Time and space. They're funny old things.

The Bunny said it... I loved it.

Ceci n'est pas un blog

Besides from Soulwax, Duvel and les frites, I am quite a fan of the funkiest Belgian aspect of life: Magritte. I am reading a lot about him because he was as normal as my neighbour Sigurd but had a quirky inner world I would love to understand. He was neither an abstract nor a completely surrealist painter - he just decided to work his magic an set things that do not belong to places where everyone belongs. Phew. Larissa was flipping through my book and she found him 'disturbing'.

How 'disturbing' are our secret lives? How scary can we get if we run into the chance of expressing it? I hope we all had that ability, then the world would be full of colours and randomness, just like in one fine Pollock painting. And about him, there is this quote I plan to use when someone is again the victim of my abstract art obsession and asks me what on Earth am I staring at on a bright blue canvas: 'If you want to see a face, go look at a face'.

I wish some day someone gets not to see me... but me.

The Road to Mandalay

I was in a different planet for a whole month and woke up to know about the 'Saffron Revolution'. It happened in Amsterdam on Saturday afternoon - there was this rainy rally to support democracy fights in Burma, and then some sms, mails and adherence requests just came with an unusual intensity. I needed to know what was it all about.

So Myanmar is a quite young place. I read once this description of the countries by their 'age' and how as time goes by the maturity is reached.

Two things amazed me about what is happening in the world. The first one is that when you ask: has this happened before? the answer is yes. Then how come it gets to affect even my way of dressing when my friend asks me to wear a red shirt to show support? Well, information has never been as powerful and accessible as it is right now. When I think about my future children, I just get dizzy figuring out how fast might data get into their brains with the hyper-stimulation we are living.

The second amazing thing is to read the story and figure out more than one angle. So here it goes: after independence from GB, things started to be shaky. The military junta took charge in the sixties and now everything is burning. From the side of the junta, such a young country cannot be controlled but by exercising the force; the drug traffic, the lack of development, the post-colonialist mayhem. From the side of the people... is where it hurts. And it hurts globally, even to people that have tons of social security and have just a very light idea of what's going on. So what's actually going on? The price of diesel was increased by 500% in order to cover a raise in public servants wages. People is just fed up. To everybody out there: do something. That is the message I got and I agree to. But we, humans, do not learn. How come we cannot reach an equilibrium ever?

Will not solve that riddle now, but will keep an eye on this human nature experimentarium.

PS: The picture is Amm's. I think it is fantastic!

Clint is dead... God saves the Clint

My iPod felt from my pocket as the cherry on top of the worst five days of the recent times. Quite a pity. I was biking really distracted, so it slipped out and hit the cobblestones one, two, three, four times...

Clint arrived the day after I got my kanji done and I poured down fantastic music in it, shared it, ran on the treadmill holding it and danced to its music with the earphones on and the eyes closed. Clint was on Maarten's hands and that was the beginning of my current smile. Clint was there on Saturday night when I could not sleep after deciding to say farvel to Mike without looking back.

According to karma, something REALLY good has to happen to me soon! ; )

The bunny in a frictionless universe

Dude! I'm so hooked up with the 'Book of Random'! :o)

And here's the bunny...

PDA (Part 2)

This is JB, being aware. I met him last December and each single minute spent with him has made me question my own questions, and at the end, to realise life is way too short and he is way too smart. YOU zen that. And keep spamming me on sms, I love to know you are an unconscious part of this world.

The B Word

'The more beer you drink, the better I look' - that was my way of saying 'thanks' to Jochen when he blunted 'You are so beautiful' right in the middle of two karaoke songs.

It is oh-so-clichéed to say 'I know I am not beautiful - but...' so I will skip it. Guess sometimes you find a person that might think you are all perfect in all your imperfections whilst others just never get to see it.

What I want to talk about is the big B. Beauty. Beautiful. The Beauty and the Beast. Or perhaps just how come all our lives we strive to be a universal wonder such as Gisele Bündchen and we oversee that a good hair day, a sunny situation, a wave of self-esteem, or Christmas, do actually make a person to reach the big B.

So how does it work? No matter how many times a week I go to the gym, or how many NutraSweet I manage to trade for sugar, the laws of attraction never work the same way. The issue with me is that sometimes I just see everybody as gorgeous. I like people, and get over-excited when I pass the first layer and get the perception of how somebody really is. Not much to ask, and that is why I fall in love around 78 times per week.

But when somebody likes me, foc, then it gets scary-I start by not believing it, then the doubt, the denial, and then it is time to go home, thanks for a wonderful evening. Or exactly the opposite.

Self-preservation, they call it.

The bunny said it...

'So many wonderful places and absolutely no cellphone reception in any of them'.

-H. Davies, The Book of Random.

In the Realm of the Senses

Despite the title of the post, nobody will get strangled here, but I've wanted for a long time to make a list of all things great to the senses; pure hedonistic, narcissistic, nihilistic, stylistic pleasures. What will change? Nothing. The planets will keep spinning... (after all, is anybody out there actually reading this blog?).

So here it goes:

• The feeling of my cashmere jumper when it slides on my arms.
• The flavour of a chocolate truffle eaten slowly.
• The smell of lavender.
• The heat of the sauna when you are there and close your eyes.
• The warmth of the sun on my belly when I wear my bikini to the park.
• To put on lipstick.
• The violet colour. And green.
• The tanginess of the cranberry juice.
• The first kiss of the day, when I haven't kissed Mike in many days.
• The smell of almonds.
• Taking a shower after running.
• To look at my toes right after I put some red enamel.
• Mango body butter.
• The warmth on my cheeks after making love.
• To look at my tattoo.
• To find the perfect angle for a picture.

