I've been writing for a while now, but I'm not very used to sharing my writings publicly. This time I did something that I thought would be good for this community, maybe it will work. As with any creative movement, there's a small risk of exposing oneself and being criticized 😬. So, welcome criticism! I added the song as suggested, I think this theme has a lot to do with what I wrote, plus I love the band! Hopefully you'll like it, greetings to all!
[/swf]
And to dream was something that not many people gave themselves the luxury of having in this era.
Much less do it awake.
At most fantasize and don't even mention a masturbation.
Not short, nor rapid, nor even sad, shameful, those guilty masturbations.
Those shamefaced ones, of oneself, of nightmares that turn into sexual desires.
It was sadness what inhabited the silver floor.
The desolation of ideas of all kinds had ended, inevitably, in the void of illusions and as a consequence, fantasies and sexual desires.
No more corners of liberal bars filled with hands and mouths and desperate sexes, seeking a place to build an ephemeral nest, passing.
Of people who, scared and vertiginous, gave themselves to the unknown, to share their wife, husband with someone anonymous but omnipresent: without that someone, free fall was not possible.
Neither secrets whispered in the ear while flesh sought to escape among more flesh, one knows what invisible demons.
There was no more place, the bus of desperation was full and the ticket machine wasn't working.
Outside on the street it was cold and that numbness had reached the soul, after crossing like a laser ray through sex, mental and physical that we all had inside.
It took with it, hope, memories, longings, dreams of all kinds.
Those possible ones and others, of ropes and handcuffs, of secret and unfulfilled humillations, absolute and wonderful corruptions, desires of violations so deep, dark and secret that the mere fact of them coming to light would destroy the consciousness of the occasional victim.
Desires that could tear apart in a single movement the human soul itself, a risk without which living was not possible.
And thus we could learn to live without it.
Dedicate ourselves to breathing, no longer in someone else's mouth or on their skin or over our saliva that had drawn an invisible, secret map of treasure. humanity of the occasional companion; just breathe, process air and turn it into something useless that was left over.
No more caresses, neither the secret ones nor the others: wonderful, hidden, prohibited, under the Christmas table with a bare foot, those that would make your skin prickle in a single enchanting step.
There were no marathonic orgies either, scattered with sweat and confusions and masterful uncertainties.
There was no room left for cross-dressed people not even in the terrain of imagination, already extinct and out of fashion.
Neither was there room in this particular hell for lacerations or latent wounds or interrupted breathing due to lashes dealt with macabre precision and delicious taste.
They left us a little hell, pocket-sized; a cage for the mind.
We let ourselves be locked up gladly, out of fear of everything and everyone.
Let it not be that we miss out on enjoying life.[/swf]
[/swf]
[/swf]
And to dream was something that not many people gave themselves the luxury of having in this era.
Much less do it awake.
At most fantasize and don't even mention a masturbation.
Not short, nor rapid, nor even sad, shameful, those guilty masturbations.
Those shamefaced ones, of oneself, of nightmares that turn into sexual desires.
It was sadness what inhabited the silver floor.
The desolation of ideas of all kinds had ended, inevitably, in the void of illusions and as a consequence, fantasies and sexual desires.
No more corners of liberal bars filled with hands and mouths and desperate sexes, seeking a place to build an ephemeral nest, passing.
Of people who, scared and vertiginous, gave themselves to the unknown, to share their wife, husband with someone anonymous but omnipresent: without that someone, free fall was not possible.
Neither secrets whispered in the ear while flesh sought to escape among more flesh, one knows what invisible demons.
There was no more place, the bus of desperation was full and the ticket machine wasn't working.
Outside on the street it was cold and that numbness had reached the soul, after crossing like a laser ray through sex, mental and physical that we all had inside.
It took with it, hope, memories, longings, dreams of all kinds.
Those possible ones and others, of ropes and handcuffs, of secret and unfulfilled humillations, absolute and wonderful corruptions, desires of violations so deep, dark and secret that the mere fact of them coming to light would destroy the consciousness of the occasional victim.
Desires that could tear apart in a single movement the human soul itself, a risk without which living was not possible.
And thus we could learn to live without it.
Dedicate ourselves to breathing, no longer in someone else's mouth or on their skin or over our saliva that had drawn an invisible, secret map of treasure. humanity of the occasional companion; just breathe, process air and turn it into something useless that was left over.
No more caresses, neither the secret ones nor the others: wonderful, hidden, prohibited, under the Christmas table with a bare foot, those that would make your skin prickle in a single enchanting step.
There were no marathonic orgies either, scattered with sweat and confusions and masterful uncertainties.
There was no room left for cross-dressed people not even in the terrain of imagination, already extinct and out of fashion.
