the tilt shift

» 9|9|14

Tobito

En los Krats, ok. Hay un capítulo que es de... que está en ¿Cómo se dice? Con una... con una mamá chita y y el hijo chita y que, que, que una, una chica que le gustan los animales y que... que no le g- que no le gustan los animales, que se llama Rosita... em... los quiere hacer como... y que en ese capítulo quería hacerlos como... ropa con los animales entonces eligió a la mamá chita, la congeló primero... con un control, así... para que se quede quieta. Entonces de... pero ella no se pueda mover, pero los humanos sí que los pueden mover, entonces se la puso a la mamá chita eh... al... que le... di... el que dicía todo lo... que hacían todo lo que ella querían entonces... em... púselo – dijo que se lo pongan en en los hombros, en los hombros, después em... lo dejó así y puso la cabeza para atrás, digo, puso la cabeza acá y y le agarró la cola y se la puso acá y y y... querían... ma- entonces también querían ma- agarrar al hijo, sacarle el pelo y usarla como gorro y y después hicieron una trampa, pero los Krats, uno, uno fue que... absorbió el traje de... con el traje que tocás a los animales se te hace todo un traje de animal... bueno, tocó al hijo chita y se, y se hizo todo... todo el traje de chita para cuidarlo. Y le puso... de coso... de nombre Manchas. Y y y, y tenía como termina, y después se vino un... un eh... ¿Cómo se llaman los que... ts los... rollos de miel, ¿No? Los... ciervos... de miel, no me acuerdo cómo el... no, de miel. No, un animal que se llama, “Bla bla bla” miel. Que es muy fuerte, con una raya acá, como la cría de los guepardos, y que era todo negro, con una raya acá blanca. Que ya te dije, “bla bla bla” miel. ¡Ay tengo que ver el capítulo para eso, si no, no me acuerdo cómo se llama...!

#Prose

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“Attention please, ladies and gentlemen-” thud. “-We're experiencing-” thud. “-Minor technical-” thud. “-Problems”. Thud thud. “Please remain calm!” Screams. “Fasten your seatbelts ple-” The plane lurched, the flight attendant too, head and armseat met, and no more words were heard on behalf of IntAirlines. Not until one read all about the plane catastrophe in the newspapers, that is.

The vehicle was faulty. There had been no storm, no hurricane, hardly any disturbance in the air, in fact. Funny, isn't it. The only falling water in the sky came from the passenger's eyes, the only violent gusts of wind from their praying throats. Outside this tinned hell, heaven was sunny, blue and white.

Blue were their faces, blue their gripped hands, sunny had been their hopes of having a wonderful honeymoon.

The plane lurched again. Another flight attendant reminded passengers of emergency measures and the importance of keeping their seatbelts on.

“What are you doing?!” An answer came, but the screams muffled it. Her trembling hands fumbled with her seatbelt until she finally unclasped it. “But your seatb-” “You'll be my seatbelt.” She cried as she swung herself on top of his lap and held fiercely onto his chest, his heart, his every fibre. His dismay faded as he understood it was each other they needed to hold on to for dear life.

The plane lurched for the last time, vertiginously pirouetting downwards.

“Love.” “Love.” Sobs. Kisses. A tightening hug that turned their hearts into one. Ear whispering they could miraculously hear above the desperate screams and anguished moans. “Will we be together?” “Up there?” “Yes, dearest.” “Yes, dearest.” “Thank you.” “Love.” “Love.”

They died kissing, and the explosion caused their clothes to burn, and their bodies to merge together into one flesh statue in honour of love.

The shape of most passengers was indistinguishable, but there was one particular charred couple in a recognisable position. “Chief, over here.” “Tch.” “As soon as they suspect their death is certain...” “They start fucking. I know. Typical.” “Typical.”

#Prose

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C.S. Lewis Quotes from “The Four Loves” Re-Translated from Spanish.

→ “It is true that language is not a flawless guide, but it contains, even with all its defects, great deposit of knowledge, reality and experience. If one starts to distort it, language ends up taking its revenge. It is better not to force words so that they mean whatever one pleases.”

→ “Every Christian has to admit that a man's spiritual health is exactly proportional to his love of God.”

→ “What's close to Him by likeness, will never, only for this fact, be closer than that. But closeness by approach is, by definition, a closeness that can increase. And while on the one hand likeness is given to us – and can be received with or without thankfulness, or use well or make abuse of it – approach, on the other hand, although initiated and helped by Grace, is of it something we must achieve.”

→ “If we don't take into account that truth that God is love, that truth can mean to us the opposite: all love is God.”

→ “All human love, in its peak point, it has a tendency of demanding for itself the divine authority; its voice tends to sound as if it was the will of God Himself; tells us not to consider what it costs, asks for our full commitment, pretends to run over any other demand and claims any action sincerely done “for love” is legitimate and even worthy of merit. That sensual love and patriotic love can really “turn into gods” is something generally agreed; and with the affection for family the same can also happen; and, in a different way, it can also happen with friendship.”

→ “A person can act accordingly to these appetites, but he cannot worship them, in the same way a man that scratches himself cannot worship the itching.”

