Mythology of Apus

This starving darkness devouring my whole life

my lady has forgotten me

in a grey universe.

.

Long ago disappeared the last star.

A language of pain is this night

made with a black veil.

.

I feel it fall, the point beyond the end

where only an old inertia remains.

And my Apus so far away.

.

In this kingdom the pleasures are ashes

and happiness is a place in the past.

Why does exist a reality like this?

.

In loveless lands a dragon prefers to sleep,

there is no reason for him to fly

anymore these empty skies

.

I would love to be again a rock against the rain

of a primitive world before men had voice.

But I’m just a forgotten boy.

.

I’m not even the shadow of a memory to my lady

and the night is time leaving a void inside

Why are my Apus so far away?

.

End.

.

(Apus are sacred hills in the Andean highlands of what once was the Inca Empire and the empires before; they are the origin or producers of mankind, in this way to see the world there is no need of a god or gods creators of humanity)

A bit of light

It would be nice a bit of peace… so I’ll close my eyes and I’ll let the world pass -_-

***

In another side of the information I’m playing with musical apps in my laptop and tablet composing rhythms using a system with the keyboard to bypass the musical notation that I ignore; but I couldn’t find one to get violin sounds, I went to my parents’ home in Juliaca to ask for the old violin but it shone by its absence. Anyway, when kid I played it and I remember it hadn’t a good sound so I’m searching in evilbay but it seems it’s a luxury instrument with specific requirements as wood dried at least thirty years. In any case I’ll wait for an app, perhaps a violin for somebody who doesn’t now how to play a real instrument is overkill.

Shadow realm

Pareidolia vision: I can see the face of an old man seeing the hole in the clouds… he’s in the middle. I can understand why our ancestors had the myths of warriors and lovers that would be again part of our parents, the sacred hills called apus, because in our genesis we humans weren’t created by a god but we were produced or generated from special rocks, mountains or lakes… and we can come back.

***

There was a episode in my life that caused me so much sadness, so much than anything before, when it finished I simply couldn’t feel anything, neither couldn’t find reason, among many things, in watching tv, to hear music, reading literature or anything that could give me before pleasure, a bit after I started this blog, as a way to drop photographs to the wind to say good bye to the past. So just to don’t age my mind I started to study science, history, biology, physical sciences. I didn’t read more ancient philosophy because to me it’s closer to literature with its beautiful ideas. The case is that months ago when I knew to my absent lady she suggest me to read Dan Brown’s Inferno. Today seemed a good day to read again so I purchased an original edition (I dislike to buy pirate versions) in English, I know my English to write is pretty basic but I haven’t problems to read long books, my favorite to read English words is Poe. Also I bought Borges’ Book of the Dreams in Spanish, it’s a selection about dreams found in literature and chronicles since the origins of civilization to the age of Borges. He was a very fine reader so I know it’s going to be a great reading. About Dan Brown I know it’s going to be entertained, nevertheless I hope this time the main character can be faster than me to guess the clues.

I don’t feel this as a return to reading, more like a return to melancholy. We’ll see.

Cylindrical twilight

 

And it’s said that in the time that lasts the blue hour with magic arts Cain built a city of cylinders to his son….

Seriously, that part of Genesis always drove me crazy, How is it possible to anyone alone to build a city? Even the work to make something like Flindstone’s Bedrock would represent a titanic effort. I think probably there is a mistake in the translation, something more like a home would be more reasonable. These days I finished to design the concepts for a very special home, when the design is completed I’ll show you something you’ve never seen and that would make the Cain’s city something ordinary in comparison ;-)

At the end of the highway a black night

sleeping town

I’m leaving this world in search of a place with you. Perhaps one in this shared dream that we call reality, perhaps one in this personal dream that we call memory. I’m not in this muted world anyway, anymore.

Destiny: sunset

A final melody composed with the frozen drops of a forgotten rain made of your mementos. This road seems to have only one direction and just one end. A voracious time doesn’t forgive and turns the hours in months and the months in dust.

always two sides

 

An infinite horizon says that if you walk someday you’re going to find the one you are looking for, but it doesn’t say you if at the end of the road the one she is waiting for is you.

highway blaze

Exhausting my mornings building vast prophecies, desires to have a night illuminated by your star. My eyes looking up farther and farther away a proof of you; unable to fathom the mirage of lights in this cruelty road.

signals with sleepy eyes

Perhaps I should just close my eyes, but there is no sense: inside there is a river and its stream has the music of your laugh and its surface shaped with countless versions of the blaze in your eyes.

wind from a dream

A world made illusion. A world made of undefined shapes. A silhouette that yell one last time a lie, “I don’t care” replies a river inside.

At the end there is only a lonely night.

(I shot the images in the Peruvian side of the highway around the lake Titicaca while traveling from a trip to Bolivia)

Three sleeping leaves

Time to sleep my dear…

You (ha)ve to come

… and I’ve to wait.

Clouds visiting the earth

I’m back from my little trip :P I went to Tacna city and slept there one night. I went also with the intention to travel to Chile but things took another turn.

In Tacna I went to a special fair of clothes called “Miami” and well, going to shopping and spending some money give me some peace. This because I’m quite austere, so to balance my behavior I intentionally do some banal things.

I bought an Armani leather jacket and some light sweaters and shirts. This time I choose designs with 90’s youth style, I noticed that my current style had so much muted designs… In part I choose it to be more presentable to my absent lady, also I bought for her a doll of an anime character she likes, and to myself a Homer Simpson doll. After that I went to the downtown and took some photographs to my readers ;-) We are in autumn so the climate was soft and warm.

I went to a hotel and I tried my luck and called to the lady I wrote before here and to my surprise she was there and we met a while. She was gorgeous as always and she gave me a much needed hug. We talked a bit but I noticed I was so disconnected. I guessed the reason and tried an experiment: I imagined she wasn’t her but my Ecuadorian lady and suddenly I was more animated, but then I noticed I was being a jerk for doesn’t paying her the attention she deserves; I excused me and said her that, and it was also truth, I was tired. She hugged me and as a lady didn’t ask me the reason, just asked me to call her and that I should insist to her cell phone if I’m there again. I nodded but my mind was definitively in other side.

I walked a bit and the world seemed full of Jessicas in the walls and adds. I ate a bit and went to my hotel. I’ve working for already several months and decided to just relax, I had asked a matrimonial room to have a bigger bed and took another bath, I tried the clothes and took some selfies for my corpse bride, a bit of slow pedicure and manicure, see TV movies in the cable (I never see TV) and watched “The Wolfman” with Benicio del Toro (save the asylum scene the plot was pretty dull and I didn’t like it) after that the last of America Pie series, and lastly I drew the schemes for an animated video I’m doing for a song I composed in my tablet, and the schemes for the fantastic/sci-fi story I wrote to a comic I hope to end the next week.

I wanted to go to Chile but in the morning I felt so tired and my mind is so in the clouds that I decided that the journey had been a lost time: being there without being there. I slept much more and arranged my stuff. Walked a bit the city and took a bus to come back. And here I am.

By the way the photograph is in the highlands from a bus in the highway in another trip. I still have to process the photographs of this journey.

Lady in ink

This drawing is based in a vignette of a story draw and told (a comic or fumetti considering that the author is Italian) by Hugo Pratt. It has some years and my brother’s cats were scratching it so I decided to scan it before it disappear even more…

The last days I wrote about the Divine Comedy and dreams. It’s already more than a month since the lady I love is absent. Every day I dream about her and to my despair some of them were nightmares: she loved other or she simply had forgotten me, I can control until some point my dreams so I’ve changed them for more positive stories. I assume she is preparing to decide which profession is she going to choose; I’m assuming that I’m not guilty. In the last times when I talked with her my work was heavier so I disconnected a week from the internet to finish it and have more time with her. That was something terribly wrong, she has priority above mere work, I couldn’t find words to say sorry but probably she had to travel. Who knows. It was the first time I feel this with a person I knew in internet so I don’t know much about it, just about what I feel. The first time when she just disappeared I wrote this farewell https://guaromekano.wordpress.com/2014/10/01/alone-again/ but I’m so tired of them, I mean, to say good bye. I think I’m going to do my best to be a better man and get to be with her. But it was inevitable to think in the poor Dante, he made a giant palace to his Beatriz, vast and perfect, but, among several things that means the Divine Comedy, one is about Dante’s nightmare: Beatriz is lost to him and when after crossing the distractions of the geography of hell and purgatory, he got to met her but he never got to be loved. In a certain way that subtle detail was the perfect hell to Dante: Beatriz is not saving him but punishing him; the dream turned into a sad nightmare.

Watcher into the Purgatory Road

Spanish is a foreign language from my perspective. The language I should speak is Aymara. Nonetheless Spanish is, alas, the only language we can use to aspire to a higher education. So I don’t feel attached to it, when kid I always won the contests about redacting compositions but, as it happens me with English too, I am not sure why the reader could find it nice composed. I just joint words like a kind of smith trying to give it a rhythm. In English I like so much the alliteration, I dunno, I think in sumthin’ like:

In Wotan’s world, worthy words weaving with wisdom; Hela’s blending a blind blade, an unknown anathema in her heart hardened by despair.

And well, that’s the way I think in languages, of course it’s not perfect. Without understanding completely them but judging their sounds I think Quechua is the perfect language to say words of honey; Aymara to speak the truth; French the language of feminine sensuality (but it sounds soft in men); European Spanish the dialect of masculine sensuality (but it sounds harsh in women); Argentinian Spanish the dialect of elegance, almost like a tango; German the language to read ideas; English to sing and Italian to read the Divine Comedy.

The photograph is part of a long project I’m doing and perhaps it’s going to take a year more. I want to write in Italian a series of photographs inspired in, with Borges’ complete works, my favorite book. Dante’s Divine Comedy.Westerners in my country read it as a book of horror, attracted by the landscapes of hell. I’m not westerner so I read it as a book of a marvelous exploration to a world never seen before. To me is fantastic and I read it since I was eight years old. I love this book so much. The maternal surname and gray-green eyes of my grandfather indicate that perhaps we’ve something of Italians but if that happened there is nothing in our language or culture that survived. I’m sure an Italian would read it quite differently to the way I read it. Time will tell.