I want to have a bookstore
to be my bookstore
the end of this
An era of
made at the bookstore
like my ex
I can get a job
find a love
post poems about orgasms
write poems about orgasms
all because of a bookstore
all because of the books
that I should buy
from someone who cares
who am I kidding
I only want this for myself
to be the kind of person
that has a bookstore
that goes in
and can boast
being a friend
of the bookstore.
Saturday, March 16, 2019
Bitterness. Because I had no pictures to go with this text.
That is why you don't succeed as a blogger; you never remember to take the worthwhile pictures.
And then, brightening-up: Are the pictures necessary?
Are they necessary to describe the odor of a habit of coffee, stale (mildly flowery) and accommodated into the place, but welcoming and familiar? Most certainly not.
Would they be enough to encompass the turbulent accumulation of books, mildly turbulent in subject-matter, exceedingly so in array, towering over everyone and everything and covering all available space? Absolutely not.
Could they purport to describe the labyrinthine ambiance of a 2x4 room drowning in papers forgotten, pictures incoherent, posters and letters confused and displaced? Of course, no.
And yet the friendliness of this chaos, of this crazy yet intellectual chaos, that is beyond a still-frame also. In spite of one's occasional preoccupation regarding rats, regarding mold, regarding how easily things are lost in such a place, one is welcome, there are enough chairs, there are enough cups of coffee and tea, occasionally there is cheese or grapes, one sits down and has a laugh and perhaps thinks a philosophical thought or two, one occasionally works, but it has become home, a frightening home, yes, a dauntingly messy one, yes, but one grows to love it and admire a person that can function in a room that aspires so dignifiedly to be an Aleph.
Wednesday, March 6, 2019
Blogging is going through an existential crisis, and the blogger in me is cris'ing with it.
I have given this point so much thought the past, I don't know, years. After all, blogs were there when I was a young pre-teenagerlet of eleven who had to wear a back brace to school every day, plagued by demons about how unloved she was going to be because of the freakish way the plastic thing she had to wear around her torso made her look. I had to go to school and suffer, yes, but then I would go home and was free to read endless blogs were so many cool people shared their lives and nobody could prevent from pretending that I was one of them.
Suddenly, though, that died.
It died partly because I was no longer suffering in the real world. I am 23 now. More than a decade has gone by since I first discovered blogging, and I have come to own the spot I inhabit in this world. To cherish the person I am, and to display it fearlessly. I don't need a secret blog where I can talk about things I used to share with no one, because now I am constantly surrounded by people that share my passions and interests. Books, art, clothes, music. Some of these things, even, I have stopped loving quite so passionately, just because, as I have realized that they do not make me unique anymore, they are not a part of my personality. I can simply enjoy them, without the burning desire to have this thing identify me.
Except for books. The books are still a part of what constitutes: Me.
However, I have not stopped longing for a spot of the internet that doesn't quite work like social media. When people blog, most of the time, they don't know who sees it, and therefore, care about the result in a wholly different way. They care because it's something they made, it is them, in a sense.
Although I did try to accumulate new readers, changing the content was not the way that was going to happen. Could I say the same about social media now? I'm on so many platforms that have strict codes of conduct with an even stricter police (consisting of a wide range of people who populate diversely my love-hate spectre) to enforce it. For example, can you imagine having me write this down on Instagram? For one, as we say in Chile "me muero de paja" writing this all down on a teeny cellphone screen. (As you might have deduced, "me muero de paja" can be roughly translated to "the lazyness* would kill me"). In spite of the fact that I might give more or less fucks regarding people's opinion, the undeniable Truth is this: I would not feel comfortable.
*I tried to find the most appropriate word to translate "paja" into, so I used a thesaurus, and discovered that lazyness has this marvelous synonym:
Now had YOU ever heard of that word?
I miss this lack of creative restraint. I miss being able to talk about mental illness without eliciting annoying sympathy, or about love without feeling gooey. I miss sharing pictures without the least preoccupation on whether it's a "another cliché picture of the sunset" or actually pretty, joking without wondering whether my thousand or so followers will get it, or what about the politics of the situation at hand. This is what I miss, and you know what?
