“I Just Hope My Death Makes More Cents Than My Life.”

“Me hiciste sentir luminosa, como si yo tuviera un poder que ni yo misma reconozco, como si dentro de mí estuvieran todas las respuestas, como cuando miras un cuadro y el corazón se estremece entre la felicidad, tristeza y asombro. No puedo privarte de las palabras maravillosas que te salen, sin embargo, yo no me siento como todo eso que tú logras ver en mí. No puedo cortar tus alas, pero no puedo volar contigo, déjame aquí, tengo un montón de pedos en la cabeza, un desmadre constante que me desequilibra, que me derrumba, me arroja cuando creo estar bien y ya tengo suficiente conmigo misma como para soportarlo. Por favor, no romantices la insistencia, escribe un poema que te sane de esto si es necesario. No entiendas nada de lo que te digo como una oportunidad para sanarme, no permitas que tu ego te haga creer que yo estaría mejor de tu lado. Estoy bien, aunque no todo el tiempo me siento suficiente he ido aprendiendo a bastarme con lo que soy.”

— Mágico y ebrio, Quetzal Noah (via quetzalnoah)

“Y si leo, si compro libros y los devoro, no es por un placer intelectual -yo no tengo placeres, sólo tengo hambre y sed- ni por un deseo conocimiento, sino por una astucia inconsciente que recién descubro: coleccionar palabras, prenderlas en mí como si ellas fueran harapos y yo un clavo, dejarlas en mi inconsciente, como quien no quiere la cosa, y despertar, en la mañana espantosa, para encontrar a mi lado un poema ya hecho.”

— ~ Alejandra Pizarnik

“Look again at that dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every "superstar," every "supreme leader," every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there-on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.

The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot.

Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity, in all this vastness, there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves.

The Earth is the only world known so far to harbor life. There is nowhere else, at least in the near future, to which our species could migrate. Visit, yes. Settle, not yet. Like it or not, for the moment the Earth is where we make our stand.

It has been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience. There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another, and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we've ever known.”

Carl Sagan. The photo, taken by the Voyager I in 1990, shows the Earth from nearly 4 billion miles away.

blooming FU 

Pedro Andreu, El frío

27 de marzo

«Qué vieja la necesidad de amar. Qué imposibilidad de una mano amiga. Qué deseo rotundo y aniñado de no dormir sola esta noche. Qué deseo absurdo y absoluto de que G. me llame al alba y confiese que me ama.»

James Turrell a retrospective

Cuando nadie mira. Alejandra G. Remón