THE BOOK OF LSD.

This happened several weeks ago, that night I posted about having an amazing trip. We wrote down random thoughts, Facu included some passages from books he likes, and we even did a "cadavre exquis". I think it's all quite beautiful. I've gone through it a couple of times. 

WE CAN'T HAVE GOOD DAYS ALWAYS.

 

Lukas Grout.

A LA ESPERA DE LA OSCURIDAD

Ese instante que no se olvida
Tan vacío devuelto por las sombras
Tan vacío rechazado por los relojes
Ese pobre instante adoptado por mi ternura
Desnudo desnudo de sangre de alas
Sin ojos para recordar angustias de antaño
Sin labios para recoger el zumo de las violencias
perdidas en el canto de los helados campanarios.

Ampáralo niña ciega de alma
Ponle tus cabellos escarchados por el fuego
Abrázalo pequeña estatua de terror.
Señálale el mundo convulsionado a tus pies
A tus pies donde mueren las golondrinas
Tiritantes de pavor frente al futuro
Dile que los suspiros del mar
Humedecen las únicas palabras
Por las que vale vivir.

Pero ese instante sudoroso de nada
Acurrucado en la cueva del destino
Sin manos para decir nunca
Sin manos para regalar mariposas
A los niños muertos 

Alejandra Pizarnik.

AM I A HORRIBLE PERSON?

Am I a horrible person? Am I a piece of crap? An indecorous waste of space? A sad attempt of a human draft that is craving for obliteration? Cause today, this is how I feel.

I feel unwanted, un-cherished. By whom, by what? No idea. There’s no answer. By myself. Maybe. By the universe. Perhaps.

I wish every person I ever damaged in a direct way, or due to the immediate result of my own actions, would tell me so. Then I’d realize what a horrible person I am, and I’d face all the shit that I might stumble upon on my way with pride, knowing its beyond well deserved.

If I was rude, if I was selfish, ego centered, confusing or just plain mean, please, let me know. Insult me, retaliate and take fucking revenge. Do as you please, but let me know where was I wrong. 

MUSIC.

BILLY'S COVER.

THE SHONDELLS.

SYNDICATE OF SOUND. 

THE LEAVES.

EL OTRO YO.

ONCE IN MILAN.

 1 - Mike.

 2 - Random Milan.

 3 - Costume casting: gruesome.

 4 - Ric and Toms (awesome guys ♥) in the tram.

 4 - Ric and Toms exemplifying lunch.

 5 - Random Milan.

  5 - Daisuke and the Missoni family .

6 - Crappy casting again.




Monday strikes back. I'm alright though. Just hanging at home.

DEMONS.

I had to face some demons today.

As you, dear people that I assume read this crappy attempt of a blog, might now by now, yesterday I took LSD and had an amazing journey. I was in the safety of my home, with my good friend Facu, and one of my favorite people in the whole world, Sol.

Sol was not under the influence of anything but a few bottles of beer we all shared, therefore, it was her task to confront my tripping self and rejoice herself on the ridiculous imagery I was producing at the time.

Of course, as I was reminded of today, no such experience ever comes free and dissociated from any consequences.

I just came from executing a demanding but effective maneuver to ease the devastating effects of post-acid depression. This is a technique I’ve developed over my years of experimenting (and let me clear off that I’m not at all as much as a junkie as I might have come off after this comment) with that kind of substances. It consists on a long walk and ice-cream. Just that. So that’s exactly what I’ve just done. About 30 blocks.

When I woke up this afternoon, it seemed to me that every possible negative thought, from the ones that compose my deepest fears and insecurities, had perniciously transformed into vicious gruesome creatures that hunted my fragile self from the deep obscured ends of my marshy mind. It became so easy to confront myself with harshness, and put myself down on every possible level, I was mesmerized by this ability.

I’ve luckily come to outgrow these feelings, and now I’m in some kind of still stage, like immersed in some sort of liquid mass of a rare shielding matter.

I’ve realized I must love myself above everything, and understand each process I might wind up going though, as a natural and inexorably welcomed passage.

I’ve done nothing wrong, and no wrong was ever done to me. It’s just existence, and it is what it is.

