"In Praise of My Sister" by Wisława Szymborska

My sister doesn’t write poems.
and it’s unlikely that she’ll suddenly start writing poems.
She takes after her mother, who didn’t write poems,
and also her father, who likewise didn’t write poems.
I feel safe beneath my sister’s roof:
my sister’s husband would rather die than write poems.
And, even though this is starting to sound as repetitive as
Peter Piper,
the truth is, none of my relatives write poems.
My sister’s desk drawers don’t hold old poems,
and her handbag doesn’t hold new ones,
When my sister asks me over for lunch,
I know she doesn’t want to read me her poems.
Her soups are delicious without ulterior motives.
Her coffee doesn’t spill on manuscripts.
There are many families in which nobody writes poems,
but once it starts up it’s hard to quarantine.
Sometimes poetry cascades down through the generations,
creating fatal whirlpools where family love may founder.
My sister has tackled oral prose with some success.
but her entire written opus consists of postcards from
vacations
whose text is only the same promise every year:
when she gets back, she’ll have
so much
much
much to tell.

Baby love

This world is full of very young mamas. From the very beginning, since we are just a baby girl, we are trained to take care of babies, even when we are still one. We want them for Christmas, that’s what we tell Santa. And he brings us one, sometimes even two. We wash their plastic bodies, brush and comb, their blond artificial hair –if they happen to have some-, pretend to feed them and pretend they stained their diapers. We talk to them just like our parents and relatives and some random person in the street used to talk to us, with that patronizing tone reserved for puppies –animal or human. We love them because they never grow up and they never will. And once they do, we get bored and leave them hidden somewhere. They starve, they get dirty, and they die. Just at the same time we discover dolls. We go shopping, clean the house, bake cookies for the boys. And then someone buys us a husband for our doll. We make love with our absent genitals and meanwhile, our baby dies, the one in the deepest part of the wardrobe and the one inside us.

 Text by the author of the blog

 Photo by Stanley Kubrik

Coloured Seaside

My first, my last, my everything...

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY

Bitches on the Move

Yesterday I had some guests to dinner and this is what we did after eating like pigs: taking photos. The result? Mostly this, featuring Mary Lou, Bea and Guillermo. Waiting for your comments!

 

THE CREW

Self-Portrait in Color (Playing with Watercolors)

Adolescent Thoughts (i.e. crazy stuff)

This is something I read yesterday night in one of my diaries, which were not about what happened to me but what what happened in my mind, useless stuff, you'll see.

PERFECTION

Who said that perfection does not exist? Yesterday I thought about it and yes, perfection does exist but, as many things, it depends on something and has middle terms:

Mister Perfect exists, actually, there are many, at least one or two for each woman. What does not exist is a perfect man for all the women in the world, that would be impossible, because there would always be more than one woman disagreeing in one aspect. Can you imagine? A dark-haired green-eyed man could be the perfect one for many women but at least one of these women thinks he would be better if he were blonde. HE'S NOT THE PERFECT MAN ANYMORE.

It is the same with everything. It is said that peace would be the solution, a perfect world. NO. Evil people are also part of this world and they do not think so.

To sum up, perfection is in everyone and you can share it but not impose it.

Aw... love this teenager...

Put it into Music: Summertime

It's been a while since my last PutitintoMusic but I can't leave this one past too. Today's topic is Summer and I can think of many beautiful and mostly happy songs, that is why I decided not to decide which one of these two choose. The first one is "Summertime" by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong, a classic, a beauty. The second one, well, you tell me. 

Photo by me some days ago, a very summer-like day.

Beautiful Places of my City #1

Because beautiful parks also happen outside London...

Out for the Weekend (and maybe more)

My dear fellows, I'm leaving tonight for the weekend and maybe a little bit more so I'm gonna be completely disconnected. Here I leave you with some photos of a trip I made to the beautiful Pyrenees some months ago. Hope you like them, they were taken with an Olympus Pen that belonged to my mom like 30 years ago (and still kickin'). 

Put it into Music: SUNSHINE

 

When I knew that this week's topic was sunshine I felt that the only possible song to put here was "Sunshine, Lollipops and Rainbows", by Leslie Gore, one of the happiest songs ever. I'm sure you already know this one but don't miss "It's my party" by the same singer.

The photo is one of a summer sunny day in the outskirts of my city. I took it like 2 or 3 years ago but it hasn't changed at all. In fact, it's so hot I'm gonna die!

And, finally, for those who can read Spanish, do not miss Norma Jean Magazine and my first short story in it.

Leg's Play! Summer's Here.

 Summer is already here in Spain and we have to say goodbye to panties and stockings (I'll miss you). This is a homage to those who have accompanied me throughout autumn, winter and spring. Snif snif. Photos by moi.

 

Poem and Photo to celebrate the end! (The end is sometimes positive)

I'M BACK! And I'm gonna stay! My personal inferno has almost finished and now I have time to write my useless stuff. Today I come with one of my own poems and my photography so I hope you like them (you'd better...) Sorry, I'm just violent because of the shitty academic year that is now coming to its end. Enjoy!

 

 I read in the past

And realize the ignorance of youngsters

That blinds our eyes to the interpretation

Of what we just decipher.

He loved me and I did not see it.

The day I saw it I never saw him again.

And just to remind you, Andrea is preparring a HUGE GIVEAWAY in her blog "The Art of Staying Up All Night" so DO NOT MISS IT!

"To my Dear and Loving Husband"

I'm not married but sometimes I feel just like that, being that a possitive thing. In the book Heaven on Earth I previously told you about, I found this magnificent ode to marriage and I wanted to share it with you, as well as a beautiful portrait Neima Pidal took of the two of us a while ago. Hope you like it as much as I do. (In future posts you'll know who else wore this magnificent No.Li.Ta dress)

"To My Dear and Loving Husband"

by Anne Bradstreet 

If ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were loved by wife, then thee; 
If ever wife was happy in a man, 
Compare with me, ye women, if you can.
I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold 
Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
My love is such that rivers cannot quench,
Nor ought but love from thee, give recompense.
Thy love is such I can no way repay,
The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray. 
Then while we live, in love let's so persevere
That when we live no more, we may live ever.

Analogic English Foursome

Maybe you noticed that I don't upload much photography here, which is shameful as I studied a bit and have a lot of cameras and so. Well, if you're interested in Lomography, here you have some photos I took last year when I was in England, some of them depicting what I found real British over there. The camera used is an actionsample flash.

 Sunday Roast, I MISS YOU SO MUCH!

 Typical mailbox. It linked me and my boy for some moths.

 Beautiful litter box, with Nottingham's banner.

 Starbucks, yeah, I know, not very British, but I have none in my city so you can understand my excitement.

 Nottingham city hall and Lace Market Square

Two captures of the most beautiful place in Notts: Wollaton Park, with the lake and the hall.

Unveiled memories

Once I had an analogic camera

I tried to capture every single important moment.

But I did something wrong and

The film was suddenly...unveiled.

I realized that I had put so much effort

On trying to remember pictures

That I had no real memories.