frio... frio... hace tanto frio
depronto me quede helada
todo esta tan lejos

y hay tanto silencio
depronto me quede sola con mi ideas

y tu belleza duele, es decir lacera
de la misma forma que un rayo de luz quema
de tanta luz, de tanta abundancia

from crimes and misdemeanors

so says the old man in the movie,

... when we fall in love we are seeking to re-find all or some of the people to whom we were attached as children. On the other hand we ask our beloved to correct all of the wrongs that these early parent or sibling inflicted upon us.

... it is only we, with our capacity to love that give meaning to the indifferent universe.


it occured to me that love is the most creative action.

we were today like in a Rohmer’s movie, because it was raining and all was quite pale, it could have been an scene taken from Conte de Printemps, for example. The same realism, unfurnished unfussy unadorned. And it always seems so odd to me that a morning should be so quiet, it wasn’t just quiet, it was slow, like Rohmer’s movies, like a pause, as if we were in something like a pause, or maybe as if we were paused, or just moving slowly.

no telling
no saying things that happen
no naming them
is a way, we think, to erase them.

The illusion man keeps of bringing out existence by spoken word
works inversely too

THING of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.	5
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomys,
Of all the unhealthy and o’er-darkened ways	10
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. endymion...Keats

I am sinking into silence... a bit more every day, every turn in the road.
I want to write, but can't choose a language. I feel lazy to write in English, limited and basic. I feel I shouldn't write in Spanish.
Ayer el cielo estaba como nunca antes lo he visto, con un velo rosado sobre incluso el mar. La belleza del cielo y del aire me trajo al pensamiento que la presencia de Dios estaba en ese cielo, por que esa belleza es su acto creativo. Luego pense que no tenia a quien decirle aquello, y llore. Llore por tres minutos, pero desconsoladamente, por que no tenia a quien contarle.
I missed Steven and his generous and kind spirit. He would have understood perfectly. Toño would have felt the same. But they are gone. Then I thought that I was so lonely not to have someone to tell about the sky, and so I thought about my "theologian friends”. Then I realized that there is a whole set of things that I can't express anymore. I certainly could not tell them. I had been silenced. There are not really good reasons. This silence is my own action, but it is somehow unintended. Es como el silencio que resulta de un deseo truncado. El silencio que resulta cuando alguien te roba el alma... querias decirlo todo, pero depronto quedaste vacia, sin nada que decir. And it is a form of solitude.

La forma de ese concierto

how nice it would be to love with such softness and delicacy, to be so filled, to express uncontrollably a world through the eyes, to touch as if after years of longing.