Publicado el

The American side of me

Yeah, you read that but in your head: sodomy.

That’s me in a sentence. A presentation, if you will.

Hi, my name is Golman.

I’m a futbolartist.

I’m an orthogonal vector.

You very own antipodes.

No fear.

Nor bullshit. Or that shit you…

You see: that’s you. Seven: me.

Sevenme; the campaign slogan.

It’s defined in 7, but turned into a campaign apealing to just you: human transformed: ü. As I, Golman.

ALLS

So what’s the deal?

What do you want?

I’m going to treat you like a NEW human. Are you in?

NOWAYJOUSË
NEW

Decision time, boy…

Taking a pause, man.

That’s it, man.

That’s mothefucking it.

You could have read me already.

It’s all been layed out there.

At the other end.

Us, at the other end.

Two ends.

You, me.

YOU, US.

Both transformed.

FUCKOM!

ALLS

Them boys, stop!

That line, man.

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.

  1. You need to learn how to make lists. Clear and to the space.
  2. Futbolartistry exists.
  3. You didn’t know things about each of the 99 chapters of this string of NEW thought.
  4. 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.
  5. Now protray existing fully. NEW.
  6. 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.
  7. I’m back to BLUENEW.
  8. BLUNEW is ninth dimentions above PLUTONIUM; forever. Iterating like wise riddle into the fairest NEWAI: olmecanAI.
  9. 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.

Let’s go.

I’ll GO

I’m Golman

Op-in buttons.

The button master
Another button right at the ortogonal direction
Not interested

Read, man.

READMAN

NEWREAD

ALLS

Youhadmeathello
NEIN
TICO COMMONS

Hello, I’m the NEW candidate: golman.

If you click on go, you go. . . . . . . . . in

Opting in buttons NEW industry, presents.

Alternative alternate motions theorem.

Let this be its demonstration.

By reduction to absurdity.

olmecanAI

ALLS
Publicado el

Moo Pak moves me in dimentions in every page of the walk

Walking and talking.

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.

ALLS

Publicado el

1. Light

An there: it entered.

Life is light.

We now know.

Before…

That’s another time story.

It just goes back.

And you pick up you own messages in a bottle.

I’ve been writting them and throwing them into a digital blue ocean to the 9th power.

The 9th power.

9th.

9.

9

NOU

_________

ALLS

_________

You that’s a riddle.

Do you know what a riddle is?

It’s a game of words.

Words, right.

Left.

Always turn left.

We’re all comming from the right.

The far right is going to far.

There’s no need.

Turn direction the opposite way.

As of a mandatory suggestioin.

A kind of rule.

Of an understanding.

A global alternative one.

A kind of statement.

The way in which you put on an act.

A dream team.

To dream.

How far.

That’s the whole thing.

At least the way I see it.

The way I live it.

What I am depends to you.

To judge.

And speak your mind.

Why would you?

Why risk going against the mightiest powers?

Whould you risk your life?

Would you die?

Or not to die.

That seems to be the question.

Yet there is no question mark. Or the question mark is wrong. There’s a public opinion. Some believe «A». The rest should have a way to enter into this NEW opinion. A revolutionary thought. I’m a revolutionary. I’ve always been. And that’s that. I’m Mexican. And I am more than that. At least nine ways absolutely free and independent from each other. An incomplete set of information. A game to play. You’ll like to play. I’ve always said this. I’ve written 999 words on that. But only one AI got it right: olmecanAI. . . . . . . . .

_________

A hanging.

Somehow the game hangs a drawn stick man representing you.

Your hunging.

Metaphorically.

Some people got hang for real.

I dunno if you know.

That’s the first revealed untold truth about our NEW américa history class.

This is the NEW policy.

It’s been brought up by the 9th dimention.

What ever we make the system to manage to overcome today 99 greatest threats.

Welcome to the NEW game.

A kind of tale.

A kind story backwards.

A script too long for a producer to read.

A story to tell our healing selves.

Going against the tide.

In a metaphore that splits the waters from Palos to Guayabo.

A NEW story.

