What makes us who we are? Who is it that’s speaking? Why question it?
I’m not sure of who I am. Ever. Yet, I can think of many things that are undoubtedly true, about me, about the intentions within the exposed desire of a feeling, and action, a though, a move. I have some principles that move around and shape the bottom of my spirit, so it can embrace the narrow deep changes within my soul, to sustain the amount of load, a new thing, a new wind, a new perspecitve brings with its overwealming truth to the established me that just shifted.
You’ve got to spark your day to light it up. You’ve got to find what makes you tick and pursue that as an obsession worth restling into the mud. You get stuck, in the way there, once you are there, and after you’ve managed to get out. But something remains. Something new emerges. That’s the result from pursuing a spark. Light.
You have to take the feeling you are summerged in the dream that blurs your consciousness to a state of bliss, uncertain, shifty, and embrace the haze that fills the room towards the transit to the exit door into the day. The waking up of a desire to last, as much as the day will bring, with the attitute to pursue, to be, fully, at the expectancy of your own will to make it happen.
Hurry up. You are only here for some time. And time is ticking. Your foes move in. The space gets narrower. You only left with dim light far away pointing to the direction of your desire. Pursue the movement. Each step at a time. Slow pace beat sudden drastic moody flares of smoke and sidekicks. Focus on the essence to trascend. To be thyself. To be there, truly.
That’s as far as your own truth will take you. You’ll gather the sources of your readings and turn them into inspirational tributes. You build on top of what other put in your sight of vision, intimatelly and out in the open. The context of our lives is now at the center of global movement.
Headless dickheads will occupy the space and solidify the foolish times your generation is facing. They’ll be there no matter what, and so will those awaiting for something kinder to wash of the aftertaste of hate, fear and lonelyness. The sight of brand new air moving in, as we spell the breath of last fear holding us back. Alas, you are there, ready to succum.
No fear: it’s you. Deeply renewed. As you are. As you’ve become. As pure and fresh as your words define your journey. You are there, and we are here: reading.
I wrote my own character reinterpretation. Wether you see mee or an AI avatar, this is the spoken word. The NEW word. NEWORD.
That it.
That it.
No more.
FUCKOM!
You know how that expression of ughh is so pure and there…
Refrein.
You too.
You too, mister.
With all your respect.
You damn fool.
So pause here for a second.
Huh.
Huh strong. With no mercy. A sure huh. Period. You are that sure. That’s a sort of a ride, ain’t it?
Well, let it be, there, here, a NEW thing. Something that is not that. Not that thing we were sure of. Our own identities. What we are doing here. I had to come down and tell it to you through my last and latest, repeat, do not expect yet any other one, I WILL BE NOT SENDING ANY OTHER SUN.
Get it.
It ain’t it.
I’m.
Bee.
BË. . . . . . . . .
The campaign manager, Golman, told the old candidate who’s playing J’s bro: G.
G is the changing factor. You ticket to the ninth dimention. I’ll be there. I’m the NEW opportuniy giver. I come from the ninth dimention in a place you’ve never been. Categorized by these NEW 9 principles.
You need to learn how to make lists. Clear and to the space.
Futbolartistry exists.
You didn’t know things about each of the 99 chapters of this string of NEW thought.
You a play a game, not just any game, specially not your crap failed man-driven love for war and tyrant boys playing that same old game we all know too well. What the fuck is your problem, man. Let’s all chill the fuck up. Let’s bring it down some. In fact, let’s put all feelings down to none. To not exist. As I. Feel it. You must.
Now protray existing fully. NEW.
I don’t believe in any of what’s been said so far, so I take the place of the happy nëmesis. A NEW type of your ugly you. Let him bë, too. Bë different, dog.
I’m back to BLUENEW.
BLUNEW is ninth dimentions above PLUTONIUM; forever. Iterating like wise riddle into the fairest NEWAI: olmecanAI.
Hi, I’m olmecanAI, your free asistance to the edge of chaos away from this lame status quo. Nine levels away in a transformed way of where you are at. A NEW distance measurement. A way to get there. A stablished rule that could be used as the common framework for yet quite another direction from what was established so, back in the day.
ALLS
I place my own divisory lines. Chapters, I call it.
The printing form.
The menace of the 9 oligarch fool bunch.
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
People would vote.
Not everyone votes.
Some options are just out of our reality.
Let’s explore them.
Then risk assess.
All of us in the common good side-LöGIC.
I’m going to use all them little simbols not fully used in our own little language.
Our own little world.
NEWid.
Minor id’s series.
Nine NEW id’s.
How would you name them?
And you freely choose.
It’s about the NEW atmosphere we are able to design away from the war-loving-oligarchs. Them nine fools.
And you tell olmecanAI provide me with a nëmesis with them nine dimentions: and you’d have a result from the common understanding from our collective society emitting an opinion about what are saying when we play these nine war games.
At one end there’s a war-loving crew of 99 men.
9 women, somehow sneak their way through.
It’s two set of casts:
One type of women.
The antipodes type of women.
You don’t overstate the two sides. You don’t want to get parternalistic, and much less a macho dickhead. I’m a true convinced feminist. Feminism is the starting point of this NEW direction.
So, Bë.
ALLS
We are going to activate a NEW state of affairs. In nine different dimentions that have never been spoken about. Until now, when it’s being delivered. The NEW time.
We go back today.
We are going back in time.
And you ara in for a ride.
