martes, 7 de diciembre de 2010

Daily Downpour- Una carta que no vas a entender nunca.


Imaginate que poder tienes sobre mi que quiero escribirte algo. No le he escrito a nadie en casi cinco años, y ahora te quiero escribir. A lo mejor es el nombre... Yo deberia estar trabajando pero tengo que sacar esto. Tienes que saberlo, aunque realmente no lo vayas a saber porque no creo que le vayas a entender a esto, aunque lo pongas en traductor. Algun dia no tendre miedo y lo escribire en tu idioma, para que lo sepas y no te quede la menor duda. Estabamos dispuestas a odiarte. Yo te tuve celos, envidia. tienes mas tiempo aqui, se conocen mejor, y eso me duele mas de lo que quiero decir. Siento que sobro muchas veces, que solo soy un catalizador. Ya se, es estupido. Pero asi funciona mi logica, y me ha pasado tantas veces que ya no se que creer. No puedo compararte con nadie, porque por nadie habia sentido lo que siento por ti. Y no mames, me da muchisimo miedo. Eres la primera persona para la que quiero ser TODO. Quiero tenerte aqui y estar contigo, apretarte contra mi, tenerte en mis brazos y sentir tu piel, besarte los ojos, las mejillas, el cuello, los hombros...quiero tenerte aqui. Quiero ser algo unico y diferente para ti. Duele tenerte de lejos, desearte de lejos. Y aunque no lo quiero decir, aunque esto es, de algun modo, lo que yo queria, duele compartirte. Tengo miedo de que te puedan ofrecer mas que yo, y y me quede siendo solo eso que todos toman por sentado. Porque al final, creo que asi es. Y es asi porque yo lo he permitido, es cierto. Cuando algo duele, prefiero sonreir y guardarmelo hasta que el dolor se haga insoportable, porque quiero que la gente que amo sea feliz. Pero yo tambien quiero ser feliz. Y quiero ser feliz contigo. Si, hago planes a futuro. Y si, quiero irme contigo, estar ahi, empezar algo nuevo. He estado a punto de decir "casate conmigo porque te amo. Como nadie mas", pero me estoy tomando las cosas muy en serio, supongo. Hasta a mi me da miedo. Tu apenas estas asumiendo que estas enamorada de mi, cuando yo ya me sumergí por completo en el hecho. Huele a corazón roto, dice Amanda, pero la neta ya me vale madres. Si se rompe esta vez, ya no lo quiero arreglar. Te estoy escribiendo lo que siento. Dices que me va a hacer bien, y quiero creer que si. Me ayuda a descargar, a sentirme bien. Y a la vez me hace sentir culpable, me enfrenta con todo lo que siento, bueno o malo. Es Fara vs. Nega-Fara. A lo mejor la llevo a tomar un trago y nos hacemos amigas, quien sabe. Nega-Fara da miedo y provoca lástima.
Yo se que no te quiero perder. Que diga lo que diga, no se siente igual, no es lo mismo con el que contigo que con nadie. Y quisiera que fuera igual, la verdad. Quisiera saber que sientes, que piensas, que opinas...
Quisiera, de vez en cuando, oir cosas bonitas como las que yo digo. Es egoista y estupido, pero a veces quiero oirlo, no lo puedo evitar.
Tecleo. Tecleo rapido poque estoy escribiendo todo lo que siento disfrazado de una carta de amor. O es al revez? Ya no se.
No me queria enamorar de ti. La neta es que ya no me queria enamorar de nadie, ya no tengo ni animos ni aliento para volverme a lastimar.
Dicen que esto de lejos no va a funcionar. Y menos con tantos involucrados. Yo no se. Yo quiero que si. Creo que si. Y si no, no quiero perderte asi. Tu hermana, tu amiga y tu otra mitad. Eso quiero ser siempre. Quiero estar contigo, a tu lado, y no tener que irme.
Pero sera el destino quien diga lo que pasa. Y en manos de Ezili dejo mi corazón, esperando que ella vea los deseos mas profundos en el, y me conceda el alcanzarlos, con mi eterna gratitud y servicio.
Te robaste mas de mi corazón de lo que te correspondia inicialmente, princesa. Te convertiste, sin esfuerzo, en La Esposa Favortia.
La idea era que compartieras, hermosa, no que te robaras el 70% de mi corazón, la mitad de mi cerebro y mi alma entera.

Te AMO, desgraciada. Mas de lo que me debería.

tu Fara

lunes, 6 de diciembre de 2010

"Everything's a Copy of a Copy of a Copy...."



Coffee. Coffee's keeping me alive. Taurin-based drinks are now out of the question because apparently they're diabetic poison. Go figure.
I'm living a double life. I play pretend from 11 to 2, a makeshift "9 to 5" job that pays everything my monthly allowance doesn't. Trustfund baby, some would say. Spoiled brat, perhaps. A job is not a job because of the job itself, but because of the money. Money makes things easier.