It’s raining now, and I feel like painting or maybe laying down in bed, blankly staring at the TV. Though not in the sad way it’s easy to presume, but in a very comforting mind-resting way. All is good.   

MUSIC.

I'm Tripping hard on LSD right now. And it's beautiful. I don't give a fuck. I love everything and myself.

I’m back home after what was supposed to be a barbecue thrown by one of the sexiest girls I know.

I’m home and -only slightly- tipsy. This is magic. Or self-control. Call it how ever you like. I feel fine and I hope to wake in time to spend the morning typing on my PC.

I’m happy.

I miss your ginger hair, and the way you like to dress. I got carried on. Sorry.

APOLOGIES.

I haven’t been posting much, I know. I guess its good, cause it means I have somehow managed to find more interesting things to do… or maybe it means I’m reflecting on my issues a bit less, which is great, cause that supposedly gets me one step closer to being a happy human being.

There’s this dream I’d love to share, so I’ll write it later.

I just begun this new project that I’m very excited about. I’m gonna be working with a marketing and image research bureau, that helps clothing brands to improve their image and cement their place in the market. I’ve already worked with them in two prior projects and the outcome was extremely pleasant. I should probably start writing some drafts about my perspective over the current archetypical buyer, and about where exactly do I think it’d be interesting to reinstate the brand.

On the other hand, I’ve been doing some illustration, and since yesterday, I begun playing guitar. I thought I had forgotten most of it, though because of how fast I’m moving, I guess I didn’t completely.

I leave you with some of my drawings and shit, and I promise I’ll write something more substantial soon.

Post en Facebook:

Alex Vándor "la fiesta de halloween, para los que no conocen, es festejarle al diablo, averiguen" - Sabe usted señora cómo es realmente un ritual satánico? Já. lo supuse.

Pia Oliveras Se de donde lo sacaste jaja cualquiera, uno no tiene esa intención

Alex Vándor Halloween no tiene nada que ver con el satanismo, tiene un origen incierto, es verdad, pero se considera por consenso que es en la cultura celta, en una fiesta llamada Samhain que celebra el fin del verano y el fin de la cosecha, algo así como el carnaval para nosotros.

Alex Vándor Con el tiempo, se fue mezclando con muchas celebraciones neo-paganas de aceptación pública, hasta que rápidamente fue adoptada y utilizada como catalizador del consumismo, al igual que el día de San Valentín o Navidad, que, seamos sinceros, hoy en día se celebran de una manera bastante diferente a la estrictamente tradicional.

Alex Vándor Existe una iglesia Satánica, con cede en los Estados Unidos. Son una religión como cualquier otra, aunque es verdad, que algunas de sus prácticas pueden resultar un tanto cruentas para practicantes de otras religiones, y que tienen un código de conducta establecido en base a los instintos más primigíneos, algo que se opone radicalmente con lo establecido por el catolicismo.

Alex Vándor Esta iglesia no tiene un vínculo directo con la celebración de Halloween, y si bien algunos de sus seguidores, han sido vinculados a homicidios rituales y otras tantas cosas escalofriantes, hoy en día, sus practicantes mantienen un perfil bajo y viven en armonía con la comunidad.

Alex Vándor Me parecería genial, que la gente procure comprender más sobre religiones. No por ser una cosa, u otra, uno debe desacreditar al resto. Yo soy cristiano, y sin embargo, las religiones paganas y alternativas me parecen fascinantes. Yo crecí escuchando a mi niñera citar a Ñamandú y a Añá, y cuando íbamos a la playa, después de las noches de luna llena, la playa estaba llena de ofrendas para Yemanjá. El Catolisismo no es la única religión en el mundo, y todas las religiones, mientras mantengan el respeto por los practicantes de otras, merecen ser reconocidas y valoradas.

Alex Vándor Aboguemos por el respeto a la multiculturalidad, y chequeemos la data antes de opinar :) Halloween es yanki y extranjera a nuestra cultura, pero actualmente, no mucho más que un festín consumista como tantos otros.

BONJOUR MA VIE.

I just woke up. It's past midday. I think I’m gonna get a haircut today. Any news you people that might accidentally read this blog?
Love to all. Be happy and cherish every moment faith might bring along.



MUSIC.

IEMANJÁ.