And to everybody out there, the secret is to bang the rocks together guys!

-Douglas Adams, as wisely quoted by Extraterrestially Blue.

The i-Con

Absolutely back from Ukraine. I say absolutely because the impressions, the collected (and collective) moments, the wedding, the thoughts that stalked my brain in the numerous air connections... were a whirlwind that left me speechless for a couple of days. How does memory work? People nearby me know that I just cannot remember entire years and that I manage to confuse myself quite often. But ever since the day when I walked Saint Sofia's church my head has been full of weird stuff, such as the feel of my dad's hugs, the taste of the asparagus soup my grandma made, the colour of a bug my ex decided to call 'el bugo', and very surprisingly, the shape of the nose of the Benji-guy I met the other day when there was only a dim light from my hall on the background. And there they were a lot of icons. No wonder, Russian Orthodox, Ukranian Orthodox, Byzantine... the power of the image has been a thing to consider for a long time.

While looking at the 'images' of all these people I was thinking how relevant it might have been to have them all represented; that meant other generations would always remember them. How do we collect icons now? Tabloids? Nobel Prize? The V.F.'s Best Dressed List? I do think they are way too temporal, but all of them aim to persistence of the memory, to leave a mark, to let the world remember. And in our little lives we do strive for transcendence as well. Just as Naoko said to the guy in 'Norwegian Wood' - 'don't forget me'... we make it a demand, a silent scream, a day-to-day fight. But a change of scenery can change the whole perception of things and take the people to be part of the background.

Sometimes I wish I knew my icon. I would like to be in the head of Mike for three minutes and see what will be left when I leave this country. How do you store each smile, each talk, each laugh, each kiss, each walk holding hands and overall, each time we did not speak 'about it' so one day you can warm your hands on the bonfire of the burnt love? Guess he'll put all in his pocket and save it for a rainy day.

PDA (Part 1)

This is Lorena, my best friend. We've met since we were seven and she is the part of me that actually makes sense.

Half the Perfect World

Packing my bags again. Put the passport by the side of the ticket, charge the camera, check the bank account, water the plant (yes, one), decide if you need a pajamas or not.

But that is not my only routine. My pictures of London: park, modern art, people in B&W. My pictures of NY: park, modern art, people in B&W. My pictures of Madrid, and Münich and everywhere else... take a guess.

What is all of this about? Why do we (I) travel then? Darling Dude came up with a thought: I go to new places to find the same places. My biggest pleasures are to feel the grass in the parks, slowly taste the food, and as a principle to skip the main attractions. So this is not escaping. But it scares me to have such a routine, fok, I though I was doing something special. I am an ultimate travel junkie. Good thing that this time I am attending a wedding, so hopefully no more parks and modern art, yet heaps of people in B&W. Pryvit Kiev.

About dreams and hyper-reality and the day when I met Trentemøller

For the last weeks the border between dreams and reality is subtler than ever. I am not sure it happens because the 'new reality' is already waiting for me and is all shaped up in something I cannot recall building (heading to Mexico soon). I am just living in a giant bowl filled with Prozac Jell-o.

Take for example last Sunday - I was chilling out (that is what you do in chill out festivals) and five meters away Trentemøller happened. It was weird to see him that close and actually in daylight - my dream was more about nighttime and him being a diva. (For those of you who are not regulars to the electronic music scene, Trentemøller on the right happens to be the 'it' Dane on live performances and remixes now).

And talking about hyper-reality, while in Madrid I saw (almost by mistake) an exhibit of Richard Estes. He paints things as they are, extremely detailed. No, a photo cannot compete. Hard to explain but his method/technique is all about freezing the moment (or A moment) and let it live forever inside of the canvas. Here: http://www.colchsfc.ac.uk/art/richardestes-telephonebooths.jpg

So I am pretty much in this life that feels numb and gets suddenly shaken by awaken time that feels like dreaming and frozen paintings that look as if they were just happening.

Actually I met somebody on Friday. And he seems special, the 'hell yes special' kind that might give your life a twist. The issue now is that despite the hyper-real feeling of his touch, I am beginning to believe I dreamt about the whole thing when I was chilling out, or maybe I saw him in an Estes' portrait. Let's wait and see which one was the dream.

Cosmic Zoom

Astronomy can tell more about life than astrology. I have two ways to prove it:

1) Black holes: When a star collapses it creates such an enormous amount of energy that even light is attracted in, hence what can be 'observed' is just a hole, nothing else.

2) Comet 73P/Schwassmann-Wachmann 3 was nothing special until one day a thousand-times brightening was observed around it. It happened that the core of it began to disintegrate and the astronomers said it had 'a broken heart'.

So when a (human) heart breaks, two things happen - first comes the period when all collapses and any light around is shut down, even the light of others. But then everything gets better and you can see that the person got, actually, a thousand-times brighter.

I hope to get to the comet stage any time soon.

There's no randomness in nature

Divine Julie Mehretu. The first time I read about her was in VF's Art Issue and the article talked about the 'Genius Grant' she got. How on Earth can you tell if somebody in her thirties is a genius? At least you cannot tell NOW, right? But then it came June and my luck of being in Denmark while an exhibit of her happened.

So this is what she plans to express: she looks for 'complexities of the globalised world and the position of the individual in the modern urban societies'. Spacial and temporal, specific and abstract, individual and society, detail and totality. So... how? Standing in front of her paintings means to go one layer behind and even feel the movement of her strokes. There are many painters that go for one expression - she goes for the two opposite ones and put them together to make them even more powerful. The contrast does not annihilate the meaning, the mix of good and evil does not destroy the galaxy.

