tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74069992011-04-21T19:20:06.748-05:00My little english experimentarboltsefnoreply@blogger.comBlogger211100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7406999.post-1125699628982025642005-09-02T17:17:00.000-05:002005-09-02T17:20:28.983-05:00

I don't ask my self why I stopped writing in that Árbol de los Mil Nombres stuff... it's pretty easy: I got tired, and I'm tired. Like I said Romina: I'm cleaning the shit. I got to do a lot. Got to plan, got to move out, got to return to school, got to save a few bucks. Got to live.Choose life. Heh.

arboltsefnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7406999.post-1109577978687685792005-02-28T02:02:00.000-06:002005-02-28T02:06:18.686-06:00

I like that word, also... but I don't like its counterpart in spanish: "Otredad". It's like a punch in the nose when I hear it, when I read it aloud. However, when it's written (in spanish), I like it. Otredad. Kinda weird.I should be reading some article for tomorrow's class, but I'm kind of lazy right now. I should try to sleep, but I don't feel like it, I miss her a lot. I want to start a new

arboltsefnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7406999.post-1102406148315154082004-12-07T01:45:00.000-06:002004-12-07T01:55:48.316-06:00

I'm sarcastic. I'm always smiling, even when I'm sick of you, or the world. It was hard to taught myself how to pretend to be furious. I'm a little neurotic, ummm, strike the little... I am a neurotic. I can hurt with words, I do not need my hands, neither my feet, to do that. Well, I use my teeth, but just for a correct phonetic pronunciation. I enjoy music, even when I don't know who

arboltsefnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7406999.post-1102223654636517962004-12-04T23:04:00.000-06:002004-12-04T23:14:14.636-06:00

I'm not comfortable with my life right now. Yesterday, as I was seeing the big picture: A great collage of small moments of my life, I thought about my childhood. And then, snap, I remembered the feeling. I'm hardly satisfied with anything. That's how I felt in my childhood... I mean... I had control over little things in my life, the things in which I didn't had any control... I just let them

arboltsefnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7406999.post-1102223055833817132004-12-04T23:03:00.000-06:002004-12-04T23:04:15.833-06:00

I believe the soul is blue in nature. Of course, there are red souls, even yellow or rain-forest green... Souls should be blue, anyway.

arboltsefnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7406999.post-1102222878864090732004-12-04T22:59:00.000-06:002004-12-04T23:01:18.863-06:00

I like that word, "Soul". I like it when I hear it. Today, I think no other word exist. Soul.

arboltsefnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7406999.post-1102045274180548772004-12-02T21:36:00.000-06:002004-12-02T21:41:14.180-06:00

My birthday is coming. And that makes me think I had a rough year... Now I can say that everything changed in my life. I live on my own, now. I'm an independent bastard. You know what that means: YOU BECOME YOUR OWN ADMINISTRATOR. Yeehaw. I'm so thrilled... Oh man, I wonder if this year was only a nightmare. I hope when I'm 23, I'll magically open my eyes and discover myself at home, with

arboltsefnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7406999.post-1101974467862247512004-12-02T01:59:00.000-06:002004-12-02T02:01:07.863-06:00

It's been a long time since I posted something here, but then again, english is not my everyday language. I'll try to do it, even if it's something brief. Even a sentence without any meaning. A garbled sentence, which means everything to me. Now, that's corny.

arboltsefnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7406999.post-1092268317220582502004-08-11T18:21:00.000-05:002004-08-11T18:51:57.220-05:00

These days, I've been reading... a lot. I've seen old friends. Coffee and then... party, and such. I've flirted with old girlfriends, just to say them no. My girl offered to come and see me, because she slightly knows. With all her family, again... with the bunch. Of course, I've a slight problem with that, but bah... it ain't that important, not anymore. I am tired of fighting the same ol',

arboltsefnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7406999.post-1092091081815713092004-08-09T17:28:00.000-05:002004-08-09T17:38:01.816-05:00

And, suddenly, I felt bad. Without any aspiration, or inspiration, or motivation. Suddenly, yes, I felt like I have been feeling a couple of days ago. Maybe more, Even... I could say I feel like this since I was born. (Yeah, I know, I know my depressive status, I should see a psychologist. But I do not trust them). The problem is, I feel nothing has changed. I fear that nothing will change

arboltsefnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7406999.post-1091835150700509692004-08-06T18:25:00.000-05:002004-08-06T18:32:30.700-05:00

I have a terrible habit. I start a fiction, and I rarely end it. I start to write a story, and I amaze myself of how much I love to do it, how much I'd like to include in... and my brain works amazingly fast, on coke and cigarretes, during three or four months. My mind becomes like a cascade, flooding ideas, almost vomiting them in my keyboard, in my mouth. But then, I just leave it. I do

arboltsefnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7406999.post-1090301106013832112004-07-19T23:59:00.000-05:002004-07-20T00:25:06.013-05:00

