Poemas y Pensamientos

Por cierto, si algo es verdad, es que este año y el pasado he tenido un poco la oportunidad de descubrir que disfruto y que no me gusta. La poesía es algo que ya me había encandilado en el pasado, pero ahora siento que la aprecio de manera más personal y no solo esteticamente como lo hacía anteriormente. Me gusta, especialmente, Syvia Plath. Esto puede o no ser un cliché, sinceramente poco me interesa. Así que les compartiré un poema de ella que coincidientemente, es el primer poema con el que me sentí realmente conectada.

DADDY BY SYLVIA PLATH You do not do, you do not do Any more, black shoe In which I have lived like a foot For thirty years, poor and white, Barely daring to breathe or Achoo. Daddy, I have had to kill you. You died before I had time-- Marble-heavy, a bag full of God, Ghastly statue with one gray toe Big as a Frisco seal And a head in the freakish Atlantic Where it pours bean green over blue In the waters off beautiful Nauset. I used to pray to recover you. Ach, du. In the German tongue, in the Polish town Scraped flat by the roller Of wars, wars, wars. But the name of the town is common. My Polack friend Says there are a dozen or two. So I never could tell where you Put your foot, your root, I never could talk to you. The tongue stuck in my jaw. It stuck in a barb wire snare. Ich, ich, ich, ich, I could hardly speak. I thought every German was you. And the language obscene An engine, an engine Chuffing me off like a Jew. A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen. I began to talk like a Jew. I think I may well be a Jew. The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna Are not very pure or true. With my gipsy ancestress and my weird luck And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack I may be a bit of a Jew. I have always been scared of you, With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo. And your neat mustache And your Aryan eye, bright blue. Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You-- Not God but a swastika So black no sky could squeak through. Every woman adores a Fascist, The boot in the face, the brute Brute heart of a brute like you. You stand at the blackboard, daddy, In the picture I have of you, A cleft in your chin instead of your foot But no less a devil for that, no not Any less the black man who Bit my pretty red heart in two. I was ten when they buried you. At twenty I tried to die And get back, back, back to you. I thought even the bones would do. But they pulled me out of the sack, And they stuck me together with glue. And then I knew what to do. I made a model of you, A man in black with a Meinkampf look And a love of the rack and the screw. And I said I do, I do. So daddy, I'm finally through. The black telephone's off at the root, The voices just can't worm through. If I've killed one man, I've killed two-- The vampire who said he was you And drank my blood for a year, Seven years, if you want to know. Daddy, you can lie back now. There's a stake in your fat black heart And the villagers never liked you. They are dancing and stamping on you. They always knew it was you. Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through.

I like my body when it is with your body

It is so quite a new thing

Muscles better and nerves more

I like your body. I like what it does,

I like its hows. I like to feel the spine

of your body and its bones, and the trembling

-firm- smoothness and which I will

again and again and again

kiss, I like kissing this and that of you,

I like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz

of your electric fur, and what is-it comes

over parting flesh... And eyes big love-crumbs,

And possibly I like the thrill

of under me you so quite new

E.E. Cummings

Was never much but we made the most

This post means I'm kind of back, not that anybody particularly cares but this "return", as I want to call it, is more because I want to, because I want to share stuff I like, fashion mainly, beautiful pictures, beautiful songs, interesting poems, my thoughts, etc.

So, as of now, I wanted to share this Valentine Fillol-Cordier pictures because she truly is an inspiration for me, style-wise, and because I love this editorial, like a lot.

Also, one of the reasons I haven't been here in a lot of time is because I succumb to temptation in tumblr. I mean, I love blogger, don't misunderstand me, is where I begin my rambling and as I have said before, I find it more personal, mainly because no one I know from real life knows about this blog but in tumblr they do so... but that is not why I'm back, I'm back because I missed this place and this more personal interaction between bloggers.

And I have SO much to talk about, what I want to do with my life, how am I going to get where I want to be in 15 years? And is a lot of rambling I have inside that no one really wants to hear, but whatever, I will spill it here. Be warned!

I have been feeling more lonely lately, is, like, nobody really cares, except for my family I think, if I am there or not. Like I am not really neccesary for someone, I feel like I'm disposable in many many ways. And I don't know what to do about it. And I have this feeling of emptiness lately that no matter what I do is always there. Is weird.

