Coord_nada

En el rato después de escribir la entrada anterior, tuve un miniviaje sin contratiempos, con final feliz: termino viendo un lindo video guía de Warsaw, me aggiorno de que Fahrenheit, Copérnico y Chopin son polacos, buscando otra cosa, me encuentro un póster muy hermoso de una peli polaca llamada "Do widzenia, do jutra" (que me recuerda mucho a Before Sunrise) y me topo con esto al entrar a Face:

Arteterapeuta Astrológica

3 h · 

Todos llevamos dentro
una insospechada fuerza que emerge
cuando la vida nos pone a prueba.

Es Allende para esta cuenta regresiva hacia la #lunanueva de mañana en #capricornio, con #sol, #venus, #mercurio, #saturno y #pluton también ahí. #marte y #jupiter en #escorpio y una poesía del gran cielo que dibuja motivos, verdades desnudas y un camino en subida.

Que el cansancio no me derribe justo ahora,
que me estoy encontrando de una vez conmigo,
que estoy sabiendo el punto exacto,
de mi afinación evolutiva,
de mi cuerda en sintonía
con mi sueño y mi coraje,
Que el cansancio no me derribe justo ahora,
que descubrí lo que vale mi energía,
el abecedario que forma el idioma de mi silencio,
que hallé en el fondo de mi pozo,
una paciencia indestructible,
una fuerza cicatrizada,
Que el cansancio no me derribe justo ahora,
que aprendí a bancarme lo que no alcanzo,
a esperar la recompensa,
a caminar aunque no vea,
a salirme del rebaño.
Que el cansancio no me derribe justo ahora,
que soy libre de construir eso que voy buscando,
que soy libre de buscar,
de renacer,
de transmutar,
de tener mi arte conmigo,
para curar y abrirme paso,
que confío en lo que tengo
y también en lo que falta,
que hay verdad en mí
que soy de tiempo y fe,
que soy de seguir apostando.
Algo importante vi:
crecí y estoy mutando,
porque doy más tiempo al tiempo,
porque espero mientras avanzo,
porque no todo lo explico,
porque vibro de proceso
y no de resultado.
Ya ví lo que puedo hacer si me hago espacio,
Que el cansancio no me derribe justo ahora,
que tengo tiempo y puedo ver,
que empezar es cambiar algo.

Y estoy bitacoreádolo acá, con esto de fondo.

Aguanten estos momentos.

Mi única ambición es llegar a escribir un día más o menos bien, más o menos mal, pero como una mujer.

- Victoria Ocampo

a.k.a. Depression

1. Un dragón
2. Una niebla tóxica, se cuela en t vida y corroe todo a su paso
3. Una especie de gravedad
4. Muy escurridiza
5. Un filtro oscuro en mi perspectiva
6. Tentáculos
7. Un espíritu esperando ser visto por mí. una cazafantasmas
8. Algo que debe "pasar", como una simple gripe
9. Cañon
10. Con un pie afuera y otro adentro
11. Invisible como el viento
12. Gremlin mental
13. Discutir con el demonio
14. Una ola de mosquitos
15. La huella digital esencial
16. El borde dorado alrededor del aluminio
17. Una duna ventosa y desértica

- Jacqueline Novak, Nineteen metaphors for your depression.

Seeing Her Ghosts

Faye Moorhouse, illustrator

I have anxiety. More specifically social anxiety. I was born shy, and I hated going to school — in fact, I hardly ever went. I hated going out with friends; I would cry and my mum would make up excuses so I didn’t have to go. Now I have to make up my own excuses to avoid going out. And I’m running out of excuses. I’d rather tear off my own fingernails than go to the pub, or a wedding, or a party. Sometimes I have to go out: birthdays, special occasions, etc. I beat myself up so much for not wanting to go, not being normal. The price I pay for it is painful.

I spend days, weeks beforehand worrying, catastrophizing, running through all the possible awkward scenarios. I become hyperaware and paranoid and struggle to think of things to talk about, and then afterward I spend days overthinking, analyzing, and worrying about it. Medication and talking therapies have helped somewhat, but I still struggle. It doesn’t get better with age or the more I expose myself to social situations. And it is a really difficult one for other people to understand. I have a dog. When I’m with him, I don’t have anxiety. If I walk down the street or go to the pub with Bear, I feel calm and free. If I don’t have him with me, I go back to being anxious. The problem is, Bear hates busy, social things, too: he barks, pulls on his lead, and won’t sit still. I like to think he’s just excited, but maybe he’s anxious too. Did I make him anxious? Can dogs even have social anxiety? There we go again, worrying.