A type of readers.
My readers.
The influence of them ALLS.
THEMALLS.
Alls. Alls de l’hort.
Els alls són tot lo picant que un mediterrani es pot permetre.
Aquesta frase és NEW.
NEW es una literatura transformadora. Descrita ante tus ojos. Deletreada por las voces que tenemos preprogramadas y si quieres aportar la tuya, bienvenida sea tu token de interconexión.
Redes sociales.
Nuevas governanzas.
Futuros alternativos.
Futuros estratégicos.
Aquí les va una de churros y charros.
Un final abrupto y torpe. Un fundamento literario que me permito deslizar a una audiencia que se estaba quedando muy apalancada es una historia viral más. Apendejada. Y no, cabrón. Por ahí, no. Por ahí: NO.
Un mexicano tiene las maneras claras de decir las cosas.
Se entiende en chinga.
Y eso es bueno.
En los escenarios de lo perverso, el diablito, la virgencita de Guadalupe, que si el chavo del ocho sí, que si el chavo del ocho no, que si cantiflear está bien, que Resortes y el otro no son el mismo, pero pura vida. Un tico que se dice llamar Chavela Vergas llena el teatro en el que paquita la del barrio deleitaba a las señoras. Y cada noche conquista a las 99 señoras presentes con un concierto que les deja en la siguiente dimensión. Todo empieza con la cación que Paquita le dedica a los machos hijos de la gran puta que todos conocemos, y que tu cabrón, llevas dentro. Y en el lomo de la verga. VERga. El casting de 99 newmexicans diciendo VERga. Esa peli premiere en Sundance. VERga.
Mi prosa, en realidad, es siempre un guión. Un metaguion. ¿Eso tampoco lleva acento? Estoy en contra de que guion no se acentúe. Y cada que puedo lo digo. Pero a las vez 99 se comenzó a ser cansado.
Cansado Golman.
Golman cansado.
golman, pues.
Cansado.
Diga.
Y Cansado sale a escena. Y Bë. . . . . . . . .
Capítulo: Verto.
Historia de 99 Bertos.
Ninguno de ellos romero.
Diminisculizar.
Nos bajamos las mayúsculas de huevos.
Y vamos a la RAE con las nuevas reglas.
La lengua se ve afectada por esta propuesta de 99 conciudadanos ahí fuera con un manuscrito escrito en pergamino y con un historia que representa que llega desde otro tiempo y espacio en las antípodas del que sus señoros responsables representa la governanza de su tan ilustre territorio. Permítaseme dirigirme a ustedes con toda la humildad que tiene venir de un mundo NEW que para usted es desconocido, extraño, vulgar, primitivo, moreno, seamos claros, pequeñajos, gente de menor estatura, moral lo primero, y todo lo demás con ese tufillo de pobre que ughh, ni yo aguanto. La miseria de una sociedad incapaz de cuidar de sí mismo, primero en la voluntad de humanidad equitativa, liberada de las cadenas que oprimen que pensemos que endeudar a la sociedad para construir es tinglado de guerra de destrucción masiva de nuestra sociead por 99 escenarios que nos llevan a que la decisión de apretar el botón lo desmantele todo por completo. Por no haber pensado en esos 99 escenarios en los que el botón está apunto de activar el proceso de autodestrucción al que ya tenemos acceso, pero no entiendo cómo, podría asumir que voluntad explicita de 9 pelados jugando a ser el macho de oro, convenzan a una sociedad, sus hijos que no han nacido, y la memoria de lo que los pasados han vivido dentro de la construcción social e histórica que nos hemos creido respecto a lo que sea que genera los escenarios de guerra que tan torpemente 9 pelaos determinados está intentando decir que el sentido de oportunidad de nuestra sociedad es el armageddon que nuestra falacia de imperio todo poderoso, en lo tecnológico, uo ou ou uo uo ouuou uoouooo uoouo uo uoouooo. . . . . . . . .
El Pedregal es el barrio más pedero del mundo. Perdonad si no digo mundial. En este barrio no se escuchan pleonasmos.
El volcán es la escencia del sur.
Somos personas volcánicas.
Vivimos ante los totems de un valle de una territorialidad sagrada.
Permítame presentarle al viejo sabio de nuestra villa: OLDGOL man.
Mis personajes no existen, pero algunos de ellos ya tienen nombre. Y categoría. Valor simbólico. Significante.
Lo NEW debe no existir por definición.
Lo NEW nos plantea pensar no en la realidad mierdosa que le deletrean en el telediario.
Usted decidirá si vamos a la guerra, o nos lanzamos a una visión que construya un bienestar holístico y paz justo con un punto de partida lo más alejado posible de esta surrealidad particular.
No es más que otra surrealidad que viene desde otra parte.
No hablamos vasco, ni polaco, ni portugués.
Aquí lo único que hablamos es cristiano.
Ese es un ser.
Yo podría comenzar por las antípodas.
El polo opuesto.
Agur.
ALLS
Democracia es votar más. De otra manera. Sobre otras cosas. Y futuros estratégicos. Futuros asumibles. Futuros deseables. Visiones compartidas. Visiones alternativas. Que partan de nuestra consistencia argumentativa contrastada en un debate público televisado en nueve canales de la alteridad. La transmisión de un directo. Poner en marcha un movimiento. Dejar claro que esto es lo que vamos a hacer. Empoderar lo que se supone que esto tiene de indisoluble y magestuoso: la posibilidad del ser NEW: Bë.
