Publicado el

Monday… once again

It’s a wheel turning. A day in, a day out. And what for? That’s the real issue. The focus on something worth be-ing. And that is achieved in a long process of questioning yourself. Questioning the learnings in your education, in the system, in society. And still, there is no right answer.

Things are tough. And we are dealing with stuff in our very own personal circumstances. The things within our heads. The voices that speak just to us. And the deamons.

But somehow, the struggle within is just a one man show. Or an insider’s job. There is something of us in every conspiracy. And the opposite two. The white angel and the red devil that inhabit our elbows. The duality starts right there. And you are stuck in the middle.

There is no clear alternative but to go on. And find the inspiration in every step along the way. Every step with the confidence that it is taking you places. Places you need to attend to. To show up. And deliver a good version of yourself. Maybe so by inspiring trust. Or building it. Or recovering it. It’s still a massive effort to get out and do your thing. Unless you’re in the zone. But that takes work. And time. And effort.

I’m close to that feeling. The zone is close by. And I’m ready to make that final sprint.

Or this initial drive.

Let’s start the week with this first step: Monday.

ALLS

Publicado el

Ain’t no script for you in Hollywood

Denial letters will keep you going

When am you going to write a script? You think all the script you’ll get for you are going to be as good as «Boys N the Hood»? Hollywood ain’t got no scripts for you. Unless you wanna do bullshit. You can write songs like you write, you can write a movie.

John Singleton to Ice Cube

Representation will not come to you just as mainstream drive. You need to present a case for yourself. You got to do that part of the job. It’s not going to happen just because you think it would be fair. You need to make it happen. You.

The singularity of everyone’s perspective is determined by the uniqueness of our experience, from our very own little point of view. We are the active actors of the development of our vision. And no one else is going to pave the way for you.

I know this shit from way back when. And I’ve never come out myself. I’ve held on to something else. A lame excuse that holds to my very own insecurities to avoid the stepping into the abyss drill. And I’m pretty sure this shit ain’t working, because no one has taken that step for me. As only I can.

As only I should.

Damn, it’s a hard shit.

I feel for the feeling of the underrepresented. Their voices haven’t been heard. They don’t get the chance mainstream stories are depicting. But who’s to change that. The scriptwriters write about what know. About what works. About their own little formulas. The establishement works like that because that how it got established. Something else is up for the up and coming voice within you. And if you are searching for recognition, maybe you should try searching within to find your truth, your soul, your arguments. And from there on, built the narrative that represent the stories you wish you had. The truth you would like to see on the screen. And then you have the type of shit that would look in the character you are playing, in the scenes that you are directing, or in the films you are producing.

Open the door. Assume the responsibilities. Act upon them. Write your own shit. Walk your own talk. Stop complaining to the world, and start showing up with your own voice.

Start with the first.

Start today.

ALLS

Publicado el

People frightened of silence

Moo Pak ins and out

I’m walking along with this book like a walk in a park with a conversationalist. I’m steping in and out cause I need to come back to it, and then I feel the rush of comming here to write. It’s an exercise I’ve been forced to do by the fact that I cannot jot down a single scribble on the pages, as I am used to, because the book is borrowed. I need to give it back, eventually, as I got it. And it is in impecable conditions.

Nobody imposed this on me. I did. It’s always you who drive things around. In or out. It’s all in your head anyway. And you categorize the exercise. You make it happen so we understand the feeling of where this system is going. The personal system you own set of microcomponents, soul, body and shit… make up for. You are a complete social ecosystem. Yet, you still are just on your own, among the masses of an interconnected society.

So for quite some days I’ve had this urge to go back to Moo Pak to write about this. Silence. Solitude. Being with yourself. But as it turns out, the book has this beautiful constant voice that keeps talking and walking, and there is no stopping. It’s a single thread of a thought that connects logically with the next, and so on, and so forth. Sudenly, I don’t feel alone.

