La Storia Di O

 A dead pidgeon's fresh meat, killed using a sharp-edged stone with a slingshot. That was Olivia's strict morning diet. Her mother would find her with a blood-stained mouth, and a few little feathers sticking to her cheek.

 Despite being in such a state, Olivia's beauty was striking. Her silky skin and thick lips were only shadowed by her starry blue eyes. Bright black hair hung like a delicate curtain behind her nape. Many men fell for her charms, but all of them refuse to talk about it, shrinking in fear when anybody asks.

 Girl gossip mostly centered it's attention on her. Fear and envy are the main sources of hatred. Olivia never a heard a word of that, but she could feel it, she fed on it. A neutral, foreign viewer might not understand, since she looks like a normal girl the first time you see her, albeit sad and gloomy. She could be spotted everyday during the afternoon, reading a book in the shade of a tree. She would spend hours like that.

 Olivia often talked about death. Her many suicide attempts were famous over town, she had always been found hesitating, as if waiting for a right  moment that never came. Her parents made her go to a therapist, and to many doctors due to her peculiar eating disorder, but all of them claimed there was nothing wrong with the girl.

 The 16th of each month, Olivia would carefully brush her hair and go to bed with fer finest dress, since she expected to have an important event the following day. However, nothing ever happened.

 One of those days, Olivia jumped out of bed and ran through the door. Her blue dress danced in the celerity of her running. Some saw her crossing town, but no one witnessed what was to come. Olivia finally reached the chapel, rushed in and sliced a razor through her throat. Minutes later, the priest found her body amidst a blood patch.

 Queen O awoke at midnight. The moonlight filtered through the vitreaux granted the marble floors a mystical resplendence. Everyone was there, quietly arising from the shadows. Goblins, banshees, phantoms, even a few succubus. A warlock held her hand and the requiem ball officially begun. Sebastien, the dark night, pierced the warlock with his cursed blade and grabbed O's waist. The Queen was most pleased.

 Rays of dark light flowed all around, sorrounding each attendant of the bizarre masquerade. Corpses from desecrated tombs joined the frightful ballet, and witches chanted eerie tunes while the walls trembled as nails cracked their surface.

 Demons danced their way out of the building and parted ways in all compass points to celebrate Queen O's assumption. After several years of slumber, their thirst was unquenchable. As it started to rain, O dashed in search of her first meal, this time not tiny, and wingless...

Andrés Gutiérrez

~

picture 1: Blooded Mouth, taken from melody-and-silence.blogspot.com

picture 2: Scary Dead, taken from website-design-templates-backgrounds.blogspot.com

picture 3: Demons at St. Anthony, taken from en.wikipedia.org Demon entry

Blood in the Chapel

Passion pour moi 

Poison pour toi 

Passion pour moi 

Poison pour toi 

'Cause there's blood in the chapel 

Nails from the wall 

Demons are having a ball 

Blood in the chapel 

Thorn in my side 

Driving your soul open wide 

Fight the enemy 

Mass insanity 

Fight the enemy 

Temple of doom 

Magic carpet ride 

My skin petrified 

Magic carpet ride 

Flash on a broom 

Shout the magic number 

Swing the sword where I nurse 

Mantra for a rebel with a curse 

Cause there's blood in the chapel 

Nails from the wall 

Demons are having a ball 

Blood in the chapel 

Thorn in my side 

Driving your soul open wide

Be or not to be 
Catch the entity 

Be or not to be 

Trapped in a box 

Pancake in my face 

La dom on the bass 

Pancake in my face 

Trapped like a fox 

Shout the magic number 

Swing the sword where I nurse 

Mantra for a rebel with a curse 

Cause there's blood in the chapel 

Nails from the wall 

Demons are having a ball 

Blood in the chapel 

Thorn in my side 

Driving your soul open wide 

Passion pour moi 

Poison pour toi 

Passion pour moi 

Poison pour toi 

Shout the magic number 

Swing the sword where I nurse 

Mantra for a rebel with a curse 

Cause there's blood in the chapel 

Nails from the wall 

Demons are having a ball 

Blood in the chapel 

Thorn in my side 

Driving your soul open wide 

Cause there's blood in the chapel 

Nails from the wall 

Demons are having a ball 

Blood in the chapel 

Thorn in my side 

Driving your soul open wide

~

songs by Army of Lovers

video for La Storia di O extracted from Youtube

video for Blood in the Chapel edited by myself

Carta Blanca

I always knew I didn't fit in this world. I first noticed this when I was very little. I'd play with other kids, but having fun was not the way I would describe my feelings at the time, I usually experienced a sensation of awkwardness. Sometimes I would even feel threatened by things that were supposed to be jokes and innocent, silly child games. Most people would say that I was a fool, perhaps it's true, but I think I just had a different perspective of the world.

