Sid Sackson or The rest of life goes on

 Well, it is again, that time of year. The time of looking back and evaluate how was the year and the time of looking towards the future to re-establish the new New Year's resolutions. Which will be, in most cases, very similar year after year. 

And what have we learned last year? Probably not much. Our hopes of recovering the old-normality were crushed, the future looks grimdark as, well, the future. People are getting more and more partisan, more extremist, something that I find particularly terrifying. And, if we already did not learned it, we learned that we, the people, never learn. However, in the personal level it was a good year for me, no complaints here. I even managed to write somewhat regularly although I fell a little short of my initial objective of a post per month.

Anyway, I was thinking of endings and heard about Sid Sackson. I love modern boardgames and, in some way, Sid Sackson can be considered the father of modern boardgaming. He designed many boardgames, some of which are still played today. For example he designed acquire in 1964, years and years ahead of his time. He was an avid collector and analyst of boardgames. He viewed boardgames as more than toys for children and did all that was in his hand to push boardgames beyond that. He died in 2002, longing for the games of the 1980s, which he thought were more interesting than the later ones which he found more uninspired. He died before he could see the explosion of the boardgaming hobby, before he could see the work of his life bear fruit, thinking all his efforts were in vain. Worse yet, he died after years of suffering Alzheimer's disease, and his carefully curated collection, which he hoped would go to a museum was haphazardly divided and sold in an auction. Gone with the wind.

 

 

I also have seen some articles in the vein of "10 years without some person", and that made  me think that if someone was to reappear from 10 years ago to today, that person will probably not understand some of the things that are going on. Life changes rapidly, specially lately. Sometimes, I think of all those people that seemed to have gone before they could see what the consequences of their actions and work. And the aforementioned Sid Sackson had a somewhat long life. What about those who died young? How many things they have missed. How many things they did not see change or maybe stay still that they thought will not last. How fast some things change, how still other things are. How sad that some grandparents never get to see their grandchildren, how even more sadder is that some parents never get to know their children and vice versa.

In any case, the end comes for all of us, and we will always left something behind. I remember when I started to notice that I will not see the end of some space missions that were starting. Now there are more and more of those long-term projects that will end after I do. But that is life. It cannot last forever, and we can only hope for a happy and long life with a dignified end.And try to enjoy the journey without worrying too much for its destination which we cannot change.

Well that was it, I hope the next one will not be so depressing. I really should not start posts with so little time, as the first thing that comes to mind to write is always of this kind. Anyway, ss the saying goes, new year, new life or something like that.

Some random keystrokes

Let's have some random keystrokes. Automatic writing, just as in the old days. No plan, no revision, easy, and well, probably not the best, and in some weird English, more so nowadays that I really never write in English anymore.

More random keystrokes, just to get the feel of it. Why writing? Why writing here? Just to have written? Sometimes is nostalgic, sometimes is reassuring, sometimes is heartwarming, sometimes is sad. On one hand, there is this small feeling of accomplishment, on the other, this feeling of being of the uttermost unimportance (if that is the word). And always, always, a feeling of letting time go too fast, of "ticking away the moments that make up a dull day".

But anyway, let's just write. Writing uninterrupted for three quarters to an hour is no longer possible. So let's just write now, constantly interrupted.

I do not know, maybe is the music? Maybe listening to playlists does not let an unified mood to permeate enough to keep me concentrated in one idea to write.

Months pass by and I am unable to gather time, effort and courage to make just one small post. The average writing speed in this post is about a line per week. Am I running out of things too say? Or am I just become too comfortably numb? I was about to ask whether life is too much for a boy out of touch with his feelings, but there is no real value on just quoting random songs. Although... come to think of it, I think I reached the point when nobody can call me "boy", or did I? For a ninety year old a sixty year old is, maybe, a boy.

So what now?, five minutes to go, some music on the background and something I have to tend to about to finish. Is this small, incoherent post doomed to another month of draft limbo? Probably so.