I do the same. This is how I write. No matter the intention. I just show up and start. And I’ve become obsessed with this. It’s time with myself. Alone. In silence. Just meeting the point of interconnectivity with my fingertips, my voice, unheard, within my head. Does anybody knows where this is going? No. And that’s no problem.

The problem is I leave map from Donosti to as a page marker. It’s a bit chunky but it does the job. It does less damage than leaving a pen, which I will avoid doing in this case, as I would like to spill ink, or some shit like that. You know that’s always a chance. Specially with a borrowed item. You are constantly on the verge of messing up. I know. We all know. It’s the pressure of staying consistant, and logical, and sane. We fool ourselves to stay on the game. And it’s there, a little bit on the edge, glancing at the scene.

In any case, what I was trying to say is that every time I go back to that point in the book where I last left my reading, I need to be able to go back to the point where Woo Pak left that last intense message I needed to come back to. To make a point. To deliver this other thought. Writers do that. I’ve heard them say it when they show up in that other state of mind you get yourself into when you are speaking for an audience. And then you are no longer a writer, but also an entertainer. Publicly addressing crowds, sometimes even larger than 9 people.

So when I go back to read I’m not in the page where the last message that signal my writing spirit erupted, so I need to go back to the last two or three pages, in order to get back in track with a stream of consciousness. So I do. And then I wonder what I was looking for. For everything turns out to be truth. Slightly more intense in places I hadn’t wondered upon. And I keep going back, maybe, to find what my past reading found that now is eluding me. And I wonder if I put then, on this second reading, the Donosti map a page earlier than the last time I read, because I’d be already signaling the place where I needed to come back to, to write, not to keep reading.

So you see, Woo Pak becomes like this pleasent conversion of time. I can move back and forth this stream, as time should allow to do, for any given timeline. But we are always so focused on going forward, we sometimes disregard the fact that time also has that negative ride: backwards.

And this also why I don’t feel alone anymore. I found a place in which I can excercise this going back. And I am enjoying myself. In this silent mode. Everytime Woo Pak kicks me out of that book, and into this one.

I keep reading back and back and get entangled with that direction of the book. And I’m already hooked. I’m back to the point that I last wrote about. About typing in a computer or typing in a typewriter. As an exercise to rewrite a single page. Over and over. Until you have cleaned it up. Something I never do. As write directly on the cloud. And almos never edit. Which is my own little purgatory.

It’s the sense of writing. The interconection with reading. How they are both there. The silences. Of the book. But also of this other time: the writing one. Even if it is closer to something you may relate to, like reading a post. Or like reading an actual book. Just to organize your time around something physical. Not just a screen. A real human interaction. I also write on paper. It nos just gives me pleasure, it also sits on a different table than writing on the computer or right into the page with an Olivetti. I used to own a typewritter. Not anymore.

The labour of scribes and editors and printers and proof-readers, [ ] Because of the work of these dedicated people, he says, we can now pick up the words of singular men and women and read them and listen to them and question them and live with them in greater intimacy than we do with our own spouses or partners. For a persona like myself, he says, with no country and no language to call his own, a life without Sophocles and Dante and Donne and Stevens would be intolerable.

Gabriel Jsopivici, Moo Pak

In fact I came into this writing exercise today to speak about the silence in books. The silence in writing. The intimacy of being alright with yourself. How writing and reading is part of it. How the author is aligned with Proust about the kind of special silence books have. And I’ve gone back too far back, to point out he craft of those who rescued the ancient voices of the past. Others burned books and libraries. Entire cultures. Washed away and mistreated by our current western ways, disregarding our infliction of damage in this bluring effect.

The most terrible thing that has happen to people today, he says, is that they have grown frightened ofsilence. Instead of seeking it as a friend and as a source of renewal they now try in every way they can to shut it out.