Some say that you can tell a lot of things about a person by his or hers sense of humour. Many times I felt like I was forced to laugh, but I didn't quite understand where the fun was. I found other kids to be boring, and a whole lot of other kids must have thought I were dull. This, along causes of a different nature, made me choose to remain silent, and watch. Yes, I was a lonely boy.

Playing by myself was better, I could do whatever I wanted, but truth be told, I secretly yearned for someone whom I could relate to, and truth be told, I made sure I wouldn't find anyone like that. I had already built myself a comfort zone, my own magical kingdom, where everything made sense and I was just fine, happy enough. Without even realizing it, I made an enigma out of myself, like a frosted glass that conceals what's inside. Perhaps I wasn't strong enough, perhaps that was my nature, it doesn't matter, the fact is I wouldn't allow myself to be open to others. And then I found out something about myself that made it all clearer, or caused it all to get much worse...

I liked boys. And I was fine with that, I was happy to be gay. However, that's not enough to erase the pressure that everybody else's common sense puts over one's shoulders. At one point, I even thought "I'll have to get a girlfriend eventually". The idea terrified me. Over time I realized how ridiculous it was to even consider it, but then I was naive and weak.

Coming out, albeit accidentally, was one of the best things that could have happened to me. Even the air I breathed felt different, lighter. Consequently, I began to hang out with some friends more often, now that I knew who were real friends and who wore just a facade. However, playing by myself was still a guilty pleasure, perhaps not so guilty. I guess some things are just the way they are.

Just like in a cliche drama movie, the worst was yet to come: my encounter with love. As a teenager, I had this fallacious idea of how there were very few gays in the world, and so the first one I met would have to surely be my soulmate. It's so stupid, but at such a young age, it kept me worried and anxious. This led me, partly, to become a bit obssesive and insecure, and for one thing, jealous as hell.

Once again, I verified I was essentially different than most people, at least, than most boys my age. I had met many boys already, many of them cute, some of them sexy, but almost all of them had the intellectual potential of a drooling ameba. And also, there was a widespread uncontrolled sexual energy that drifted to a disgusting lack of values, such as faithfulness, trust, honesty. As Deleuze would say, it was the flood, and all codes were washed away. Those people were not really looking for love, not the same love I was looking for. At some point, I thought it was a sign of the times, relationships will change, and maybe I'll have to adapt myself to it. I wish I could go back in time to bitchslap me.

Everything turned out to be so complicated, and I just wanted a simple thing, a simple kind of life, "a simple man, so I could be a wife". I'm aware I'm caught in a pre-made conception of what love is, but if it makes me happy, I don't mind.

I'm giving myself carte blanche to just be myself, without holding back, no more stuff bottled up, no more apprehension of offending anyone by putting words to what I am.

I am timid. And I am oversensitive. I am a lion. I am tired and defensive. I have insecurities. It's not that I'm needy just need you to see me. There will be no more pretending. I am temperamental. And I have imperfections. And I am emotional. I am unpredictable. I am naked. I am vulnerable. I am a boy. I am opening up to you...

Andrés Gutiérrez

~

picture taken from http://unamenteobsesionadacon.blogspot.com/2011/06/extranas-anotaciones-en-un-cuaderno.html

this entry contains quotes from "Simple kind of life" by No Doubt, and from "I am" by Christina Aguilera.

Tengo La Fe

Al cielo pido un favor, que tú me quieras a mí, deseo a morir

Que algún día tú estés por siempre conmigo, tengo la fe

Yo no sé por qué te niegas a creer, que soy quien más te ama

Y yo te haré muy feliz, tarde o temprano serás tú mi hombre

Yo sé que el cielo me va a escuchar, lo presiente mi corazón

Y al escuchar mi canción yo estoy muy segura, vendrás aquí

No temas no te haré mal, debes dejarte llevar por un mar azul

Mucho te puedo ofrecer, no te vas a arrepentir

No temas no te haré mal, debes dejarte llevar por un ave azul

Y algún día tú y yo felices seremos, tengo la fe

Te amo

~

song extracted from Youtube

Innocence (no more)

No era un día especial, tampoco era ya un lugar especial. Y ahí estaba yo, sin una preocupación en el mundo. Si algo había aprendido era a ser una sombra y fundirme con el ambiente. Nada pasaba desapercibido para mí, pero eso equivale a decir que todo carecía de alguna significación importante. Y entonces lo reconocí, como un retrato en relieve agregado sobre un cuadro plano.