I thought also about the American media influence where the bad guy is very bad and the good guy is all good. We do not necessarily have to chose sides - take both sides and make a nice mix of gray (or green or purple). What Julie does is actually to do her own mix and let us get confused. Only a genius can do that. There's my answer.

Nudist communist parents

I read that 'Dogville' could be either qualified as 'affected and pretentious' and 'genial'. Perhaps. I just love the movie and I am beginning to understand how ideas from the sad 'Lars Trier' found their way to the path of creation. See, in these times it is not easy to be original. JB asked me how many 'isms' in art have there been in the last 30 years. Could not think of a single one - is it that artists can be clustered together just after they die, or is it the lack of manifestos, or are we humans merely producing selfish nonsense now?

It was JB's idea as well that Leonard Cohen's music is quite naked: just his deep voice and a tune. It was not even hard for him to have such a velvety way of singing - just came naturally. I thought Rufus Wainwright and his piano were simple as well, but they are not - he is a flamboyant diva that sometimes likes playing straightforward sweet ballads just for the sake of it. He is complicated, like Dalí, and his art is difficult to get. I am enjoying more and more difficult references such as 'Rufus' and 'Lars', but on the other hand I love the voice off of 'Grey's Anatomy' and the fortune-cookie philosophy it is based on. Sometimes I'd like to live in black and white, like when I was four. But then the colours, and Mike. Worth to live in a complicated world when the best comes by closing your eyes.

A fight for love and glory, a case of do or die

A butterfly gets to live from six to eight weeks. I have tried to google goldfish, bugs, algae, and bunnies to understand the ephemeral. Tried as well to look into a Big Mac's life cycle to put some economics into it... but... what I really want to know is the lifetime of a real kiss.

It has been sixteen hours, one lunch appointment and a whole movie and I don't even need to close my eyes to feel that I touch your mouth, with one finger I touch the border of your mouth... and begin to draw it as if it was drawn by my hand, as if it was the first time your mouth ever opens. A kiss is just a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh... Not this one with your fingers running through my back and we both getting deep into the darkness of the unspoken. I am really scared to turn the lights on.

When the painting might as well be hanging upside-down. The deal with abstract art

Two memory-worth moments: Arturo actually liking German Expressionism and pretty Priya keeping one of Rothko's 'windows' on her desk. The affair between abstract art and me has been going on for quite a while and only until recently I decided to share with the class. I have always been terribly afraid of saying out loud that one canvas painted in blue actually makes sense to me as it sounds pretentious. But how it all began?

Some years ago, there was this Centro Cultural Arte Contemporáneo in Mexico City. My brother, being very young, told me there was this 'Impressionism' exhibit and there we went. It happened that there were neither ballerinas nor corny scenes in pastel colours, only paintings that seemed like a big-format pre-school end-of-year exhibition (happened to be the biggest American Abstract EXPREssionism show ever brought to Mexico).

Although the affair did not began back there, it was a window that oppened by mistake, and that has led me to save money to go abroad just to see the paintings myself. That is the deal with abstract - you can see a Renoir reproduction and kinda feel good, but to 'feel' Pollock you have to stand right there.

So, what is abstraction? It is to divest objects of their external appearance to reveal their 'inner sound' and to give concrete shape to spiritual content. The hard part to explain is how can people like 'those' paintings or sculptures... and here is where it becomes fuzzy. See, in Picasso you see an African mask, an elbow where the knee was supposed to be and in general you discover a horse if you try really hard. In Dalí you see an elephant with insect legs and rub your eyes once or twice to make sure it was there. But in abstract you might see patterns - or not. It is the idea, the feeling, the sensation... doesn't have to mean a thing, or to express a moment, but the composition and the combination can reach your soul if you are open to it. So that is the deal about abstract. Be open and enjoy. I have found many answers to my own life by standing in front of Rothkos.

Believe all good things in life began from that simple principle.

Why nice is good?

Joel: Sand is overrated. It's just tiny little rocks. If only I could meet someone new. I guess my chances of that happening are somewhat diminished, seeing that I'm incapable of making eye contact with a woman I don't know. Maybe I should get back together with Naomi. She was nice. Nice is good. She loved me. Why do I fall in love with every woman I see... who shows me the least bit of attention?

-The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

They showed up and were beautiful

Rather speechless these days because I have too much to say. The name of the post comes from a song from Tingsek - I just loved the title and kinda describes how I felt during my trip(s). When I tell people that I flew to New York and stayed there for three days, they all go: 'ONLY three days?' as if the number between two and four could be stretched a bit more. But I found a lot of beauty. Not American Beauty, and there were no moments of following a flying plastic bag with a handicam. I mean earthly beauty, pure joy of being alive and right there.

What should I remember? Well, the hotel in London was so dodgy that I slept with the socks in my hands just to avoid touching the floor with no less than some thick piece of clothing. I saw Billy Elliot (the musical - go figure) and the slangy English was incredibly difficult to catch, so allas there was a lot of dancing. I was so looking forward to a hotdog in Manhattan, soaked in relish, that I almost cried when the Pakistani guy screamed at me: NO RELISH! after I asked three times. I took a complete tour of all Manchester beauties... and after those 10 minutes we went to the movies. I looked for the Serpentine Gallery and got terribly lost - tend to read the maps and then walk exactly on the opposite direction, so I said fuck it (or 'bugger off!' given the context) and let my aching feet to feel the grass in Hyde Park. I went to Victoria's Secret as a first target after setting foot in the USandA (always do the same). And then I came back. And also the next day. I stared at Rothkos and Picassos and Calders and Magrittes and the Yves Klein's blue... my soul got stronger. I dwelled at the Tate and the MoMA, feeling I had so many stories to tell. I made a Dane blush like hell when I talked to him about the Pollock he was struggling to explain to a very blonde... blonde. And as usual, bought more books than I could carry and tea that I could drink. But no mustard this time.

