I've been garnering this post for a while, not written anywhere, just the idea on my head. To start a writing without really knowing what it is about, only feeling that you need to write something.
Today's my birthday, and at first I thought not to tell anyone: the fact that people will come up to me to congratulate me seems like it's forced upon them because society tells you that it's almost obligatory to say 'Happy Birthday!' to the person, if you don't do it, you're a dick. I didn't like this one bit: people were coming to me, congratulating basically because I'm alive, with their faces of 'oh jesus, I have to hug this freak'. So I thought 'save it, don't worry about it, I won't feel bad about you not congratulating, so don't'; I mean, I felt even worse when people HAD to congratulate me, I felt like a nuisance...
And it's weird though. Obviously I like getting congratulated by the people I love (my parents and friends of mine), but when it comes to a birthday, you are the center of attention, whether you want it or not, and I'm a control freak: I'm the center of attention when I want it to, and I'm very rebellistic too so if somebody puts me up on a little chair on a 'show and tell' kind of a thing, I just want to get down... it's going to be my chair, my 'show and tell', when I say so...
But nope, friends are friends, and really, a birthday party is more like a wedding: it's not really for the bride and groom, it's really for the family... so, yeah, a birthday party it's not really for the birthday boy, it's really for the birthday boy's friends. It's a good excuse, and us Mexicans (and the Indians too, apparently) for the most part don't need much of an excuse to throw a party, and a birthday is a BIG excuse.
I was going over my Astrological reading (ironically, a birthday present from some website); they're a good read once in a while, and sometimes, just sometimes, they do hit the nail on the head. Apparently I need to be more flexible about the stuff that happens around me and not be such a control freak... fine... I'll go with the flow, and it's not like I don't do that every birthday of mine, and usually I do have a good time.
I bought myself a Marshall Amp around two weeks ago. It's my first Marshall, and it sounds beautiful; goes very well with my Epiphone Special Model (the wine red model)... I know it's a bottom of the line guitar, but if you equalize it right at the amplifier end, it sounds amazing, even more so with a Marshall on the front.
There's an acoustic guitar that I borrow from a friend of mine when rehearsing for a folk music event coming up in june... it's also probably bottom of the line, but wow, it feels good, and sounds nice, and it's electroacoustic, which I'm looking for right now. I'll try and persuade him of giving it to me when he leaves England.
What does this have to do with my birthday? Well, first, the Marshall was a birthday present for myself, and second, I think it's a good analogy of my life up until now (I like analysing what I've done and what's going on with my life every birthday, good check). I remember one time that Julia (wow, that name's is getting easier to say every passing day) wrote to me something in that nature:
At first I owned a nylon-string acoustic guitar (Odualli), which represented my start and the fact that I played only for myself. Then she gave me a steel-string electroacoustic guitar (Hallue), which represented my aperture to the world and a transitional stage to live performance. Then I bought this guitar (Joravaillu), which represented my full-fledge emergence as a live performer.
Following that same pattern, I'll follow that by: because of all that stuff happenned between Julia and me, the baggage that it entitled, and, frankly, the fact that Hugo had better hands for it than I did, I gave Hallue up... representing an end, a beginning, an abandon of her and my past (my move to England), even more so considering that I left Odualli at home, which now is more of my dad's then mine, and that I only brought Joravaillu with me, which is part of my thesis right now... so yes, abandon of past and trying to build a future with what I have left.
Then I bought the Marshall amp (Trutweth, kind of an antique, irish, elvian name, in a way), which I think represents adoption of new ideas, considering that there aren't only guitars out there, and the fact that other things can fill my life as well as they do. But at the same time, there's a new electro-acoustic catching my eye... maybe I want to turn back, or just remember the good things of back then, reminisce... not sure what does it mean still, but looks intriguing (yeah, I'm a thing of pondering).
... thing of pondering, thing of mystery, quite an odd fixture am I to the house I bought ... why buy it? why acquire it? it feels strangely well, for one, and it thinks familiarly wrong, for ten (to whoever understands binary) ... weird, confusing, but senseful, unpredictably faithful, soberviously modest, poppy punk, beautiful fly, incongruently informed, flawedly virtued, with a haircut that just doesn't seem right and a look that mostly never sees wrong... me : good birthday present ...
"sperm came under her eye, as she cried the tears of pleasure of her loved one after caressing the sub-creature that had giving her so much happiness: the momentaneous one residing in her sigh, and the eternal one now sleeping in her womb. he carried both of them to the sky, pulling her thighs to his side and kissing the doorway to his bloodline, spreading his tongue on the side, ringing it's doorbell. she grabbed the ceiling as there was nothing else to hold on to, while she felt that so familiar blinding sensation, again, never the same... then, she let go, her right hand found his hair while her left found her left breast, groping both while she forgot the necessity of balance in such an intimate encounter with a small death. he rested her body in his left clavicula using it as a key to her door, moving his shoulder slowly; he laid his ear on her abdomen while she muffled a moan that harmonized with a mild cry from within... he let her down on the bed gently, laid down and whispered: 'she's waking up' while his fingers fondled the bed curtains of their unborn... she then used his neck as concealment of her pleasurable anguish. the more he explored, the faster he wrote, the tighter and more humid it all became... her hand found the sub-creature she had caressed before, and both found themselves moving in the now familiar rhythm that ends up in obscurity followed by clarity, in death followed by life... she finished tasting his blood from the tightness, and him with moist fingertips smelling of her, a scent that only he can draw in, as she is his, he is hers, and both of them are of little hers, waiting for that 18th fortnight to start finding whom she belongs to..."