Or maybe I will just press the Publish button. No schedule, no rereading, just a 'Madness' tag. Although I would have swear that I had other tag for this kind of posts. Well, it has been a while so I really do not know anymore. One minute to go,  I am probably going to push that button, maybe as an allegory of starting a small change, trying to try, a little, again, to get a little better. One minute past the time to go.

This is it, a little dopamine trigger, but maybe, just maybe a little less empty than the usual ones.

Hold the fence

Everything was perfect, life was as planned.

Until the wind came, harvesting everything the humans carefully seed.

We tried to hold tight, but the wind ripped us from the land.

The whirlwind blew their mall away.

Our beautifully crafted houses collapsed. The wind demolished them to little pieces, chunks of wood and metal. Without our homes, we were shelterless.

The fence lasted longer. It fight to the very end. But the wind was relentless. Inch by inch, the fence started to fall down. For a moment, the fence stood still. Then, the wind came back. Nothing was left.

Without the fence, the hope run away from us, like wild horses in an open pen.

But nothing is as stubborn as men. So we will fight back. We will rebuild our homes. And if the wind destroys them again, we will rebuild them again.

Until the day we die.

Nightwatch

Three hundred years had passed, the worthy captain and his squad of troopers standing fast.



So? One more, everything has changed. Shall I write again? Maybe. But I've lost my theme. First I have to find another. And time. Still, you always have just the time you want.

I can almost feel it

Snow. Again. Cold, water. It seems like it will never end. Bones get wet, no matter how thick our clothes are. Feet and toes frozen solid in leather boots. And no light, like a never-ending night. Winter wind blows our hearts away.


But I can almost feel it. Subtle changes everywhere. The sunny days of joy are nigh. Soon we'll leave our coats, umbrellas and throw our heavy luggage away. We'll fly around the sun.

Summer is coming.

Crisis? What Crisis?

 

 

Crisis? What Crisis?

 

 

 

Too Real

Hace mucho que debería haber escrito esto.

Desde que aparecisteis en mi vida veo las cosas de un modo muy diferente. Es increíble, como pueden llegar a cambiar las cosas.

Cuando estaís conmigo la vida tiene otro color, la realidad parece más real. ¿De verdad era el mundo así? No lo recuerdo.

De cualquier modo, sigo teniendo la sensación de que con vosotras el mundo parece más auténtico, más de lo que nunca me ha parecido.

We've been absent for far too long

We've been sitting in the fence for far to long. Cold and tired we are.

Why we cannot run? Or at least get a glimpse of the mayor war? Here all what we see is the shatters of our former hope.

We want something more rewarding. They will forget us. Do you think our people will receive us cheering and applauding? We've been here while their brothers and sons are out there, dying.

Nothing is going to get better. The rain will keep pouring down in this everlasting fake dawn. The sake of our battle-brothers matter more than this pile of bricks we're guarding.

The waiting is getting us mad. It tears our soul into pieces. But it won't make us lose our courage, because we shall know no fear.

Drop by drop this rain erase our feelings, like water eats the stone. Soon we will only feel the cold of our wet clothes.

Far by the horizon you may see some explosions burning the sky, like heralds of the real storm that is yet to come.

Nobody can truly understand what hour is, no one, but we, the lost and the damned. We might live, and return home, but people will close their eyes. They will ask us what happened, how it all began. We won't answer, because they will not understand. We won't see thousands of millions crying for the mankind.

We won't find rest ever again. We're the hunted hunters, and we'll be forever. Our wounds may be cured, but our souls will never be whole again.

How can anybody understand why he should die? We know our names won't mean nothing ten minutes after we're dead. If we die what will be our reward?

We cannot stop our great self destruction, and we'll die, although we don't want to.

They don't understand that to conquer death you only have to die.

And they shall come. And we'll forget all about this, and just shout:

Let's do this!

