club or no yacht club
And it ain't in the seats of a supper club
And sure as hell you're bound to tell
That no matter how hard you rub
You just ain't a-gonna find it on yer ticket stub
No, and it ain't in the rumors people're tellin' you
And it ain't in the pimple-lotion people are sellin' you
And it ain't in no cardboard-box house
Or down any movie star's blouse
And you can't find it on the golf course
And Uncle Remus can't tell you and neither can Santa Claus
And it ain't in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes
And it ain't in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons
And it ain't in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices
That come knockin' and tappin' in Christmas wrappin'
Sayin' ain't I pretty and ain't I cute and look at my skin
Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow
Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry
When you can't even sense if they got any insides
These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows
No you'll not now or no other day
Find it on the doorsteps made out-a paper mache¥
And inside it the people made of molasses
That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses
And it ain't in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phonies
Who'd turn yuh in for a tenth of a penny
Who breathe and burp and bend and crack
And before you can count from one to ten
Do it all over again but this time behind yer back
My friend
The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl
And play games with each other in their sand-box world
And you can't find it either in the no-talent fools
That run around gallant
And make all rules for the ones that got talent
And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any talent but think they do
And think they're foolin' you
The ones who jump on the wagon
Just for a while 'cause they know it's in style
To get their kicks, get out of it quick
And make all kinds of money and chicks
And you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat
Sayin', "Christ do I gotta be like that
Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at
Ain't there no one here that knows how I feel
Good God Almighty
THAT STUFF AIN'T REAL"

No but that ain't yer game, it ain't even yer race
You can't hear yer name, you can't see yer face
You gotta look some other place
And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin'
Where do you look for this lamp that's a-burnin'
Where do you look for this oil well gushin'
Where do you look for this candle that's glowin'
Where do you look for this hope that you know is there
And out there somewhere
And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads
Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows
Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways
You can touch and twist
And turn two kinds of doorknobs
You can either go to the church of your choice
Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital
You'll find God in the church of your choice
You'll find Woody Guthrie in Brooklyn State Hospital

And though it's only my opinion
I may be right or wrong
You'll find them both
In the Grand Canyon
At sundown

Girls Girls Girls

No es ningun secreto que me dedico a las artes y que mi tema de investigacion es la feminidad, y que la gran pregunta de los $54000 es ¿Como ser mujer, realizar tus sueños, desarrollar tus capacidades y no morir en el intento?

Eso, es algo que todavia no logro descubrir del todo, pero cuando veo cosas como esta siento que algo bueno esta sucediendo y que no se necesita ser macha para ser fuerte y valiente :)



Dedicado a mi amiga Eugenia que no solo es una parkourera excelente, es buena artista emprendedora y tiene una fuerza de voluntad de miedo :)

El rey ha muerto

La verdad sigo conmocionada por la muerte de Michael... es algo que nunca imaginè que pudiera pasar, tal vez por que el vivia en nuestra mente como un personaje ochentero de ficcion maravilloso, como Garfield, que en algun momento cambio de escritores del show y perdio el encanto pero dejo un legado indeleble en nosotros la generacion de niños criados por la tele, y que de alguna manera seguimos recordando con cierta nostalgia asociada con aquella inocencia infantil, que sucedio durante la caida del muro de Berlin y el triunfo del capitalismo, con Michael haciendo el moonwalk triunfalmente en la cima del espectaculo norteamericano, se coronò como el rey del pop, y muchos de nosotros nos unimos a su corte de niños bailarines.

Me resulta muy curioso que ahora durante la fuerte crisis que sufre la economia y el sueño americano, muera su rey y nosotros vemos con tristeza como nuestra infancia tambièn se va diluyendo enmedio de las nuevas obligaciones de la vida adulta, algunos amigos se casan y otros trabajamos duro sobre nuestros proyectos de vida, para darnos cuenta de que es dificil seguir creyendo en la magia que Michael siempre cantò y bailò, y que por un derrumbe anunciado es hora de salir desterrados de Neverland, a donde no podremos regresar.

I love life and life loves me.

Que dìa màs alegre aunque amaneciò nublado la lara la larala
Que maravilloso parece todo, aunque se me cancelò una expo que tenìa un puerta la la laaa
Mañana tengo revisiòn de avances de mi proyecto, y no he avanzado lo suficienteeee ..
Se me pasaron las inscripciones de extraordinariooooosss ..
Y tengo que estudiar y trabajar a diariooooooooo..

Hoy tengo una entrevista de trabajo, para hacer arte publico en una comunidad, suena adorable, ojalà salga bien... yaaaaa... algooo, necesito trabajo ( y que me paguen).

Ando toda rara... estresada, me duele el estomago, extraño a mi amorcito chaparro (jiji) aunque lo vi hoy en la mañana, necesito varo, necesito trabajo, quiero hacer piezas de arte increibles y llegar a ser una artista chingona... Me agobio... me imagino que serìa de mi si me fugo de mi casa y me voy a buscar una vida diferente... sueño cosas... pero bueno, no soy la unica.



Hoy me siento muy mal, a ver que me depara el dìa de mañana.

Naviplastic 2008

Yo siempre me siento triste, desanimada, cansada, angustiada, caliente y asfixiada... ya sabes como una presion de magnitud variable pero constante en el pecho, y la gente que me conoce en persona dirìa " pero si te la pasas sonriendo y diciendo babosadas" pues claro, por que cuando me callo y se callan los demas y se apagan las luces esa sensacion espantosa regresa, por lo general me encuentra sola en mi cama, otras veces en el transporte publico, bien cruda, regresando a mi casa de noches en las que no se muy bien lo que ocurriò...

Y bueno, ahora es epoca de fiestas decembrinas, en las que por mas que quieras no puedes dejar de sentirte como un pobre perdedor, con frio, sin varo para comprar nada, sin ganarte un ipod en la rifa del trabajo, sin una nalguita calientita a tu lado en la cama...

Pero este año misteriosamente me siento muy bien, en dos dias cumplire un año mas de vida, y no me preocupa demasiado, todos dicen que el mundo se esta largando al carajo y yo aunque no tengo ni un quinto no me preocupo, dejo volar mis chaquetas mentales, a veces casi me las creo, alguien de quien no esperaba nada me ha dado mucho, asì, no mas preguntas, no sirve de nada, lo que vi en sus ojos me sirve para hacer las pases.
Ando muy hippie, muy contenta, alomejor son las drogas y el sexo lo que me tiene tan de buenas, o las historias jocosas de la fiesta de fin de año del trabajo, y los amigos, nuevos y viejos que brincan por todos lados todo el dia y me hacen reir... Tengo que hacer algo para conmemorar este chido sentimiento, asi cuando me vuelva a sentir de la mierda tener un recordatorio de que un dia me senti pocamadre...



Y tus mas ardientes fantasias!!!

Babbling

Me gusta esto de no esperar nada... no paras de sorprenderte y los acontecimientos a veces salen mejor de lo que jamàs hubieras pensado.

A veces todo sale mal, o mediocre y pues bleh, al fin que no esperabas nada...

PUTAMADREMELLEVALACHINGADA

Estaba yo aqui, leyendo, escribiendo haciendo cosas importantes, disfrutando la vida, cuando... recorde que es domingo por la noche.... y que mañana tengo que ir a trabajar...

soy verdaderamente infeliz...

fuera de eso... todo esta pocamadre :D

por favor por favor por favor

Vengan T_T


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