Thanks LeeAnn, gracias Bichito and Jorge for letting me look through your window and spoiling me!

Sometimes the most important part of our history is the one we're making today.

More art to come.

What else is there?

Off to London and New York in eight hours with a head full of thoughts and Röyksopp in the pocket. Let's see how the world looks from the other side.

Boys don't cry

Have realised recently that when I ride my bike, I start from the wrong side. Also, when I weigh ingredients, I reset the scale for each item instead of adding them. And I have a very cumbersome way to button my bra.

When you look confident, people gives for granted that you know it all - or at least that you are arrogant enough to find out. How simple would life be, how many minutes would be spared, if there was a manual for living. But no real guides to the galaxy. This makes me think that there are many ways to learn and one of them requires to lower your guard and be humble. Although the traditional definition is regarded as 'stop being arrogant', I think that being humble requires not to be afraid of people - look into the eyes, dare to smile, and understand that there will always be something in each person to take, and heaps to give. So I trust that in the future, if someone ever sees me doing a very, very stupid thing, he/she can understand that I have been afraid for too long, and that yes, I would love to land on the practical life one of these days.

Talking about openness, ran into this today: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vr3x_RRJdd4

The video above relates to the 'Free Hug Campaign'. A hippish Aussie decided to offer free hugs on the street. You have to watch what happens. Cannot imagine it staged in Denmark though... 'Gratis kram'... umhhh... nej nej nej.

To break a bit the Kodak moment, I youtubed Mexico for this campaign. Great success, but no wonder, we do hug and kiss and hug again for everything. Yet it is funny to watch that men shake hands before hugging other men; macho comes first, then they are all allowed to be as sissy as they want. Quite a paradox my culture - hug and kiss people you barely know, but never, ever tell how do you really feel, specially if the answer diverts from 'great'. Still watching the hugs made me feel like crying, because I miss it so badly. And the problem is that I don't cry.

PS: This other campaign definitely kills the romance... : )

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ooHYh4sD75I

Self-destruct Button

How come that when you finally have reached your peace, and respect your body, and sex as a bed time story, and the expectations line up in the future clearer than ever, and you are going to Munich next weekend, you wake up feeling you are coming down with a cold? Funky feeling, I am not sick but I'm dizzy, and chewing leftovers for breakfast, and since yesterday taking painkillers with chocolate milk... or water... or beer. Despite I have never been THAT self-destructive (pretty much on the Scarlett O'Hara's side of life: Will think about it tomorrow), just for half a morning I'm allowing it. Painkillers for my heart that is broken and hurts. Does it work that way? Hope it doesn't because I'm running out of Tylenol.

Just... ouch.

A kind of disguise

If you want a lover, I'll do anything you ask me to. If you want another kind of love, well, I'll wear a mask for you. If you want a partner take my hand. Or if you wanna strike me down in anger, here I stand. I'm your man.

-Leonard Cohen.

Last weekend I went to see a Cindy Sherman photographic retrospective. Cindy Sherman is an out-and-about American artist that has this unique characteristic: she is the subject and the object of all her works. So after a couple of hours wandering and wondering in front of this lady's glance (from a chamber-maid costume, a clown wig, and a 'La Dolce Vita' -kind of- film still), the spectator ends up seizing a unique lady with such a strong personality that is utterly her no matter what she's wearing. The composition is beautiful, the communication very strong yet slightly unilateral. There was her posing and taking the picture, so the creation began in her head and found all the way through the printed paper.

The big thought of the week was however the masks we wear each day. Some people is good at hiding, so they accommodate to life as comes. Good manners is all about putting others at ease, an advisor says. It is easy to think that one's personality prevails over anything we want to hide, but I'm not that sure about it. There are people I meet that are so hard to guess that I end up giving up. Of course there are 'one-layered' individuals that do not require much effort, but I mean that barriers are there in the form of shyness of even good manners. What are we afraid of? Boundaries do not only keep people out - they set you in.

Going back to Cindy Sherman, the series that I liked the most was 'Pink Robes' (as her critics call it - she only numbers her photos). The pictures depict this lady in a robe, looking as if waking up. The intimacy and vulnerability that those items transmit is explained by the curator as 'naturligheden er en slags forklædning', 'naturalness is a kind of disguise'. Aren't we supposed to be at ease, at our best, when we do not pretend to be? Being 'natural' can also be overacted: I always brush my teeth before the morning coffee when I wake up with somebody, but not when I'm alone.

Post script: The picture on the left is a naked building. I loved its vulnerability and how happy it looks from the left angle whilst the right one has been teared off. Cheap allegory of any drama you can think of.

Sentimental Valiums

The true nature of love. Have you noticed that infatuation has the same effects of having a heart attack?

Cannot remember where I read it, but if I make a summary of the bits of pop junk I gladly saw this week (Shakespeare in Love, Grey's Anatomy, The O.C., Sex and the City and CNN), can conclude that human drama is repetition and repetition and repetition...

I remember that after the first snow this year, my boss got in the office saying: 'Amazing that the traffic was such a chaos. Like it had never snowed before!'