Fuck it. I don't care if blogging is dying, or dead as hell, I will turn this baby into a White Walker, but it will be a fun one that enjoys dancing in her room alone at midnight to Abba whilst drinking chocolate milk. Occasionally, it will also be a White Walker that kills, but not people, just myself. I can get gloomy every so often, especially during the winter, you know.
The conclusion of this is: To hell with it all! I am back, dear blog. I will focus on writing, because that is what I love, that is what I am particularly good at, and that is what I can do freely here and nowhere else. I will probably never be famous, nobody is going to read this shit, but at 23.3 years old I really don't care what this thing is FOR. Generally, yes, I am a utilitarian, but not now.
See, blogging turned me into a Kantian! Blogging is an ends in itself.
Sunday, February 4, 2018
If a blog post is under 200 words, you probably ought to take extra advantage of the title in order to get the message across: This post is about happiness and goal-making
- Being happy takes a lot of effort.
- To be happy you must be greatful
- To be happy you must challenge yourself
- To be happy you must be willing to take pleasure in the good things
Because of point 2º, and the Fear of Mediocrity, I have set two goals for myself this week:
- Write a Sparknotes post
- Write a blog post (this one doesn't count)
So, if anyone is still out there (you know, in this part of the blogosphere), watch out, I'm actually going to write.
Thursday, November 23, 2017
Today as I walked home I thought about how my favourite sound is the rustling of trees. "The tremor of the leaves," rather. And I thought about all the things that sound like tree leaves: Rain on a rooftop, applause, a person drowsily rolling under the bed coveres.
And the birds were politely discussing, and an ocasional suburban car drove gently by, and afar a dog was barking. And all of those were my favourite sounds.
There was even the murmur of a lawn mower in the air.
And all of these were most definetely my favourite sounds.
Perhaps, I thought, any sound is beautiful when surrounded by a blanket of silence. Any sound has its musicallity, its artistic sense, even if it's not pretty. Even if it's a baby crying, or an adult crying, a car alarm crying, a dog whining or crying*.
Downtown, no sound is beautiful. Because they compete for your attention and drown in the process. But amidst the silence, even your voice, with its slightly nasal undertones, can sound just fine.
*the word choice depends on how much you love dogs.
Sunday, November 19, 2017
I recently turned 22, which makes me sad because I am officially no longer a youngling. And surely I'm not the only who thinks that 21 is the eve of adolescence????
Perhaps I've told you this, but one of my Greatest Fears is the passage of time. This is the great highbrowed psychoanlitical reason behind my constant diary-keeping, picture-taking, scrapbook-making, blog-writing and any other activity-ing that will entail wasting my life on trying to preserve it.
I fear the passage of time because it is fleeting. Because you can't quite grab it, and the more you try, the more it slips by. "Like trying to contain a river with your hands." This is a quote by no one in particular, but I am most likely not the first person to think of that metaphor either.
I like to take pictures and collect memorabilia because they are the surest and most beautiful way of preserving the moments that strung my life, and the people who gave it laughter and meaning.
This is all born out of the Great Fear of reaching the End, trying to remember what my life was, and arriving at the chilling conclusion that I have no time left, and yet did nothing relevant with the time I had.
Nothing assures me that I will in fact ever do anything relevant, but these activities at least allow me to leave something for the record: Here I was, with these people, surrounded by these places. And cheers for that.
PS. I am no longer using the Ana Ruiz instagram account, but at 22, I am no longer scared of the stalkers or trolls either, so, if you please, you can follow me on my non-pseudonym-all-Spanish account:
PPS. I also went back to my Bookstagram days:
Sunday, October 1, 2017
I'm not the biggest Pablo Neruda fan, in spite of our shared nationality, (in fact, in public I call him a cliché-loving sexist fool) but I will recognize a true verse when I see it, even if it does come from a cliché-loving sexist fool. One of these goes "the child who doesn't play isn't a child, and the adult who doesn't play has forever lost the child within him."
But play isn't just defying your siblings to a game of The Settlers of Catan or a match of soccer, it can be many things. In fact, Neruda's quote isn't exactly from a poem, but from an interview in which he was asked why he was such an avid collector of random stuff (such as ship figureheads), to which he answered that these things were his toys.