Bé. . . . . . . . .
ALLS
Short stories are short.
A book.
A chapter.
A sentence.
The dimention of the word. What a word can hold. As a symbol. Filled.
My prose is literary poetry.
I just don’t rhyme.
CRINGE.
BÉ
Bé. . . . . . . . .
You see. There are other kind of punction rules.
The nine dots is a journey. . . . . . . . .
And a symphony. . . . . . . . . .
It’s a poem
An empty end
A NEW hand . . . . . . . . .
That’s a standard ride.
Nine times up.
The way we used to.
Not this NEW way.
This NEW way is comming from the other end.
The do aknowledge the other end.
We come from there.
You just made it more explicit.
Globally.
With the obcenecy of money and power colluding.
Against us.
Quite like this.
Quite so singularly.
An us at the opposite end.
Fleeting away.
Let’s get the fuck out of here.
ALLS
Sounds like finction.
It’s just a blog.
It’s a NEW dude.
With this NEW thing.
With this NEW plan.
And 9 to 9th dimenstion to fill.
From the 99 AIs who sign up.
To the NEW testing ground.
A NEW time in space.
Going back.
Reversing day.
Today.
SLLA
ALLS
SLLA
ALLS
And so on and so forth.
Nine times around.
And then no more.
And we go.
ALLS
Yo soy el Diego.
Ese es mi ópera prima.
Yo soy el NEW diego.
Renazco en Porto.
Renazco en Napols.
Renazco en Tlalpan.
Renazco en Copilco.
Renazco en Coyoacán.
Renazco en Guayabo.
Renazco en Tico Commons.
Renazco en la Boca y Argentino Juniors y Cebollitas.
Renazco en vos. Diegosos.
Diegosos.
S’estrena en 99 días.
Y lo construís desde allá.
YODIEGO.
DIEGOYO.
10GOL.
DIEGOLMAN.
ALLS
Un antes y un después. . . . . . . . .
Reversing day… again.
That’s what futbolart is. Going and coming. And all the way around. Backards. Akward. Anti-intuitive. That’s the beauty.
The where the hell is the philosofical discussion that we ought to have to solve our 9 greatest challenges.
I’ll tell you what.
I’ll explain the nine challenges I consider my candidates for what’s to come in favour of this NEW kind of governance, resilient alternative system, with a dual estate of affairs that is at the antipodes of the current status quo. The one we live. The one we inhabit. In the middle of all of this? Where should we place our public money to be invested in the transformation towards a NEW resilient sustainable ecosystem of social reconsiderations of the whole thing, at once, with its 9999 levels of complexity. Would you handle that many dimentions of freedom, sister?
My sisters answer:
Laura: . . . . . . . . .
Adriana: . . . . . . . .
Alejandra:. . . . . . . . .
&
Golman: . . . . . . . . .
Al día siguiente: reversed time.
Then: them.
The FATHER NEW
The MOTHER NEW
My dimention is right next to Jesus’ left.
That’s the title of this piece of NEW shit: microbiota.
What would we collectively invest in?
Outrank the current game.
And let’s jump right to a NEW one.
And so be NEW.
NEW.
ALLS
La dualidad está en la barra lateral y cómo te mueves entre alternativas posibilistas de una crónica adaptada a tí. Tu mismo.
Yo entre esas dos historias tengo la simplicidad de quien soy, en aquello que imagino, en lo contrario, y en lo que salga de esta lectura y reescritura de un místico (y de alguna manera hipersurrealista, mítica) porvenir alternativo que de pronto fuimos capaces de imaginar entre un huevón y un superman, sin más pretensiones que la escoger un único superhéroe, como la microestupidez acotada a sólo ünö.
Los autores NEW metaescribimos.
Sí tú le entras a este pedo, nos vas ir todos juntos. . . . . . . . .
Waco, Texas. Nike: on. . . . . . . . .
My only atempt to tell a NEW américan story.
And it won 9 oscars. It blew NEWLA again. Like that first time. . . . . . . .
The first, you see, you don’t know what clicked it. Something did. You off the roof. And all the way up. To the highest hype.
En tinc una cosa molt d’aquí. Del meu poble en aquest mon 9: Ticataluña.
Jo no vaig neixer aquí. Ho reconec. Està al meu historial, a la meva biografia, a la página web, al meu perfil de Linkedin, a la meva web, pero no feu cas, que potser no diu les coses que vosaltres haguesin escrit abans de pensar que lo que uno deia podria, i seria, utilitzat en contra teu. Perque ara pots estudiar la picologia dels escriptors, d’això que han dit, als seus llivres, llegint-los. La revolució és esser lector. Això lo primer. I per aqui vaig fer el meu propi camí. Des d’aquestes coordenades. Just dins d’es banys jueus. Protengint-me, i als meus, la meva filla, la meva mujer de Barcelona, sa meva sogre de Georgetown, es meu cunyat d’Es Grau, les meves nebodes de Granollers, els meus tiets de Sant Martí, la meva familia del Gòtic, les meves 9 senyoretes d’Avinyò, els meus 9 camps de GOL. . . . . . . . .