Whenever I fall in love, I feel nobody in the world might understand the feeling. Everything is new and bright, or dark and miserable, depending on the difficulty level. But why don't we humans ever give up? We fall and stand up, and fall again, and make the same mistakes, no matter how many times we see it in the movies. And by the way, I realised I don't fancy movies with happy endings - after 'The Secret Life of Words', I get really upset when the guy gets the girl.

I'd love to find the formula to go through life feeling numb, so I don't feel everything with the same passion. Shrink, new friends, remote friends, this guy I like, art, philosophy, La Chanson Francaise, work, future expectations, troubled mom, troubled best friend, gym, sushi nights, people in town, people out of town, treadmill challenge, book that I'm reading, travels to come... cannot mantain mystique while facing forward.

I'm pink, therefore I'm SPAM.

Not that inconvenient

Thanks to Mr Lee I saw 'An Inconvenient Truth' over the weekend. Granted that the graphs are impressive and it is actually a BIG deal the damage we are causing to our planet. There is something that I however don't get. The 'movie' was distributed by one of the big houses (was it Universal?) and the theme song even won an Oscar. When did the US began attacking the US? One might say that having Michael Moore's documentaries in Blockbuster is actually a proof of the freedom of speech... but 'the US and A' are legendary for their calculated steps. What lies behind this massive 'consciousness attacks'?

I read a study from Bristol University about why people fall in love. Same yadda-yadda on lust-love-oxytocin-adaptation, but there was an interesting experiment:

• Find a complete stranger.
• Reveal to each other intimate details about your lives for half an hour.
• Then, stare deeply into each other’s eyes without talking for four minutes.

York psychologist, Professor Arthur Arun, has been studying why people fall in love. He asked his subjects to carry out the above 3 steps and found that many of his couples felt deeply attracted after the 34 minute experiment. Two of his subjects later got married.

The 'Inconvenient Truth' movie made me think that USA is playing politics' neurolinguistics - the provocations are not really provocations, all the effects are measured. If you see the movie thinking 'why is it so accessible?' and remember that the US refused to sign the Kyoto protocol, then Al Gore and all his good intentions look rather suspicious. And more due to the huge amount of money put into making his speeches known.

Despite Iraq, the petrol era seems to have reached an end due to the development of other non-fossil fuels, such as ethanol (which by the way, caused a shortage of corn in the US, hence the prices of corn in Mexico increased dramatically). Here's my hypothesis: the 'save the rainforest' Al Gore's speech wants to make oil less popular to drive the attention of the world from the producing countries and vindicate the US as the good guys. Bush beat Gore. And Bush is a petrol guy. It is about time for him to be the bad guy.

Anyway. Better to focus my attention on something else than world's evil mechanisms.

Carpe Diem=Seize the Day. Carp in Denim=Fish in pants.

I found Jesus...

...he was behind the sofa all the time!

Chaos Theory

I should hope that my success will have been to reach a higher level and love another. Not to make another an object but simply one to love. No colours, no paper and no questions.

This quote has been trying to tell me something since I read it. The separation between the material and the emotional search is quite a concept, but why only one to love? I would rather say only love.

Leonard Cohen lived for a while in a monastery. He said that things became a lot easier when he no longer expected to win. What I guess my favourite contemporary philosopher (Alexis D) has to say about reaching a higher level is precisely what Leonard Cohen intended-we are surrounded by so many material objects of desire that what the heart wants is very, very hidden. For that you need silence, don't you? And even love can be noisy, so what a dilemma.

Anyway, I figured out that one can surf through life sporting some 'Chaos Theory' - everything looks random, but there is an underlying pattern. Can chaos theory be applied to people, fate, relationships? Here's one idea: do not worry about the external randomness, but let the heart speak on what is 'not right' and the underlying pattern will be apparent.

Did I get it right?

It's a kind of magic

I felt asleep this morning at exactly 05:57 because the last thing I did was telling Max on the phone that being around him rocks. There are tons of good memories to warm up this cold Sat: my Danish name shall be 'Ingeborg' (?), gay bars have the best music, pretty shoes can kill you when walking on snow, and Billie Jean is not my lover.

The best was however a silent moment - while walking out from the bar, the first thing I saw was the Cathedral. I have never been there, but that was the first place my brother proactively visited when he was here (and showed me pictures... shame on Ingeborg). I thought about him and how small details can twist the path of fate.

Explaining: Little brother can say 'Stockholm' and I would drop everything and buy the Leica of my dreams. He makes me follow dreams, or at least test-drive them. One of my Copenhagean friends told me that he could not see the magic in people anymore. And that he doesn't feel others see his magic either. In my case, brother talks magic with every word he says because I am very receptive to his opinions.

The clue about understanding other human beings is the willing to do it. Making friends is actually NOT easy - requires for you to listen, listen, listen, so one day you understand and there are no explanations between the two of you needed. One definitely attract the friends one deserves. Guess I did something good in my past lives, because I find people around me absolutely fantastic...

If a person should ever like a person

Yesterday at lunch, Ana* said that Kundera is the kind of writer that you actually highlight and read again.

*Not Ana-me, a better version - Ana Segurado.

So now that I am revisiting 'Laughable Loves' have folded a lot of pages in the book. There's one concept that I have been chewing for the last days: Desire.

Exhibit A:

-It is well known that you are like death: you take everyone. Why do you reject Alzbeta?
-Perhaps because she expresses her desire in such an open way, that it feels like an order. Not even Death is pleased to take orders.

Exhibit B:

How was it possible that his desire was so strong that reality came running to the call, ready to happen?

Exhibit C:

-You are here. Did you change your mind?
-No. YOU changed my mind.

