Experimentaciones&Divagaciones 4

EXPERIMENTACIONES

& DIVAGACIONES ZURSOIF

parte IV

Conocí el dolor viendo la eterna suma de las explicaciones sin sentido, nunca antes las conexiones nerviosas atrofiadas por tanto alcohol y cigarrillo y café habían hecho efecto. Ahora, ante la perplejidad del movimiento circular de los eventos, me salgo decido a ahogar lo que no debería estar tan mojado, el pan en vino.

Recuerdo, porque esas cosas no se olvidan, como se veía la pared con esa marca de haber tenido algo ahí, por mucho tiempo.

Recuerdo el momento en que decidí pintarla, en la que las sensaciones de duelo no estaban aún desvanecidas, pero que las dudas estaban resueltas.

Miraba como si algo hubiese muerto en mi interior, pero no. yo no, yo no maté, yo no morí. yo no.

El tiempo en que me demoré en darme cuenta que lo que había muerto no era yo, ni hacía parte de mi interior ni…, al fin y al cabo fue tiempo perdido, como cuando uno mira fijamente nada, que no sabe si está pensando o no, que no sabe si está mirando o no, que no sabe si está o no.

Los actos solo hablan del pasado vergonzoso, o del presente indescifrable.

Ahora que lo pienso, todo estaba mejor cuando veía mejor, cuando respiraba mejor, pero con el paso de los años todas las habilidades innatas de los seres humanos se me han ido desvaneciendo. me las he ido gastando. Como la vida que se gasta sola aunque yo le ayude.

Dentro de esas cosas que se vienen a la cabeza, a parte de los deseos incumplidos, accidentes de la memoria en la que se lucha por mantener los planes a pesar que no dependan de las acciones hechas o por hacer, dentro de esas cosas tu imagen, una imagen, un fantasma. El sepia que se ha ido desvaneciendo, como el mugre del muro con estos días de lluvia.

La lluvia me recuerda tanto a mi.

Sentado cerca a olor a día en plena noc pase lo único que ha de como un martes de mal en un día cualquiera d convención sino porqu pende de lo que esperab de pasar, el tiempo y su son más que eso que pas peraba, la vida es un to Sentado cerca a la ventana, con el olor a día en plena noche, esperando a que pase lo único que ha de pasar realmente. Es como un martes de mala suerte se convierte en un día cualquiera de mala suerte, no por convención sino porque la mala suerte depende de lo que esperaba que pasara y no ha de pasar, el tiempo y sus reglas relativas no son más que eso que pasa cuando nadie lo esperaba, la vida es un total accidente.

Hablando de accidentes...

Hablando de acc

la ventana, con el che, esperando a que e pasar realmente. Es la suerte se convierte de mala suerte, no por ue la mala suerte deba que pasara y no ha us reglas relativas no sa cuando nadie lo esotal accidente.

cidentes...

The Star and the Cat Long time ago I crossed roads with the most extraordinary and magical of women. The night was wrapped all around her body. Her black hair would dazzle your eyes for it was full of the brightness of stars themselves. Her eyes always scintillated the most shining glow, a spectacle never seen on earth, not even in the clearest nights of summer. A cat would always go crawling up her back, trying to reach her ears, just to tell her that she was the most beautiful thing ever created, yet the cat had ceased on his task for she was not vain and did not concern about minor trifles nor she listened to every non-sense any others told her. Then, the cat set his eyes on a small star this woman carried near her heart because it attracted him so badly and he was a curious night walker in search of a light lost long ago. I could guess her story, their story, while I was lying on her peaceful breast‌ ‌One other day Sky came down his throne.

In His boredom, He started to look for some amusement. What He could not foresee, was that He would meet Jewel, the personification of beauty. When He saw her, immediately grew fond of her crystal clear eyes and He wanted to take her and have her just for Himself. He attempted to snatch her while she was sleeping. Futilely He strived to grab her since she was safeguarded by the bravest of all sentinels.

They both, the keeper and the abductor, engaged in

by

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nem e Z f e r n e Y

a battle as the world had never witnessed before; to the distance, the clash made the same foundations of the earth tremble; both gladiators looked fiercely and piercingly at each other. Sky had howsoever some little advantage; He was a god and He was swift as the blow of wind and strong as a thousand muscled lions. The Guardian, although a lion indeed, was not too strong, not too swift, but he had something his pride and his courage. He would fight until death embraced him. The skirmish went on for days. But Jewel was proud. She would allow nobody to fight her as a game or trophy; hence she approached to the two warriors and wisely uttered: “You shall combat no more. I won’t be given away to anyone but myself.

Sky, I’m honored a god had chosen me and as a gift you will have my body, but never will I be your lover.

Guardian, you long have served me, kept me from darkness, held me in pain, comforted me in sorrow; my thoughts and my heart are with you but they do not belong to you. Get away both of you! Stroll the world and tell everyone, god or man or feline or fiend that Jewel shall be waiting for a man who really deserves her. That you will pray and now be gone in peace.” Before leaving, Sky put His hand on her left shoulder and said “Mine you will not be, but something you shall have to remember me.” And so He marked Jewel with a star, a star that only the man lying by her side can watch over. As to the Guardian, he left wounded and never looked back again; he left with a smile on his face because he had long fought a god and he did not lose to Him… She was the night but her heart was warmer than broad daylight. She was the night but she never spoke a word of darkness to my soul, only a stream of tenderness coming out her mouth. She was the night, mystic and appealing for the lone lost wanderers lurking around the cold walls of this so-called city.

I would sit down and talk to her for hours, contemplate her in silence watching her laughing as angels would laugh if they were allowed to. Every day she gave me strength and every night I was happy about knowing she was there for me.

Long time ago I had the fortune of meeting her, and ever since that day I have been watching her sleep, counting myself lucky since nor sky or guardian or any other man on earth could ever disturb our shrine. A shrine that only exists where we are or go, a shrine which is our very own creation, our gift to the world, our refuge when we are sad, our sanctuary where we keep that which seems to be so far of us but at the same time we have re-created, love.

Experimentaciones & Divagaciones. Número 4. Junio de 2010.

imágenes y textos © Miguel Fernando Bustos Gómez.

zursoif@gmail.com