A toy can be anything, play can be many things, here are some of the ones I cherish the most:
- Choose your ice cream based on color, and not on flavor.
- Take any opportunity you might have to dress up in costume, and if opportunities do not show up, then skip them and just dress up for the sake of it.
- Read. Books. With. Pictures. In. Them.
- Get very exited about things like escalators and pushing the button on the elevator.
- Ask questions. All the time.
- Ocasionally, rebel against the norm of showers.
- Say words wrong. In fact, you can just go ahead and invent your own wrong words, making them a part of your vocabulary. Let no one dare correct you. It's going to be supercallifragilistcexpiallidocious.
- Watch cartoons.
- Use funny socks and enjoy it immensely.
- Spontaneously ug your Mom or another loved one and tell her you love her or him.
- Go to the nearest park and use the playground. Particularly, the swings. Imagine that if you swing hard enough, you might be able to land on the moon or Jupiter. Swing so hard that you get a little bit scared that you might go around the bars.
- Have an imaginary friend that you can talk to and have pretty important discussions with.
- Enjoy a good sprint. Pretend you have wings and are flying.
- Dare to wear non-color coordinated clothes.
- Be overenthusiastic about going out and doing things.
- Be a sticker hoarder.
- Concoct unique combinations at a soda dispenser and name them after yourself.
- Climb a nearby friendly tree. You might even find that the tree invites you to a interesting conversation regarding the funny behaviour of ants.
- Go barefoot.
- Lay on the grass to watch the sky. Forget about that annoying thing called time and it's horrible tendency to pass.
Ahoy readers :) See you in Neverland.
Inclination: Said of the temporary cloudiness that perturbs a person's mind when entering a store with beautiful items on sale.
Infatuation: The smell of one's beloved.
Itch: The physical manifestation of sexual desire. Usually refers to the anatomy surrounding, and including, the groin.
Lasciviousness: The smell in a room after sex has been had within it.
Lechery: Unrestrained or excessive indulgence of chocolate.
Libido: The color of plants during spring. Generally used regarding flowers.
Liking: The smell of freshly laundered sheets.
Longing: Looking at old picture albums.
Love: A person that continues to flirt with his or her long-term partner.
Mania: Dancing to one's favorite upbeat song.
Motive: An athlete that pictures the finish line while sweating and panting.
Need: The desperate longing for summer that occurs during winter months.
Passion: Discovering a near-perfect work of art, be it a painting, photograph, movie, poem, etcetera.
Predilection: The taste of peanut M&Ms.
Proclivity: The unusually strong weight that overcomes eyelids during a monotonous class.
Propensity: A person that wears too many colors at the same time and yet still manages to look fabulous.
Rapaciousness: An overflowing bouquet.
Rapture: The first stage in an amorous relationship.
Ravenousness: The urge to run barefoot or roll around on a never-ending field of grass.
Relish: The loving embrace with which bedclothes and pillows surround a sleepy person.
Salacity: Beautiful undergarments.
Solicitude: The intense bond created in a long-lasting group of devoted friends.
Thirst: The temptation given by a crystalline swimming pool in the middle of summertime.
Urge: What makes balloons fly away into space.
Voracity: An avant-garde term for brownies.
Want: The feeling of loss when a once perfect relationship goes sour. Usually manifests itself in desperately trying to fix what is probably unfixable.
Will: The act of fixing what seemed unfixable.
Wish: A multitude of candles.
Yearning: A ball of thread wanting to be unspun. Sometimes used regarding tangled earphones.
Tuesday, September 5, 2017
Ambition: An acknowledgment of one's own power.
Appetite: The sight of unread books on a bookshelf.
Ardor: The warmth a steaming beverage transmits to cold hands, generally referring to coffee.
Aspiration: The long intake of breath taken by a student on the dawn of his or her first day of class.
Attraction: The sight of perfectly applied lipstick on lips.
Avidity: The manner in which a hungry person watches the seconds of the microwave go slowly by as his or her lunch gets warmed up.