(Have to admit that the third quote comes from 'The O.C.')

So 'when you wish upon a star' are you actually making the magic happen? I don't really think so. But desire is something extremely tangible - the expression of it, its sensuality and corporalisation is how we can touch it. When desire comes both ways, there are sparkles, when it doesn't, we call it obssession and run away. We human beings are a bunch of chickens. And the egg was first.

Assaulting Beauty

I've always had a weak spot for people able to create - musicians, singers, writers... even for those who manage to clap their hands in a different way. The ability to transform impressions into expressions is a gift that the worlds seems to oversee.

So I went to see 'An Outsider in French Art' today - a small exhibit on André Derain. What I knew of him was that he used to 'assault beauty' with big strokes and very few colours: the sky is green, the water is yellow. By the time he began painting (early XXth Century), the world had already got over Manet, Renoir, and the impressionist gang, so he landed on soft cotton. Even more, he was a friend of Matisse and practically all the A-list people of his time: Picasso, Braque, Apollinaire.

But then the fantastic fauve turned into what you become when you grow up. War came, disenchantment hit and it is possible to see in his later works that he just... got serious. Go back to classics, do paintings that people hang in the living room, follow the main stream with a twist and live a glamourous life. The guy was without a doubt highly talented and knew what he was doing, but the passion of the wonderful 'wild animal' strokes only lasted three years. Three amazing years though. Hope he got his chance to take a bow.

If there's one thing that I hate... is everything

-The Annoying Devil from 'Balls of Steel'.

Love is a racket

I have no troubles travelling alone (or is it 'with myself'?), but Berlin is a bit too much. I don't know why. Perhaps I am rather scared of finding too many amazing places, feel like saying: 'Holly crap, would you look at that' and get a busy tone. Here is where a boyfriend might come handy. And also for the zillion dinner parties I plan to make in the months to come, I guess...

One part of me, however, doesn't wanna bother. Is it too cynical to say that there's this specific European piece of DNA that makes me shiver just by being around, but that I manage each and every time I see him to shut down the adrenaline?

Love is quite a nuisance. And I know because I used to fall in love 4 times a day, in average.

Nothing bitter here, but have to tell the pink nipple story.

Okay. I used to go to the gym in Mexico and showering had to ways: 1) You're all sweaty, pack your stuff, get in your car and drive home to take a shower, or 2) You're all sweaty, get into the shower cabin, close it, get off your clothes, take a shower, get out again completely dressed and looking spectacular. Alternatively, you get dressed in the aisle using 347 moves to use the towel as a tent.

So at my first day at Charlottehaven, I noticed the showers had no 'doors'. Alright. Ana thinks 'let's be progressive' and makes a rather nice strip-tease to the enjoyment of two Danish grannies and the cleaning lady. But when I was walking to the showers and thinking about how good it feels, there was this spot of pink right in front of my eye. It took me like three seconds to realise the pink spot belonged to a very tall girl that was drying her hair naked as if she were in her bedroom. Aloha DK!

But where does it all come into picture? After some time of stripping at the gym (less and less sexier, must admit), I adore to see that everybody around looks rather comfortable in their skin and that's the way love should feel. When you find somebody that appreciates your wobbly bits as much as you hate them, that's the one to let the adrenaline run for. And then show him/her the Reichstag.

Things you don't really need to know

• I hate doing dishes. Sometimes a big pile of dirty pots makes me wanna cry.
• My favourite word in French is 'allure'.
• I have a natural talent for eating 'la fondue' - never drop pieces of bread inside the pot and can manage the melting cheese rather neatly.
• Have been in 33 countries so far. And I hate landings - always feel we're all gonna die.
• My favourite words in Danish are: Ligeglad (don't care), vigtigt (important), meget gerne (very much), tjekket (cool), fantastisk (ummhhh...), nå! (nå), and Gilleleje (this one is a place with a crunchy name - never been there).
• Find sleeping with socks rather comfortable. I am not a sexy sleeper. Sorry.
• My brother is named 'Carlos' because I thought all the babies were called that way (and my parents found that amusing).
• Have done yoga but the meditation part does not work - when I go find a happy place in my mind, it is inevitably 'dreamland'.
• I blush with the word 'naked' - each and every time.
• Have been working in shipping for almost FIVE years!
• My favourite cravings are not cigarrettes and chocolate milk, are actually tomato juice (with Worcestershire sauce) and kiwis (even bought an overpriced kiwi-spoon).
• I actually wanted to study Mechanical Engineering but I am really slow at Math. No rainman here, so don't take me to Vegas!
• Can cook. Love cooking.
• I sing and dance regularly in the shower with a lot of inspiration. And it is sometimes embarrasing when I shower at the gym.
• Whoever invented the treadmill is in my hall of fame. I love jogging.
• My favourite wiking is Max.

When I was younger, so much younger than today

There are times when one is just plain stupid. For example, when you tell somebody when's the baby due and she says: 'What baby?'. Or when you are playing strip-poker and get too cold that you can only focus on which of the heaters might be turned off... and actually forget other things being 'turned on'.

But other than all these romantic-comedy-sex-and-the-city situations, there are days when it is the feelings talking and seems there is nothing to do about it. Here is where 'the Philosopher' comes into picture. By reading this thing about the pursue of the good, found out a notion - souls, not people, can be 'young'. A 'young soul' is dominated by passion (would love to say 'the empire of the passion' but somebody else took the name and made a semi-porn arty movie out of it), and is lead by the immediate satisfaction. So I guess there is a difference between the people that goes to the best of the steak at once and the weirdos like my cousin Manolo that always saved the yummiest for last.

