Temas para un blog / Subjects for a Blog

Un buen bloguero, es decir alguien realmente dedicado al oficio de escribir por escribir a todo viento, debiera poder decir algo sobre: 1. Lo dificil de equilibrar las relaciones personales con la soledad o retiro que se necesita para mantener un blog o cualquier otra actividad creativa, 2. el arte de la conversación: sus virtudes y defectos, 3. el silencio y la imposibilidad de callar de algunos, incluído él mismo, y 4. la manía generalizada de escuchar música a toda hora y en todas partes.

A true blogger, that is someone who is truly dedicated to the avocation of writing for writing´s sake, should be able to address the following subjects: 1. the difficulty of joggling personal relationships and the solitude needed for keeping a blog or any other creative activity, 2. the art of conversation—its virtues and its defects. 3. silence and the inability of some to keep quiet, included the blogger himself, and 4. the generalized bad habit of listening to music at all times and everywhere.

Premio o castigo

No hay acción ni inacción que no tenga sus consecuencias. La ley es implacable: paso que se da consecuencia que se paga. Podría ponérselo de forma no tan negativa, sugiere el optimista, y decir, por ejemplo: paso que se da premio que se gana. Claro está , y es bien sabido, que los premios no son nunca lo que parecen.

We Are Time

Time, whatever it might be, has a very concrete, very real, everyday presence in my self. I am time, the aging process of life. I am the second in, second out of my tickling pumping heart, that model for all clocks and watches, for every machine that imitates in drips and clicks and blinks the tic-tacking obsession of existence, that muscle of mine that tells me incessantly that I am time and time is not for ever. Like the rivers the poet likens to life my veins are running floods of time, they rush blindly for that ocean of the end, the infinite cesspool of nothingness, the timeless darkness of oblivion. The lungs, time instruments also, breathe within my chest the same timed rhythm of the incessant clock. Step by step, I walk in time, I time the time of life, that road of the well known allegory. I am, we are, in perpetual movement—we are time; time in us persists and lasts forever and ever as long as a living organism squirms and palpitates in rhythm, second in, second out, timing the never ending passing of life.