ceremonias

[ceremonias]

Suspiro impetuoso

Volveré a Nueva Inglaterra triunfante como el cisne en primavera. Volveré a Nueva Inglaterra moribundo de amor en la posguerra. Y el viento del norte que ondula pasiones, recogerá el recuerdo de nuestras canciones que llegarán a tu predio en agonía.

#poesia #notas #textos

[ceremonias]

Instante de un reencuentro

Para volver a verte no estaba preparado,

cruelmente el hado del tiempo nos separó.

Escapé de tus ojos de insomnio

que hoy acechan detrás de estas letras,

cinceladas en mi pecho con tu raudo adiós.

Hoy que vuelvo a verte destemplada

el recuerdo mis lágrimas arranca.

Entonces rebusco mis adverbios

para convertirme, una vez mas,

en el blanco de tus balas camufladas en besos.

Eres como una noche desapacible.

Y en tu vuelo nocturno

dejas una estela luminosa,

capaz de alumbrar el bosque mas mustio.

Eres destino pero no puedo amarte.

Llámale ingenuidad si quieres,

pero esta fragilidad desproporcionada,

este querer que es mas tuyo que mío, esta oscuridad,

es el temor a contar las horas y que todavía siga siendo ayer.

Texto a cuatro manos.

Autores: @ceremonias & @primaveras-rotas.

#textos #escritos #notas #poesia

[ceremonias]

Al amanecer desayunábamos café y frutas. Café con leche de almendras y un bol con arándanos, fresas y rodajas de plátano. También pan fresco que ella había horneado la noche anterior. Una luz matinal se colaba por la ventana hasta tocar nuestro cubrecama, mientras mirábamos la laguna congelada, anhelando la prolongación del invierno. ❄️

#textos #versos #escritos #notas

[ceremonias]

Photo: Henry Clarke/Conde Nast, via Getty Images

This face belongs to the writer that led me to journaling. I first discovered her work when I was living in Maine in 2019. Her concept of documenting only personal and intimate details clicked with me immediately. She emphasized that we should only take note of what truly captures our interest, recognizing that what only matters are the things that resonate with our inner world. I carry my journal with me everywhere because of her influence. Thanks to her guidance, I have learned the importance of revisiting past entries to discover who I was in a different life chapter.

Reading "Let Me Tell You What I Mean" was a transformative experience. It left a lasting impact on my life and changed me. It helped me become a better writer and a better person. It's amazing how certain books can leave an unforgettable mark on one's life. Personally, I know the memory of these words will always stay with me: "Keepers of private notebooks are a different breed altogether, lonely and resistant rearrangers of things, anxious malcontents, children afflicted apparently at birth with some presentiment of loss." Descansa en paz, mi heroína.

#joan didion #journaling #books

[ceremonias]

I used to write about what surrounded me. I tried to capture the details of life through people's anecdotes every day. I listened to their stories carefully, no matter how simple or superficial they were. I believed that if I listened to those anecdotes and then gathered them together, I would be able to write something worth it someday. Nowadays, I realize I need to live my own experiences instead of listening to other people's stories. As proof of my statement, I can say I only have written one from all the stories I noted during that period.

These days, I write about my background throughout life. While I constantly ask myself who I am, I write about people I met in the past and how they helped me achieve change with myself. I write about people I loved and how I lost them foolishly. I write about nature, and I like to observe how it works perfectly and displays all its beauty in front of my eyes. And meanwhile, as I am a Stranger to these lands, nature reveals to me as a pond in the woods surrounded by English evergreens and majestic pines. It is the loon singing at dawn while I make my coffee. It is autumn in a crunched dry leaf under my boots. It is a winter day while I watch the snow falling from my cozy cottage in New England. And I know I am by myself.

I used to write about __________; these days, I write about __________.

#prose #short prose #literature #writing #books #maine #poetry

[ceremonias]

Mutual gazes do not keep secrets. In courtship conversations, a typical scenario where people stare at each other's eyes and elucidate their souls' sorrows, it is easy to notice when the eyes want to tell us something. Nonetheless, to reveal a gaze's meaning, it is not simply enough to recognize its appearance. Life experience and love intuition are required to taste its secrets, not to mention a collection of many broken hearts and love failures.

#romantic academia #books and reading

[ceremonias]

Foto de Loon Pond en Maine, estado ubicado al noreste extremo de los Estados Unidos, conocido también como Vacationland. © Lauro Minaya.

Tráeme el verano (Bring on the summer)

Oh Erin, déjame decirte algo, en el verano del 2019 me la pasé bomba. “B-O-M-B-A”. Por aquel entonces vivía con mi novia en Maine. Ella y yo éramos inseparables: “She was like the Nutella to my spoon”. Pasábamos horas en la orilla del lago bebiendo cerveza o hard seltzer con sabores a frutilla. Ella siempre sonreía bajo ese bonito sombrero de paja que su madre le trajo de Hawai. “You’re my strawberry”, le decía. Y ella se sonrojaba.