I've been thinking about 'young attitudes' for a couple of days. Aristotle also said that there's a difference between obeying the reason and using it to think. 'I think therefore I am'? It is not that simple. Seems that it not only depends on the size of your goal, but in their perfect and definitive nature. Quite a challenge. My soul, by the way must be around 7 - I could still have chocolate ice-cream instead of dinner and find pleasure in braking Jell-O with a spoon.

Blogito, ergo sum.

Stockholm Syndrome

The 'fuzzy logic' is a logical system that allows degrees of truth.

Here it goes what the Oxford Companion to Philosophy has to say about it: 'Fuzzy logic does justice to the intuitive idea that some indicative sentences are not wholly true and not wholly false'.

So, I spent some days talking to my brother and wondering why he sees the world in such a different way and our lives seem to work fine. It is not just about religion or big vs. small cities - it is the whole idea of dwelling in a state of denial (that one being me) or not (that one being him).

What I actually want to take from Herr Doktor are two interesting notions:

First - I am into aesthetics. Not sure what it means or if it will do me good, but I love form and like being surrounded by prettiness (stuff, people, kitchen gear, post-its in technicolor...). Brother said however that one should actually look for the 'soul aesthetics', as this world has enough of finger-pointing and plastic surgeries. Not bad, uh? It is scary but I will actually try to be a better person, to smile, to tolerate, to understand. And above all, not to be afraid of others getting too close that I lose my way. Outside from any religious connotation, he gave me a key to achieve this 'pretty soul' - it is necessary to pursue 'virtue', which is the middle point between excess and defect (lack of).

Second - Friendship. Not sure I got this from him, but the 'enlightment' came while in Stockholm. True friendship comes when silence between two people is comfortable. I have been OH-SO-SCARED of silence for so many years that I don't think I have achieved many friendships upon the terms of equality. In art you call it 'fear of the vacuum' ('miedo al vacío') - the artist gets just too terrified when there are white spaces, so you can see some paintings with a small dog, or a vase, or a person that was not even in the story. Why is silence so scary? Is it because then the image falls and there's only what your imagination has to add? Is it because we are afraid of boring people or boring ourselves?

Coming back to fuzzy logic, the alluring part of it is that the notion takes stress from people that is happy by mediating and convincing others - I realised recently that one does not always have to win. You have your truth, I have mine, and that doesn't give me a headache, but makes my world richer. Bugger off.

PS: The pic above happened in Stockholm. I plan to move there and marry a Rufus Wainwright's hetero-look-alike.

The Four-Chambered Heart

One more for the hall of shame: I tried to read a novel in French but I randomly chose the corniest one from Anaïs Nin, so it went straight to the side of Reservoir Dogs and 'Love is a Racket' as unfinished business.

There is however something there (and right before the 'Django' character began playing the guitar and 'Djuna' began to be neurotic) that has been in my head ever since:

'Tous les mots prononcés dans la vie tissent dans l'être un réseau compact de formes et de couleurs. Parallèllement au sang, circulent dans les veins l'essence distillée de tous les actes accomplis, les sédiments de tous les rêves, tous les désires, tous les fantasmes, toutes les expériences. Les sentiments vécus dans le passé se combinent pour donner à la peu ses couleurs, aux lèvres leur saveur, rythmer le pouls et forger le cristal du regard. La fascination qu'exerce un être sur un autre ne provient pas de ce qu'exhale sa personnalité à l'instant même de la rencontre'

Phew. Je m'appelle Mads.

'All the words said in life knit in the human being a compact tissue of forms and colours. Parallel to the blod, runs by the veins the distilled escence of all the accomplishments, the sediments of all the dreams, all the desires, all the phantoms, all the experiences. The emotions lived in the past combine to give the skin its colours, the lips its flavours, rhythm to the pulse and forge the crystal of the glance. The fascination that one being has on another comes from what the personality exhales at the very moment of the encounter'.

Last night I was sipping a pinkish drink and thinking what is it about Monsieur that made me zen. The quotation above talks about what makes people like people - forget for a second the Discovery Channel documentaries on finding a mate, hormones and zebras being chased by lions. Sometimes you meet people you are attracted to and have no clue what is it about. Believe above describes it well. The first layer is always the most ambiguous and the place where prejudgements are born. But speaking and actually listening can bring up this bundle of wonders that makes you wanna keep people around. Or not. It is not the 'today' what we present to the person, we cannot get rid of our fear of dark no matter how many years have passed.

I've always said that this world needs more people with imagination. Recently, added that we could also do with more people up to help other people. But actually this world needs more people who listen.

Merci pour l'existencialisme.
Merci pour les histoires et les chop-sticks.
Merci beaucoup pour m'écouter, Alexi D!

Use the Force, Luke

How Scandinavian of me would say Björk , but how Latinamerican of me it is sometimes to send hugs and moochies and you are the sunshine of my life to people I find fabulous. Where's the dark side when you need it?

I've though a lot about two crazy ladies. See, in the American stereotype, crazy now is getting out from a car without panties. I wonder why people buy in cheap talent and where these powerful females that have a lot of pain in their soul (and sing soul) are. Do you need pain to be expressive? Quite a debate. Living a life without contrasts does not make people better off to deal with existencial punches. People with a first-world dwelling can also make good artists, can't they? Our pain stages vary. War wounds do not necessarily lead to creativity, and a purely Copenhagian life where the tragedy is that you don't have shoes to fit your belt doesn't either.

