Junio

This is a text very dear to my heart. I dedicate it to all my friends!

Junio. Empezado hoy, 9 de octubre de 2000

Until now the miracles I have witnessed have been only lies, born and raised by people whose evil feelings I do not wish to remember. Inside this mind there are strange beliefs, one of them being that I am, somehow, perfect and that my only fault is that I do the things that other do normally my way and I get punished for my rebelled gestures.

Stories already told by old fools who had the immense luck of having seen the world as I think it is have kept a special place in my memory and now, when I am old and my eyes see only inner images or my sister’s dreams, they want to expose, quite indecently, in front of my nieces and that strange and isolated being whom I call my nephew.

I really don’t know how to react to these new nightmares; maybe if I let them come out and maybe, just maybe, allow them to use my mouth just to feel free after so many nights, they will let me enjoy the rest of my life, or maybe I became too selfish and interested in reading the Bible or any other strange smelling book than to take care of all these...”problems”.

My glasses have forgotten how is to be clean and the clothes I use to wear when I met that nice and not so serious woman, who used to sing divinely and made our lives so rich, then leaving to look for another answer than I had given her are still white as the first snow and nobody knows why...

My voice is week because of so many nights filled with poems, strange stories and guitars resounding in my mind whose strange language I have tried to translate into simple words, my eyes are almost blind because of the summer nights lost in search of love and my soul is tired because I have been charging him with too many obsessions...

My fault, or should I say my faults...are many and most of them wrongly classifieds by the huge amount of voices that I’ve been hearing for the past sixty years, my hopes have remained besides me, confronting everybody and drying my lonely tears, my dreams have been nourishing me with words from other languages and gave me the possibility of seeing my so near death. Inside my dreams I am perfectly young and my health is similar to a god’s, yet the same torments habit our souls, mine because I was not strong enough to chase them and his because, in his inherent destiny, he has forgotten how to protect himself.

I might be sometimes deaf and don’t pay enough attention to all the movements that shout high in the middle of our street, I might see other things than the usual people and I might want to talk too much, but in those moments is the only thing I am good at; you strangers have understood only my soft lies and my childish poetry, but you didn’t deserved anything less...I am really sorry to say all that, but you haven’t gave me other choice!

All I wanted was to live the last moment, quiet, surrounded by innocent and no suffering memories and finally, long nights and irresponsible actions helped me to have it

©

Later that night, people came to me, with gifts for their dead and with the more than humble wish to talk to their pilgrims and I rejected all, because I wanted to show selfishness, because I wasn’t ready to leave to meet my parents and friends and, most important than everything, I was not myself entirely so I had no choice but close all windows and doors.

I almost shouted at them and, speaking in a grim and mean voice, I reminded them they didn’t deserve to come to me for the harshest reason they didn’t belong to any family I knew and I even dared to curse them for reminding me that in less than ten months I was leaving my consumed body and maybe find the last part of my own puzzle whom the earth people call” life realization.”

The strangers looked at me, nodded their strange heads (or lives) and left to their homes, somewhere in the northern part of the horizon.

I was somehow happy, yet sad, because I would have liked to torture their hearts with some horrifying predictions or with stories about my late nightmares or with some of my perfect lies...

Their shadows have haunted me a while, then mixed with the ones of my obsessions and kept me warm for the gloomy and freezing November nights, and when spring came, they have left for new projections of the same love.

Now it is June again, life is almost at its end, I am happy because I have done my things as much as I wanted and could, that my most secret wishes have remained as hidden I wanted them to be, yet I wanted more, but strangely, I wasn’t allowed, maybe next time I will be left in my peace and do those things I wasn’t able or didn’t had the time and the courage...

My name...my name is not important, neither how do I look. Just think that I am one of the many people who have decided to write not just because, but from an inner reason, the reason to evolve towards the perfect person, towards life, towards God, towards intimacy, even towards you.

Inside my dreams I am perfectly young and my health is similar to a god’s, yet the same torments habit our souls, mine because I was not strong enough to chase them and his because, in his inherent destiny, he has forgotten how to protect himself. This is how nightmares come to life in this part of the worl

Explanations? To whom do I have to explain all my actions, wishes, obsessions, intimate choices and forbidden thoughts? To you, innocent pilgrim recently arrived to the gates of Mecca?

To my still living or long time dead relatives? To my long lost love (or a mere illusion?). To my good friends? To the language teachers who had patience with my appetite for speaking those words, phrases and sweet lies and made clear to me that I had to study hard to satisfy them? Or just to myself, old and little bit stupid person who has been writing for the past 25 years all type of poetry and everything that looked like inspiration and who has been denying all help because he felt so superior?

Maybe this is my last opportunity to live tonight as never before, search for all those answers, persons, memories and lies... It’s June again, here and there, with its scents, sweating bodies and wishes.

June, who always knew what miracle to choose for me, what image would fit me in front of so many excuses called people, who almost chased so many wrong dreams.

Finally, she looked at me and I could see the people I loved and lied, blackmailed and tried to force them to obey and support me as much as I wanted, more or less willing to give something back but this happened when I was not the one you see now.

Is this the last time I would be able to live again the life so wrongly spent? Is this my last opportunity to tell you how sorry I am because I wasn’t there for you, in spite that you didn’t asked for it a lot, just preferred to play as much as you wanted and defended your new born destiny with the only purpose to impose it to the others whom have chosen you or you have chosen them, inspired by the growing fears?

I have doubts, yes, and maybe too many and too strange to be told in front of your sometimes so lonely eyes, I have questions which I do not want to ask, although they have been tormenting me since the first time I felt your soul, I have answers that none has asked me about and I have solutions for all kind of problem, yet nobody decided to come to my strange looking house and ask them with nothing in return.

Now I am alone, waiting for the last call and hoping that, somehow, I will be forgiven by everybody and my memory will remain almost stainless for the remaining years!

I really want it and, as a last action of selfishness, I want it perfect although I know it to be more than impossible. Maybe I was wrong in thinking that you were the perfect choice and now I see you as the second best choice...I wonder why these reasons haunt me so much than before the last orange rain; maybe I am getting old and somehow silly, or in the worst of the cases, useless? I hope to be very wrong and I still wait for that third chance, the one with blue eyes and childish-mature smile, with the so calm voice...my God, I think I am going crazy because of so much loneliness!

I would love to be able to cry again; maybe by doing this, the dark and industry-designed room will not become so ugly and ill-mannered, maybe the dusk will not terrify as much as before, when I was young and eager to conquer new worlds and images in the name of a strange feeling called love, this time my night is heavy and rough, because someone or something has decided that one last torture will be fine and brought in front of my old and silly eyes so many nightmares and I realized he knew that I was powerless to confront them and their horrifying relatives, I remembered that I was alone because I wanted to, yet somehow knowing that I would need all the help in the world to face them and I denied friendship, family-belonging feelings and ideas, optimistic projects, private images of the people whom I loved in my manner, and even worse, my parent’s help!

This is my story. To those who knew me and cared a little about my conflicts, doubts, wishes, feelings and dreams, thank you and please, remember me from time to time, when June comes again in your life; I am not asking you to support my cause in front of the Supreme Judge; I am only asking for a little bit of immortality and those small pieces will form my bed and I will sleep smiling, like a baby until the next time June comes here, in this forgotten by death and time place and brings me back to life...