Buscador

viernes, 10 de febrero de 2017

Dive in, CR VocalesV



Every Friday at 11:00, I meditate for ten minutes
and then I sit on a bench near my place and refuse to talk
for half an hour.
Patience, I think, is a brutal cordiality of time.
I see dogs and squirrels, sometimes a timid rabbit comes by
and of course I see people passing by
always two humans together, or only one with a coffee
or wearing earphones. (I like the ones who walk alone and wear earphones)
The more I see them, the more alienated I feel
what am I doing here? Why did I choose this place?
Why am I tormenting myself with this experience?
To understand my pain, you first need to understand
the things I have rejected my entire life:
I have rejected conventional thoughts and that rejection
only gets sharper the older I get: marriage, babies, time, adulthood and its meanings
they’re all structures of power that I do not want to submit to.
I have rejected any external factor that might control my freedom
for that matter I have even rejected hunger if it interrupts me from being myself.
I already rejected the perfect accommodated life with a bright future
and that has been my best decision so far.
I reject the UN, I reject the manipulative project of human rights,
I reject the calculating version of democracy liberals want to sell us
I reject conservatives too,
I refuse to keep on fooling myself with the idea of equality,
and I reject identity, that imaginary concept that only serves to buy loyalties.
In general, I have always rejected imposed systems
that satisfy the interests of the few at the expense of individual freedom.
Am I an individualist? Maybe
yet I cannot define myself under political categorizations
I would go as far as to define myself with a language I’ve invented.
Everything we give for granted is contaminated with a past history
that never happens to be innocent.
There are no ontological truths: time as we know it today
 is not an invisible ethereal substance that has always existed,
but a creation of capitalism to regulate and exploit the working class.
Our languages and races have not always been tools to categorize people
they are the products of colonization and the need to preserve a sense of superiority
in finding a hierarchy between the old world and the new world.
We were not always religious; at least we did not have to pray to just one male god
imposed by institutions that resemble corporations with political ties.
Then I interrupt my thoughts to look around me,
 it is cold, there is enough snow to hide,
and there is a certain peace in this place that I reject but feel so attracted to.
Most of these people are in search of money and fame
and they seem to have it all figured out
while I still can’t figure out what to do with this unbearable weight we call life
they plan their future, and I’m too busy keeping myself from going mad in the present.
I admire how easily they fit in the different systems that have been created for all of us to fit in.
You see, my pain lies in my empty promise of never submitting to a conventional life
yet I studied law and came to Harvard:
“There is nothing conventional about Harvard”
a classmate tells me,
and I just look at him curiously trying to figure out what hidden ideas
I can find behind his eyes.
He wants to run for office one day, mind you.
What can come after this? An 8:00 to 6:00 some sort-of-job?
Am I on my way to become another passive slave?
Or have I landed in here to discover what I do not want to be?
It is not Harvard, or the systems, it’s me.
I have found shelter in Foucault and I have realized
that in order to truly free myself I just need to dive in.


CR-VocalesV




2 comentarios :

  1. Querida Carlota Por favor Traduce tus textos, Deseo leerte en español.

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    Respuestas
    1. Hola Giorgiana!

      Claro que si! Esta semana trabajo en ello y los publico. Gracias por la paciencia.

      Besos!

      C.

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