Gabriel Jsopivici, Moo Pak

This is has grown worst nowadays. Silence is not there anymore. Everyone’s got some source of continuos distraction in the mobile phone. It’s not even a complete song. It’s a message to keep you hooked to a short spasm of blabering. Something intense as pill, or distractful enough to catch your attention. We are switcing channels all the time. Endlessly. Which leaves no space for silence. And that’s not just a thing to miss, but also the source of being alright with yourself. No matter what. Books, silence, writting, it’s all part of the source of inmense power we have refill ourselves. We can bring it up as a routine to heal. Walks. To the mountain. Walks with a friend, with different kinds of friends, to align and talk, and to share the silences in between.

ALLS

Publicado el

Starting at the top of the page

When I write I just let go of myself. I see the stuff coming out of the screen as if it is something that’s just been produced by an electric interaction among the components of my brain. And in a way, that’s what’s happening. But in a more deeper way, what’s going on here is a connection of the immediacy that occurs among the fingertips of my hands, working like a pianist composes, to come out with a sentence, a word, or an entire paragraph, that somehow tells my story.

I’ve just encounter a way to move forward by showing up to places and interacting with people that could allow me to produce a further essence of the next step in my creative process. I need to force the entry to the places I know I have to show up to. And they are not going to come to me if I don’t knock out the walls that I’ve paved so close around my confort zone that my moving out towards the place of action is not quite occuring by yet another pause. Action takes a move. Even if it’s a slow move, but in the right direction, that could be all I need. Day by day.

I’ve had this force driven me before. Like in any given moment in which I’ve set out myself to define a campaign of any kind. I’ve worked around my own personal campaign. For any given election. For any given «selling point». For any given project. And there is too much noise already in the surroundings to pay attention to yet another fool. But that’s the case for all of us. That’s the cas for any given soul, who’s trying to come out of the shell, and cry out to the world: «listen to this«.

It’s not listen to me.

It’s this.

It’s the form of you tought. The complexity or simplicity of the way in which the story is being exposed. The ancient art of showing up. With something worth reading. Something worth digging. Something that builds up a wish-to-go-somewhere-else.

I’m constantly moving. And hiding. I’ve been hiding from myself, my pathway, and my inevitable fall. I’ve been delaying the confrontation with that other moment of dealing with the reactions towards my expression: doubt, fear, anger, joy, laughter, pity, ressonance, dispear, anxiety, revolution, meh,…

It’s a game of reflections, shadows, mirrors and deceit. And among all those different spectrums, there is something laying thin among the substance of how it’s all interconnected. It’s that complex framework, the lines that connect the different aparently unrelated states what moves me to continue to explore. I’ve been exploring for so long, and now I need to convince myself to reinterpret the time and the things that I’ve written, expressed, doodled, in so many as 999 places, where the essence of myself was able to break the lock that kept me hid. It’s this second time around the one that counts. It’s this time, through this effort, where I will find the balance of my field. The nature of this NEW me.

NEW us.

NEWUS.

NEWME.

NEWI.

NEWAI.

I’ve been playing along in a different dimention. I’m ready to connect back with my previous self. And go beyond both places, to an orthogonal direction: NEW.

Publicado el

Vamos a empezar… otra vez

Este lugar no es más que un eterno retorno. Siempre vuelvo con la misma expectativa de organizarme y relanzar la oportunidad de salir. Y de ver qué pasa. Y luego no salgo. No pasa nada.

No pasa nada.

Es decir, que tampoco pasa nada si no pasa nada.

Es lo que los que nos ponemos excusas pensamos. Y de alguna manera tenemos razón. Se trata sólo de una autocensura. Un lugar común. Un pretexto eterno. La voluntad de no-ser.

¿Ser o no-ser?

Y elegimos no-ser.

Y no pasa nada.

Pero nada de nada.

Y lo que queríamos ser se queda mirándo de reojo. Como queriendo decir algo. Como sabiendo que es un engaño. Que todo es un engaño. Incluido esto. Una distracción de mago para que nada pase. Y quedarnos tan tranquilos. Dentro de nuestro plan b.

