Posted by Raul on March 16, 2013
I don’t remember how long ago it was; I don’t even remember if it was in this life or a previous one; or maybe some another planet perhaps.
Hugging together, standing there, eyes closed, the sweet yet loud music, with a slow rhythm that guided the gently rocking of our bodies; the dim light that allowed to see an alien place that we didn’t know where it was, but just didn’t care. Colored lights moving around through the mist and the smoke, to reach the shadows of the many undefined shapes around, turning them into a never ending changing world of dreams and feelings that wasn’t worth to study and classify just then.
My fingers sweetly touching the lines of your face; drawing again a beautiful sculpture already made. I am not the artist to create your beauty, I’m just enjoying the art of your existence, now so close to me. The music; your perfume; the gentle rocking of our bodies in the ether of the night and the shadows all around; the slight vision of your lips and your smile; your shinning eyes looking at me; the feeling of floating in a dark, pleasant bubble of eternal existence or maybe death. …We kissed.
Floating in space, turning around in a very slow motion without control, which we didn’t mind not having at all, yet enjoying the feeling of vertigo created in our bodies. With no hurry for what could be next but just enjoying the moment for as long as it’ll go. We remain; we simply let go. Giving up to whatever is, might or will be; we just don’t care. I hear your breathing and feel your body pushing closer to mine, trying to fuse together in one that will be eternal in space. My arms around you tighten while my breathing becomes heavier and my body trembles with complete disregard of the rhythm in the music around.
Then the music stops; the lights and the shadows disappear and the physical world is gone. Just you and me; I see your eyes, your face, and nothing else around exists. Is this what they call being at the Gates of Heaven? There is no mind; there is no logic; perhaps there is not even consciousness. I look at you without thoughts to have but just infinite pleasure in my being; and I can feel your pleasure like mine through the shine in your eyes and the smile of your beautiful lips…and so we kiss again; this time in an eternal kiss of sweet lip movements guided perhaps by our arrhythmic breathing and our trembling bodies; with varied intensity that goes between the slight touch to the furious pressing like the muscles in our arms and bodies. Is this what they call love?
Walking down an empty street at night I can hear music coming out from a place under closed doors, with a neon sign blinking outside and a man in a coat standing by the door, smoking a cigarette and dinking from a bottle of who knows what. Some standing water left from the rain just an hour ago on the concrete floor, reflecting the lights at the top of the buildings around. Street lights; some dark, cold cars parked around by an empty street somewhere downtown; and the shadows that follow me wherever I go, bringing memories from a past time that I simply forgot when it was but can’t get rid of the feelings that haunts me, reminding me that a part of me was left behind so long ago.
Posted by Raul on January 24, 2013
It is not uncommon for someone trying to write a post to sometimes find the problem of a blank mind when comfortably positioned in front of the computer. Have you had those frustrating moments? Might be ready to write with a clear idea of what about, just to find out that no words to describe the thoughts come out. Sometimes not even thoughts at all show up, and all that is left is a wondering mind while the eyes remain called by the blinking black, vertical line in the writing program that presses on like saying: “Are you going to write something or not?”
Finding myself very often in that situation, and with the so many attempt to contact my own subconscious with the intention to discover what the heck lies inside my brain, sometime ago I started an experiment based in the typical test psychologist do: “Say the first word that comes to your mind”. So seating in front of the computer with the writing program opened, I write the first word that comes to my mind; then the next, then the next, and so on, until no more single words seem to come out “naturally”.
After that, I stop and read what I just wrote. Most of the times are just words with no connection and no meaning, but some other times very interesting results have been collected. The following short tale is one of those “positive” results.
I don’t know how and why the story went like that, and I can’t recall having seen that story on TV or read it in any book. Also the names of the characters came as loose words. All I know is that this story is the direct result of writing word by word without thinking.
Sometimes the result is a straight story that can be easily understood (like this one), and some others I need to read it several times to understand what is it talking about (like the one I’ll publish next).
