TOPLESS MODELS.

LOS AMORES IMAGINARIOS.

Qué vano. Vanidad. Venas… Vos estás ahí, al otro lado del muro. Ahí, incandescente como la luz verde del semáforo. Disponible, available. Feliz… posiblemente.

Enroscado en los sucesos de tu vida. En ese rosario de acontecimientos fútiles que nos alivian a todos el sopor de esperar el mañana, de esperar la vejez.

Cuentagotas mental de imágenes en fotomontaje. Me imagino tu mente, y a lo intangible le doy forma en una representación rudimentaria y casi hollywoodense. Qué ingenuo mi cerebro en su irrisorio acercamiento a un concepto tan inabarcable. Pese a lo ridículo que se vuelve este ejercicio tras el breve escrutinio de la lógica, el proceso de este mecanismo mental me dio espacio para visualizar con precisión una especie de aterciopelada continuidad de imágenes proyectadas sobre un fondo blanco irregular, pero de superficie lustrosa. “La máquina proyecta, a intervalos regulares de pocas centésimas de segundo, un haz de luz sobre los fotogramas de una película; ese haz de luz viene aumentado e invertido por una lente que enfoca la imagen resultante sobre una pantalla.” Hay escenas de veranos en la playa. Andá a saber si habrás tenido alguno. Aunque debo concederme que es muy probable que sí. Hay pies con ojotas, hay amigos sonrientes sosteniendo vasos de fernet… fue un breve eterno.

¿En algún momento, y me excuso anticipadamente por este arranque de egocentrismo, este sinfín de mi propia autoría creativa, corporizó mis fotogramas en su incesante proyección? Y si así fue, ¿Se desprendió de tu inconciencia el dadivoso gesto de interrumpir la monotonía de tu respiración?

Que flash. Pensarte en pantuflas. Pensarte en ropa interior. Frente a un monitor titilante. Media sonrisa por quién sabe qué o quién. Qué pretencioso de mi parte mendigar licencias para considerarme relevante en lo exógeno de tu universo. Alto adefesio.

Qué ególatra, qué sádico. Si ni siquiera aquello en cuya contemplación me regocijo está más allá de lo que mis propios sentidos pueden glosar.

¿Qué aroma tienen tus remeras?

Cada movimiento es perfecto. Obstinadamente elegante. Se mueren en un segundo. Se apagan como un fósforo y te arrastran en una humareda hacia la decrepitud. Se marchita mi cerebro, se marchita tu corazón, se marchitan nuestros cuerpos.

Quiero entender tus proporciones.

Ya sé que al final no soy deseable.

Estás en ropa interior tirado en una cama y sos todo piel.

Pecas y eso. Ta.

GOOD AND BAD.

It grows beyond the simple concept. It’s impossible to see these things as black or white, but in the shades it becomes clear. Some people seem to be just… nice. Are they happy? Not sure. Are they destructive (and I’m using this word while holding on to a very flat and straight forward interpretation of its meaning)? Well, seemingly no. Then there’s people who just seem - and well, let me be honest, this is my childish vulnerable self talking from personal experience – to not mind at all causing harm to others.

You are mean. It’s a thing I’ve said to a bunch of people throughout my life. Were they? Maybe not to me, maybe not right there in that exact moment, but as if it was a simple, but hidden algorithm, I could decipher with my instinct, that they belonged to that group. The group of the ones I can’t call the good ones.

Some people just have it. They can be bright as fuck or dumb as hell, and still, they have the germ of “evil” somewhere deep in their souls. It manifests, it always does.

But then, am I good, or am I bad? Do I have the germ?

Paradoxically, as I write this with almost no stops (except for now and then when I make a grammar mistake), I realize, as much as I always sell off myself as a good one, I’ve felt the germ of “evil” crawling down my insides, struggling to pop out when certain situations build the right habitat for it to subsist. These situations have to do with empowerment in general terms. So, I’m not exactly except from evil. Therefore, if I can deduct such thing for my own case, why not to generalize and turn it into the universal law it probably already is. We are all the same in the end.

Then, if I’ve felt that evilness inside me, could it be possible that it exists in everyone, even the ones I consider “good ones” such as my very own self? I guess yes.

At this point, I’m facing a pivotal point in my analysis. What exactly is that thing, that makes people be perceived by me (including myself when I’m being extremely objective in judgment), as “good people”, and what’s that thing that makes me categorize them as mean?

Let me start by making it clear that both kinds of people can do good as they can do harm. So therefore, the difference lies in something that goes deeper than the act. It lies in the cogs behind it. Is it in what drives them towards each direction? Well, maybe. But I have an interesting theory being shaped in my alcohol-soaked? brain: What changes in each type, is basically what could be described as a sensibility.

You know how some people have an artistic sensibility and others just don’t? You know how some people can cry to a song, to a painting, to a poem, and some others would think such thing is an incomprehensible display of pathetic behavior? Well. I think “good”, is a sensibility. You either have it or you don’t. And since it’s some sort of specific layer of understanding, it operates on top of the rest of our mental mechanisms, judging their processes and their results. It comes across as some sort of a judge. Is the one and only, and oh so well known by many of us, infamous guilt.

At this point, I need to retract one of my opinions. I don’t think anyone is exempt of guilt. I do think some people have the system that’s supposed to recognize it, quite numbed, and others… well, others have different values, so therefore, what you may consider wrong, to their standards is fairly not.

In any case, I’ve just come to the conclusion, that us much as I’d like to find a universality in this concepts I’ve elaborated in this stream of consciousness, I fairly can’t. I’m way to influenced by the limitations of my comprehensions, and absolute subjectiveness doesn’t exist, so I’m back at square one.

As I don’t like confrontations, and I tend to believe that I can always be wrong, as to fight sharply for any of my pints of view, I’m just gonna settle by saying, that in the particularity of my judgment, some people come off as good, and others as bad, and that’s something that rarely changes about them throughout the time.

These are my thoughts after reading a few posts on a random blog I found. I got the feeling that person was what I could candidly describe as a “bad person”. Why did I make such a quick piece of judgment? What is good? What is bad? And the rest is just typing thought after thought till my fingertips hurt.