Y el plan b no deja de ser un sitio cómodo. Un sitio que siempre cuesta mantener. Porque también estuvimos sumidos en el plan c, d, e y f. Y no pintaban bien. Fueron caídas duras que forjaron caracter. Y que nos llevaron a discutir con nuestra propia existencia el por qué de las cosas. Y lo que hicimos mal. Y lo que hiciste mal. Tú.

Por mi culpa, por mi culpa, por mi gran culpa.

Y todo vuelve a empezar.

Pero en otro momento decidí que esto no iba a ser así. Iba a a transcurrir en otro tipo de escenario. En otro tipo de actitud. Con otro plan. En otra estructura… o debo decir metaestructura. Soy un arquitecte de arquetipos. Y desde aquí voy creando carcasas vacías que pretendo rellenar, en un primer momento, con un traje a medida. Una especie de Iron Man, ahora que todo tiene que tener un símil militarista-marvelista. Vaya, he caído en la trampa.

En realidad estamos hablando de una narrativa del héroe. Nada nuevo entre todo el cúmulo de historias y estructuras que te promueven los que crearon la manera de contar historias. Y lo que nos hemos acostumbrado a ver. Y de lo que quería hacer a tener que conformarme con la estructura de las masas para la creación light… paso.

Mejor no hacer nada.

Y seguir en el continuum de la vida.

Viendo pasar el tiempo.

En la pasividad de quién se dirige al mundo desde el sofá.

Y no pasa nada.

Y desde aquí las cosas se ven mejor/peor que hace un momento. Y nada tiene que ver con quién soy o lo que hice por adoptar otra postura. Una fuera de este sitio en el que vivo enjaulado. Quizás es mi manera de exponer una situación particular. Una manera de ser en otra dimensión. Un impulso por promover otra cosa más grande de lo que hasta ahora se nos había ocurrido. Megalomanía al servicio de la comunidad.

Ya estamos. Me estoy poniendo trampas en el camino. Para tropezarme y burlarme de mi. Mientras nadie más rie. Nadie más se da cuenta. A nadie más le interesa. Es ese flujo de ideas inconexas que perdieron al auditorio en el primer desvio. Divagaciones trampa.

Yo me fui encontrando en medio de esas divagaciones. Es un poco como el amigo imaginario de Joy en Inside Out, la primera. La segunda todavía no la he visto. Está claro que hay metaestructuras mentales que interactuan dentro de la maquinaria de impulsos, shocks electricos y departamentos en el sistema complejo que se encierra dentro del craneo de cada invidividuo. Ahora mismo el mio se ha puesta a trabajar en este sentido, y nadie tiene el control de lo que aquí está sucediendo. El tren del pensamiento mental está saltándo a la pantalla. Y lo puedo leer yo, porque también lo escribo. Este triple salto mortal. Y de esto algo queda grabado en algún sitio. Pero ya en forma de texto. Esto ya es otra cosa a lo que era yo al principio de este ejercicio de presentarse a escribir.

Y de este lugar he hecho mi casa. Y de aquí no he pasado. Pero el ejercicio de ser lo que escribo está reflejado en el historial de llegar aquí y desatar este truco de magia: escribir.

Hay un punto posterior: compartir. Difundir. Pensar que alguien más podría perderse por aquí. Que aquí hay algo más que un tipo perdido en medio de una tormenta que se arremolina hacia interiores oscuros nunca antes explorados. No necesito estado de consciencia alterada para encontrar un hilo conductor que no vaya a ninguna parte. Es ya parte de lo que soy. Caos.

El límite del caos presenta una noción a contrapelo. El sentido más sublime se encuntra en medio de esta maraña de interacciones. Hemos pasado a un nivel posterior de consciencia. Y este es el camino en el que voy a desborme a mi mismo en un plano temporal que vaya en dos direcciones: atrás y adelante.