 

Minha protetora Iemanjá.
Enfermeira dos que sofrem, consoladora dos aflitos, conselheira dos angustiados.
Mãe de todos.
Agradeço de tantas graças que nos concedes.
Indigno-me de tua áurea luminosa.
E rendo-te minha homenagem, rainha das águas.
Que contribui caridade e amor, entre todos os seus filhos.
Eu te agradeço senhora Mãe Iemanjá, por me atender nas horas que recorro a teus poderes divinas graças te dou Iemanjá.
Pelas tuas radiações milagrosas, agradeço, dizendo, obrigado por tua proteção constante que tens proporcionando por nossos irmãos que sofrem.
Curvo-me diante de ti e rogo-me,continue dando proteção a teus devotos.
Que dedicam amor profundo.
Que tua áurea bendita continue protegendo e vibrando bondade.
De paz e saúde sobre aqueles que te ajoelham suplicando aos seus pés.
Dai-nos a tua proteção pura e conforto da alma.
Suplico nesta mensagem porque creio em teu poder imenso assim seja.
Minha mãe querida Iemanjá.

I’m a bit ashamed of my afternoon alcohol abuse on Sunday afternoon.

I’ll try not to do that again any time soon.

I’m not that angry as I seemed in my last post.

I guess I just need to let go and enjoy.

I’M DRUNK OK? I’M NOT PROUD OF IT, OK?

It’s a really boring Sunday afternoon. No one reads this anyway. Fuck it.

FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKK YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU.

I have to go buy a cup cake.

Oh, and please. DIE. FUCK YOUSELF AND INSTANTLY… NO, SLOWLY, DIE. ASSHOLE.

Oh. By the wayyyy Gin+Orange-bitters+Tonic.

I’m chatting on FB with this awesome chic that’s my friend. She’s called Fabiana.

ICHTHYOSAURUS.

Fun times with Ju, Facu, Agus & Sol ♥

AFTERNOON.

 

Fun times with la Negra, Belu, Guido, Patas, Facu y Jero.

CASE.

I feel a bit sick. There’s this faint feeling of nausea that has not left me for a minute over the past two days. I have casually managed to elaborate several irrelevant and imprecise theories while on my quest for a plausible explanation. I’m definitely interested in the possibility of finding a cure, but the whole idea of dissecting and analyzing the overall symptoms and the context in which they appeared, on a detective’s fashioned gesture toward the final explanation that could possibly lead to the already mentioned and longed for cure, is something that barely thrills me at all, and therefore has become a real drag to tackle as a mandatory activity.

I thought about food poisoning, but I’m not as sick as to seek the explanation on something that drastic. I thought of hunger, but I’ve just eaten and I’m still feeling bad, and I thought I might be hangover, but my last drink was yesterday at 10pm. and it most definitely did not get me drunk.

Today is dead. I mean, not really dead, but maybe in a comatose state. That would make more sense.

I’ve just finished taking a shower. The meticulous type, you know? Scrubbing and exfoliating and abusing from soap and leaving the hair conditioner on for longer than usual as to possibly improve its hair damage fixing qualities. Now I’m sitting all coy and pampered in this luminous toy-like case I’ve come to understand my apartment as. I spent yesterday cleaning it thoroughly. There are fresh flowers on an empty vodka bottle on the bar stable, next to a set of delicately arranged red candles. Everything is so correctly placed, the view of it all makes it kind of disturbing.

Outside the ample windows, a glimpse of cloudy moody melancholic sky becomes visible. The unbreakable peace is so overwhelming not even music is allowed to burst its suffocating perfection.

Soon after I’m done writing this, and once I pay my rent, I intend to go out for a walk. The fact I’m already mentally picking out my outfit, speaks unashamedly about the outstandingly pathetic position the lack of productive projects ahead drags me into.

I try not to apologize over spare time, since one divine right I’ve learned it must be taken as, but to build one crazy plan, and dispense with the very necessary back-up strategy, is a policy I’m never letting myself apply again in my very own life.