Craving: A woman's sudden acknowledgment of the emptiness of her vagina.
Concupiscence: The way a person slowly touches their own body in slow and thankful adoration.
Covetousness: An outfit that perfectly enhances one's butt or waist.
Craze: Said of a person that uploads many pictures of his o her pet to social media.
Cupidity: A newly discovered song that strongly obsesses its listener. Usually this obsession manifests itself in relentless replay, which can cut the obsession short as the listener is likely to become tired of it.
Devotion: The taste of cheese.
Doting: The act of watching a baby sleep.
Eagerness: Synonym for flirting.
Fancy: Said of the urgent need to eat processed sugar.
Fascination: A day on which your Tumblr feed is on-point.
Fervor: The strong heat that emanates from a person that is talking about a cause that he or she feels strongly about. The cause is usually political or ideological, but can also be a topic the person is fond of, such as an artistic expression.
Fondness: The state or quality of hugging.
Frenzy: The state of a person's mind on the first days after discovering a new hobby.
Greed: The name given to the heartburn that is felt by youths as they close their eyes after uploading a picture to Instagram and wait for likes.
Hankering: A dollop of meringue.
Hunger: The want to live exhilarating experiences.
Tuesday, August 8, 2017
I see through the vinyl capitalist plot: It's just a way to have us hipsterish people invest in useless stuff (because, honestly, you can listen to the same music on free and accesible Youtube.)
But as of late, I have started becoming nostalgic of the epoque when I had to buy CDs in order to listen to music, because that meant having, touching, seeing that object of pure happiness, ie, the music you love.
I don't have the money or the room space right now to buy a disk player, or whatever you call those fancy shingamadigs, but if I could, I would
- Blue by Joni Mitchell (OF COURSE) (JONI I LOVE YOU)
- The Suburbs by Arcade Fire
- Fleet Foxes by Fleet Foxes
- The Queen is Dead by The Smiths
- Kind of Blue by Miles Davis
Wednesday, August 2, 2017
This year I discovered love; it's the feeling of cardiovascular organs expanding by the mere presence of another beautiful collection of molecules. In my case, the beautiful collection of molecules form a fluffy, snowy, beautiful little puppy, and oh, if I could do anything to keep him a baby forever, trust me, I would.
Friday, July 21, 2017
This is a blog post about the things I want to blog about.
I want to blog about music, about the movies I'm watching, about the books I should be reading. I want to take pictures with my DSLR and not with my phone, I want to write some stories and some poetry. I want to dress wonderfully and take pictures of all my amazing outfits. At times, I even want to ponder purposefully about politics and philosophy and stuff, and perhaps share that with you. Oh, I also have done some traveling, and it would be a shame not to share that too.
So much to do, such scarcity of time :D Hop along, blog readers of the world.
Tuesday, May 16, 2017
I'm BERI used to writing about all the semi-frivolous troubles that haunt my curly head: University, body image, politics, life, and, most importantly love. I have not been dealt a generous hand in love throughout most of my 21 years. A fling here, a something there, but most of the time, whenever I fell heads-over-heels for a guy (or gal), the persona in question either:
a) Didn't reciprocate
b) Used me and then dropped me
However, now I'm scrumptiously and wonderfully in love and, oh, hey, it WORKED. He is ideal in most of the senses I can describe, and loves me, and is a cutie pie with me, and I am just amazed at the fact that love actually exists and isn't some sort of romantic construct or media-created brainwashing enterprise.
Anyhoo, I am happy and I wish all of you can be as happy as I am. And get all the sex. Tehee.
PS. I wanted to write more about this, but yours truly used to be the kind of person to get annoyed at rubbed-in-your-face love. So I'm not going to do it. Let me know if you don't think it's annoying.
Tuesday, May 9, 2017
Saturday, April 1, 2017
|An analogue of my great summer diet :)|
One of the sad things about the classical blog format (versus the Tumblr format) is that it doesn't admit reblogging, which means that the good stuff can often become historical dust-covered data hidden in the quiet halls of The Library of the Internet.
I hate that :(
Here are some of my fave not-so-old posts that I nevah want to be forgotten: