MY CAT (FOR WHAT CAN I SAY ABOUT CATS THAT T.S.ELIOT HASN'T ALREADY SAID?)

My cat is a little version of a tiger, otherwise he is huge.
Anyway, my cat is my own private Richard Parker. He does not star in a film, he has not survived a wreckage or more than 100 days in the ocean, but he is my friend.
Recently I was asked why I liked cats, if I identify with them and yes, I do.
My first cat was a black brilliant beauty, a direct descendant of the Egyptian goddess Bastet, graceful, elegant, dignified and terribly proud, but loving and loved.
My second cat was a furry imitation of a white and black panda, lazy and totally careless, loved and terribly funny when kitty. He died quite young from unknown causes.
My third cat is this little tiger who is too large for a cat, so eager to be loved that he acts like a dog. Once muscular and handsome, almost sexy, he has now become like a lazy and totally in love husband who seems to drink too much beer, he has a belly and he's always behind me.
He slept by my side last night, silently purring, warming me or warming himself with me.
He receives me every night with incessant meowing about his day, maybe asking about mine or just nagging me, again, because I just feed him a cup of Whiskas a day or because I don't spend enough time playing with him or asking me if my lover isn't coming because you know, he likes that guy, he should spend more time home, or my daughter, when is she coming home again? What do I mean she's not coming again?
He then gets into the room, I still can't decide if it's mine or his and lies next to me watching the computer's screen or the TV. He just wants to lie his head on my arm or my shoulder, nowhere else, my arm or my shoulder, don't I get it? I should remain still and offer either an arm or a shoulder, is that asking too much?Sometimes he gets on the keyboard, sometimes he gets behind the screen where it's warm, and soon I can listen to his soft snoring, barely a wheezing sound that proves he's fast asleep, instead of running around, like a decent night prowler cat he ought to be.
 He's got a better sense of time than my alarm clock and besides, he doesn't let me hit the snooze. Around 6.30,  he starts demanding his cup of Whiskas and he doesn't stop until I get up and serve him a cupful. Then, he lets me rest another hour until he can't bear his thirst any longer. He recently discovered the wonder of tap fresh water and he parted forever with his water bowl. Now he just wants water direct from the tap, no more stagnant water. And so I have to wake, open the tap and wait for his catship to have his drink, Then I just grab him and throw him out of the bathroom. When I leave for work I utter proper goodbyes and promises of returning at night to him. He used to watch me lowering his head to a side, but now that I say goodbye, he eyes directly at me and purrs.
I wonder what he does all day home alone.

INFERENCES

1. When he interrupts, as if enlightened, "Oh! You are early out of work on Friday!" (We're going out.)
2. When he texts a few minutes after his last text just to say, "Go out and watch the moon, it's beautiful!" (Romantic? Tender? Plain adorable?)
3. When at 18.30 he texts, "You out at 19.00?" (He's on his way, he might once arrive early.)
4. When he looks directly at my eye and answers with disdain, "I don't think so, no. I'll call him." (He has decided to refuse the offer nobody could deny.)
5. When he asks eagerly, "Wanna taste it?" (He likes his dish and wants to share. He likes to share. With me. Warm smile lights my face.)
6. When the words appear chopped or terribly misspelled in the phone screen. (No doubt, he's driving.)
7. When in the morning I read, "Sleep tight. xxxxxxxxxxxxx" (He was thinking of me just before he went to sleep.)

Then again, my guesses might be all wrong!

Naaaaaaaah, I don't think so.

MI PRIMERA HABITACIÓN

La primera que habito,
la primera que impide que mi conciencia, mi alma, mi espíritu, mis ideas y mis fluidos salgan volando,
la primera que envuelve mis órganos, mi esqueleto y mis músculos
la piel que conforma mi cuerpo.

Mi cuerpo es mi habitación y a veces siento que no la cuido bien.
Soy una inquilina descuidada,
vivo aprisa,
no le dedico tiempo suficiente.
La lavo, la seco, la perfumo, la encremo, la acaricio,
la pinto, la visto, la desvisto, pero le falta.

Le falta comida adecuada, ejercicio, caricias ajenas (muchas-las que recibe apenas le alcanzan), besos y más estremecimientos.
Y ha padecido. Engorda, adelgaza, se inflama, se comprime en una faja. Gruñe de hambre o se harta de tanta comida. Se ha llenado de amor, de rencor, de odio y lo ha expresado. Rechaza lo negativo y lo ha manifestado. La han intervenido. Le han sacado cosas, le han metido otras y estoica lo ha soportado.
No es perfecta. Tiene cicatrices, cuentan historias y ya no importa, que salgan a la luz y las publiquen.