Entró confiado, con soltura en su andar y vanidad en su mirada. Déjà vu. Un breve instante se disfrazó de aguijón y me pinchó, sin conseguir que retroceda. Me había convertido en una figura anónima para él, de lo contrario se hubiera guardado sus encantos de seducción, que ya no me impresionaban, los conocía bien. Permanecí objeto de su atención unos cuantos minutos. Primero recibí sus gestos con frialdad, y finalmente cedí, ¿por qué no aplicar un poco de lo aprendido cuando se presenta la oportunidad?

Invadí su espacio, revestido de un descaro nuevo en mí. Trató de intimidarme con su dentadura perfecta y con ojos engreídos, pero la presa era él. Yo tenía ventaja, sabía que me deseaba, era su tipo. Me adelanté a su jugada con mis labios, y sólo entonces dejé que él crea hacerse cargo de la situación.

Como una vez hace tiempo, me escoltó a la salida. Igual que antes, me cubrió con su abrigo. Sin embargo, ahora yo estaba dispuesto a dejarlo llegar un poco más lejos, y me guió hasta un hotel que conocía. Supuse que allí conducía al resto de sus víctimas.

Un perfume rancio me recibió detrás de la puerta. Parte del aire enrarecido se debía quizás a la alfombra roja, sucia y gastada. La cama y las cortinas hacían juego, y no había mucho más, al menos nada que destaque con una iluminación tan tenue.

Sentí de repente la pared golpearse contra mi espalda. No esperaba descubrir una faceta agresiva, se me ocurrió que las personas como él tenían un diverso catálogo idiosincrático. Puso las manos en mi cintura y cargó sus pupilas de soberbia. Estuve a segundos de una reacción, pero decidí enseguida que era mejor jugar con sus reglas por un rato.

Noté sus escalofríos mientra le recorría la piel con los dedos, su excitación estalló cuando le mordí el cuello. Avancé y lo empujé violentamente sobre las sábanas. Lo até por las muñecas, un brazo con su cinto, el otro con la cuerda de las cortinas. Le gustaba. Quiso impartir un par de instrucciones y mi mano lo calló, sin tocar la boca, sólo la cabeza. Mi lengua se paseó por sus abdominales y su pecho. Entonces lo miré a los ojos, estaba extasiado. Lo observé durante un minuto, tal vez con la esperanza de que por fin recordara mi rostro, pero ya era tiempo de irse. Disfruté de la incertidumbre que nacía en sus facciones, en medio de sus jadeos lujuriosos.

Me vestí con rapidez. Él empezó a forcejear. Me di vuelta para dedicarle una última mueca antes de irme. Él no conseguía soltarse, y no lo iba a lograr. Estaba desesperado. Ahí permanecería, preso de estímulos y con ganas de más. Había perdido en su propio juego.

It was neither a special day or place, not anymore. There was I, without a care in the world. If there was something I had learned, it was to be a shadow and to merge with my sorroundings. Nothing went unnoticed by me, but that is to say that everything lacked some simportant significance. And then I recognized him, as an added embossed portrait on a flat painting.

He entered the room with confidence, loosely in his step and vanity in his eyes. Déjà vu. A brief moment disguised as a sting prodded me, without making me flinch. I had become an anonymous figure to him, otherwise he would have kept his seductive charms to himself. They did not impress me no more, I knew them well. I remained object of his attention for a while. At first, I just responded with cold gestures, but I finally gave in on purpose. Why wouldn't I apply some of the lessons learned when the opportunity arises?

I invaded his personal space, coated with a brazenness new to me. He tried to intimidate me with his perfect teeth and haughty eyes, but he was the dam. I had an advantage, I knew he wanted me. I was his type. I went ahead to his move with my lips, and only then let him take over creating the situation, not to hurt his pride.

As once in the past, he escorted me to the exit. Just like the last time, he covered me with his coat. However, now I was willing to let it go a little further, and let him lead me to some hotel he was acquainted with. I figured he'd take his other victims there.

