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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.

TEDDY BOY.

I’m studying for a test tomorrow. Its several centuries of art history that needs to get packed-up in my brain before two in the afternoon today. Sweet. From Paleolithic art to Gothic. That’s a looong way to go, innit?

Yesterday I didn’t go out, but on Saturday I had a lovely gathering at home, and a subsequent and rather entertaining outing to this 50’s inspired party. Yeah, they played the Kinks and shit, and I dressed as a Teddy boy.

I’m so fucked. I can’t believe I actually let procrastination convince me I could do this the night before the fucking test. People wish me luck. And please wish me luck in as many ways as you can, cause I’m in real deep need of some of that right now, and university is not the only thing demanding it.

Drawing I did from my friend Julieta.

That was the 50's night. I sometimes like to wear garments that match my furniture. Apparently.

WHO ARE YOU?

I just checked and realized I’ve got 1-666 views.

This just made me wonder. Who the fuck is reading this? I barely told a handful of people about this blog’s existence, and most of them forgot about it right away.

In the spirit of this, if you ghost readers feel like doing it so, comment. Speak. I’m pretty sure I’m gonna have lots of insults! It’s gonna be just like higschool!

HAMLET:

"I am thy father's spirit;
Doomed for a certain term to walk the night,
And for the day confined to fast in fires,
Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature
Are burnt and purged away. But that I am forbid
To tell the secrets of my prison-house,
I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word
Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood,
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres,
Thy knotted and combined locks to part
And each particular hair to stand an end,
Like quills upon the fretful porpentine:
But this eternal blazon must not be
To ears of flesh and blood. - List, list, O, list!"
- William Shakespeare, Hamlet, 1.5

Random pictures from two months ago.
In the last one, Meli Stasiuk (Alias Tero) and Agustín Elizalde.

JUST THE FACT I’VE GOT A FUCKING BLOG MAKES ME EGO-CENTERED AND DEPTH-LUCKING.

I hate myself a bit more over this J.

So much música whooowhoowhoooo!

I had my essay on Paleolithic art reviewed by my teacher. I can’t believe she actually pointed out and corrected phrases she considered had syntactic errors when they were perfectly fine. I make mistakes when I write in English, I know, but I’ve been writing in Spanish for quite longer, and I know my fucking craft. And yes, I do firmly believe that the correct way to write it in Spanish is “nómada” not “nómade”.

God… I don’t even see the point in this anymore. Can I just move to Paris and get a job in a coffee shop or something? I can write short novels in my spare time. Or be in a metal band. And go to Some Girls every Wednesday and get really wasted.

Weather for Buenos Aires, Capital Federal, Argentina

15°C | °F Tue Wed Thu Fri Overcast Wind: S at 11 km/h Humidity: 67% 19° 13° 21° 15° 22° 16° 19° 17°

This weather is confusing me.

OH MY BABY ALTER-EGO.

Have you people ever felt replaced? Have you realized you have no right to feel that way? Have you felt childish and stupid?

CHEERS TO ALL THAT.

GET ME ON A PLANE.

I was in Milan, starting to realize I’d not book a single show, when my booker contacted in the way he generally does: sending me an empty mail with a subject that said “ALEX I NEED TO TALK TO YOU ASAP, TRY TO LOG ON TO SKYPE WHEN YOU CAN”.

I was pissed. I was not in my best moment. I wanted to go back to Paris. I wanted to go back home. It was cold, I was dealing with a lot of things, and my booker decided he would send me to Tokyo for two months, right after the shows in Paris without any stops.

This agency, Loop, wanted me there and it was a once in a lifetime experience I could not turn down. Guess. I did.

It was not out of a whim. I had to go back to Argentina. I had to prepare things for university, pay the rent, get a new flat (which I didn’t, since I stayed in the same one), see my family and most importantly, I had to go back to my loved one. The whole Paris-Milan-Paris fiasco takes around a month. If I had gone to Tokyo right after, I would have been away for three full months, something that would have been, as you might guess, a huge imposition.

Funny thing, I remember meeting someone (don’t really know who, I can’t make his face materialize in my head, but it was definitely one of the guys in the castings), that told me he was dying to go to Japan. He was studying Japanese even, but he hadn’t been able to land a contract with any of the Japanese agencies yet, and when I told him I was asked to go and had turned it down, he just could not believe I had done that.

Things have changed, and now turns out I really want to get the fuck out and go to freakin Tokyo, and Loop doesn’t want me any-fucking-more. This is Karma.

CAN SOMEONE PLEASE PAY ME A FUCKING PLANE TICKET SO I CAN GO SOMEWHERE?

No offense Buenos Aires. I like you. My friends are here, my home, my stuff… but if I don’t go somewhere after I’m done with my commitments, I’m gonna feel so ridiculously useless not even the amount of free time I would have for drawing and painting excites me.

I’m pissed. My booker told me whe’d find a way to fix this. I’m still pissed. Like. Fuck it. Why nothing’s simple for me?

FUCK I FEEL LIKE SUCH A BRAT when I say or write stuff like the whole thing I just wrote. I'm thinking weather if I should or should not post this, since it's really a very strong case of "poor little spoild wanker", but I will, so I read this in a few years, when I hope I'd have grown up a bit, and think, God, I wish someone would have kicked this stupidity out of my system.

I went to talk to a teacher from university today. I have to take some exams next week. I’m trying to prepare these stupid practical works. Is like “the final practical work” where you showcase what you’ve learned throughout the semester. The day of the exam, you present this practical work (it can be a scale-model, a simple essay, a mini-collection with everything included, from the sample fabrics to the sketches and the flats or whatever) and then they run a few questions. If you did a good job, you pass, and you can go home, and have a life again.

I’m having so much trouble focusing. I’m disgusted by how right my father was when he told me if I’d take a year off from uni, I’d have an extremely hard time getting my hands on the leash again. I’ve managed to do little progress, but I doubt I’ll be able to take as many exams I intended to in first place.

A guy I know from the tracks just started going to class too. He feels trapped and bored. It’s epidemic. It’s an almost irretrievable faith. After running a few years, there’s nothing as thrilling and freeing.

On my way home, I bought a huge bag of crisps and a bar of chocolate with strawberry mousse inside. After my junky meal, I have to admit I’m feeling better. I guess things are the way they’re supposed to be.

As an answer to this whole situation: FUCK IT. (With my save the whales T-shirt)

Image courtesy of Gastón Torres (we are fauna).