Black Dog, 2016.

Sophia Weisstub, interdisciplinary artist

Both my parents are psychiatrists and analysts, so I grew up relating to and aware of feelings, thoughts. The existence of the unconscious was real and present. I myself experienced psychic pain; I suffered from OCD from a young age and later, in adolescence, depression. The depths and the experience itself remain painful and frightening. They will always be a part of me.

Heart Hug, 2016.

Marine Fisch, mixed-media artist

Maybe I was too young, maybe it was already in the making … But since then, I’ve always had to deal with this melancholia, with my hypersensibility — more or less, violently. In my teenage years, I had eating disorders. I tried to fill my body. Then I tried to be a bird. I also used to draw on my body, hypnotized by the blood. Above all, I was ashamed. I tried to hide who I was.

I don’t know how or why, but when I was most deeply lost in the darkest spot of my mind, I began to speak. For the very first time, I expressed myself. And step by step, I accepted my being. I know it’s clichéd, but I believe that art — my art — saved me. Obviously, periodically [my struggle] comes up to the surface, but today I manage. And I try every day to use this sensibility to feel the world. In his very entire poetry.

Illegible, 2016. 

Jessica Scheurer, graphic designer and illustrator

I’m anxious. About almost everything, every single day. Today is no exception: it’s here and now, writing these few lines. Tomorrow, it will be playing piano in front of a tiny audience. The next day, it will be facing my colleagues at work, feeling like a fraud, or on a date, feeling useless. It’s as if my entire life is happening on a stage. I have to perform day in and day out. It’s a premiere every day, and I always want to be at my best. And all the time, I don’t want to be there, in the spotlight.

My mind repeats the most vile things about myself as I go about performing, and I’m often unsure about the script. I’m sweating until I’m soaked and cold. I’d often like to shut myself off, but I can never seem to find the switch. Sleep gives me some respite after my worst appearances. I’d be so exhausted anyway after an entire day’s worth of acting my own part, that I’d let sleep overcome me like my savior. A friendly, welcoming fog, all my thoughts are still there, but out of sight and sound until dawn. Curtain drops, at last.

Recently, I’ve come to find a strategy that helps me a little with my reckless thoughts: I listen to a lot of podcasts. It gives me a break from listening to my own mind driving me into dead ends. It also means I get to be inspired by others and learn new positive-thought patterns and tricks. Because I do know what it feels like to be relaxed, to feel like my mind and body are connected and in sync with the universe, my goal will always be to figure out how to reach — or, better yet, stay in — that mental space, leaving all my nerves at bay. In the meantime, I’m training my brain, like any other muscle, a little at a time, one day at a time.

Brain, 2015.

Marta Claret, artist

In my experience, one of the most difficult aspects of depression is to try to explain to others what is happening to me. This is one of the aspects of my illness that I find most difficult: the isolation that you feel because you just can’t put into words what is happening to you. Something similar happens to Kirsten’s mother when she says: “I still have a great pain in me. I don’t know what it is …” Those words accompany one of her drawings [from which this sculpture is based] because they best express her pain and her anger. I’ve found a strong connection in that: our shared inability to put words to our pain.

Her Rage, 2016.

Roger Ballen, photographer

It is hard to explain or understand the complexity of the mind. I use photography as a tool to locate my core mind, my inner world. It is a very mysterious, enigmatic place that defies words and cannot be defined exactly. I now understand that I will never understand reality.

It has always been important for me to probe below the surface, to come into contact with the deeper elements of human consciousness.

There is never only one answer or one moment. Understanding the unconscious part of the mind is a very essential process in better understanding oneself. My photographs are psychological in nature, and the goal is to penetrate the viewer’s conscious mind and lodge itself in the subconscious. Hopefully, the end result will be greater self-awareness.

Replacement, 2010.

John Brad Wayne Pitt

In the darkened Quonset hut which served as a theater… while the hot wind blew outside… I first saw John Wayne. Saw the walk, heard the voice. Heard him tell the girl in War of the Wildcats that he would build her a house, “at the bend in the river where the cottonwoods grow."