I am going around in circles. First would like to talk about Lady Day. 'Gloomy Sunday' was the first tune I heard on my first five minutes in Amsterdam. Billie Holiday has a magnetic force that I fail to find in Katie M, Norah J or Alanis. She did actually have a crapy life: prostitution, love going wrong, sex, drugs and rock n' roll. And then Amy, Amy, Amy - my most recent love. Not a fairytale either - junkie, live fast, sing deep. Even take Woody Allen, for that matter-a depressive genius. These sad individuals that have had sorrow but are able to create, are the ones I identify with. Is this a common trait? Do you have to suffer AND be able to express it to be the best of the rest?

Once in January 2006 I had the Danish-dream-crashing blues. Artboy told me then that wish he would be passing through that set of emotions, as creativity lies where pain is. What a couple of freaking 'creative' couple of years I have had!

Nobody stands in between me and my man, it's me and Mr Jones (Me and Mr. Jones)
What kind of fuckery is this?
You made me miss the Slick Rick gig (oh Slick Rick)
You thought I didn't love you when I did (when I did)
Can't believe you played me out like that (Ahhh)

Amy W

Sin, Sin, Sin (With a Swing)

So ask this Catholic girl who went to a Catholic girls' school until she was neither Catholic nor a girl to talk about sin.

For all the sinners in the world who live rather scared by the sacred thunder, will have to say... DON'T PANIC (these words must be engraved on each Bible as well).

Once freedom has exploded in the soul of man, the gods no longer have any power over him.

Wish I would have said that, but it was actually Sartre. And I began thinking about it while watching 'My Summer of Love' last Friday - it is not a girly movie at all! Well, there are slumber parties and making out, but believe me, the girl-girl story is rather twisted. Anyway, the redhaired one day does a Nietzsche and screams: 'God is dead!'.

Quite a serious statement.

Living in the middle of two opposite realities is another tale with many advantages.

All my Danish friends nod and agree on the 'serious statement' above.
All my Mexican friends believe there's a God in one way or another.

And I get completely confused. So for my personal use, reached the conclusion that to sin is actually to hurt people on purpose, and consequences are pure behavioural/emotional reactions that will make life just more complicated. Good intentions, honesty, simple love, and kind deeds are in my mind 'heaven' (though current descriptions sound close to a day spa..). There's no more hell than the one you create around (have you ever been clinically depressed or lost a friend?).

My wise brother will for sure come up with very good arguments for the need of believing and the existence of faith, but religion (any) is just the expression of ethics with politics plus something intangible that I have lost, or just never reached.

So if I leave religion in the freezer (have been doomed around 754 times in the last five years), and begin dealing with freedom, will for sure avoid the vacuum. Or perhaps vacuum is not that bad.

Will think about it in the shower.

En pragtfuld PoMo. Chill out, emo kid!

This thing of having the heart numb is a tale with many advantages. First of all, branding is alright. Second, I'm allowed to be as emotional as a rainbow-the heart does not take punches. Thirdly (can you say 'thirdly' as you say 'trice'?) it is quite fun not to make sense. Like talking one minute about Aristotle, then about why I love the word 'allure', then about how come Marilyn Manson has a remarkable sensibility, and then a pragtfuld message on how much sunshine brings chatting with Amy Winehouse's other junkie (that being Simon).

So, first we tackle Marilyn Manson. As I've always said: art cannot be tagged as good or bad, it depends if it talks to you or not. And sometimes it talks to a lot of people, like Impressionism or Da Vinci, or even Jeff Koons, or it can talk to some and the artist makes it all the way to the walls of the cafeteria.

The thing is that I was browsing for the 'Personal Jesus' video and ran into Marilyn Manson's art. http://www.marilynmanson.com/ (loudspeakers off if you don't wanna recreate 'The Grudge' environment).

Unsolicited opinion: I think the guy is a mix of fauve, expressionism, and has a sense of aesthetics that makes even more contrasting his funky personality. From the feeling I had of Mr Manson, thought that going against everything is neither original nor fun - actually it's rather easy. So looking at this melancholic big-eyed paintings made me think that perhaps the guy merchandises his expressed denials to push the limits and actually bent so much reality that he can practically do whatever he feels like.

Now, what about Aristotle? I was kinda 'looking for Jesus' (bumper sticker: 'Jesus loves you, the rest of us don't'), and kinda found him by reading the 'Nichomachean Ethics'. Funny association that I owe to my evolved little brother - you have to find yourself to find the answers! And the same questions tormenting us have been around since the time of the Greeks wondering about life (and wandering in togas). The greatest concept I've understood so far: there is one kind of happiness that is based on other people's standards. Man gets miserable because that image is superior to the one he formulated. Nothing to do with ambition, it's just about ignorance of other worlds, and hence the impossibility to reach them.

Anyhow, think I'm beginning to sound PoMo (Post-Modernist), but nobody can blame me - Copenhagen is the Mecca of speciality stores and very small niche markets. On the necessity of feeling 'unique', everybody is becoming to look alike at very high price tags. What is more anonymous: living in a 40 million people city where nobody knows you or being part of a hip herd?

Will shut up now. Pass on the De-Tox Firefly.

Darling Boys

Close your eyes

Have no fear

The monster's gone,

He's on the run and your daddy's here...

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy

Before you go to sleep
Say a little prayer

Every day in every way

It's getting better and better

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy

Out on the ocean sailing away

I can hardly wait

To see you to come of age.

But I guess we'll both
Just have to be patient

Yes it's a long way to go
But in the meantime

Before you cross the street

Take my hand

Life is just what happens to you

While you're busy making other plans

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy...

(Lennon)