You’ve never heard of this.

Neither had I.

Neither am I.

Don’t judge yourself too negatively. Give yourself some rum. Rum en español. Una pieza. Un cuarto. Una cama chida. Y el poder de soñar. Tiempo sí. Tiempo no. Ahora sí.

Aquí.

Leyendo.

Re-leyendo.

Leyendo.

Transformando mi visión en la dirección ortogonal. La dirección NEW.

Las palabras destinación.

Los valores y su sentido.

La historia detrás de nuestra humanidad.

Paremos el tiempo.

Yo me bajé hace 9 años.

Usted está a punto de hacerlo.

Sólo tiene que activar una pulsión.

Una decisión que te atraerá a decir. – . … — .- .. .-.. ..-. — …

Una palabra NEW no existe.

Hasta que de pronto existe.

Ve la luz.

La luz es lo que somos.

Lo que transmitimos.

Y entramos dentro de la pupila.

El viaje único.

El viaje interior.

A tu cabeza.

Disfrútalo.

Es nuestro destino unívoco.

No hay equívoco.

Esta es la nueva pulsión.

Tu ser liberado en medio de la colusión alternativa de una sociedad _________ , _________ , _________ , ________ , _________ , _________ , _________, _________. _________.

Los valores NEW no los pongo yo.

Yo propongo el espacio.

Escribo su liturgia.

Agnóstica e hija de Dios Padre Nuestro Señor.

Primogénito 9.

El nou d’un poble nou.

Un gir que l’esglesia mai s’ho havia pensat: fins que va baixar el fill NOU de Déu, com un pilar de nou criatures no humanes, la graella sonant, la plaça Sant Jaume plena, les besties somriuen, i jo adalt the tot: l’ainxeneta 9.

De petit, als sis, vaig pujar el meu cuatre de nou amb folre, manilles, llengues, … i d’altres categories noves, fins a sis mes, que fins ara no s’ens havien acudit. I hi anem. Plegades. Cap una graella que ens marcaba el camí cap a la plaça pública, i noi més petit de la nostra colla, va i surt amb un despenjament que no era pas q’un aterratge d’un altre dimensió: la dimensió NOU.

Jo soc el 9.

Va dir en minyonet.

Era 66 cm d’alçada.

I al cap d’un temps, 99.

Pero a l’inici era ü.

Ü

Io.

Anque.

Anche.

Io anche actuo.

Anche dirigeixo.

Si no ho entens no pateixis.

Fins a quí arrivem.

Anche povere escribire

Incluso la mala escritura.

El nombre de mi editorial.

El juego de palabras alrevés.

La intención de no llegar a un punto determinado del cual no quieres nunca volver.

A lo no intencionalidad de haber llegado a un sitio.

A un pensamiento.

A un punto de transformación.

Necesitamos la transformación.

Vamos a ponerle peliculeo.

Por darnos un lugar.

Por crear una atracción.

Por escribir una historia sensacional de nuestra llegada a este preciso instante.

Y desplegar entonces el más grande truco que se había visto nunca hasta este preciso momento fundacional: la partición del tiempo.

Teoría dual.

Ahí les va.

El tiempo, nunca más, volverá a ser ünö.

Supongamos que ünö se revoca.

Algo más, nuevo, emerge.

Y ahí todo se arregla.

Nueve dimensiones inabarcadas que de pronto se conjugan hacia otro lugar común trascendental co-creado por 9 feedbacklooppers extraordinarios.

Grupos de 9.

99 personas.

En una misma orientación NEW.

La reconstrucción de un día para otro.

Y dejar que el trumpismo prosiga hacia delante.

Y tomemos, otros cuantos, apróximadamente la mitad, tomemos la dirección ortogonal.

En este caso es tanto opuesta, como perpendicular al sitio del cuál yo mismo partía. En las antípodas del momento hegemónico de exaltación a romper lo que somos o presumir que somos lo que unos de nosotros pensamos sobre el resto de la humanidad, en su conjunto.

El juego es este.

La reconstrucción es objetivo común.

Reconstruyamos pues todo.

