L'uomo pipistrello

Earth was never meant to live this long.

 She was supposed to die with her sister, Mars, years ago. She's been sick, plagued by ice age chills, fever swings, and marks on her complexion.

 But I knew Earth when she was beautiful, and now that she's not, I still remember.

 It's a shame I can only see her every seventy years. But that's the rules of the cosmos, as the mathematical gears of the universes laws bring us together and sperate again. Our relationship was long distance, but each time I returned, she looked worse, more tiresome, more feeble.

 "Earth," I cried, swinging by her in an arcing hug, "Earth, you cannot leave me now. You cannot leave me alone, to travel in this solar system for seventy years, and have only sadness when I finally reach you."

 "Halley, my comet, my love." Said Earth in my embrace, "I fear I am near my end. I have waited this long to see you, and I do not know if I can wait again."

 "No," I cried, "Surely there is a way. A way for me to spend the rest your days with you."

 Earth was silent, then she said, "There is one way. I will fill a creature with my spirit, but my spirit will sleep until you arrive. Seventy years alseep, and one awake, and I will spend all those ones with you."

 So Earth poured her spirit into a new being she named man, and every seventy years, as I flew back, she awoke. Now millions of eyes watch me pass, and I see her in every one of them. But though she ages slower, death still comes for her. It comes as her spirit slowly falters in men, and they forget her, and she departs their bodies an minds, and they too will fall to waste.

 But until that time will pass, I get to see her every seventy years. She sees me every one of her waking days.

 I now leave a sparkling tail, as tears fall behind me, because I fear her last day is soon.

 And even though she has so little left, men depart her with the remaining bits of her spirit, stealing it from me, traveling where I shall never see her again.

Coming up next

Realizations and dark stuff.

Hablar

Se me critica que digo muchas boludeces, o que no se qué decir, pero lo voy a explicar, porque me interesa que lo sepas.

Cuando uno, una persona, pierde lo más importante, aquello por lo que vive, eso que te hace levantarte a la mañana, y sentís que literalmente estas muerto, cuando uno realmente se da cuenta, cuando le cae la ficha, cambia mucho.

Durante un tiempo no tenés prioridades, tus pensamientos son una montaña rusa que consiste en nimiedades y problemas existenciales, luego de ese padecimiento, es una tarea muy complicada hablar con otro ser humano, porque no hay filtro ni punto de referencia en cuanto a temas, porque al cabo, son todas capas de una misma forrada monótona.

Pero no todo es gris, y uno sabe, y llega a la conclusión de que sólo hay dos cosas que pueden emplearse en la comunicación, tan intrínsecamente personales, tan poderosas, que la única forma de compartirlas es que el presente sea alguien de profundo respeto o gran afecto, y aun así en situaciones especiales.

Y es por eso que duele mucho cuando uno las expresa y es criticado al respecto.

Las pasiones, y el silencio cómodo.

Descargo

Que tal, vuelvo después de un tiempo, porque me parece lógico y oportuno.
Un descargo de que? bueno, de todo. El blog claramente fue diseñado para eso, es lo que me gusta creer, así que es para lo que lo vamos a usar, sin fecha de vencimiento. Esta medio venido abajo, pero me parece bien, porque dice que en una época la estética era importante, y claramente ya no; vomitar todo lo que se pueda.