A musty smell greeted me at the door. Part of the rarefied air was perhaps due to the red carpet, dirty and worn. The bed and the curtains matched, and there was not much else to be noticed, at least not in such dim lighting.

I suddenly felt the wall hitting against my back. I had not expected to discover he had an aggressive side, it occured to me that people like him had a varied idiosyncratic catalogue. He laid his hands on my waist and charged his pupils with arrogance. I was seconds away from a reaction, but quickly decided it was better to play by his rules for a while.

I noticed chills in his body while my fingers toured his skin, his excitement sparked when I bit his neck. I moved forward and pushed him violently upon the sheets. I tied his wrists, an arm with his belt, the other with the curtains' rope. He liked it. He wanted to impart a few directions and my hand shutted him up, without even touching his mouth, just his head. My tongue strolled through his abs and chest. Then I met his eyes, he was ecstatic. I observed for a minute, perhaps hoping he would finally remember my face, but it was time to leave. I enjoyed the uncertainty that arose in his face, in the midst of lustful panting.

I got dressed as fast as I could. He began to struggle. I turned around to spend one last grin before leaving. He could not let go, and was not going to. He was desperate. There he would stay, a prisoner of his own stimulus, and craving for more. He had lost in his own game.

Andrés Gutiérrez

Just Like Jesse James

You're struttin' into town like you're slingin' a gun
Just a small town dude with a big city attitude
Honey are ya lookin' for some trouble tonight
Well, alright

You think you're so bad, drive the women folk wild
Shoot 'em all down with the flash of your pearly smile
Honey but you met your match tonight
Oh, that's right

You think you'll knock me off my feet 'til I'm flat on the floor
'Til my heart is cryin' Indian and I'm beggin for more
So come on baby
Come on baby show me what that loaded gun is for

If you can give it I can take it
'Cause if this heart is gonna break it's gonna take a lot to break it

I know tonight somebody's gonna win the fight
So if you're so tough
Come on and prove it
You heart is down for the count and you know you're gonna lose it
Tonight you're gonna go down in flames
Just like Jesse James

You're an outlaw lover and I'm after your hide
Well you ain't so strong, won't be long 'til your hands are tied
Tonight I'm gonna take you in dead or alive
That's right

You break the laws of love in the name of desire
Take ten steps back cause I'm ready baby
Aim and fire
Baby there's nowhere you gonna run tonight
Ooh that's right

Well you've had your way with love but it's the end of the day
Now a team of wild horses couldn't drag your heart away
So come on baby
Come on baby
Come on baby you know there ain't nothing left to say

If you can give it I can take it
'Cause if this heart is gonna break it's gonna take a lot to break it

I know tonight somebody's gonna win the fight
So if you're so tough
Come on and prove it
You heart is down for the count and you know you're gonna lose it
Tonight you're gonna go down in flames
Just like Jesse James

You think you'll knock me off my feet 'til I'm flat on the floor
'Til my heart is cryin' Indian and I'm beggin for more
So come on baby
Come on baby, come on

If you can give it I can take it
'Cause if this heart is gonna break it's gonna take a lot to break it

I know tonight somebody's gonna win the fight
So if you're so tough
Come on and prove it
You heart is down for the count and you know you're gonna lose it
Tonight you're gonna go down in flames
Just like Jesse James

Tonight you're gonna go down in flames
Just like Jesse James
Tonight you're gonna go down in flames
Just like Jesse James

I'm gonna shoot you down Jesse James

~

song by Cher

video uploaded to Youtube by MyFavMusic123

Long ago, someone else ago...

Confiaba en que una serie de acontecimientos escondía un sentido particular. La vida era una serie de acontecimientos. Ahora esa confianza se me antoja utópicamente sobrevalorada.

La vida es una serie de acontecimientos, pero no esconden nada en sí mismos. Tienen la fisonomía del azar y un alma camaleónica, mutante, inestable. Una vida es confusa, polisémica; varias vidas en conjunto son una historia inasible. Darles un sentido, entonces, es una pretensión osada, y sobrepasa lo arbitrario.

Y no podemos dejar de hacerlo, porque somos lo suficientemente creativos para encontrar siempre algún nuevo significado, alguna epifanía tentadora que reestructura (o desestructura) nuestra vida, y los mismos acontecimientos se dilatan y contraen en desiguales proporciones a la luz de una nueva perspectiva. Así es como vivimos de ficción en ficción.

La realidad es el más surreal de los conceptos, la idea más abstracta del imaginario colectivo.

Andrés Gutiérrez