I tell you this neither in a spirit of self-revelation nor as an exercise in total recall, but simply to demonstrate that when John Wayne rode through my childhood, and very probably through yours, he determined forever the shape of certain of our dreams.

As it happened, I didn't grow up to be the kind of woman who is the heroine in a Western, and although the men I have known have had many virtues and have taken me to live in many places I have come to love, they have never been John Wayne, and they have never taken me to the bend in the river where the cottonwoods grow. Deep in that part of my heart where artificial rain forever falls, that is still the line I want to hear.

Dos Cero Uno Ocho

And now let us welcome the New Year full of things that have never been.

-Rainer Maria Rilke

Manifesto - Prólogo

Hablo sólo por mí mismo, ya que no quiero convencer, no tengo derecho a arrastrar a otros a mi corriente, no obligo a nadie a seguirme y todo el mundo hace arte a su manera, si es que conoce la alegría que sube cual flechas a planos astrales, o aquella que desciende a las minas de flores de cadáveres y espasmos fértiles.
¿Acaso se ha hallado la base psíquica común a toda la humanidad?
¿Cómo es que se quiere ordenar el caos constitutivo de esa variación informe e infinita; el hombre?

- Tristan Tzara, Manifiesto Dada, 1918

All you own is Yourself

Esperanza

In English my name means hope. In Spanish it means too many letters. It means sadness, it means waiting. It is like the number nine. A muddy colour. It is the Mexican records my father plays on Sunday mornings when he is shaving, songs like sobbing.

- Sandra Cisneros, The House on Mango Street

i could not contain myself any longer
i ran the ocean
in the middle of the night
and confessed my love for you to the water
as i finished telling her
th salt in her body became sugar

- Rupi Kaur (ode to sobha singh's sohni mahiwal)

At no other time does the earth let itself be inhaled in one smell, the ripe earth; in a smell that is in no way inferior to the smell of the sea, bitter where it borders on taste, and more honeysweet where you feel it touching the first sounds. Containing depth within itself, darkness, something of the grave almost.

- Rainer María Rilke, Letters to Cézanne

September dusk; A crimson flame / died in my mouth.

- Georg Trakl, from Poems & Prose: A Bilingual Edition; “Landscape,”

Humans of (the world)

El molómano

Compra discos, lee biografías de músicos, colecciona programas de mano. Por sus venas circula música. Y muchas veces ama aun más la música que los propios músicos. Pero llora en vez de tocar.

- Eusebio Ruvalcaba

WHAT A delicate INSTRUMENT LANGUAGE IS.

- Susan Sontag

(...) y enfrente de la

casa, al otro lado de la

carretera, ente los matorrales

del bosque, la lluvia, la lluvia del Sur

lavaba la pena & la

hondura & algo lloró;

& algo le su-

surró (...) Tu naciste

en los bosques, tu

padre era granjero,

hijo de estas lluvias, esta

tierra virgen, víctima

miserable de usureros &

           un amargo dolor;

           (...) están

           solo en plena noche,

           no agaches la cabeza,

           no dejes caer los brazos

           (...) te llamas

           en el inmenso mundo,

           ancho, vacío e inexplorado.

<<Libro de esbozos de Jack Kerouac>>

De todo lo que está bien

It began in mystery, and it will end in mystery, but what a savage and beautiful country lies in between.

- Diane Ackerman, A Natural History of the Senses

Legit garabatos

(...) hastiada
madera gris en las eternidades
del tiempo, postes desvencijados
en derredor, el tabaco,
que ya levanta un palmo
desde la raíz
pálido y alineado ante el
solemne telón de fondo de
esa maleza del bosque.
Un triste almiar en forma de cono
a media distancia. Los niños pequeños
(...) a la hora de cenar lo
ven y piensan: <<Y el
bosque, ¿necesita comer?
En la noche que
llega, ¿lo sabe
el bosque? ¿Cómo es que
cuelga tan quieto ese
trapo y, como el
bosque, no tiene nombre
que yo sepa? -gulp-.>>

<<Libro de esbozos de Jack Kerouac>>

EXOBIOTANICA

Como Laputa, pero real.