Al atardecer volvíamos caminando a casa con el sol a cuestas. Y en el camino ella me preguntaba qué quería para cenar. ¿Te comenté que aprendió a cocinar comida peruana? Ella siempre cocinaba los platillos más deliciosos y hasta horneaba pan fresco.

Por las noches nos recostábamos en el sofa de la sala para ver Netflix. A ella le gustaban mucho los dramas japoneses, y se ponía nerviosa cada vez que los protagonistas se daban un beso. Una vez me confesó que se consideraba una persona romántica.

Antes de la medianoche, por lo general, ya estábamos acostados. Hacíamos el amor desenfrenadamente, con una pasión exacerbada. Eramos como dos estrellas que colisionaban para formar luego un único universo. Un círculo infinito para dos en donde no existía el tiempo. Un mundo entregado al deseo.

Oh Erin, discúlpame, no debí mencionar la parte referida al sexo. De pronto agachaste la mirada y creamos un silencio terrible. Hasta que te confesé que el verano del 2019 fue el mejor verano de mi vida. Sin embargo, no tuve el corazón para decirte que anhelo otro verano aún mejor. Y me gustaría que sea contigo.

#textos #notas #maine

[ceremonias]

Read me something

Sue dormía profundamente solo cuando le leía un cuento al acostarnos. Entonces yo tomaba posición del lado de la cama contiguo a la mesa de noche. Y con un libro en mi regazo, encendía la luz de nuestra lámpara. Recuerdo que ella reposaba sutilmente su cabeza sobre mi pecho. Y en ese instante, me detenía brevemente para admirar la belleza de su rostro semi dormido.

No miento si digo que Sue se dormía poco después de haber empezado el cuento. Por aquel entonces, era un alivio saber que había conciliado el sueño, el cual le era tan esquivo. Ella dormía y mi voz ya no podía alcanzarla. Así pues, colocaba el libro sobre la mesa de noche, y apagaba la luz de nuestra lámpara. La oscuridad abrazaba nuestra pieza, pero nosotros nos abrazábamos. Y dormíamos juntos.

#textos #notas #escritos

[ceremonias]

Los recuerdos de mis días a tu lado solo tenían sabor a nostalgia. Sufrí las heridas que el pasado impone a los que se aferran a él. Y en ese ver de cómo mi corazón se afligía sobre si mismo, fue que decidí abandonar el tormento de aquellos días de angustia. No tuve más remedio que reconciliarme con el tiempo, para dejar de ser un hombre que tiene algo que reprocharse.

#textos #notas #escritos

[ceremonias]

Cuantas veces he querido tirar la toalla ante una nueva complicación del día a día, para darme cuenta después, con cierta vergüenza disimulada, que el cuerpo se adapta siempre a las necesidades del alma. Lo mejor, entonces, ante los cambios bruscos, es tener paciencia y buen ánimo. Eso nos da una mirada más fría de las cosas, sobre todo cuando estas apremian.

#textos #escritos #notas

[ceremonias]

A little coincidence

I am happy to be back at the public library after the pandemic outbreak. This is my first visit since then. The preventive measures suggested by authorities are everywhere. They are displayed on signs placed especially on tables and bookshelves. As a reminder, the virus is still a threat.

Wandering around bookshelves makes you forget the harsh reality of the ongoing pandemic. It feels good to lose oneself in the world of literature. All of a sudden, my eyes landed on Allen Ginsberg's book featuring his picture on the cover. Without thinking twice, I reached out and grabbed it.

Holding the book in my hands made me think its appearance was not coincidental. Just a couple of days ago, I had been in my room watching the film Kill Your Darlings, starring Daniel Radcliffe as Ginsberg. Although I consider myself a rational person, I believe there are certain clues we shouldn't overlook. Will I discover something I need in Ginsberg's writing? After all, literature can be magical.

Entry took from my journal—New Jersey, June of 2021.

#books #allen ginsberg #dark academia

[ceremonias]

Dormido despierto

Me resisto a ser lo que hasta el momento he sido: un dormido despierto. Un hombre que relame sus heridas por las noches y actúa fríamente y sin criterio durante el día. Un títere que se deja llevar por la rutina diaria. Por lo contrario, si quiero ser otra vez un despierto lúcido, tengo que remover con bravura los escombros del pasado.

¡Asesinar su nombre en mí y despertar!

Solo así escaparé del pantano emocional que embarra mis pensamientos y estanca mis ilusiones. Solo así avanzaré sin hundirme en la maleza del bosque de mis recuerdos. Solo así saldré del patetismo del luto de un amor separado en los albores de la pandemia. Entonces, y solamente entonces, es muy probable que empiece a sonreír (de nuevo).

Ceremonias

#citas #frases #notas #fragmentos adolescententes #textos #textos cortos #escritos

[ceremonias]

I recently began “The Plague” by Albert Camus in Spanish. This is the first book I’ve read in my mother tongue since I moved to America two and a half years ago.

