Mi foto
Nombre: K.
Ubicación: Tuvalu

Pensé que no tenía origen, que simplemente era una letra que soñaba ser borboleta; tres líneas cruzadas que se asombraban con sus encuentros y desencuentros; pensé que era alguien a quien le aterrorizaba el aterrizaje y prefería usar las palabras para asirse a la tierra. Ahora sé que vengo de los jázaros y que los sueños (tanto dormida como despierta) son lo mio. Algunos (creen que) me (llaman) gusta el (ser) Bella Durmiente. Yo sé que soy (Bella) y (que) duermo, y sin embargo, (no) espero el (beso) ajeno (para) despertar.

martes, mayo 23, 2006

The ofishiousness of existence

The ofishiousness of existence
Fish on earth

I think I am a fish, or I am the concept of a fish, a live one, not in the ocean roaming free, although that could be the case, and I am not in a river swimming backwards to plant my eggs somewhere. No, that’s just not it. I am in a glass thing that constitutes my whole environment, my whole world, everything I’ve known my whole life, and what my tomb will be, that is the kind of place I swim in.
I like to think that I am an incredible swimmer, that if there were a kind of ‘glass race olimpics’ I would win; yes, I like to think that. I like to think. I like to think more than I like to swim. Because when I swim I have to think, but when I think I don’t have to swim.
Yes, I think I am a fish, even if I swim or don’t. When I do swim, it makes all the thoughts conferred on this one be so much more realistic. It’s like because I have to think to be able to swim, when I think I am a fish and I swim, then it all makes sense. To me, at least.
So there is this thing called a fish bowl, or a glass thingy or whatever, and that is my world. Once I heard on another being, who thought he was a leopard, but its real name was ‘earth’, I think he drowned, well, he told me about other places, but I prefer to imagine they don’t exist.
There is a problem with the place I live in, it is too small. Other fish used to live here with me, but I thought that the place was overcrowded, so I ate them, now I am much bigger and I barely fit in here.
The way I swim is very different to the way other fish swim, you see, no you don’t, you swim, with fins and scales and blowing bubbles in the way, its an art. Swimming is an art. My swimming is an art. If there was a Nobel prize for ‘artistic swimming’ I would win it and blow a great big blue bubble for the queen of Norway. That I would do.
What I do with my time is of no importance whatsoever, although I use my time in the most respectful way possible: doing absolutely nothing; to do nothing requires a lot of training and meditation, it is not something that anyone in their right mind could do, oh no, not at all. The way I mastered this healthy and inspiring act was to prove that if I did do something it would be absolutely useless and non essential for life on this earth; so given the alternative of doing something absolutely irrelevant to the universe, absolutely useless to any kind of primate or fishy species, and making it absolutely difficult to get any piece of a peace of mind. So with that I realized that the only sane choice I had was to learn and master the ancient art of doing nothing.
It was difficult at first, very very difficult, the habit of doing useless things grows into one like fungus under a fish’s scales, and everyone knows that habits and fungus are very hard to get rid of.
That is the healthiest thing I ever did, doing nothing, and it even takes up a lot of strength and mind potential, you see, when you do nothing, if you are really doing nothing you cant even think, because although to everyone else you are doing nothing, you are cheating, and you are thinking, and doing lots of stuff inside yourself. So you cant think, you cant cheat, and you cant do anything, not even breathe, because I don’t, usually anyway. I heard sometime that they call this meditation, I wouldn’t really know, because to do the yoguistic position I would have to have legs, and well, my fins don’t bend, and I never sit down. So that’s that.
Once, before I knew how to do nothing I dreamt, and I used to catalog these dreams by different color bubbles, so if I wished to have or to recall a dream in particular all I had to do was blow the bubble that summoned up that specific dream. So for example the big pink bubble, not the biggest, of course, that was the ménage a troi with an octopus one, but the one after that was the love and picnic one, of course in my own terms, like the picnic was actually on seashells and sand, and the food was actually algae, and the company, well that would be a big blowup fish that wouldn’t eat all of my food and wouldn’t disturb me with unpleasant conversation. That was the big (not biggest) pink bubble dream.
I wish time was like when you blow bubbles, (or smoke a joint), that it expands and spreads out endlessly, it is just as long as you want it to be. It never loses that feeling of moments, many many moments in just one moment, many feelings and intensities in one single spam of time, one being of time. Just so so so long.
And the yellowish bubble, a fiction of mine that came as a breakthrough after having intoxicated myself with fungus, was the one about a huge immensity of water in different shades of blue and green, reflecting the blue and white above, but oh, that was but a dream, and the fishbowl is so much safer and cozier than infinity.