Els desdoblamiento de uno mismo en dos direcciones. La primera dualidad. Dejar de ser uno… y dualizarse frente al espejo.

Pasado, futuro.

El presente no existe. Se me acaba de escapar. Y lo persigo otra vez. El tiempo en sí es una trampa, a la que volvemos sin cesar.

No hay más tiempo para divagaciones ni excusas.

Estamos en la puerta de oráculo.

Tenemos la palabra de acceso.

ALLS

El oráculo abre los ojos. Ya estamos dentro.

Publicado el

¿Dónde estoy?

Estoy aquí. Recién nacido. O más bien, acabado de despertar.

A veces es suficiente ser tras haber dormido. Alguito. Un poquito. O todo lo que podríamos haber desconectado en unas circunstancias normales de sueño. En un día cualquiera.

Hoy es uno de esos día. También es un día especial que está a punto de nacer. ¿Es acaso este el día en el que por fin todo se desenmaraña?

Amplificar el efecto de lo que hacemos, y conseguir llegar al valor social de lo que anhelamos. Colectivamente. Desde una perspectiva de transformación asumible. A partir de un juego. A partir de un nuevo juego de rol.

Yo soy el rol-maker.

O al menos el que construye la narrativa.

Pero, ¿de qué juego? Ni yo se.

El mio es muy personal.

Es mi juego social.

Mi juego personal.

Mi razón de ser/estar.

En este contexto me juego todo.

Y desde aquí debo desbordar la frontera de contenerme para no salirme del propio cauce que transporta mis aguas mentales.

En medio de la tormenta, mi sentimiento en este momento sigue siendo de gratitud, de haber pasado lo peor, de tener que asumir estar en el contexto de un estado de consciencia más próximo al que en su día se sembró cerca de la raison d’être que me fue revelada. He descubierto el último velo. Y de pronto estoy dentro de quién verdaderamente soy.

Los tiempos de mi narrativa y los del tiempo mismo se comienzan a entrelazar. Al fin de cuentas son nueve dimensiones que se entrelazan en un elemento primordial de mi propio porvenir. No puedo dejar de pensar que el camino que sigo va encaminado al caminar que condiciona la distancia que proyecta mi zancada. Lo más que puedo hacer es mantener las piernas en forma, seguir pedaleando, trasladando el ejercicio de mi entrenamiento a un nivel distinto al de la ejecución de mi puesta en escena. Es así, estando en dos sitios a la vez, y en varias dimensiones intercontectadas por mi propia tiranía, lo que finalmente converge en el ser que un día será lo que mi personaje evolucione en cada uno de sus multiversos particulares.

Ticataluña es especial, quizás porque mana del Tico Commons. Pero esto no es posible desvelarlo sin crear polémica en un mundo dualizado. Sólo se puede asumir si podemos prevenir que lo que aquí está pasando sea matizado por el cantar eterno de un ritmo caribeño que viene del más allá.

La capital de toda esta sinfonía es un isla, o más bien un islote, en el que los habitantes son de otra especie. Su nombre: Guayabo. La ilusión de un sitio que en circunstancias mediterráneas estaría desbordado por la masiva llegada de turistas en piraguas que han alquilado desde el puerto. En cambio, en el imaginario ticatalán, Guayabo se presenta como el eje fundamental entre lo que un día fue, más allá de nuestros días, a lo que acontenció en el continente que ahora llamamos nuevo, sin ruborizarnos, como si antes de aquello viviéramos (inclusive usted mismo, hoy, al pensar como usted piensa) en un mundo de tan sólo dos dimensiones; en una tierra plana.

La visión de Guayabo sólo puede visualizarse en la pintura del maestro don Isiodro Con Won. Su destello nos proyecta como elemento sagrado de una configuración que no está en el sitio en el que debería estar, sino en el su proyección más allá de nuestro status quo, en dirección ortogonal, conecta nuestra luz con la que emana de la consciencia multiversal de los mundos que conectan el arte de don Isidro con el mio.