When work's over, my Sister and I return home and have lunch. We talk about everything and nothing, I spill my secrets to her like they were just words, with no meaning or background. She says nothing. Gives advice, shows that she cares, shares her own secrets...it's my confidence time.

let's go back to my job. If you put it into perspective, it's the greatest job in the world: three hours a day, five days a week, shredding documents and stacking boxes that give you mild allergies for 100 pesos a day. That makes 500 a week. If you add it to the money they gave me for my birthday, it's quite a bit. Money, money, money. And I have gifts to buy. And things to get.
Money to spend, in the end.
Coffee, coffee. I hadn't had coffee in weeks. The cup is cold and it tastes funny, but coffee's coffee.
The spinning and whirring of the paper shredder give me ideas. I want to build a massive shredder. A people shredder. I know who I'd put in it, and how I'd make it. Blood would be filtered from the crushed bones and squishy flesh, and poured into...well, poured somewhere. Gruesome but effective, no one would recognize the bodies.
Part Ramona Flowers, part Amanda Young and part Lisbeth Salander. In the facade of little vampire Claudia.
I want to change the world in many levels. I want to discover something, but I also want to leave a scar on the face of Earth, in the common record of humanity. I want to be known for having made good, but feared for my crimes under a name that no one will ever relate to me. No one would ever know.
Polyamori. It will work for me.
But I still want to be the favorite. Her favorite.

Blue hair and a dragon tattoo. Cutting and licking off my own blood. ADD and some kind of autism, a total submersion in my own little word.
I want to write. I'm getting a portable recorder to keep track of my ideas and then write them out. It should work, I've always been a talkative one.
The dark skinned man caught my eye. And he's supposed to be around my age. Handsome, brings Claire memories of an old crush, an unrequited love that never went past silent admiration and fear of rejection.
And then we wonder why we don't get laid.
The heart keeps them locked and watched, never wanting to let go. But the body begs for attention that it can no longer get for itself. The burning touch of a foreign heart. The thrill of physical intensity. Nice to meet you, now get the fuck out, you're not the one I love. "A full-body dildo", Amanda would say.
Ranting helps inspiration. It won't come any other way.
I'm going to kill my father on a story. Or watch him die. And I'm kind of excited about it. I already have his tape:
"Hello, Jorge, and welcome to your test. Right there, on the other side of that window, your daughter is sitting, connected to a device that will end her life if she moves. Her death, however, would bring you effortless salvation, a salvation that, in my judgement, you don't deserve. All the times you've sat back and watched her suffer, using the things she confides you as a weapon to get what you want, never caring about anyone's well-being but your own. Today, you'll pay for your actions. You'll have to fight for your life, or put your trust on the daughter you've neglected and hurt for nineteen years. Live or die, Jorge, it's your choice."

Not like he'll know. Or care.

"Is she not right? Is she insane? Will she now run for her life, now that she's lied to me?"
I'd run for fun.

I'm too much woman for just one person to handle. I've been told. I believe it. And I like it. Too many faces of one alone. And then too many girls in one. Too much for someone normal. Too much for even myself.
Sometimes I'm that mess people feel fascinated and repelled about. Almost like a room in an abandoned house, or the abandoned house itself. Like a horror movie, you're scared of being scared but you can't help liking it. A little escape from reality. An overload to the senses and the mind. When handled right.
I kind of crossdressed today, and I look like a very cute boy. With red nails, but that came later. This morning, I was a very cute twelve year old boy. A guilty pleasure on cold days.
So, to sum it all up:

- I'll write something good, discover something important about how people who speak many languages think and feel.
- A job nowadays is like going to the toilet: we hate it, it's fucking nasty and a waste of time, but it's necessary to survive.
- I got a pair of kick ass boots. And it's fucking cold down here, so I get to wear whatever the fuck I want.
- I'll play Ramona for a bit, where my looks are concerned.
- Polyamori may only work while I'm 19, but I firmly believe that whatever comes out of it will be the best for us.
- Blue IS my color. And red, too.
-Putamadre, la amo como no tienen idea. Nadie.
-c'est finis


miércoles, 1 de diciembre de 2010

Free

It's this feeling that nothing can go wrong; a lack of fear that I hadn't felt in a very long time. With each passing second, my normal insecurities disappear, they let me breathe and smile freely. I smile all day, even if I'm sick.
It's not a new thing that I sing all day, but this time it feels different: I'm singing for someone.

miércoles, 22 de septiembre de 2010

Operating


Coffee at nights normally leads to anxiety attacks, which in turn become panic attacks. It's almost like sex, how the tension builds up, then it peaks into panic, horror, the certainty that I'm going to die. Then it dissipates slowly and I feel exhausted, but I kind of want more.
Some other times, though, coffee at nights leads to introspection.
Fuck, my spelling sucks and nobody tells me anything! I know English is not my first language, but it’s not a valid excuse. I need to do it perfectly.
I was watching The Simpsons earlier today, that episode in which Lisa meets this kid who’s better than her at everything she loves, and I swear I saw myself in Lisa. I’m obsessive-compulsive, and I know my own capacities and limitations. This is an endless source of frustration, because lately, I haven’t been living up to my potential. I’ve let external factors affect me to a point in which fear of failure has me stuck to my bed.