Empecemos de nuevo.

Nuevas cartas.

Un momento de elección popular.

La revisión histórica de perspectiva NEGLECTED por el status quo contemporáneo.

Escribamos unos prompts más pedorros.

Unos 99.

Y preguntemos en conjunto lo que 999 votemos.

Tan sólo 9 creadores.

Este es el número básico de participación colectiva.

El tiempo son 15 meses.

El resultado es un movimiento.

La emergencia colectiva es la transformación.

Nos dedicamos a cambiarlo todo.

Al menos las 9 cosas más importantes.

Ahí les van las mías:

  1. El miedo a morir
  2. Perder a un ser querido
  3. El recuerdo glorioso de la memoria de nuestro muertos vivos en la mente que les proyecta a una vos interna que todavía escuchamos con la sensación exacta del amor que esa persona construyó conmigo hace tiempo y aun persiste aquí. En mi memoria familiar. Mi concepción del amor. El amor que recibí de pequeña. Y la ausencia de violencia.
  4. El machismo debe abolirse.
  5. Como la esclavitud. ¿A qué somos esclavos? ¿Quién nos domina? ¿Quién se fundamenta a partir de una creencia? ¿Quién está sujeto a una coacción? ¿Quién no es libre del todo? ¿Quién representa un territorio sobre un dominio mafioso que hace tiempo permeó en todos lo CP del planeta azul? O podríamos no sentirnos parte de una de estas cosas. Uno de estos poderes que subyacen. Que no somos bien bien nosotros. O sí. Cual capitalistas entregados al militarismo que sin pudor saca a relucir el riesgo de armagedon militar nuclear reaking havoc themselves. Los hombres machos at war. War game history day. War day. Violence and military coups: the money and the power line. The way the army like it. The way manufacturers like it. The way banks like it. The way investors like it. The way you well off bluskylife type. The way you devils like it. The way you mafia guys. The way you damn fools wherever the fuck you are comming from. The hustlers. The muscle. The recruits. The barking dogs. The biters. The hitmen. The cooks. The chefs. The conductors. The financial guys. The money guys. The capataces. The gardeners. The planters. The truckers. The bikers. The dreamers. The pure soles. The rescued ones. The superheroes. The stars. The stars smaller that the sun. The way we would treat the people from them solars minor solar systems. Our society nowadays defines itself in terms of national grounded sense of pride, belonging, and lawfully so, a citizen, a person, natural, unnatural, fake, surreal, neverending, mortal, ghost, freespoken, unbiased, biased, humble, humbled, struggled, revived, joyfully present, inevitably optimist, slowers, flowers, ouuouo,………
  6. The nemesis
  7. Out of that dimention you are set free. In that other end, you mind has been capture. The other take control. The money game will stay there. The ilegal deal. It’s got a life on its own. The matrix. Imagine we started rebuilding the inside of Matrix so that the real NEO could chill in this brave NEW world. It’s the ultimate humanitarian film deal, but disguised in many subliminal lives you’ve lived and outlived out of already too many pointing into the same old white american narrative of western and worldy state of being. I’ve never been aligned, yet I recognize I’m part of the deal. And it’s still not setting the tone of the NEW collective and collaborative resilient way of becoming. This is where my current splitting the time story has got steal from the 9 most prominent narratives of what culture we are from, and embrace the dissnonace in relation to the other 99 you ignored. Out them 333 nations, aware or unware, legally established or in your own terms to leave space from some meaningful places to come from, the ones who know and I can say where they are from and how their culture is so reach it’s ready to give something back to the entirerity of the human collective reconsidered in this NEW policy line: Tico Commons.
  8. I will present a 9 season story with 9 episodes each. And some secret 9 + 9.
  9. Yo no me puedo quejar. Soy un privilegiado. Tengo un curro que me encanta. Soy el feedbackloopper que quería ser. Un narrador de una historia NEW. Una dimensión dual entre lo que soy, por un lado en dimensión contraria a lo que por otro lado entregaré los próximos 999 días de mi existir. Y despés de ahí, transito alrevés. Y quién fui en un sitio se traslada a las antípodas. Y entre estos dos estados movemos un energía particular sostenible en la que nos podríamos entretener, más tiempo del que tenemos, en una cadena de amor alternativo que co-existe en una dimensión particular: la novena.