Neither was there room in this particular hell for lacerations or latent wounds or interrupted breathing due to lashes dealt with macabre precision and delicious taste.
They left us a little hell, pocket-sized; a cage for the mind.
We let ourselves be locked up gladly, out of fear of everything and everyone.
Let it not be that we miss out on enjoying life.[/swf]
[/swf]
25 comentários - Un humilde relato
Gracias por compartir
La P!ratita de hotin
en realidad se me dispararon muchas cosas... ke lo parió!
en fin, un relato extraño pero reflexivo a la vez.
salutes! 🆒
Gracias.
Te dejo +5 y gracias por avisarme X MP
Yyyyy....
Vos y yo sabemos...........(que escribistes mucho mas que este \"humilde relato\" ....como decis vos....)
FELICITACIONES PABLUCHI !!!! 😉 😛 😉
Tu relato....\"un infierno\"... 🙎♂️ Muy lindo,
y mas que lindo ,con mucha imaginacion!!! 😉
Gracias por invitarme y avisarme....
Y
COMO SE QUE HAY MAS.....
Aqui me quedare!! esperando tu proximo post!! 😛 😛
Besitos!!!
😛 😛 😛 😛 😛
\"Frutillita\"
🆒 🆒 🆒 🆒
🆒 🆒 🆒 🆒
🆒 🆒 🆒 🆒
ya leí muchas cosas tuyas pero este me faltaba 😛
te debo un post todavia a vos, no me olvide 😉
el tema muy bueno tambien
saludos 😉
Creo que hoy en día se vive mal, creo que la gente joven no conoce el amor y, por lo tanto, no puede practicarlo. La súplica \"Que vuelvan los lentos\" es una prueba cabal de ésto que digo, la gente joven piensa que un tema meloso va a despertar mágicamente en ellos, algo de lo que escucharon hablar, pero que nunca sintieron. Estoy convencido de que se queman etapas en aras de vivir el hoy, el ya, dejando de lado todos los principios y valores de cualquier relación humana. Cada vez queda menos gente en la que se puede confiar, vas caminando por la calle y te encontrás rodeado de zombies que van encerrados en su propio mundo, hemos dejado de mirar el cielo, hemos dejado de mirarnos.
La retórica del consumismo nos hace acumular y adquirir, pero en ése recorrido perdemos de vista lo que es compartir, por lo que el fin de ésa idea termina siendo egoísta.
Yo he decidido vivir mi vida de acuerdo a MIS VALORES, éso me genera problemas bastante seguido, pero prefiero vivir la vida así, a ser otro zombie más.
Te felicito porque lo que vos expresaste en éstas palabras, es algo que yo siempre pienso.
🙌 🙌 🙌 🙌 🙌 🙌 🙌
Gracias por invitarme!!
saludos
Manchita4ever - la banda de P! (primera dama)
Gracias...por acordarte de mi.... 🙂
Estaremos pendientes de nuevas entregas¡¡ 😃
Me hizo muy bien la buena onda de todos/as. Ojala haya una proxima vez, verdaderamente valio la pena.
Anda preparando el proximo!!
Daleee!!
:globo::globo::globo::globo:
Besitosss!! 😛 😛
Gracias.
Me gusto mucho!!!!
Tus frases tienen un PESO una DENSIDAD propias.
Mientras lo leía las metáforas, no me permitieron una interpretación lineal, pero en todos los caso me dejaron una sensacion de ADVERSIDAD, de LOCURA, de SEXUALIDAD.
Es como que me transmitistes una SENSACION, que no podria relatársela a un tercero.
Es un ANCLA, un YUNQUE, un sensación AMORFA de HASTIO e INCOMPRENSION.
Realmente no sabia como comentarlo, asi que solo trate de decir lo que me causo su lectura.
Te felicito, excelente trabajo, excelente vuelo!!!
Yo soy de la idea que las expresiones artísticas no hay que detenerse mucho en el análisis, sino que hay que abrirse, sentirlas y dejarse sorprender.
Y a mi me sorprendío tu forma!!!
Bruce.
Nos dejaron un infierno chiquito, de bolsillo; una jaula para la mente.
Nos dejamos encerrar gustosos, por miedo a todo y todos.
No sea cosa que eso de disfrutar se nos escape la vida.
Uh Pablo, la verdad no sabía que escribías. En realidad podía suponerlo debido a la calidad de tus comentarios. Pero nunca leí algo tuyo. Decí que \"piqué\" en tu perfil y encontré esto.
Muy bueno, la verdad muy bueno. Y estupendo el comentario de Becket.
Ya voy en busca de otros relatos tuyos. 😉
Rel·jerº - la banda de P!