I stand up, and take a few short steady steps to the kitchen. I open the fridge, and proceed to subtract the necessary elements to pour myself a severe but polished gin-tonic. A hint of lemon juice et voilà. Needles to say, it’s barely three in the afternoon, and I’m nowhere close to having the kind of energy, slash enthusiasm, required to accomplish something as cheerful and meticulous as fine arts, or responsible and exhausting as climbing up to the top floor for a workout session in the gym. Besides, I just showered, which put me in a very “gentleman” mood, driving me to feel like smoking cigars and pouring myself classy yet masculine drinks while sitting on a large wicker chair, clad in an incomprehensible white linen suit.

I must see the Brightside though. Now I know I’m no lucky bastard, I can finally stop expecting from life things that she will simply not grant me. I’ve been lucky enough already, as to be struck with extra luck these days. Faith’s a fair judge, and he knows his craft inside out, damned the reasons he might have, or blessed them for that matter.

I have my drink, life’s good. And it’s cloudy enough for me to wear my over-sized long military green trench-coat.

…

Sometimes things are just puzzles. Oh so many times I’ve had no way to figure them out. Sometimes I wish I could know. Know exactly what the fuck is going on.

Veiled truth and cryptic messages.

Remember that exact second, when everything froze, and I gasped, as the blood hurried its way back through my veins, hustling my heart to make it up for the interruption?

When everything died right after, what went through your mind?

I’m guessing are the things we never quite manage to know, the ones that keep us all awake at night, the ones that keep us all alive.

…

I’ve just re-read the whole thing. And now I feel the urge to sell myself as something else other than a plain manic-depressive poor little sucker.

The cathartic ways of this blog, explain why’s so easy for me to bitch about everything right here. I’m not as sad as I might come off and on every day basis, I keep my existential angst to a minimum. If you wanna see brighter me (it’s not all that bright either, but is definitely a far enough cry from this horrendous attempts), then invite me for a cup of tea. Cheers to all of you and cheers to me.

I WANNA GO WHERE MY THOUGHT CAN TAKE A NAP.

OPTION.

Well. I have to be honest. I’m crashed. Completely disappointed.

Here is the thing. Till a few short hours ago, I was on option for a campaign with a photographer that doesn’t need any kind of introduction, for a brand I’m completely in love with. It was basically my dreamed job, and everyone who knew was just as excited as I was.

I had to do polaroids, I had to several videos, and I cleared my schedule so that if required, I could jump on a plane and be in NY any day. For two weeks I patiently waited for this whole thing to happen. I waited for them to make up their minds and decide weather if they were gonna book me or not. My anxiety grew larger and larger, and just now, a few short minutes ago, I’ve come to realize I was dropped.

My booker Natalie told me they changed the concept, and decided to go on a different direction.

Once more, life has proven to me that every time I’m really close to achieving something relevant in this crappy part-time job of mine, it somehow manages to evaporate in front of my very own eyes, right before I get to size it.

This basically means I have no plans for the next few months, I have no prospect of anything and I have to decide what the fuck I’m doing with my life.

I was having a wonderful day, and now I feel like someone took a huge massive smelly dump on me. Fuck this job. Seriously. Fuck this job.

I can’t wait to see how the campaign turns out.

PALABRAS.

Imaginemos un mundo diferente. Un contexto deliciosamente inverosímil, en el que el coloquialismo es desterrado de nuestra lengua. Una cotidianeidad en la que el televisor desprende en la vibración de su garganta de hojalata, frases barrocas salpicadas de algoritmos literarios, exégesis impertérritas, geografías implícitas, términos irrelevantes, construcciones coercitivas e inadecuaciones intencionales en geografías lingüísticas.

Imaginémonos empuñando la palabra en su plena vocación de arte, deleitando nuestros contextos con su belleza sublime, delicada, frágil y a veces hasta perpetua. Imaginémonos desempolvando precisiones gramaticales, vistiendo oraciones de exactitudes, y buscando la fidelidad más pura entre el sentimiento y la libertad que encuentra en nuestras palabras.

Podemos decirlo todo con una mirada, podemos declararnos desprotegidos con una sonrisa, y hasta cambiar el mundo con una lágrima. El carácter meramente formal que las palabras eventualmente asumen, no está en tela de juicio. Y sin embargo, ¿Es el arte menos válido si en su definición y como regla para su disfrute, demanda una finalidad sin fin y una contemplación desinteresada? Si las palabras tienen una funcionalidad sobreestimada, ¿Es eso razón para dudar de lo legítimo de su belleza?