I’ll make this clear: competition is something I won’t tolerate. If there’s the slightest hint of threat, I’ll kill myself to prove that I am the best, because that is what I aim for. I can’t be second best. And I know it’s fucked up, but that’s how I am. Then place Red into the equation, sit back and enjoy the fireworks.

“I’m not jealous, I’m merely territorial”

And Red just asked me what’s happening to me. The Fae she moved in with was not this beaten, frightened girl. The Fae she chose as a host was strong, outspoken, active…
Where is Fae, and what has this carcass of a girl done with her?
Well…apparently, we just found her. She was buried under a huge bundle of fear, hiding in dreams and ideas that she’d never make come true, because dreams can’t fail.

Well, time to wake up, princess. Life won’t find you here, go and show the bitch what you’re made of. Life’s a rollercoaster, and I want to see you screaming through that ride.
Tomorrow, we go back to red.

And we ain't no goddamn princess. We deserve to be Queen.I want to be Ramona Flowers.

jueves, 16 de septiembre de 2010

Supergirl and the Invisible Girl




I love her, don't get me wrong. My Superboy. Supergirl. Whatever.

But there's times when you can't help to wonder if you'd have what you have if it wasn't for her. What would I be if she wasn't here? Just another weirdo, another freaky kid, with a lot of talent, maybe, and a lot of charm. But who would notice me if Supergirl wasn't here? How many of the things we've achieved are really mine? Who's living this life? Who do the people who say they love us really love?
I'd make way for her if she wanted me to. We've talked about this, I could leave and let her take over. Who would notice? Who would miss me? But if she left.... if she left, my world would shatter. I'd lose everything.
We share. We share everything, and I mean EVERYTHING. But I do wonder...who shares with who? Who has what? What would be of us if we didn't have each other?

Who's Supergirl and who's Invisible Girl?

...I need to talk to her right now.

miércoles, 15 de septiembre de 2010

On The Princess


The Lady Door.
Such a fitting pen name for someone who has spent her life, conscious or not, opening portals to other realities. What can be imagined, can be done. Everything exists the moment you focus your attention on it, the question is: does it exist because you notice it, or do you notice it because it exists? What is imagination but a portal?
When I was little, I sensed them there. And I payed attention, it was a great way of never being alone; even if other kids wouldn't talk to me or play with me, I always had someone to be with. They would be my toys, because I neded them to have a body. That's how I could rationalize it back then. But never did I use the word "imaginary", because "imaginary" is a pretty word they use to cover a harsh meaning: unreal.

Imagination has always been my weapon of choice: nothing has been impossible for me because I haven't yet found anything I can't imagine. And minds are powerful things. They design, create, destory and reshape everythinginto what we want it to be, and that's what we spend most of our lives doing. Few people take the time to use one of the most intersting powers our mind has: the power of connecting.
Why people are what they are has always intrigued me. If feelings shape people or people shape their feelings, we may never know, but we know feelings are important. Feleings change perceptions, shape ideas, and inspire us to take action. Feelings can't be controlled, but they can be mastered just as they can master us. To truly know how someone else feels is to understand them in one of the deepest levels. It means putting away your OWN perceptions and become someone else for a moment, an extension of the person you are trying to understand.
This is the key to "hosting". Being able to step aside, emotionally and spiritually, for someone else to fill the blanks you leave. If you can manage it and not go mental, you're safe. Sad thing is not many can.

Not many people master this ability to connect,though many can use it. When it comes to clinical terms for it, there are many: schyzophrenia, Multiple Personality Disorder... easy-fix conditions, just med them and lock them away. We need someone to teach us how to control it, to truly master it. If we were given this ability, there must be some way for us to use it to help.

A total of 235 different people have come, been and gone with me, which caused a breakdown when I was around 15. After that, I decided to completely block myself to them, until Di and Red came along, shattered my pre-established fourth wall, and helped me rebuild myself.

235, 123 of which were here at the same time. Never try this, or let it happen. Even if you decide to be a "temporary host", or "Half-way House", never hold more than 4 "actives" at the time, 6 if you happen to be a master at emotional detachment. Imagine being overtaken by all that load of emotions and thoughts at the same time; rage, joy, euphoria, ecstasy, pain, heartache...


My intentions for this blog are simple: to share my experiences in this field with fellow "hosts", hoping it will be of help. I know the wisest thing is to keep this quiet, but at this point in life, I just stopped caring about what "the best thing" is, concerning this. If I can be of help, I will be.


Intro


We needed a new space. "Sopa de Colores" is ok, but I write in spanish there, and I SERIOUSLY need to practice my English. And besides, what I write in other places is very different from what I plan on sharing here.
Here, I'll share my scars. Things that have happened and marked me. People who have been here, the mark they left in me, and how that makes me who I am today.

Cry for attention or not, here it goes, and I really hope readers find this both intersting and helpful in some way.