A cup of coffee — black like night— completes my bed readings. ☕️

#journaling #literature #writing

[ceremonias]

Me cuesta levantarme de la cama. Y mientras no me levanto me quedo pensando en ella, en nuestros momentos de intimidad, en cuando solíamos dormir juntos. Tarde comprendí que adquirí una costumbre de la cual me toma tiempo desprenderme: el hábito de dormir acompañado. Y es que nunca antes dormí tan cómodo como cuando dormía con ella. Solíamos dormir siempre abrazados, de costado, o a veces ella encima mío, dejando su cabeza caer sobre mi pecho. Yo no sabía que durante todas esas noches estaba adquiriendo ese hábito, esa costumbre, la cual hoy me hace tanta falta, y me hace quedarme en cama por lo menos dos horas más cada día. Y es que a pesar de que gozo de buen sueño, mis despertares no son los mismos, sigo pegado en la cama, pensando, inútilmente en ti.

#notas #textos #escritos

[ceremonias]

Montclair Book Center Fiction Section in New Jersey.

Visiting the bookshop

I went to the bookshop for the first time in months. Let's say I got tired of being at home by myself every time I have a day off. I don't mind being alone. I can spend long seasons with myself with no problems, but since the pandemic started to shape us into something called new normality, I decided to break the solitude bubble.

It was a beautiful day outside; the sky was completely cloudless, and the New Jersey sun shined brightly on the pavement. People were wearing summer clothes on the streets; they looked happy. "Where is the pandemic?" I asked myself from the back seat of a cab.

Fifteen minutes later, I was in the bookshop, sneaking my fingers around the books from the poetry shelf. Nothing called my attention until I moved to the nonfiction area and heard their voices.

Photo on the left: I was shocked when I found this Garcia Lorca book in English. He is a very famous Spanish poet I read back in college.

Photo on the right: Montclair Book Center building frontage and entrance in New Jersey.

“Oh my God, I want to read this book," said one of them.

"Be careful because this is not just an enchantment book. I believe this is more like Brujeria," said another.

Then when I turned my gaze back into the interior of the shop, I saw groups of kids moving around frantically: Hipsters with tattooed bellies and purple-colored hair. And I realized that the only thing we had in common was the excitement for books. "Are these the new readers' generation?" I thought.

I continued checking books by myself and listening to fragments of their conversations about poets I have never heard about or topics not related to my literary tastes when some joy enveloped me suddenly. Well, I thought, it doesn't matter what they read as long as they read. The hipsters seemed happy, and that is what matters. Maybe in the future, they will switch to other literature. Who knows? Because in the end, everything falls into place.

That day I left the bookshop with a copy of Joan Didion's Let Me Tell You What I Mean essays. Outside, a cold breeze made my body tremble to the bone. It reminded me that winter is still not over.

#writing #books #literature

[ceremonias]

A journal entry made with my trusty fountain pen.

Some thoughts about journaling

I am researching the relationship between writer and writing before starting an essay about my connection with the writing métier. In this process, it is inevitable not to talk about the bond I have developed with my notebook in the last months.

In 2020 I started to keep a notebook with me. In the beginning, I used it as a depository of notes for scholarly research. Then I began to write random phrases overhearing in conversations, movies or taken from books or magazines. Typically things that resonated with me.

This highlighted sentence could be an entry in my notebook.

Now I write an entry almost every day, consisting of simple thought or a vague monologue of two or three pages. My entries have increased with no doubt, but the essence of writing random things has not changed. That's why I resonate with Joan Didion when she says that "the point of my keeping a notebook has never been, nor is it now, to have an accurate factual record of what I have been doing or thinking."

For me, keeping a notebook is not about having a record of reality. It has to do more with finding myself when I am writing and looking back at my past entries to discover how I was or how much I changed. This game of "paying passage back to the world out there" could be as well a source of raw material for fiction or nonfiction stories. We will see.

#journaling #dark academia

[ceremonias]

A photo I took of my friend Shelby with some bouquets on a table at the Oxbow Brewing Company in Portland, Maine.

A new sensation

Far away from those times when we could gather on crowded bars, now the pandemic forces us to acquire new routines. 

Since the night's glamour was lost, and there are no more photographs, bouquets, and exotic cocktails left, I start my day with a walk around the neighborhood.

Every morning I wander lonely as a cloud for about thirty minutes wearing a set of headphones, joggers, and a black coat. While walking, I like to listen to news podcasts or just music. These days, I am listening to Charly Garcia's Modern Clics album. For some reason, I think his music communicates a sense of creation of things where all instruments are like free conjunction elements. Having said this, I feel that I can decompose a song by hearing each instrument separately, analyzing its sound and role as part of the main melody, and putting them back together to make them work again simultaneously. I usually cannot do that with any music, but clearly, I resonate with Modern Clics songs.

#writing #dark academia #music