Last pages of journal and me and Rogelio

Today I made the last entry on my journal. It was a way of getting ridd of all those bad feelings, the sadness, the angryness.

The other day while talking with my close friend I noticed how angry I am, how I always keep on making excuses on those whom hurt me and I keep blaming me for all the mess, when the whole mess is not mine, part of it yes, so why to think is all my fault as if I were some kind of idiotic masoquist when I'm not ?. There was a time when I used to trust, not so long ago. Now, when I can't do it she comes, my beautiful bird, giving me all those nice things people should give and people should receive. Her hands are full and mine are empty and still she's so kind and patient. I feel like one monster myself, rotten inside.

The drawing is about that, about me yearning to trust, to feel again, to let others fill my hands with kisses and music, images, love, but also leaving things behind and not drag them into new places.

I think that my moleskine should look messier after all this time. I started to write on it on July last year. Wow ! I haven't read all those pages, I never do. Maybe when I get older I'll do it and it would be something great to do. Is amazing how is not a big thing, I mean, I didn't write that much on it, that's why it took me almost a year. As now I write more next journal will go quicker than this one

And fot this days of flu...
yes, I do wear it on the streets, but I try not to go out if I don't have to. Some friends told me I'm paranoic, maybe.
My camarada Benjamin told me the other day I should take a photo with that thing, but I forgot to add the smile on it >.<

Oh, yes, today was - and still is very hot - Poor Rogelio, he lies there like if he were dead and a truck just passed by over him - like Churchill from "Pet Sematary" :D


The princess, the prince and the warrior

Today I finished - at last - the entries for moly_x_48.

I wish I could say I'm happy with them, but I'm half happy. There's something missing an I don't know what it is...

A friend just asked me if they're from a story. They are. True story, true characters but how I see them and not who they really are.


Pushkin / Bilibin - old memories

While looking through my dad books I found this little book - actually is big but thin -. Is an A. Pushkin story, a book edited in Russia, transtaled to spanish. I remember that I spent hours looking at the images, marveled by their beauty. My wish was, back those days, that someday I could make such beautiful drawings.

Years after I'm still amazed by Bilibin's works and still wishing one day I could make things like that.


Form aka green man and censored shit

I still don't know what to draw about. In moments like this drawings as such come to me, like if I were searching in places I don't want nor need to look. I guess is how it works.
Perhpas one day it will really be a green man. Perhaps.

I got censored on deviantart because of this one

Funny things happens when I don't pay attention. Somebody said I should submit it again, a close friend told me to fight back - well, she's a warrior, is natural she'd say that -. I won't submit it and won't fight. I'm too tired for any of those, more than tired: bored.
Is the first time I get censored. There must be something I'm doing right. As Warhol said : there's not such thing as bad publicity ;)


Empty bed and secrets of my room

Today I woke up early. The sky was blue with no clouds, the weather hot but comfortable. I opened my eyes and look to the courtains moving softly when the breeze from outside the window hit them. I got up, right foot first, left one after. My mum was calling me for breakfast so I went down to the kitchen and that place where we eat - I can never recall what's the name of that place -. I ate my breakfast in silence : eggs, coffee and some mixture of apple with seeds, drinkable thing, sweet and delicious. My mum and sister were insilence too, except for the little tick - my neice . She was on and on talking about... what ever, actually, a common conversation an 8 year old gikl would have. I was still sleep, the minutes seemed to strech to impossible ways and every one of them seemed like a century. I had to excuse myself and went to sleep again. I slept until 3 pm. I was checking my e-mail and some pages around. I didn't have any mail. He doesn't write anymore and sometimes I miss the past days. Good, maybe is the way it has to be. My nephew came into my room and we were talking. He asked me lots of questions. Is amazing to see how much they change when they're growing up. My mum called him - it seems she's all day calling people around -, she tought he was bothering me, but he wasn't... much. Before I went down again I found two e-mails there waiting for me, one wishing me a good evening, the other with a link for a blog, both messages from the same person. My heart jumped, as it used to. Is all I needed at the moment.
Down there with my family I ate a mango, juicy, sweet. I went back to my room and decided to take some photos around. There aren't many, my batteries are empty and I think there's something wrong with them - they're rechargables ones -.
I didn't make the bed, didn't feel like it. I spend too much time on it lately that I'm starting to believe we have a secret well known affair

I couldn't decide which of the two photos I like the most. Now my wall has more things, little ones, nice ones.

My dad had so many things, some of them I'll place in my room, maybe.

Inks. I'm addicted to inks. I keep the little red tin thing near them. Lynne send it from UK and it has tons of nibs, also part of the gift she sent. I'm most happy and lucky to get those. I've tried most of them, just little scribbles, nothing too fancy. I'll use them for sure, when I get the hunger for draw.

The last two things: a little bird I have in my room. I have two, I should take a photo of the other one too. This one remind me one beautiful lovely bird named Rita that once found me, not long ago, under a stary sky.

This last one, one of my favourites. A gift from Erandi, when we lived in Mexico City. She told me it looks like me. I don't know, maybe she was right.


My dad...

... died on Monday. My sister found him in his house, peaceful on his bed; he looked like this. How fortunated he was and I am calmed and happy it was this way things happened.

I been thinking how people say when somebody dies that he or she was a good person, even if he or she was a bastard. I can trully say that my dad was not a good person, he was the most wonderful person I've ever met in so many ways; sure he had his bad sides, as we all, but the good sides were bigger and richer than enything else. I love him so much and I always will and he loved me too and were pround of me as his daughter as I know he was pround of my sister too.

I only regret that I didn't saw him on Sunday for the last time. I didn't saw him as we always did, because I was selfish and stupid and were only thinking about how I was feeling that day. Now my last memory of is him so worried asking me to see him, go out and take a coffee and talk to make me feel better. I know is going to take a while to forgive myself, but I will, I need to, I know he'd like that more than anything. Monday morning I woke up thinking about how much wished I could hold him and say to him how sorry and silly I was and that he always make me feel so happy and yes, let's go for a chai with soy milk and check some cd's at "mix-up" and buy some puff pastry for he could make a delicious struddel I liked so much and in that way he, my sister and me could be happy, or even go to watch "aliens vs monsters" on 3D because he wanted that.

I will always keep a very warm feeling about him because he was both my dad and my mum for a very long time and for that I have and always will admire him.

Gracias por todo, padre mío.


Mi corazón - very ugly

I should stop listening to those country songs, they only make me feel sadder...But Johnny is here tonight with me saying "hey! get rhythm, when you feel the blues", tying to cheer me up, dancing around with his guitar, giving me a croocked smile. And I hear what he says, with his lovely deep voice. I tell him how I fell in that ring of fire once he fell... and it burns, burns, burns the ring of fire, isn't ?
He takes my hand and leads me to the dance floor. "It's all a dream, babe, ya know?" he whispers in my ear.I woke up. Is not a dream and I'm still sad.
For two days I been feeling worthless, in a way that is like people are ashamed of me, friends, loved ones, is always the same.
My heart is ugly and I'm the only one who can't see that.
Wake up, hon, don't keep on fooling yourself.


La tristeza y sketches

Hoy mi tristeza sigue ahí, drenándose en todos los lugares, en mis huesos, en mi corazón. Y la tristeza se vuelve enojo y el enojo en decepción.

Hoy es de esos días que no quiero saber nada, nada de nada, simplemente cerrar mis ojos y dormir hasta el día siguiente en espera de que sea mejor, y lo es, hasta que me topo con su precencia y todo vuelve de nuevo, y mi corazón se rompe otra vez y mis ganas de gritar surgen de lugares que creía muertos, como viejos fantasmas que atormentan mis sueños y deseos.

Hoy no quiero amar

Hoy no quiero sentir
Hoy sé por qué él no me menciona, por qué una vez más soy el secreto del alguien, y me pregunto si valgo la pena de ser mencionada, de que el otro se sienta bien con respecto a mí. Al parecer no.
Como yo, con esos sketches que no muestro

Y yo me convierto en uno de esos también


No tengo tampoco por qué mencionarte más.

"Dando y dando, pajarito volando"



Today I still feel idiotic and upset with myself, mainly, for being like this.

I'm still waiting for the same stupid things that won't come and my hands are full of my things.

Today I want them empty.

No dreams

No wonders

I finished the first entry on my new journal. I thought that would make me feel a bit better but didn't do the trick. I tried this material, an indian ink. I don't know if it's supposed to smell as horrid as it smells and I'm starting to get a headache - fantastic, the cherry on the freaking top -. Now I know I like regular ink more, also because is waterproof and the lines seem more solid. Sure I'll use that ink again, but next time, with the propper ventilation.

Speaking of ventilation...

My pc is freaking hot. Leon, the technician, told me that water boils at 100º degrees and my pc is at 95º degrees right now. I could heat my tea if I want to with no problems, except for the pc, of course. He could low the temperature at 86º degrees, which is still no good.

It was a weird umpleasant day. I could make a list of things that happened, but I'm too tired and I think I'm going to sleep now before I really get upset about, well, all.

... and I uploaded two images here and now there's only one !

That's it !

I'm going to sleep right now !