Estava fent la meva 9a pelicula del mític duel entre Besalú i Olot, que l’Albert i jo vam co-crear en un duel entre dos dimensions d’alteritat d’ambit multiversal. El texte deixava poc marge a tots els actors d’Olot, i Banyoles, que are no em recordo d’on eres, noi, pero jo he vingut aquí a jugar futbolart, i així ho vaig compartir amb gent del meu poble, i fins a 999 estàn d’accord de fer aquest paripè, de tant en tant, en dies no establert, només d’un a l’any, en el que la millor peli d’acció es converteix en una competició entre dos pobles antagonics que resol en nou dies de duels esportius, nivell colegues del poble, en nou dimensions surrealistes alternatives.
Les 9 surrealitats del bàndol d’Olot estàn guionitzades. Pero tant bé, que les han assumit com propies. Tothom està content. Excepte ü. El personatge que fa d’Albert en aquestes dues ciutats reconfigurades a partir d’una proposta de cinematografía d’autor que clarament està influenciada per la dualitat entre les forces d’una i altre narrativa envers veïnats.
L’Albert s’emprenyava de que no pogués ficar-hi ma. Noi, no és la teva peli. Li diu un personatge de la seva confiança. El seu millor colega local. La colla d’amics. Fins a 9 d’ells. Homes. Disciples i co-autors. Lectors. Gent de cine independent. Amb feines. I assatjos, il·luminació, la càmara d’en Jimmy Gimferrer, mirant-ho tot i flipant.
Seria molt més fàcil, orgànic i boni deixar-li a l’Albert llibertat creativa. Pero aquesta és la gràcia de l’història. Tothom sap que farà el paper d’Orson Wells quan cal guanyar-li al demoni. I aquesta és la gràcia. D’aquest paper. Tant ric. Tant bó per ell. Pero no d’ell. Amb tot lo que això representa. Dins seu. No poder ser-hi.
Se la repampinfla. Li sua un ou. El dret. Ben rasurat. Amb navaja.
Ell, ell,…
Aquest diàleg m’apropa als nominat de Gaudí.
El digital twin.
GolmecanAI havia creat un digital twin ticatalan para incloure un estat alternatiu que anès per lliure: entre Gaudianament i Dalileanament. I quelcom d’ell. De l’inombrable Albert.
Prometo que això no quedarà com un final del foraster. O per qué no. Tirant-ho a la nostra vessant més surrealista comú que podem dir que tenim entre Olot i Besalú. Quelcom que ens uneix. Que en el fons sóm Germans. Cosins. I némesis.
Beneit sigueu.
Com estem?
Shelvivillers.
Un odi que es trasllada de manera precipitada en nous direccions ortogonals a la realitat actual. La que cadascun d’aquest dos pobles fa avui dia amb la seva vida, i al mig de tot això. Això siguen tant gran com vosaltres vulgueo. Torneu-vos lliures. Plens. Multiversats. Feu servir les noves eines que us perferccionen, més enllà de lo que ens haviem pogut imaginar. Fins ara el tema era aquest. Fins ara que és aquest.
Podria escriure un guio que ho tanqués tot. Tota una creativitat collectiva esbiaxada a posta. Com a mena de simbol de la narritva i lo que el conflicte en sí representa, en el planol més demencial que ens hi podem retroalimentat en el directe d’una reacció pura de l’interpret del personatge d’Albert. No necesariament Albert. Sense donar-li opció.
Un personatge fent d’Albert. No ell. Impolut. Francés.
Jo mateix puc fer els dos rols.
Per fer el baix pur.
Deixar-ho fora de l’acudit.
Per fer la punyeta al veí.
Per continuar amb la narrativa bélica.
O més aviat per entendre que això pasava a la periferia de la historia. I que patim. Lo que volen dir que importa anar cap allà i tot lo contrari. Aquest espai alternatiu neix avui dia. I tira enrera. En el temps. En un espai dual. Mentrestant el status quo trontolla. Fa el tonto. Con fins ara. Fins que de sopte, Golman planteja quelcom word: ALLS . . . . . . . . .
Scounting Banyoles.
Un director cada escena. Cada exterior con una composición dramática i escenográfica que se despliegue en 9 dimensiones diversas de nueve homenajes creativos de un cine que nos encuentre a medio camino, desde los niveles de sublimación alterados desde las antípodas. La incapacidad de coexistir. Los ámbitos de revolución: nuestra | antagónica.
El primer encuentro, tras un encuentro secreto de los dos, en nueve sitios distintos, entre Olot, Banyoles, Besalú, Carmelo, Gótico, Horta, Tibidabo, Teixonera, Vall d’Hebron.
Los nueve directores. Los puede escoger él. Será más pura la elección. Y abrimos el espacio de co-creació. Entendiendo e introduciendo en unos diálogos que en realidad llevan al personaje a complacer la manera en la que diseñamos su antagonismo. Como autor consagrado del arte cinematográfico que remueve la estética y la ética desde la construcción de una surrealidad en paralelo. Sólo que está vez conlleva una reflexión mayor. Un proceso de elongación de la existencia. La ingravidez de nuestro alter ego en las ficciones que nosotros mismo le alimentamos a las IAs que por ahí ya están comenzando a hacer el rol del desgraciado, o de los surrealistas lectores de Bolaño, que fueron los primeros en entrar en el loop de esta historia que se desvela a partir del giro de guión más espectacular de toda la historia, el tiempo y el espacio, dentro de los límites colectivos, cognitivos, conductuales, neuropsicológicos, neurotransmitido, readiografiado y almacenado en una base de datos común, en un fichero que se le envia a una IA que hace cosas para nosotros. Algo que no programamos.