Wandering around

      As many histories told, a shady figure was wandering around in the darkness, entering in the shatters of its mind. As he walks to the grave he seemed to became smaller and smaller. He stood, stared, and then started to walk again.

      He was going nowhere. After all he walked he finally realized it. His search was meaningless, his effort, waste. So he stopped and felt lost. When he was walking he knew what was the next step. A right foot was followed by a left foot, which was followed by a right one, and so on, and so on.

But now? He was only wandering around, taking time the only way he knew. He felt out of touch with his feelings, and he was going nowhere, just following its fingers.

      Without routine he felt almost outside of the world, he began to lose contact with family and friends. He started to be a shade who patrols dark streets, running of the light.

      And when winters is coming walkers hibernate. If he could not walk he would have nothing to do. With nothing to do he will be lost, forgotten in the void. Now it was time for him to stop and think, and think carefully. Sometimes you have to sit and ask yourself.

      What can I do now?

Winter is coming (again)

I can feel it, coming in the air tonight

I can see the hazy shade of winter in the corner of my eye

I can feel its cold breathe in my neck

The weak summer ends, and the winter is coming again.

Passing by

 

 

    I was just wandering around, walking by the street, going where my fingers said. Looking at the street shops when a familiar face met the corner of my eye.

 

- Hey! Hello!

 

- Oh, hello! How are you?

 

- Fine, fine, thanks. And you?

 

- Perfectly well, thank you.... It's been a long, long time, hasn't it?

 

- Oh, yeah, quite a bit... we haven't met since... uh....

 

- Yes, too much time, please do not mention it.

 

-Oh, ok. And what have you been doing in this time?

 

- Nothing special, really. Just... the same as always...and what about your life?

 

- The same. Nothing really interesting.

 

- But that's not bad, you know, if things are going well.

 

- Oh, you're right, and everything is going very good. I do not have any complains.

 

- Neither do I.

 

- Guesso, you never complain, never.

 

- You're right, but that's because I do not have a reason to.

 

- That's true.

 

-...

 

-...

 

-...

 

-... well If you're not too busy we can meet some sunny day.

 

- Of course, I'd love to!

 

- Ok, then I will stop by soon.

 

- Ok, do not forget me. Remember, you owe me one.

 

-You're right.

 

 

The Calling of arms (part one)

Can you hear it?

The tolling of the iron bell calling their people to its knee.

I can hear the calling

The calling of arms

Out of the corner of your eye

 

 

    Can't you see it?

 

    It's always there, you almost can see it, a glimpse out of the corner of your eye.

 

    Can't you hear it?

 

    It's always with you, breathing in your neck. Turn around and it's breathing in your neck again.

 

    Can't you hear it?

 

     Wordless, laughing without sound. Waiting for the time to come. Like the delicate sound of thunder.

 

      Can't you smell it?

 

       No, you can't. If it would had an smell it would the the worst in this world.

 

     Can't you feel it?

 

     Always there, waiting for the eyes. Without it nothing would be. With it, nothing will be.

 

     With a heartless heart, waiting to take your breathe away, just a heartbeat away.

 

      What? Just a momentary lapse of reason.

 

       I'm glad uncounsciousness rules our lives.

 

       WAKE UP!

 

        You open your eyes and stand up. You walk to the window to open it. The sun is bright, the wind is fresh.

 

    So you smile. And cry. 

 

PD.- Please, don't worry

Ecooo

Ecoooooooo

eecoooooo

Sólo probaba, gracias.

No os preocupeís, volveré. Es sólo que el estilo del blogger me puede.

When I'm back we're gonna walk through the park every day

Haunted Maze

05 enero 2008

Haunted Maze

Look Closer

Uroboros

15 noviembre 2007

Uroboros

Uroboros, the snake biting his tail.

Again and again.

Always the same.

I cannot believe it.