So this is one of the results of this fun game called Unconscious Writing, and I’m posting it without any corrections; just the way it came out of my blank mind.
A HOLE IN THE SKY
The thing is, I don’t really know what is gonna happen when they find out the truth about Marcel. I been told he just went quietly to the dark side of the woods and never came back. The night was lighted by a full moon, but in the woods you can always find more than one darkened spot by the tall trees that abound in that area.
His truck remained parked by the clear until the sheriff found it some seven days later. A routine drive by on the empty road that leads to the house of old Jeremy became the first news of Marcel disappearance. The sheriff saw the truck in such unusual spot and went to investigate; only to find out that the keys were in the ignition and the truck unlocked. There was too much dust in the windshield for a truck that should be parked just for a day, so he started to make questions in town.
Nobody really knew anything since Marcel used to be the crazy type, living alone and never really socializing, so no one notice his absence at all. Only Jane, who the word was she wanted to jump over him to have a husband after all, seemed to be worried but ignorant of what might have been Marcel’s last steps.
Then came the word of a strange light in the sky some days ago, that lasted for just a couple of seconds. Many people seemed to testify in that situation, although for sheriff Randall it could be just a psychosis -a crazy explanation that would give the town a crazy story to tell for generations.
For me, there is a simple explanation of what happened: Marcel committed suicide. My house is by the river that goes about four hundred yards from the place Marcel truck was found. I believe he just decided to put an end to his miserable life of solitude and drove close to the river, parked his truck and then jumped to the waters to die by drowning.
I can say that because some days ago I saw a dead body floating down the river, but I didn’t do anything and didn’t tell anyone by fear of being accused of being the killer of that poor soul.
What I can’t understand or explain is that I also saw those lights in the sky some days ago, and the dead body floating by the river seemed to be burned really badly. Maybe poor Marcel was burned by that light in the sky and his dead body fell to the river; maybe he really committed suicide, who knows, but what I do know is that whatever the explanation, there will be no proof, so the doubt of me having something to do with his death will always be present in the minds of everyone in town.
That’s why I decided to keep my mouth shut until either they find out what really happen, or they forget about this incident and stop talking about it.
One thing is for sure, and that is that Marcel won’t be missed, except for Jane, who might have lost the only possibility she had to get a man to finally be married, no matter who.
Posted by Raul on March 11, 2011
Checking the hard drive of my computer to see what posts I’ve been working on, and to complete some of them for future publishing, I’ve come to realize there are so many waiting to see the daylight. After a quick count, I noticed there are more than one hundred!
There are six folders: Entertainment (2); Fiction (29); Memories (0); Projections (1); Thoughts (62); and Uncategorized (8). -The six categories I have in this blog. The biggest numbers are in Fiction and Thoughts, while the smallest (0) is in the Memories folder, which is of no surprise, considering my terrible memory
Every time an idea comes to mind I write whatever comes out and place the “project” in the appropriate folder, ready to be completed when there’s more time available. Unfortunately, the original idea seems to vanish completely when I try to retake the post to complete it.
Perhaps the worst part is that ideas come to mind in the most “inappropriate” circumstances, like when driving in my delivery shift, when in the shower, etc. In some instances it is of no problem to just grab a piece of paper and write down the name of the post, the general idea, and some quick notes to help the future writing. But when the time comes to actually take the task of completing the posts (a couple of days later), my mind either becomes blank, or I can’t see the reason or logic of the original idea, making worthless the whole point.
I’ve tried (when possible) not to stop writing when the idea comes around, and simply postpone whatever I was doing at the time, but usually there’ll be some research involved, and the time required to complete the whole process force me to still leave the post for future complexion.
The result is more than one hundred posts waiting and nothing ready to publish.
-Does it happen to you?
-What procedure do you use to write those ideas that cannot be completed at once?
-How do you organize your writings in your computer?
Let me know in the comment section.
Posted by Raul on December 23, 2010
She had a smile and bright eyes when walking the trail by my side. We didn’t know where we would end up…we just walked the trail with a faint idea of the journey, and some vague plans for the next steps and the days ahead.