99 cosas a decir
Una lista 99. . . . . . . . .
Si H1 es el título principal. H2, H3 y H4 podrían ser conclusiones. No sólo subtítulo. Y en cambio la gramática del ticatalán lo permite. Cuando las otras lenguas no la contemplaban. Eso es lo que hace algo NEW.
NEW way.
NEWAY
99 sharp metaframes.
Just
Hice una tarea. Ponerme de acuerdo para quedar 2 h a trabajar. A co-crear.
Recovering data. . . . . . . . .
A new question mark was something nobody was expecting to so damn innovative. This is why you should never ever just follow the herd, as a ship, if what you want is to make something unique. This is what I’ve always wanted. And I’ve never really comply with fitting in. I’ve done my own thing. And also understood the rules. Somehow. To try to make the play towards my particular way to look at the whole thing from my very own personal perspective. My POV.
You see is much like being an artist. You are not an artist by copying what others are doing. You could seem to be. You just need to keep doing it. Fake it till you make it. In this sense an artist and an innovator are much alike. They need to have a vision and then pretend they are on that path. I’m a professional in having a vision. I do it collectively.
I’m a strategist. I was trained to be one. Or I was brought up in an environment where I could pick up the knowledge and the practice to fulfill the tasks required to do so. I was junior consultant, and then a senior one. Then I became a manager. A project manager. And that’s where the system identified that I was fit to be. A team player. Without the hassles of decision-making in higher spheres. The management boards.
Once you enter into those boards, you become a kinged pond. You gain power and momentum. You need to be executive. And figure out what the platoon is doing, while providing key insights to top-level management, so they can go to the top and pretend the system works. Team work. Institutional work. Executive governance. Public or private, I’m just a working class asset. Nothing more; nothing less.
Creativity on the other hand is a working class blue ocean. Nobody can dictate what Kafka, as a government worker, can write about on his Olivetti outside the working hours marked in his card. He’s doing the job. Much like K. And day in, day out, he’s expected to do so. In a similar way, I do that for my well designed post. I can do what the job description does. I can follow through and perform the tasks that are assigned. Are the tasks fitted for what’s expected of the job? Like you’ve been given a job on asteroids. And with it, the potential to go beyond. You have been gifted with the opportunity to use in this role the very thing that makes you unique in order use it in the most desireble and feasible fashion in order to target the greatest good for all.
Somehow I’ve been casted to do that. I’ve been hired as K. I’m expected to that burocracy, while comming up with a Castle, a Process, a Metamorfosis. And I’m ready for it.
That’s been kind of my thing for a while. Instead of walking with someone, I’ve done an isolation exercise to talk to myself, while also assuming to be talking to the world. That’s right, the world is a big place, I know, but I’m really talking to myself to project something about that walk that is completely ethernal. A simple description, or a most profound insight that’s just poped into my head. And bum, like that, it’s out in the world.
Of course if I was only intending to put out the word into the open I’d just need to speak the word, and forget about it. Then it’d be like an oblivious wisper. And that would be fine. I still have moments like that, I quite enjoy them myself. I let them pass. And begone. But the obsession of a writer is to catch those moments, and that’s why you see suspicious people writting little notes in notebooks all over the place, nowadays. They are the strange remainings of a cult of people who are unsatisfied about their whereabouts, and still get the desire to create an alternative world. Through art. And it all starts with that unsual idea. That unimagined thought, that somehow, who knows really how, came to you. And you didn’t let it go. You caught it. And secured it.
I’m the slower reader of Moo Pak. I average two pages every time I sit. Cause there’s something in each page that jumps up and bits me. And I don’t get to scribble at the edges of the printed page, as it happens to be a borrowed book.
I know I could just keep going. I could just keep reading. And that would be fine too. Like letting an idea fly by. But I’m in catchy mood. Specially about a book so decisive to me, as I’ve let to believe that this book will be. I’ve placed my faith upon a reading exercise that could turn my idea catching into an actual writting of my own. It’s an ownership exercise. And a style flagrant stealing. Or rather a inspiration. A tribute. Ain’t it all the same thing?
But this did not come by itself. I was lead to this book. I was introduce to this reading exercise by the recomendation, and lending, of a book someone else thought of when he read a notebook of mine. Ferran Ràfols is Anagrama’s go to guy when translating a complex and profound text published in English or in French. He’s Foster Wallace in Catalan. Or Amelie Nothom every year. But most importantly, he’s Gabriel Josipovici in Moo Pak. So he’s not just a pasionate reader, but a gifted translator, and a prominent writer, as all translators must be, he’s also kind enough to read my unpublished notebook. He provided me with not just notes, but references, and honest feedback on what he kept reading through, without exactly knowing what was there, and not just made it through, but pointed me to two references that I’m now reading to prepare the launch of my very own formal writting aspirations in the literary realm, what ever that means.
So every page I read, I need to get hooked in Moo Pak’s tide, as a surfer who’s spot the right wave to catch. And in every attempt, the same result: a perfect drop and yet another writing spur to ignate the fire of my own literary treat. It’s the topics of that conversation. And the electric current in a continuos motion that will never stop. Our own concious mind, linking back and forth the previous thought that is build into words, in a convesation worth having, with a good friend to walk with.
