LETTER FROM THE WRECK: SANT JORDI
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Attracted To Big Women
Dear @:
I find it very difficult to sort the ideas at this time. I made a real mess, and I have no strength, not too eager to get to untangle this web of ideas that bewilders me. However, I believe that I have no choice. My life has come to a situation of great emotional exhaustion and as always in these situations I find myself writing becomes a balm that soothes while unclogs pain. Since I can remember I have always turned to writing and literary desire was to simply as support to hold on to avoid falling. However that is entangled skein of my emotions, many feelings that crowd in the pit of my stomach, made of stretch a thread with the same gentleness that liberates me strength somehow. Maybe because when I do not fear to end tied to the chaos that sometimes means facing what hurts us so much: reality. And watch out, do not say that I resolved to write life, no, not about that. Write as much relieved, as when you open the locks of a dam that is unable to withstand pressure. Many mornings (like this Sunday) I do it with trembling hands, as if hesitating to say or not say, of its implications, the danger exists when allegedly fixed the definitive account of a about when you're living. And this is because when I talk in first person, it is inevitable to refer to a plural. I do not exist, perhaps only as a shadow, but little else, my strength, my strength, my confidence that gives us that I am with those who love me, appreciate me and with whom I share my joys and my sorrows. Today, unfortunately, the thing that is not to shoot rockets at most this text would be one of these flares with the sailors try to ask for help at night to see his boat capsizing.
Some people may believe that I have no reason to complain, I've posted my first book, which besides the above (and despite the lack of advertising) is selling rather well, that people love and advises, and finally I have a busy schedule of events where defend my speech thing difficult for a madman. But these small or great joy, I find dull precisely because of what I said before and us. These personal achievements are entirely decaffeinated me when the person I most want to suffer and I am completely powerless to help. So. There is no turning back, no pretense, no cocks in vinegar. I reached a point in my life where I am worth nothing, but I can share it with those I love, and those who I love (although it tries) seems to be caught by God knows fucking emotional mechanisms, against which little or nothing I can do. My efforts to be guided in their suffering, my desire to help that person you love, just being (or so it seems) as a sort of temporary relief, before the next attack. I recognize that this impotence nails and it hurts me, I guess because cracks that I've always believed, more so because in my case it works, that love is the best medicine. And so stunned by impotence, thirst for certainty and a certainty impossible, I just doubt that my routine as a caregiver, that all that effort to rush every day with the sole purpose of generating relief, is really beneficial y no acabe siendo iatrogénico.
Es aquí cuando el miedo a la perdida me satura, zarandeando los cimientos de una relación que hasta hace bien poco parecía estar aposentada sobre una balsa de aceite.
¿Qué debo hacer? Me pregunto constantemente y cuanto más me lo pregunto más dudas se generan. A falta de un mapa fiable de las emociones humanas acabo sintiéndome solo, náufrago en una isla en la que he acabado sin querer. Mientras both fear grows uncontrollably, and the thought of losing that person you love pushes me to the edge. What should I do? How the screams drown before the furious onslaught of the waves, when the hand trembles cling and do not know why it seems that along with earth tremble and wither prematurely dream that flowers early spring. Is what we have, I say, you must have patience, I remember, you must be strong ... Recipes that look like garlic soup, which I remember from both chiaroscuro that life is a prison with open doors and maybe the only thing I wish is that the storm will soon pass ... To be able to hug my free love with the innocence of a child.
Sincerely, Raul Velasco.
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