The warm breeze of December in the south hemisphere gave the hopes for the unknown, while the holding hands the reassurance for the times to come.
But winter is always ahead, and although we did know, we kept the smile while feeling the breeze in our young faces, walking the path together to the horizon always farther away on the road.
And winter did come.
Then the trail turned from the colored flowers all around to the brownish land of sadness at fall; and the sun changed to a reddish color for the winter and snow ahead. So the walking became hard with the cold wind in the face and the snow on the ground; feeling how the warm days of summer went away to be replaced by the harsh times of the season that had to be gone through.
Did we have to? And the thoughts of going back the trail to the beginning started to take home. Yet the long distance already traveled and the thoughts of going back cold, tired and sad through the same place that was walked warm and with a smile before…
The beginning of the trail and the horizon at the other end, they both seemed the same. We where standing there, trying to find a reason to keep going.
Then the little bird…the unimaginable find in the middle of nowhere; almost buried in the snow, looking at us, waiting to take it with us in our journey; to protect it and grow it as our treasure for the years to come.
So one hand holding the little bird while another found the excuse to touch the now stranger other hand once again. The excuse of the little bird; the responsibility of taking care of it; helping it grow as a given task; while walking the path to nowhere; to the setting sun.
And the little bird did grow!
Protecting it with our cold hands, together from the wind and the snow, just to find later we couldn’t let it go. The growing little bird became the element that held us together while walking the trail without aim, hoping for the warm sun to come back once again in the sky.
Stopping for a moment to look back and find the long trail walked now, and the horizon at the other end, with the promise of spring ahead and warmer days to keep going in the journey started so long ago.
And while the little bird has grown and trying its wings to fly on its own, the sun of spring announces its return and the colored flowers make the promise of a wonderful path to walk once more.
So now the thoughts of letting the once little bird fly on its own, give us the memories of the times when we started this trail so long ago. The two of us, knowing now there’ll be a bird flying somewhere; happily finding his own path and flying through the seasons of life and the fields of love.
While we, confused by the changes ahead, continue to walk this trail, looking at the horizon, knowing spring is coming with its colored flowers in the field, to be followed by the warm breeze of summer, to be back at the beginning while reaching the end of the road.
Posted by Raul on August 16, 2010
When I was about 16 years old I was living in a different city than my parents and used to go visit them on weekends.
One Saturday morning, when arriving at my parent’s house, I found my father ready to go hunting with a shotgun, he invited me to go with him and I accepted because, at the side of spending some time together, I was curious about the firearm.
After walking for a couple of minutes my father asked me if I wanted to give a try to the gun and I accepted; how tempting to hold the gun, aim at something and pull the trigger to see and feel it in action!
With the gun in my hands I looked around to find a target and saw a small bird standing in a high, wooden pole, so I aimed to the little bird and pulled the trigger.
The small bird didn’t fly with the sound of the firearm, didn’t even start to flap its wings, it simply fell off to the ground without any movement, lifeless, dead.
While falling, even before it hit the ground, I was already feeling remorse for killing it. It was doing nothing, just standing there, being, alive, but because I didn’t think ahead of the consequences, I just aimed and shot, the little creature ceased to exist.
I felt really bad!
I remember giving the gun back to my father and telling him that I would never hold a firearm in my hands again. We walked back to his house in complete silence and had never talked about that situation.
I don’t know what my father’s feelings were at that moment and I don’t know if he knew what my feeling were, but I believe it wasn’t important then and is not today; nothing changed between us.
I don’t know if he remembers that moment but I do, and decide to write about it here in my blog.
More than 30 years have gone by and I kept my word, I’ve never held another gun in my hands and I still don’t like them.
Because of that moment I had the opportunity to think about people and guns and come to the conclusion that, not only guns are for destruction, but also how fragile life can be and how important is to protect it.
I was a 16 years old kid, curious about how a firearm would feel when fired and by making a stupid mistake I learned to respect life, anticipate consequences and stay away from guns.