IN MEMORIAM -Isaac Asimov

The rockets arrive with a difference of two hours. They come from the West Moon and the East Moon alternatively. They rest on Earth a couple of days and then they part again exchanging destinations.
People wear special masks to adjust to the lack of oxygen, to avoid spending the scarce breathing air there is up there.
The landing port is constantly busy and eerily white. People come and go under artificial light. There are no windows since the taxes on them made it impossible to operate. Artificial light is way lot cheaper.
People from different ages, sexes, genders, colors, builds, commute through this space to outer space.
They cross the last frontier earthly bound usually to work in the artificial moon.
There is no life beyond. It was proven thousands of years ago.
Still
many people want to believe, as once they did in an unholy and terribly angry God.
But no, there is no life outside this world, this green planet Earth.
Nietzsche was right. There is no God.
There is no Nirvana, or Valhalla, or Paradise, you name it.
Many systems were discovered beyond ours. Many thousands and more of planets. All of them empty. Not even microscopic life.
Nothing.
We are all A L O N E.

ESTUPIDECES PARA UNA NOCHE DE INSOMNIO (O PLANES PARA CUANDO NO SALE CONMIGO)

1. Planear cómo conquistar el mundo
2. Escribir la novela del siglo
3. Escribir 148 tweets en rima y en iambic pentameter
4. Ver cuántas películas o series completas puedo ver en Netflix en una sola noche
5. Estar despierta toda la noche tomando agua
6. Una pijamada con mi gato, mis libros, mis cuadernos y algún juguete de mi niñez perdida.
7. Una competencia de tomar alcohol entre Mau y yo.
8. Caminar en línea recta toda la noche a ver a dónde llego.
9. Contar: mis libros, estrellas, pelos en mi cabeza, aviones a la derecha, bigotes en el gato, autos blancos que pasan por mi ventana...
10. Platicarle al gato mis problemas y escuchar atenta su consejo
11. Limpiar el cuarto de Ame (al menos dos días con todo y sus noches)
12. Escribir cartas de despedida a todas las personas que quiero
13. Beberme una botella de Tempranillo yo sola... o dos.
14. Limpiar el refri
15. Hablarle a Sean... a ver si contesta en el mismo teléfono
16. Plantar un ajo, una cebolla, un aguacate y albahaca
17. Cocinar lasagna primavera... en invierno, jajajajajaja
18. Hornear: un pastel o roles de canela (habrá que comprar un horno)
19. Aprender a tocar la guitarra en un tutorial de Internet
20. Pintarme el cabello, dejar que se seque, peinarlo, alaciarlo, rizarlo, trenzarlo y hacerme todos los peinados en Pinterest y sacarme fotos para subirlas a Facebook y así hasta que amanezca

DESEO QUE ENVEJEZCAS

Y..
que tus arrugas sean el resultado de más sonoras sonrisas que de lágrimas limpiadoras,
que tus canas hayan sido lecciones bien aprendidas,
que cada cicatriz tenga una buena historia dentro,
que tus ojeras sean el resultado de una noche de amor en compañía de quien tú querías,
que cada mancha en tu rostro sea el beso del sol en un día cualquiera,
que cada kilo extra sea por comida y bebida disfrutados en buenas compañías,
que tu insomnio sea efecto de una realidad mejor que cualquier sueño,
que tu cansancio, tu pesadez y tu fatiga sean el resultado de una vida bien vivida.

DE NOCHE

Y de repente por las noches siento frío el otro lado de la cama,
A mi cintura le faltan tus brazos rodeándola,
A mis pechos ninguna mano los sostiene,
A mis brazos les falta tu calor y tu color,
Mis oídos quieren tus latidos y tu respiración,
Mis ojos anhelan el sube y baja de tu pecho,
Y la cama siente frío de ese lado.
A veces, de noche.

SOCRATES WAS A PERSON. HA!

“Strong minds discuss ideas, average minds discuss events, weak minds discuss people.” ― Socrates 

So, I guess I have a weak mind, for I'll discuss people. And not only will I discuss people, I'll do it for a living. And that does not mean as a paid job. I mean as a living. As a purpose for life. I like writing. I like stories. I hop on motorcycles of perfectly random strangers (well, it was only one biker) just to learn stories about people, to have stories to tell to... you guessed, people! Of course ideas appear somewhere, ideas thought by people, and people participate in events. After all, without people who would think the ideas?
(Of course I don't give a f... about the Kardashians, British nobility, Hollywood celebs, etc. That I do consider of... other kind of minds.)