beacons

 

i have been contemplating this painting for years now, and its a timeless classic. i share its emotions and its classical struggle. once in a while when i find myself in Paris i have the chance to admire it. today i contemplate it from a screen and even though im not physcally in front of the painting itself, it evokes so many memories in me, that i feel transported beyond the scenario of this representation but into its many concepts inside me.

the flotsam brake the waves while a bunch of men cling on their last hopes. the blueish and grey tones convert your awe into fear while you admire the scenography of the injured and dehidrated, the dead and the barely alive. it reeks of rot and inhumane. from what we know, Géricault was much invested in telling us a story, which event as gruesome as it was deserved do be immortal in history.

The Raft of the Medusa is masterful example of art, concept and anatomy. but it is so much more than that, it's a tale of how humans are resilient in the hardest of moments, it's a tale of courage within the vile harships of life. and because of that, like a moth to a flame, im attracted to what i conisider is a mirror of some aspects of my life or myself even.

even though the composition is as heavy as it can be, it finishes in a focal point where a man waves for what it seems to be a beacon in the middle of unknown. in small point in the horizon where he seems to spot a glimmer of solace. while i admire this, a plethora of thoughts run through an emotional spectrum, and i force myself to i close my eyes because i still hope that small beacon is still there, and that it just takes one moment of belief to turn our lives around. i pray that we may one day find strength in hope.

mirror

 

setting aside some flaws and the minor deadly sins, i preached righteousness like a fervent prophet, i championed justice as its immaculte paladin, i abhorred the vile and deceitful lies like a healthy man in a colony of lepers. i proudly held my values as the pinnacle of virtue on the chasm of the world.

until today, for when we look in the mirror, the reflection we see shows us the best version of ourselves. or so the mind tricks us to believe. because in all of my actions, others were driven aside by my pursuit, my own selfish drive of the unscarred

i was never a "good soul" i think. and i thought i was. i was absolutely convinced of that. but looking back now i'm not so sure of my morals, the sanctity of my actions and the purity of my thoughts.

i dare to ask now, how many hearts have i broken, how much pain have i inflicted on others knowing and not-knowing, how much despair i caused and how many white lies have blackened other lives

and as i shamefully look away from the mirror i brazenly admit that we lie to ourselves everyday, and today is no exception.

Bereft

 The unbelieavable desire to create something is immense, it overpowers me and yet im so still and sterile. When did i became so impoverished? When did i become a disbeliever of oneself?
I wonder if when a man is in the brink of greatness and discovery he feels at the same time a degree of despair knowing his potential has reached its peak and before him lies the descent?
It takes immense courage to surpass oneself, and more altruism than it appears. But i do not possess that strength and im afraid i never will.

I knew that i was not destined for great things, but here i am am. Naked of ambition, unfruitful in my efforts and overshadowed by my failure. A coward, the worst kind of human.

I always knew those answers, they were revealed to me when i lost sight of juvenile laughter and embraced the world as it is. Even though one may hope for a late blossoming, the truth is that after all, pain is the definitive confirmation of being human.

the lake

 

tranquility in solitude is something that i could never really fathom. appreciating my moments alone is as important as a shared experience. the beauty of the lake and the mountains surrounds me as gather these thoughts. - as it pleases the eye it also pleases the heart and the mind - i thought. the soft breeze makes the branches of the pine trees shake and the sound of the cicadas spread out through the park. it's summer and it is warm and sunny. the two shades of blue between the sky and the lake are only interrupted with the stone grey and olive green of the mountains around us. nature should cradle me to sleep and her lonely tranquility. that is really something i could never bear because im always expecting your voice to fill the gaps of my silence - i muttered.

Against

The gusts of air coming from the desert had proclaimed my futures. They were as desolate as I had foreseen. - no surprises there – I muttered. – what if I can’t escape this penitence? – i muttered again, afraid of being heard only to realize that I was completely alone in this sea of sand and its silence was as overbearing as being in the middle of a angry mob or a trial from my peers.

Stumbled footprints were erased behind me as fast as the sweat accumulated on my brow. I tried to gather my bearings but the unmerciful heat had me doubting my navigating skills. The curse of knowing better had no weight here, not a single plan or carefully logical clairvoyance would make a difference now. It’s just me and nature, battling out on the millennial stage of survival and by the looks of it, the scale was not tipped in my favour.

The gusts of air were again singing their lullabies and enticing me to further stray from my path even though deep inside I knew that these songs were nothing more than a mirage. And there I was, stumbling towards these dreams regardless of every inch of me saying otherwise.

kafka

closing that door was hiding the silent pain of retreat and repressing the servitude with pride. i would never be same, i swore. and here i am, babbling and dabbling with my own thought that i so hard subdue. to little or no effect.but not the same. immutable formula of metamorphosis where the rearranging of mind follows the heart and vice-versa. where once a mould stood lies now an imperfected piece, rearranged and forged from other selves. where are the defects now, now that i am whole but not intact. where i am sound but not sane.

vomit

as the convoluted train of thought gives way to the perception of reality

i clench my thoughts as if they were my hands

i decode our language to the bare choke of tongues

like babel's apocalyptic demise where words begat mere sounds of disgust

where the reason becomes emotion and my actions become my path

i realize there is only the extinction that will envelop what i once was 

vile taste of distrust in oneself as i hope to reach the event horizon