Juegos

11 noviembre 2007

Juegos

A todos nos gusta jugar. Es natural. Jugar hace que te sientas bien, que te olvides de las cosas que te preocupan. Tal vez te suponga un reto o un desafío interesante. Tal vez simplemente te posea el afán de demostrar algo a los demás o el merohecho de jugar. Pero a veces jugamos cuando no debemos. a veces metemos a la gente en juegos sin sentido o no nos tomamos en serio las cosas que importan. No siempre se puede estar jugando. Siempre llega un momento en el que debemos darnos cuenta que el juego se ha acabado. Hemos de ponerle un final. Y lo malo es que no nos damos cuenta cuándo llega ese momento. De hecho, pocas veces nos damos cuenta de que realmente estamos jugando. Y es que nos cuesta distinguir el juego de la realidad.

Jugar esta bien, pero debemos recordar que en la vida hay mucho más que el juego. La vida no es un juego, aunque a veces nos parezca que sí. Muchas veces jugamos y no nos damos cuenta. Jugamos y pensamos que no pasa nada. Estamos acostumbrados a que lo que pasa en el mundo del juego ahí queda. Normalmente cuando jugamos somos otra persona. Un troll, un asesino, un soldado y hacemos cosas que nunca haríamos de verdad. Pero el problema viene cuando no somos capaces de definir todo claramente. Pero somos responsables de lo que hacemos. ¿Somos responsables de lo que hacemos mientras jugamos?, probablemente no. Aunque no me sorprendería que empezaran a juzgar a la gente por comportamientos en el mundo virtual. Muchas veces nos confundimos y no recordamos que somos responsables de lo que hacemos aquí fuera.

La vida no es un juego. Pero también jugamos en la vida real. Y no tenemos cuidado. No recordamos qu elos demás están ahí, y que podemos hacer mucho daño. No son agentes de la IA, son jugadores, como nosotros, aunque casi nunca los jugadores han pedido entrar en el juego. Juegas aunque no quieras. Pero no, la vida no es tal. Las cosas son más serias que eso. Todo lo que hacemos no tiene vuelta atrás. No podemos guardar antes de acometer una tarea fundamental y cargar en caso de fracaso. No tenemos truco para vidas infinitas. De hecho sólo tenemos una vida, y ningún continue. No hay forma de volver a empezar. Ese es un concepto que cuesta comprender, acostumbrados a jugar una y otra vez.

Y lo que hacemos permanece y tiene consecuencias, no vale apagar la consola y olvidarlo todo. No hay botón de reset. Lo hecho, hecho está. Recuérdalo siempre.

Y cuando jugamos con alguien podemos hacer mucho daño. Porque en un juego las patadas las recibe un muñeco, pero en la vida las heridas duelen. Y a veces no se curan o dejan cicatriz. ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué jugamos con los demás? ¿Es divertido? ¿Será acaso porque tenemos miedo de las cosas de verdad? ¿Le tenemos miedo a la realidad? O tal vez no nos conformamos con lo que queremos y siempre apostamos, para ganar más. Porque en la vida el juego es más como el casino, lo que has perdido no te lo vuelven a dar.

Aunque los videojuegos tienen una ventaja sobre la vida, y es que avisan cuando se han acabado.

Y es que, de vez en cuando, en la vida, deberíamos ver este cartel:

Lo siento

¿No te ha dicho nunca nadie que con las cosas de comer no se juega?

--- I wish I could create myself

a cold machine, designed to help

not always hurting---

James, English Beefcake

I cannot see

09 noviembre 2007

I cannot see

I would really like to be able to shout "the path is clear" but my eyes cannot see it.

Everything is dark. The road has been buried for my sight. I cannot see anything. Where am I? Much mor important: where I was going to? Where I want to go?

There is no path without goal. All the roads aren't headed to Rome, every road is headed to somewhere. I am going nowhere.