Now I know I speak too much. I’m a chaterbox. I must confess. But you would have already guessed if you are still staring at my face. And I know it’s rude. That’s why I don’t do it public anymore. It steals people’s time. They have rather more important and relevant things to do. They have their own opinion. And they don’t want to listen. Just listen. So I don’t speak in public anymore. I rather listen. And write. But for my own pleasure. For my own futher understanding. To cope with me. I too myself get tired of this chaterbox. But it doesn’t stop. And I’ve learn to love what bugs me. As I often see it as a way forward. As an inevitability. The dark side of moon. Even if we never see it. If we only get, in that one case, just one face. You know the other exists. But we don’t get to experience it. Does that mean that the moon does not rotate in its own axis?
Bookshops. That’s the thing that stroke me about Moo Pak on this given page I got stuck with. Bookshops in London, Paris or Lisbon. Bookshops sell books. Readers go to bookshops to read. There is a transaction, both economically, socially and transformationally. But it takes sometime to feel the groove for bookshops. And why one should go. And how book people mingle there, wether working, wether planning the next master move to grow inside the complex spider web of cultural and intellectual show. Because it’s a great show. With lights, with debates, with aristocracy, with labor, with unbelievable out of blue success stories from nobodies that made themselves up, by becoming a writer… and actually making that connection with readers who got hooked in to a narrative. In itself, every writer is looking to express himself in made-up stories that either hide him, or reveal her.
A choice of words sometimes defines you. And you get to speak your mind. To get close to the actual shake-up. You are actually struggling to say what you must, without saying too much, or going outside of the stream of conciousness, because you know yourself too well. There is not time for all this blabery. Too much bla, bla, bla as Greta has expressed beautifly. ¿Thunberg or Gerwig?
All of the sudden I don’t know which one of the three I want to be. You noticed that the choices could grow from two to three without a sweat. No guilt either. I can do whatever I want within the realm of my stream of writting. Wether that’s meaningful, or not, only the reader who bears me will go through. The rest will go back to their no-reader bit, or to their confort author. And that’s fine. I don’t blame him/her/you. We all have choices to make. References to climb, to then let go.
But my life could very well be a rotating act among these three Gretas: Thunberg, Gerwig or Garbo. I might be mix of the three, but I can’t play my mixedtape role all the time. I have to focus like the did to get their legacy across. To speak your mind against the greater social challenges and threats as collaborative action becomes crucial. To write your own stories, and direct them. To interpret them. That’s me entering the show business. There’s no business like show business. It’s all still just a show.
«In Paris, as in Milan and Munich, he said, everything has turned into fashion, there are fashions in books and fashions in food, fashions in plays, fashions in clothes»
Jack Toledano – Moo Pak
This was written back in 1994. Fashionably things to do have turned into a megatrend that keeps rotating faster than we can imagine. But the thing is, when we talk about books we are also talking about the intellectual and cultural significance of those really relevant books. Not just the trends. And that has been shaken up. But look at the clarity of Josipovici when he pointed his character’s intuition towards this direction: «All this frightful tide of polluted water, this torrent of cliché and fashionable posturings must be avoided, he said, in England and in France, in Germany and in Italy if we are to live at all. Otherwise the dehumanization of the working in life by factory repetition and to the dehumanization of children’s life by video games will be added the dehumanization of intellectual life».
We might be there already, but at this point what stroke me the most is the actual interaction that those four European countries, and specifically, those four European cities, have in my current scenario as a new-commer to this old world. A reference to these countries, Germany, Italy, France and England, have a resonance my very own personal moment, in what I’d like to see it as insider perspective from within the European Union. At first, 24 years ago, when I first arrived to live in Europe, as an illegal alien, I didn’t quite grasp the entirety of the global political scene that the EU represented. I was lucky enough to have a roomate who was not only a firm Eurpean believer, he’d also done his economics master’s thesis on it, having lived in London, and having attended the prestigeous London School of Economics. This sort of formal knowledge of the EU, what it represented as a political instrument, was quite relevant to me in order to understand some early clues on the matter. Yet, as Jorge had the experience first hand, I was only experiencing the idea from an outsider perspective, comming from a Latinamerican scenery that could aknowledge a common cultural ground, and a rather diverse, unequal, polarized, contradictory. So in a way, my un understanding and disbelief had already been trained to understand the complexity of the EU, the aspirational dream, and the realpolitik involved.
After 24 years being «one of you», I can confirm that I am already a grown local foreigner. And just in time to step in. I was cautious enough to keep my ears open as I learned along the path to understand the context and surrounding of what was happening. It’s a joyride at first, if you are lucky enough to get the good toss of the coin. The lotary in this case favoured a good first 12 year lesson, with the necessary ups-downs-ups-downs, enough to know what’s the outmost feeling of love, acomplishment, and collective collaborative belonging; and also enough to know the cold hard ground you land on, face first, when you are dropped from the higher grounds and experience that journey to inner hell of your own dismantled humanity.
It’s a harsh learning curve. And we all get a piece of it. We’ve been through a global pandemic and still we are able to manage to leverage enough missinformation to have a blury clear understanding of what’s going on. Or we think we do. Lately, it’s been more transparently put, but all these years since I first came to this «old» world, with my NEW naif mentality.