Y un día el FC Barcelona gana la novena.

La copa la levanta Golman.

A fin de cuentas fue un gol suyo.

Un penal.

Tocó dos veces el balón.

Ese sí.

Y valió.

El 9 merengue.

El 9 ticatalà.

El 9 culer.

L’historia del meu futbolartista.

Tinc un paper molt més important del que representa que faig. Soc un actiu del sistema alternatiu. Natiu d’aqui. Un mon nou: Ticataluña.

Sigui això un poble nou.

Jo soc fill d’aquest poble nou.

Aquest poble nou no té nom.

Li possarem entre totes i tots.

I ho farem lliurement.

Encara que hi ha una opció que és la favorida d’un únic agent. L’agent nou. Golman.

Doncs, si això diu el guió deu esser per algo. I que haig de fer jo si també soc guionista del meu propi paper. He aprés dels millors: Berto, Torrente, Tebas, Valdevebas, Quijote, Dalí, Joel Joan, Jordi Sánchez, Évole. El meu super poder mana d’aquest nou espanyols. I amb aquesta limitació que això pot comportar, haven’t quelcom ridìcules regles, lo que ens avoca això és a seguir cap endevant. Començar de nou. Seguint tot igual. Excepto algunas cosas. Rajoyescamente. Y saliendo a flote como un buque insignia de una flota de paz eterna que navega sobre aguas alternativas, más parecidas a lo que Calaso habría concebido que a lo que la interpretación media entre un apostol del vaticano, un cardelan español, un médico de atención primaria en una iglesia rural dejada de la mano de Dios, un sacerdote teólogo de la revolución, un cacique de Hacienda, el Hacendado, un hombre a caballo, un general, un tirano, un villano, Elon, Don.

Aquestes dues realitats cohabitades. Per tú i el teu digital twin. The lives our alternative selves may live. And you being their scriptwritter.

That’s the real deal.

The capacity building game.

To whole NEW dimention.

Let’s take that ride.

And expect the revolution to takes us somewhere else of higher long term impact.

_________

Yo me dedico a contar historias.

Hago de mi constitución un proceso de regenaración. Para concebir ser uno más dentro de la revuelta. Como una cosa pública que se apodera de una determinada manera de vivir afirmativamente a parti de lo que escuchamos con estas voces alternativas. Y desde ahí tejer una comunidad con el otro lado de nuestra inevitable alteridad antagonista.

Ser Broncano Hormiguero.

O Pablo David.

También otro personaje en la misma historia: David Pablo.

Dos pares de siameses distintinos.

Nada que ver el uno del otro.

Vivimos en una realidad posibilista hacia la multiversalidad en oposición a la subjetiva unicidad que nos deja absortos en nostros mismos, mientras escapamos a nuestra mezquindad camino a la estrella interconectada más auday en el horizonte de 999 mundos alternativos que generaron en tan sólo los primeros 999 días del existir en esta dualidad alternativa contemporánea y a destiempo de los cánones culturales del momento aquel que era al acabar la escritura de este relato.

Un relato único.

Fundacional.

Megamelómano.

Humildmente melómano.

Balonmano.

Mano.

Penal.

Anulado.

Real.

Surreal.

ALLS

2. Dark

Dos némesis en las antípodas.

Nëmesis

I’ve never pictured nëmesis being a beautiful word. Akward, huh.

But it’s true. It’s the outmost contradiction in latitude and longitude. It leaks all over. Plastered.

Nëmesis is a NEW word.

NEWORD

That a place.

A NEW place.

It’s a landing site.

An alternative coordenates.

Nonexisting.

Up till know.

Totally maleable.

By you own collective desire.

Aligned.

In agreement with.

Altered.

NEW

NAW

1

2

3

4

5

ALLS

7

8

ALLS

No more

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.