I am lost. Lost in the night of the city, where everything is lamp-lighted, everything but the real life. Standing out there, staring at the dark sky. I cannot see the stars, covered by the smoke of our hearts, although I can hear the worlds collide.

I do not know where to go now. When lost, we are told to stop and wait for someone to find us. But sometimes it happens to be found by many people. Each of them will tell you different ways. And you are now even more lost. There has to be somewhere else.

I can feel the time passing at me. It looks at me saying "come on, catch me. Do not let me go! I just keep walking in circles. I need to sit down. I need to breathe, I need to think. I need to empty mi mind. I need to remember where I am, remember where I was going to. I have to stop. I cannot hear myself. Who was I? Who am I?

I cannot see me. I think I can hear someone calling me inside. Maybe there's someone trapped inside me. I need to hear, I need to know.

Just me. It has to be me. I am locked here in the streets. I am prisioner of the world. Maybe I just need to find home. I have to find somewhere safe to sleep.

I cannot hear me. I have to find somewhere quiet to hear me. I am lost in the maze of Me.

Where's my wallet? I think there something may tell me who I was supposed to be. No. Just a name. It brings me some memories, nothing more.

It is starting to be quiet out here. Where is my home? Am I looking for home or am I looking for a new place? Or both?

It is getting darker than black. I will be forgotten.

Maybe this is what I need. I need somewhere to think somewhere to find out.

I can feel time passing me by, painfully. I cannot stand it anymore. I am so terrified that I cannot do anything to stop it. I am paralized.

Trees covering the woods?

I am watching me leaving, everything is quiet. I hope I understand it. White horses running through the forest. Their breathe is getting solid. I may be hearing a shout. What are you doing?

You should leave the city, leave Vegas at once. Too much light, too much noise. Too much people too many things happening at the time. You need to stop the clock. No matter what you're thinking about. No matter what they said or do. It is time for listening me breathe. You have to make a break. Stop. Think. You are low on staminna. I know, I know, you were used to run without rest. You did not need to look behind you. You did not need to close your eyes and sleep. I know. But you need it now.

YOU NEED TO CLOSE YOUR EYES TO SEE

------ The path is clear though no eyes can see

Genesis, Firth of the fifth

-----I’m not calling for a second chance
I’m screaming at the top of my voice
Give me reason, but don’t give me choice
Cause I’ll just make the same mistake again

---James Blunt, Same Mistake

Winter is now

03 noviembre 2007

Winter is now

Finally, it has arrived. Later than usual. We fight against it, trying to delay it the most. But now it is among as.

Gloomy winter, you came after our children. Cold winter reigns, through the land. Everything is under the snow. The sun is captive from the moon.

Everything once warm it's now cold. Everything pretty now is dead. Hope is on vacances. We're alone, again. Old and weary.

We'd better hibernate like bears. But we have to face it, remembering that one day it'll be over and we'll wake up in the beatuiful spring.

Goodbye sun, goodbye warm, fall is gone and the cold is king.

Hello mr. snowman. You're here to freeze our hearts.

Tell me when this is over.

-----Dead winter reigns in Araman

Can't escape from our damnation

Nor run away from isolation

--Blind Guardian, Noldor

More than ordinary people

29 septiembre

More than ordinary people

We can be

We can be

More than ordinary people

More than ordinary people

We can be heroes

Just for one day

We can be special

And save our days

We should be

We should be

More than ordinary people

More than ordinary people

A working-class hero

is something to be

Can we be heroes?

At least we should be

special

Do not let them

change yourself

We should be

ourselves

We must be free tonight

Time is on our side

Do not let them

change your mind

How can we

How can we

become more than

ordinary people?

more than ordinary people?

I do not know

But we all must

Show ourselves and the rest of the world

That we are one but not the same

We should let them know

what we are

We are worthy

We are not ants

We are people.

And show you are the only one who is you.

We can be

We can be

More than ordinary people

More than ordinary people