This is for you, not for you or you or you, the one with the blue velvet jacket, but you. If you are angry at me, then I should say one thing Just one... You are absolutely right. If you are not mad, I guess you're "frustrated". Or, just making that hard face to show everyone that "you do not care". You are showing me, or trying to show, that you do not care. And, of course, you

arboltsefnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7406999.post-1090240031594689172004-07-19T07:18:00.000-05:002004-07-19T07:27:11.593-05:00

I'm really worried about the Movable Type install where I have my blog. I thought that migrating the database would fix the problem. But I think it is server side, there is a memory leak or something, because the exporting of entries just stops. Worse than that, just dumping the MySQL database doesn't work either. I keep getting an "Internal Server Error" page. I emailed Support Desk about

arboltsefnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7406999.post-1089188420987058412004-07-07T03:11:00.000-05:002004-07-07T03:20:20.986-05:00

I like how she watches me quietly, as if she's discovering a new "Me" right in front of her eyes. I try to explain to myself how that happens, how she changes from reality to magic. I envy that. That's one of a long list of things she does, that I love. Like a careful cat, she stays back and just watches. Her eyes glistening a small star. Her mouth, just a bit frowned. She turns into

arboltsefnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7406999.post-1089053469624350922004-07-05T13:38:00.001-05:002004-07-05T13:51:09.623-05:00

A long, long time ago, I can still remember How that music used to make me smile And I knew if I had my chance, That I could make those people dance And maybe they'd be happy for a while American Pie, Don McLean. Today, I awakaned thinking about how much I miss my mother. When I lived with her, I usually ate a nutritional and delicious breakfast (YUMMY!). Well, she didn't made it, but I did.

arboltsefnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7406999.post-1088606711558308322004-06-30T09:40:00.000-05:002004-06-30T09:45:11.560-05:00

And it is alive, eating people out there. He crushes dogs, with his bare fists and then, he tosses them to the streets, as if they were a consumed cig. Then, he sings all nigh long, old fashioned songs. He prefers jazz & blues, while he is bathed in moonlight. Ray Charles never sounded so creepy. He dances, from dawn till dusk. And yawns, and says meow as if it was an elephant. His name is

arboltsefnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7406999.post-1088504107984081712004-06-29T05:02:00.000-05:002004-06-29T05:15:07.983-05:00

I really, really, reaaaaally tried to sleep. But I couldn't. Now it's 5 in the morning and I bet my ass that I will get sleepy about 8 or 9 AM. So I checked my options, I could do some stuff I consider "important" or I could turn left, turn right, look at the ceiling or twist my myself in the bed until I get really tired. Yeah, the second option (and derivates) is wiser and more entertaining

arboltsefnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7406999.post-1088478127500412992004-06-28T21:50:00.000-05:002004-06-28T22:02:07.500-05:00

A pulsating vibration. You wonder, I wonder. I wonder what I want to say this time. What I want to write, or what should I tell this time. I do not have, really, anything interesting to say. Ummm, maybe, should I talk about that I will return to school soon? That I do not really want to, because... ummmm, I am afraid! Neh, I am just a lazy cheap. Should I talk about about my girlfriend?

arboltsefnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7406999.post-1088048037893813882004-06-23T22:18:00.000-05:002004-06-24T04:37:45.623-05:00

Have you heard Dylan Thomas reciting his own poem? It is simply amazing. Lately I have his voice ringing in my ear: "Do not go gently into that good night". As I walk, as I sip my coffee, as I am silent, just staring at nothing. He had a powerful voice, and his poems show a complex mind in work. Could it be a bluff? Could it be that he knew how to put the words so people like me ask and think

arboltsefnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7406999.post-1088031127541044382004-06-23T16:41:00.000-05:002004-06-23T17:52:07.543-05:00

I found out that I was excited about this new project. In this book I have created for myself, I discovered that I could write about anything, perhaps everything, that has been going to my mind. When I went up to my room, to try to sleep (i'm an insomniac bastard), a rush of thoughts went through and I felt like I could write anything. I know the reasons of that sudden "discovery". Everyone reads

arboltsefnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7406999.post-1087982409557812682004-06-23T04:00:00.000-05:002004-06-23T04:20:09.556-05:00

To think and express in other language (english), turned out to be very difficult to me. The main reason for this is that I'm studying english literature at UNAM. Somehow I got lost, and whenever I try to create or write something in this language, I put myself in hold because I know I'm not so good as some writers I have read. I lack discipline, I lack a lot of vocabulary and also I'm aware

arboltsefnoreply@blogger.com0