ALLS

Publicado el

Breaking gol

I’ve had a dream.

In this dream I was cruising into a coming to age story. I was unfolding the character within myself, invetably going down the slope of an enormous ordeal. I was clearly breaking gol.

Walter White was in the story, but it was actually me. So was Jessy Pinkman. It was in the middle of Karachi, in a round about that was ancient, a bit like it was 400 years ago, and still with the current chaos of a traffic jam from the confusion and flow of any given day in main road of this great city.

Somehow my character in the dream started doing some hipopressive exercises that eventually got me out of the dream, and into this post. And here we are. Or rather, here I am.

I’m about to break loose. I need to keep a sharp focus on what’s going to happen in between every count of my transformation. And the characters transformation, starting from the initial presentation of Golman. However it turns out to be. Whichever dimention I land into with. And I don’t control that. Not even from the moment I cannot dissasociate my own account, and the one that’s being delivered by this fictional story.

Fiction and reality merge. At some point you are playing the masks game. And you loose control as to which one of them really is you. I’ve come across the idea that the situation is not in place, and that my evolution as human being is ready to turn the page of yet another story. This story unfolds in the way in which I’m now ready to recite.

So here we go.

ALLS

Publicado el

The elephan in the room: AI

Now, let’s see.

AI is here to stay. The capacity to think of things, design them and execute them has now been updated with the high-speed velocity of all the AI tools that are poring into our lives. What’s the effect? We all now have availabe, at our fingertips, extended elements that before, just a mere year and a half ago, were not there not even thought of.

This, in principle, is good. We feel smarter. Our world has been expanded. Provided the right prompt we can reach the most precise answer from a «trained» algorithm and a wide rage of sources out there. Natural language models have introduce expected results to any given word that would accurately come out after previous one, being this the soul of the answer we are getting, while the capacity of the learning algorithms is being expressed by these ways of corresponding what should come after this word…

So I could generate new text, on any given format, on any given subject. I could generate a narrative that backs that up. I could also generate an image that exemplifies what I’m looking for. Also, the image can then become an animated video. And it could look as real as one could imagine. So we could, in fact, interpret the future in the terms that we would like it to be. If we only knew how to make the most out of this, not to seem like we’ve come up with it, but to take advantage as a community with a shared goal.

So, let’s put the example of the elephan in the room. Myself giving a talk in a TEDtalk style, and and elephant next to me. The reaction from the audience, and the elephan becoming and active actor responding to the debate issues that I’m going to put on the table.

What would then be the role of the audience?

How can the chip in the collaborative thinking that’s becoming aroused in the room? This is a greater challenge: not disregarding the collaborative creative effort of peoples real-life expertise, over a super fancy output that has been created from your experience, and the extended capacity that this bloody talking elephant has provided you with.

So the elephant and I have a suggestion. Let’s ask the AI (the elephant would then be asking itself in a tautological tale) how can we make you, the greater audience in the roomm, part of of little collaborative action?

Allow me to set mysefl these two tasks:

  1. Ask chatgpt for an image of the elephant and myself in the room. (should I go realistic? Should I go more illustration? Is is chatgpt or rather another AI tool?)
  2. Ask chatgpt how to make the audience, in a live scenario and a online participatory way, capable of interacting with their inputs in the co-creation of a transformative engagement while using, deliberatly, AI tools. Is it through prompt designing? Could we make them part of the augmented human capacity of doing this together? Let’s make it so it happens in a short intervention of 30 m. Ask for the dynamic and the set up. Also put in a table the online version and the presential. Make it meaningful and engageful.

One more thing. If this was to be an event, only a month away, how do we make it so to build up momentum? What’s the road to those eventful opportunities?

Let’s see what comes out of this.

Expect and elephant.

ALLS