→ “Likeness is something splendorous; this is the reason we confuse likeness with equality. We can give our human loves the unconditional closeness that only God we owe to, we can turn them into gods, into demons. This way they will destroy themselves and they will destroy us, because the natural loves that turn into gods cease to be loves. We continue to call them as such, but in fact they can turn out to be complicated forms of hatred.”

#Prose

«4|4|20

I am the ocean. you float in the shallows and say you love my salty tears, you love my waves. You are aware that there are monsters deep within me, but you make no attempt to try and find them. I kiss you like I kiss the shoreline, pulling away but always rushing back. You ignore the fact that I swallow the light every night, and I am controlled by the ever-changing moon. You do not know everything about me, but maybe that’s for the best. Knowledge would suck you into the inky depths of my madness and cause you to drown. I do not blame you for this one bit. Don't blame me. Don't blame my naked soul.

#poetry

«31|12|19

parada sobre pies cruzados parada pero pies atados si giro miro atrás pero atrás mis papás de espaldas camino pero al menos hay camino al menos me alejo pero aún no tan lejos

#poetry

«5|8|19

“Now, my dear,” the loving voice in her mind soothed her, as she walked down the path, “... try, try to focus on nicer things...”, and she knew that at least for a while, that could not do any harm, nor mean any disrespect to her late spouse's memory. The woman was glad that she had thought of bringing a sweater with her. She had not thought, though, of tying her hair properly, and now felt her ponytail go ruffled and tangly with the change of a too rough breeze. Now she had reached the point where the path started steepening up the cliff, and the wind hit harder. Determinedly she walked on, facing the sea. As she climbed closer and closer to the edge of the cliff, she thought, “I'll get there and look at the rocks, I'll get there and watch my spouse dying there all over again, I'll get there and see how the hostile rocks welcomed him as he fell...” She shook her head, as if that would shake away those dangerous thoughts, as well as her tears. “I'll get there and gasp, for the rocks might still be painted red, I'll get there and scream at them, for they have broken his young body, I'll get there and beg them to bless me with the same fate, for I can't bear this anymore.” Presently she started running. Her tears clouded her vision. Her heart thudded, muffling out the sea. She tripped on a rock she had not seen, almost right at the very edge of the cliff. She almost fell over and down the 500 metres into the sea, but she managed to hold onto the boulder at the top. When she had hoisted herself fully back into land, feeling confused, anguished, awkwardly grateful, she cried her soul out.

#Prose

«17|4|19

True Story Sister

It is a bright winter afternoon, so I am wearing my favourite turtleneck and my snow jacket. I favour warmth over fashion, of course. I am walking the five blocks from the bus stop home when suddenly I hear honking behind me. – You’d work fantastically as a model! – a senior citizen compliments from his car – I mean it! I laugh uncomfortably, and turn the corner. He drives on, because it is the wrong way for him. Just a lewd old man, I think, not quite at ease. I always feel nervous when anyone talks to me in the street. My heart stops when the man intercepts me again. He had driven round the block to find me. – Why did you walk away? – he pulls over and gets out. By now the situation does not look so innocent. I think, if I run away, he will know I suspect him and do me harm. He reassures me again that I am fine model material. – I need models for my clothes shop. I design my very own outfits. You’d look terrific in them, we could have some pictures taken. Are you shy? – Depends – I answer carefully, with a hint of tease. – Good – he looks pleased and walks over to the boot of the car – I’ve got some of my outfits here with me, you can take as many as you wish, want to check them out? – his hand is ready to pop the boot door open, but it just lingers there for now, waiting expectantly for my answer. Now the idea strikes me, he will definitely pull me in there and kidnap me. – No thanks, you’re too kind. – Are you sure? I bet there is someone hidden in there too… – Really, I’m fine, thanks. But I could visit your shop anytime – I add, as an afterthought. – Do you live around here? – I'm visiting a friend. He insists again on me checking out the outfits. I repeat I would gladly visit his shop. Finally he hands me a slip of paper with the name “Tito” and a phone number scribbled in it. He asks me to call as soon as possible. I thank him and he leaves. From that moment on I have never felt safe again, not even when I do not dress “provocatively”, in broad daylight, three blocks from home.

#Prose

«4|4|19

On Non-Dysphoric Transgender Identity: a Reflection.

Similar to otherkinness, transgender is an identity that is captured only after the identity of the model has been known and related to. The kin and the other gender are not inherent in the person that identifies themselves with them, that is to say, it is a fully adopted identity. So, even though transgender is a psychologically assimilated process, its trigger lies in the perception of each individual of it, id est, it is rooted in their interpretation of their social presentation.

21st century western society in general yearns to break bonding and unnecessary taboos and stereotypes. A great day it will be when all women can say without fear of being violented against, “I am a woman and valid as such regardless of what I think, do, say, wear, look like, act like, regardless of what I fight for”.