But the most relevant element Josipovici, or rather Jack Toledano, left me on this page is this: «But it’s already too late, he said. It has already happened. The horror is already upon us and the only way we can fight it is to retreat to the fortress of ourselves prepare and prepare for a long siege.» That’s what I did. Ever since I started building my art, defining my format, aknowledging the words. When I did fall all the way down, the only way to build myself up was through my desire to come out of there. The rebuilding of myself, as a act of collective aknowledgment, with a vision of a personal quest, that could only be expressed by looking inside, in each piece a time, while bootstrapping my own NEW narrative.
Dave Chappelle has been in the zone for quite some time. He connects with the American culture. And lives in Ohio. Right after Donald Trump lost his first election, he did the opening of the SNL. Then, years later, he also did the opening monologue when Trump came into office. And it’s only normal to see that Lorne Michaels insisted he did another one now that he’s back.
He did it twice already. And in a polarized society, some people are going to hate you for it. And I guess, those two previous monologues showed him. So he denied the invitation. And then he accepted to do one, but when Trump would be close to stepping again into the leader of the world job. So he suited up and prepare a set. And as usual, he was able to express the message that could bring the community back into a common understanding: we hope this guy does a good job. For everyone sake.
Hey, I’m Mexican. I doubt it.
The guy is player, and he’s got himself a new show. That we will see. I only still don’t understand how we can be so hooked to American entertainment, sports, culture and even to their comedy, to Hollywood, to their news, and soap operas. Still, we are addicted to this global dependency on a lousy gun-loving dream with a bag of paradoxes and contradictions that are so violently exposed, as the moral standard of a world-policing big brother hunts us down to plant the seed of fear of the beast. Wether it’s their new enemy, or their own menace to come out as they are.
What to do when you have to do something else. Procastinate. That’s my life. I come here when I should be elsewhere, doing I don’t even remember what. So instead, I keep myself busy trying to figure out the time to get to the point. In the mean time, this.
It’s not an excuse. It’s rather a way out. Or a way in. What else should I be worried about if not something else trully more meaningful to me. I should be addressing my pressing concerns. And delivering the perfomance I aim to have if I get to the point right away. Something that leads to something else. I’m willing to take the stand. I’m leaping already.
It’s a gamechanging time. All the time. Everywhere. And I’m just getting started. But the ball is moving so fast I don’t seem to have the timing right. The ball has passed and I’ve lost the magic… unless the magic is there, still, and I’m just a few adjustements off, a few more drills away, to conquer back the state of mind needed for this performance to endure.
I’m ready to rock. Still, I need to do something else. I’ll get back to this when that’s done. But I wanted to make sure to give me this sigh.
This is an era of disruptive mechanisms to establish who shouts the loudests, and who used the IA tools in the best way to drive transformation and change in our society. It’s not clear. It’s not entirely out there, but the capacity of minorities to drive some doubtful and unproven evidence to the mainstream has turn the seek for truth in a distorted gullible everchanging scene.
It’s like a morphing meme.
Life has taken a turn. And we are riding a wave we don’t control. So the hidden forces has taken a stand and have looked for mechanisms to empower what they believe is most holly. To try to make it happen… for them. A new collective of desperate middle class has erupted with anger and dispear and has taken the lead and command in following the natural-born NEW leader.
This distopic scenario has been also the same sort of thing I’ve been dealing with along the path to understand we are at in this ever-changing world. And the character of that crazy candidate that comes from the raging force of societal cry against the machine used to be a feeling of some people, artist, dreamers, who were fighting to say something that was going against the flow of tides. And from that erupts an emergent field and force. And this takes over. For good.
That seems to have happened with the scenario of Don J. Trumb (like J. as Homer J. Simpson, if we must find a valid reference… everyman) comming back to the number one job at the top of the power ladder in the social scene that has been established in the risk board game we are all watching unfold. The regular players are sitting on the table. The forgotten ones are listening in, without a voice. There might be eight players in there, and their alliances, their similarities, their sinergies, their strategic partnerships, their codepencies, their histories, their commonwealth, their trade relationships, their common ancestors, the common culture, the common law, the kinds of governance, the royal families, the paradoxes. But there lies a ninth seat empty at the table. This is the only space left for us to take a stand. And I wasn’t ready for it, until now.
I’m not going to watch the American entretainment that this NEW american campaign has unleashed, one more time, for us to witness without a vote. The relationship of that executive body will lead to many experimental scenarios where those new people in charge will deal with the way in which the oldest democratic experiment is put to the test of withstanding a balancing act of checks and ballances that are to be ruled by a holy emperor who’s been send by God, according to his fellowship of whisperers and ballot validators.
Will the USA institutional system withstand after four more years of the Trump era. The setting the scene for a radical act is already going to happen as yet another entertainment show that is going to unleash the deamons that have some interconnection with the movilizing of resources and funds that come from highest debt generator since the gold-backed system turn the world around the printing money scheme that supports the modern economic theory of the last 60-80 years. Keynes vs Friedman. But the new set of people in charge are not that kind of theoriest. They are the Bannon-era of Cambridge analytica turn into the perfect gathering machine of a massive movement. This exercise, as Bannon intended yet back in the day, is intended to find the allies in external systems, in order to influence elections and restore leaderships. Something in the line of Russia’s hackers introducing fake-news in other peoples elections. It’s now mainstreamed. And people are already raging on it. Russia is already made a move in fueling the war economy to shaken the options of enemies and allies in terms of a response. This fuels the war economy and those who benefit from it, and also puts presure on the energy business, creating yet even greater havoc into people lives: everthing becomes more expensive.