Imaginemos un mundo diferente. Un contexto deliciosamente inverosímil, en el que el arte vuelve a los cimientos, como artífice primigíneo de nuestra lengua.

FIRED BOOT EATER.

Last night I had nightmares.

In one of my nightmares, I was unemployed and had no plans, no educational commitments and no future. See what my nightmares are made off?

My father, seeing me in this horrible and un-dignifying position (since un-productivity is one of the worst things human race has managed to produce, at least on my parents eyes that is), decides to offer me a job in his enterprise. All the sudden, it all looks like the 20’s and a bit Russian Mafia like, though it was still a furniture and appliance mart as it actually is. So, it was my father’s real life furniture and appliance mart, but in the 20’s and with a Russian Mafia twist to the whole thing.

He hired me to do some paper-work, and since I was not quite interested in the task I was assigned, I decided to rely on the fact I was the boss’s son and didn't take my job seriously. I was not showing up, and not being effective at all.

Then there was this pool I went to swim at. I dived in and started doing lengths because I wanted to gain some muscle definition. All the sudden, the pool starts draining till I can’t swim anymore. I was exhausted and starving, so Y climbed off the pool, and picked up a dark brown leather boot from the multiple pairs of leather boots that were lying around the place, and I took a big bite from it, and chewed it slowly, feeling my molars struggle with the rubbery texture. Apparently, eating leather boots was a normal thing in my dream. A few friends of mine showed up right then (girls I don’t really know and I can’t identify right now) and some of them begun puking in this pool I had swam in.

Later on, I saw a couple of kids stealing the camera and the microphone from a group of anchors, and using them to broadcast the news themselves.

When I got back to my father’s shop, and to my supposed job, he showed up, and started shouting at me on the subject of my incompetence. He told me I was fired.

That’s when I realized (or at least that’s what I thought), that he was just kidding. He was just in a character, pretending to be angry, so I followed through, and dove into a character myself too. I looked at him, and I told him I was gonna murder him. Something like – keep your eyes open, cause I might not be good with paper-work, but I one the hell of an assassin.

He stormed out, and later I discovered through my mother, that he was not kidding, that he had actually fired me, and that he was very confused about my threats. I decided to go talk to him, to explain the whole thing and let him know I was not planning to kill him, and when I sat down in front of his desk, all that came out his mouth was a stream of low-key, denigrating words through which he explained to me that I was a hopeless, spoiled, lazy ass looser that would never get a proper job in my life and would have to settle for the most pure form of mediocrity in my life. And then, right after, he compared me to a whole bunch of people that had worked for him, that were complete suckers, and he told me I was worst than all of them and that he wasn’t a bit proud of being my dad.

Then I was in this weird Mediterranean looking house with this mixed-race looking girl that was unapologetically ignoring me while sketching wedding dresses on a note pad. The sun was setting and the whole place felt extremely weird for me. There was this very particular smell in the air, or maybe there wasn’t, but now that I’m recalling the images in my head, my brain is associating them with this certain smell. I can’t really describe the scent, but some people have it.

I have a very bad sense of smell anyways. The thing is that I felt very strange in that place, like if I had lived that already.

Then I woke up.

I have just one thing to say – read my hand.

"EVERY TIME I WEAR A LANVIN DRESS; A MAN FALLS IN LOVE WITH ME"

A friend of Alber said so ♥

PJ.
THE WARLOCKS.
LED.
CREAM.

Me duele un poco la cabeza. Creo que es porque estuve tomando vino. Hoy fue un día largo. Buenos Aires gris. Dormí siesta. Pensé en todos esos pequeños detalles cliché que conforman la imaginería de la cotidianeidad de habitar esta ciudad. Tan complicado soy de decifrar? Vamos, che, no seas malo.
Me di cuenta que me está gustando el death metal cada vez más, y que quiero cosas. También que me gusta mi pieza sin respaldo en la cama.
Besos.

HOW CAN I MANAGE TO GET IN THE STORY?

Agus came home and helped me knitting for university.

I wanna be a champion.
I'm sleepy and I watched the first half of Midnight in Paris.
Snowflakes huh? Ok. Fuck you.
Let's just hope the cards are right.