Does it make sense for this ideal and its counterconcept to coexist within the same society: “I am a woman and valid as such because of what I think, do, say, wear, look like, act like, because of what I fight for”? The issue being presented here is not enablement but perception, and consequently, position adopting regarding the individual's view on where the line is drawn – what does a woman, or a man, or something else make. Yet it is exactly because there is wide room for discussion on the matter, that whatever statement on it hardly has any meaning or relevance at all.

How can this be solved? Would an ideal society stand for clearly outlined definitions and characteristics of each gender, so that the fact of identifying oneself with any one of them starts being truly significant? However if that does not happen, non-dysphoric transgender identity remains a socially-triggered phenomenon which in turn provokes no actual social effect in itself.

#Prose

«4|4|19

Achille's Heel

There is just too, too much of the world. Explorers of ye olden days are no more, in fact, if anything, internet explorers have shown us exactly google results for every single thing in the universe. If Plato was alive, perhaps he would be appalled to observe how the ideal platform for the ideal world is at times more dystopic than the real world. Everything in the universe is in it – and also everything that is not and can only be found inside it. Some are amazed and encouraged to go out and explore beyond their home; others are absolutely terrified and confine themselves inside their room.

There is reason for wonder and reason for horror, after all, a millenial has all of it at hand. And that is precisely why my generation needs to be the wisest. It is not. But it needs to be. As heirs of wealthy families forget their ancestors' toil and strife, so millenials often forget there was ever time before them (unless it is to copy fashion, of course). This leads mostly, ironically, to a lack of empathy, I am afraid. That there is much social justice being done nowadays is undeniable, thus leading to a general thought of mine being the most sympathetic generation of all. But is it really empathy what drives us? Or a feeling of self-righteousness?

Since time immemorial the human race has turned to whatever enhanced their power and inspired other people's admiration. It may be, roughly speaking, that with the Spartans it was war; the Ancient Greeks, knowledge; Romans, conquest; Middle Ages Europe, holiness; and in the Renaissance, the fine arts; Enlightenment, freedom. Now are all these values harmful in themselves? Not all. Yet even the best of them were infamously distorted, thus giving rise to the greatest hypocrisies in history. The most disgusting are perhaps on behalf of the church, and the tyranny of the holy is not over even today. It is not God that turned his face from us. It is the church that kicked it away. And so a new ideal is king of kings today – and who can claim to know social justice's will perfectly? How can it be revealed unto us? This benevolent ideal originates the most dreadful incongruences: pro-choice advocates wishing death on others for not being pro-choice – and pro-life advocates claiming that those who died aborting deserved it. Gender ideology is idolised when its roots are either in strict gender roles and limiting dress codes, or in gender dysphoria, something nobody would be lucky to suffer. Not to mention that because of the former reason it is even practically substituted for personality, and trivialised to the point that it ignores the real suffering of the latter. But of course the mere questioning of it all is often taken as an indicator of a most undesirable person.

An alarum mere fifty years ago goes off. She had a child out of wedlock? She should be banished from the parish! Much improvement has been done. That is why I find it all the more shocking when those who longed to scream shut others up. Yet maybe it is because we millenials have only the faintest clue of the struggle that happened before us, but we were not there to live it. The hardest part of the road has already been paved, and we must only take it in our hands responsibly to pave the rest knowingly and lovingly, because we know now more than ever that we have the power to do it. And we should remember that, whatever our background and beliefs are, love is a living, heart-testing matter, not a dogmatic one.

#Prose

«4|4|19

There are some books everyone seems to agree children should grow up with. Classics like “A Christmas Carol”, modern classics like “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory”, legends like King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table, Aesop's fables, or the timeless “Little Prince”. Rarely ever among these lists is another essential book found: any Choose-Your-Own-Adventure book. Readable and re-readable, these are stories with multiple endings in which you, the protagonist, have to survive in space, find lost ancient jewels, discover a murderer, unravel a Mayan mystery, and live through – literally – hundreds other amazing journeys.

Besides these books being terrific fun, other characteristics place them (or should, at least) among children's must-reads. Many stories are devoid of fantastic elements, others are slice-of-life with just a slight seasoning of magic, and others are simply the stuff of dreams and myths. Whatever the case, imagination encouragement is guaranteed. Yet in every story reality blends in with fiction; you are the protagonist of this story! Is it not wonderful to finish the first book in the series and declare: “I have time-travelled, and I chose where to go”? A book that offers that experience is not an every-day thing, but when it comes to any Choose-Your-Own-Adventure book, it can be.

Going deeper into the benefits of these reads, the fact of choosing your own adventure is also a great lesson in responsibility and cause-and-consequence. For sometimes stories do take a nasty turn, and the culprit is, of course, the protagonist. Except when the result is completely unfair and unpredictable. Perhaps running away from a ghost ends up in a painful fall down the stairs; and running to it means discovering it was an hologram all along. This could be a lesson in accepting the odds and making the best of it.

Choose-Your-Own-Adventure books teach a greater lesson yet: there is always an option. When it seems the story has come to an end, the option of starting all over again is ever present. These are the best self-help books not only for children, but for adults as well. What better reminder is there that one runs the show? Whenever feelings of powerlessness arise, I say, turn to these books, and then choose your own adventure.

#Prose