So we are about to witness some geopolitical movements that will reshape some frontiers and some priorities in how we defend ourselves (always military budgets going up). De-escalation of violence is going to take yet another act of threat: we’ll take piece along the promise of some sort of giving up. Renouncination time. Some of our liberties and hopes. And we are going to move our red lines as well as our values as well as our frontiers. The enemy is always close by. The scape goat. The alibi.
If the world is going to move somewhere in the following four years, my guess is that it should move ortogonally in the direction where the given dimentions of our collective understanding have allowed up to now. The revolts in MAGA, the far right movements, the Arab Spring, Indigandos, the Catalan independentist, the Occupy Wall street, the 8M,… name any given sudden burst of revolution, is not nearly enough to find the common ground for an understanding. Now the situation is not equitable in each case. The actors and history. The violence is not equally distributed. The war on terror somehow shifted the scene into the new wars after COVID: Israel genocide in Gaza, and Russia invasion in Ukraine. The starting point are in the results from the WWII, a NEW state, a balancing act on how to repair the atrocities committed by the Nazis during the holocaust, and sionist dream of coming back home, as stated in an ancient tale. Because God said so. The ever-present man.
You are where you are. Life has brought you here. That’s the kind of thing everyone, anyone realle, a coach, an influencer, your spouse, your guru, your spiritual leader, your priest, your own private phisopher, your third eye, … would tell you: focus on the moment.
Now is the time.
There’s no other time.
You know about the past, about the future, how they don’t really exist. And then you are stuck with the moment. And the moment is gone. It just shifted. Like these words apearing in front of me.
Reading; writting.
It’s an act of connecting the fingers (in case you are typing), your mind, and the «paper». Or the screen, really. In this new version of the narrative scene.
Short and without derivatives.
I often speak too much. And loose the audience. Not really my thing to be concise and to the point. I don’t just play short and to the foot. I like risk. I elaborate plans. And then execute them. But if you don’t have your team with you. It’s worthless. You are on your own. And nobody is listening. You are just playing for a lame vacuum in your narrow limited story you tell yourself. That’s not the game. It’s your obsession.
Order and adventure
Aparently on day Jorge Luis Borges said that literature was order and adventure. Later, Cesar Luis Menotti repurpuse the idea and said that football was exactly that: order and aventure. Too much order, nothing happens. To much adventure, chaos.
A third derivative of that concept could be apply to impact-driven innovation adoption. What does that mean? Well intaking innovation that actually help to transform the system in a way that represents a higher value for the common good. I know, I know, I’ve lost you a bit. Bear with me. I believe that tha these type of innovation is also oder and adventure.
Too much order is not disruptive enough, not quick enough, not meaningful enough. Systems resist to change, if there is still a reward for the ones holding the cards. They would have no desire to move from that position.
Too much adventure, it just becomes a messy «I must jump into this bandwagon» by all means, regardless of the value or the direction I want to go to. You then generate some movement, but might jus be spinning in circles. Not quite moving.
So to drive truly meaningful transformational societal change, we must first share a vision of where all these things should be going. And to that, we are often faced with a bigger scale above within our role, as humans or as part of any given institution, that is being played in higher hierarchy. A higher dimention. So too much order is just helping the resistance to change to back up the status quo, while too much adventure is just helping the noise level to rise. How may impact-driven innovation then flourish among these two counter forces: with a proper mix of order and adventure.
This is true for the entrepeneur world and for the the demand-side actors who are willing to make an attempt to drive transformational change to their innovation ecosystem. With demand-driven innovation (pull), these two worlds end up meeting halfway. Conversely, business-driven innovation (push) may also find its way to undertand this as yet another meaningful arena to drive their impact as well as their ROI.
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.
El primer día de septiembre en España reinicia el sistema. Es un acto colectivo de volver a empezar que tiene un gesto climático que le acompaña: el calor tremendo del verano ha comenzado a disipar. Y para ello, la vestimenta y la puesta en escena ya es la de lo que nos queda del año: enfilándonos a las navidades.
Los años pasan rápido. Siempre al mismo ritmo. Un ritmo al cuál como humanidad nos hemos acostumbrado gracias a darle vueltas al sol con la misma cadencia. Es una insistencia que nos denota un equilibrio estable que tiene su historia propia con el resto de cuerpos celestes en el espacio, más puntualmente ligado al equilibrio de los planetas que conforman nuestro ecosistema solar.
Y el sol vuelve a salir. Y nosotros también.
Nos reencontramos en la ciudad y volvemos al trabajo. Las clases vienen después. Las familias se preparan. Igual que las escuelas. Pero eso vendrá después. De momento la transición es más de la playa a la oficina. Y toda la familia se mobiliza. Aquí el encanto.
Hace 22 años volví a reiniciar mi vida en un primer día de trabajo en septiembre en Barcelona. Volví para quedarme. Con dos maletas, de las cuáles, una no llegó. La de la ropa de trabajo. Volví a empezar y me reinventé. Volví a ser el nuevo.
Esta sensación, la de ser el nuevo, así como la de volver a comenzar, no me han abandonado nunca. Me convierto en este ser itinerante. Cada día de nuevo comenzar. Y volver a ser el nuevo. Y de este ciclo volver. Y tener la ilusión de transitarlo. Una y otra vez. Con el sentido de estar aquí. Presente. Volver. Volver. Volver.