I question myself: What have you done with your life? What significant think that leaves a mark in some have you done? And the answer is "Nothing" and I come to the realization that I have been wasting my youth years, I have not done a single thing for others or even for myself, I haven't kiss anyone, I haven't gotten drunk, I haven't let loose in a night or I simple haven't done enought, and is frustrating because I keep telling to myself: "You're gonna do it. You're gonna live your life and enjoy yourself. Not now, next year, or even when you don't live here anymore, where you don't have all this pressure and when you can be yourself! And you know what, fuck that, I want to live now, not tomorrow, not next month and definitely not next year. My life is passing by and I am not enjoying it 100% and it pisses me off and Still I don't do a thing about it.

The true is, I don't know how to begin. I don't know how to change my life for the better, how to organize myself, do productive things and not be a lazy person that just does nothing, literally nothing in her day. I don't know how to and I think it also influences that I am afraid of getting out of my comfort zone and even when I want to change, I do nothing and am still the same, but complaining. Is pathetic really, a pathetic cycle I am part of.

Anyway, I think I kind of let myself go this time, which is good, in a way, but I think I'm being way to open, which normally I'm not because in real life I trust no one.

So, the thing is, I want to focus on everything me on this blog. I will post art, my own (I love self promotion if you haven't notice), fashion editorials, fashion shows, etc (I love fashion), my outfits (some of them, because I am narcisistic as fuck) So yeah, probably going to be a generic blog but I don't think I care as much. But don't worry, I will post what I did post before, songs and poems. I love Jacques Prévert and I will still post my favorite poems, not only in french or in english, but In my native tongue, spanish.

So, that's basically me as of now, and if you don't even remember me (It has been so long since I last really posted), this is a time for a new beginning: Hey! My name is Ingrid and I'm 18 years old.

I saw somebody who

reminded me of you

before you got afraid

I wish that you could've stayed that way

De alguna manera he llegado a un punto en mi vida en que estoy en paz conmigo misma y eso es reconfortante, digo, de haber estado en un punto en el que lo que cualquier persona me dijera me afectara, ahora no es así. Porque me di cuenta que la única persona que me puede hacer sentir menos soy yo, solo yo, y si yo no me hago sentir menos ¿Por qué alguien más tendría el derecho de hacerlo? Aunque sea cercano a mí, no importa, nadie puede, nadie debe. Entonces estuve pensando que este blog, aunque este abandonado, es mucho más personal que mi tumblr. Aquí es como mi lugar, más privado y más mío, yo lo tomo como algo más personal. Y me gusta, porque es algo que uno construye poco a poco.

"Her mind steps into emptiness, alone." - Virginia Woolf, from The Waves

Votre France a vous?

Paris, des heures dans les cafés, un certain esprit de rébellion, un côté un peu buté aussi, la mer, la vraie, en Bretagne, les marchés en Provence, le goût de la littérature, les librairies, les jolies éditions, refaire le monde pendant des heures autour d'une table et d'un bouteille, parler parfois pour ne rien dire, pour le gôut de parler, les musées, les théâtres, l'elégance, la délicatesse, l'héritage des Lumières, d'une philosophie humaniste, l'equilibre réussi entre une rigeur nordique et un savoir-vivre latin, l'insolence et la liberté.

In a surrealist manner I have been thinking that death is not the worst thing that can happen.

Hey, been trying to meet you. Hey, must be a devil between us or whores in my head, whores at the door, whores in my bed, but hey, where have you been? If you go I will surely die. We're chained.

"Uh!" Said the man to the lady. Uhhh.. "Uh!" Said the lady to the man she adores and the whores like a choir "Uh, Uh" all nigh.t And Mary 'aint you tired of this? Uh is the sound that the mother makes when the baby brakes. We're chained.

source

Ten decisions shape your life

You'll be aware of five about

seven ways to go through school

either you're noticed or left out

seven ways to get ahead

seven reasons to drop out

When I said "I can see me in your eyes"

You said "I can see you in my bed"

That's not just friendship it is romance too

You like music we can dance to