En esta nueva entrega de La Generación del Atardecer Presenta:, Miguel Santos nos brinda el primer escrito en inglés de la sección.
-Eye see You-
“When I hear my name I want to disappear,
When I see my face I want to disappear”
- The White Stripes, When I hear my name
A fat old man looks out of a window, smoke rises from a few spots around the city, and the whining of this cement latrine becomes louder. He writes in his journal: Woke up again. In a lonesome mood. Reviving from a night of heavy booze, marihuana and cocaine consumption is no easy task. The goblins and trolls of the conurbation were aching for conflict and it was found. Now I’m looking for the release, the ultimate journey achievable, but I sought no salvation. I wanted to lose myself in the horizon you see, but my human condition, myself was the problem, or the trick; it would not permit such a wondrous occurrence. So I did the next best thing, to intoxicate my perceptual apparatus till the point of oblivion once again. I find the stoic sages amusing. Talk about romanticism hidden away as a mere asceticism of the body and mind. They sure knew how to suffer with style. Poverty, sickness, pain, and death, are not evils. Riches, health, pleasure, and life, are not goods. A person may commit suicide, for in destroying his life he destroys nothing of value. With what disdain are there great men speaking forth?
Ilustración por Paula Del Toro
“Siguen los cuerpos, aquí temblando
Comí la sangre, comí el cuerpo
Mis lágrimas, quiebro el espejo”
- Mars Volta, L’via l’viaquez
Birth is suffering, aging is suffering, illness is suffering, death is suffering; union with that which is displeasing is suffering; separation from that which is pleasing is suffering, therefore, Life is suffering. That Buddha said, “Was he robbed of the asphalt that cushioned his face?” That he surely said. I wonder if this input -the concrete Stoics and the versatile Buddhists- is of any use in this age of schizophrenia and political turmoil. Cheers to the great men who unlike myself, suffered with the utmost style. They identified that the primary mover was the “I”, that phantasmagoric guest who thinks its way into existence. And thus the dance resumes this prerogative to satisfy an appetite. The troublemaker who wants to feel sure of things, but there is an inconsistency in desiring to be totally secure in a universe whose very essence is fluidity. *pours another 16oz glass full of rum goodness, creates lines of magical dust within the shadows and swoons into the void*.
“All thru’ the day I me mine, I me mine, I me mine.
All thru’ the night I me mine, I me mine, I me mine.”
-The Beatles, I me mine
