Quipu 2 chosen by the second author in this new phase of the project is Quipu Álvaro Ávila Díaz, Chiclayo twenty-four, who studied journalism and is now said to engage in something " that has nothing to do with that. " For these days the jurors were Daniel Salas and Gustavo Faverón. He reminds those who wish to participate can send their stories or poems to e gfaveron@gmail.com . The stories not selected for a fortnight will be considered for the next fortnight.
THE GARDEN OF
Álvaro Díaz Dávila ONANA
What am I doing here? What am I doing here? I am a skewer stand.
(It was what the poet said Juan Ramirez Ruiz Chiclayo at a meeting of friends any night).
Bruno has disappeared and nobody knows where it is. For months left his home and was lost forever in the life of everyone. Until now I still looking, but I think no hope to find. As the months have progressed, the memory of Bruno has become a ghost that seeps into our lives, our conversations and in our dreams. Yesterday I dreamed, for example, that Bruno was the rocket was carrying a black letters that said "uncertainty." So I at least I have not stopped thinking about it or possible reasons for his disappearance, a disappearance that was strange at first, but then return to our speculations as a logical consequence creepy, as if the fate of Bruno is had condemned himself to evaporate, to disintegrate voluntarily in his own pathetic drama of an artist who does not know who to be.
One day he said: "I do not know what happens, but I feel that all the girls I've been are the same, all women have been the same just with a different body, as if each of them a repeat same prototype, the same way of seeing life. " That idea was torturing him for long. Bruno's life as his wives, a child is constantly repeated, as giving circles about the same, and for some reason I do not understand, one day Bruno realizes that. Those things do not understand. It was as if, suddenly, Bruno had decided awakening, or at any rate, it had awakened in a reckless manner and began to realize that life was something else. Bruno at every moment guy told us that he thought life was saved as a surprise, nobody had told him but he was convinced of that, and he has lived - he said - as if his life was not his true life, because his life would come true then and it would be different, more fun, but that he thought a child, but has been growing and growing and I felt very small, very disappointed, everything is so difficult, so big, so far me, now I am convinced that life I had saved nothing, life asshole, and now I'm walking in the dark. His words.
Ay! What you've been waiting for in life, Bruno. Before Bruno was happy and sad, sad and happy life of the same: his songs always, your mother, television programs ever, his old friends, their girlfriends - all the same - as always, his torment daily always, his manic sensibility as always, all blended into a torrent of emotions that were demolished daily and write songs pretty, yes, pretty, but never completely heartbreaking, beautiful but never ended up saying what he really felt, nice but not really good, and Bruno found that too and is scolded himself, and became depressed, was dazed and suffered a small internal despair. A small internal despair that I assume is the same as someone who feels he realizes that his life is a sham. Or the same internal despair of someone who could see their future through a window and saw what was a very dark tunnel and almost infinite. Things like this without exaggeration.
Bruno's life began to change. First, lightly, with sudden and strange decisions and mood swings, and then with more force and intensity until it became a real melancholic delirium. Up to become a confusing or surreal dream. Or something like that, because reality Bruno simply ceased to be the reality, as rockets are written the words "Uncertainty." Plane, I confess that the idea excited me, I looked really funny that a mediocre artist and without confidence in himself as he came to turn inward and to ask much about your own life, that he did disconnect with reality. For I knew well the life of Bruno, his shyness, his stories flow, its romances with discrete emotion of adolescents suffering and dull, the four or five bands, books and films that are its low cultural encyclopedia, of their inability to approach the risks and make important decisions, store in your little world inside only childhood television programs, its cloying romance like chocolate. In substance and in appearance, Bruno was a child. One looked and could not resist his charm and sweet restless boy, talked to him and thought that until a while ago had been playing in a school garden. There were twenty-five years but still carried within itself the unconscious and the spontaneity of a child, I have not met someone as spontaneous as Bruno, was unthinkable to find in it a premeditation, or a question exaggerated things. Bruno spoke and acted from his "I", its unique and valuable "me." A child Bruno sentenced to be impaled by their emotions, to let fall through life without thinking too much, without going into anything, the contradiction of a tear drop constantly accompanied by an eternal smile. But Bruno has changed and I honestly do not understand these things. How does an ordinary guy like Bruno could become lyrically crazy? Or beautifully mad, or fascinatingly crazy, or crazy dearly. Usually people do not change so drastically, and then how much Bruno is depressed one or two nights, but had returned to their everyday mediocrity, because so are ordinary guys, and because Bruno, like any ordinary guy, forget unconsciously concerns that might shake, and that it lacks depth. And so, without drama, you could spend your life to death in sweet ignorance. But Bruno woke up one day and a rocket called "Uncertainty" took him from his world to deposit on the planet for us all. Since then, Bruno wondered about life, death and the meaning of things and at first one I listened and laughed, because nobody thought he would take things too seriously. For my part I was beginning to observe the life of Bruno with special joy - in fact I was dying of laughter -. I became a silent follower of your progress as an artist confused, eager to know himself. Bruno's personality was "amusing - more complex and contradictory. Within him began to emerge, thanks - your alter ego and unhealthy self-destructive. And Bruno was spend time in silence, staring at the ceiling. The roof. And Bruno walking back and forth looking for a thought. A thought. Tried marijuana, although he failed in his insane desire to become an addict because it greatly bothered effect. Bruno suffering for the time, who called his principal enemy. This anguish for the lost time was triggered by a sudden, when he warned that what he was doing was useless to himself, then, for example, in the middle of a movie to which Bruno was not "essence", he stopped and went, where?, to be with myself, he told us. Or maybe one morning to Bruno you see it running, literally, saying that "ghost vacuum" and had not pursued him to devote more time, so I ran because I had to pick up a book, or listening to a disc.
The first condition was the paranoia with his voice. Became concerned about his voice, he was convinced that his voice was not always the same, constantly changing according to your mood or what he called his "inner strength." Both were convinced himself that idea, you really started to notice the differences, so sometimes he looked confident, with good pronunciation, speaking with emphasis each word, and others, he looked tired, fragile, even stuttering. Was a reflection of inner states, and therefore missed what was a smooth and rough voice, a soft voice that spreads with the wind.
spent all this because I thought that everything he did Bruno manages the tenderness and naivete. I looked at him, and he quickly became my personal hero, everyday and ordinary that character that makes every effort to rebel against their destiny of eternal repetition of the same. In the end, Bruno longed passionate about something, do not know if there reached that conclusion, but I am sure that Bruno wanted was that passion that would give some meaning to his life. But the passion has always eluded him, disappeared from his being like sand through his hands, came to life as shooting lightning, true and fleeting moments where I really "felt" life, but that quickly faded back to his daily frivolity. That is madness, of that crazy desire to hold on to that which made her feel alive, it was a shipwreck that sank in the sea of \u200b\u200bconventionality, and the only salvation was the transcendent, immortal and superior. But the way this was not the knowledge or the intelligentsia, but passion, that is, blood in the veins, the pressure in the stomach, the exaltation of the senses, pure emotion, and in recent months we saw him struggling to achieve, or at least played fighting.
Bruno During that time he had an affair with Leila, his last girlfriend, who threatened to leave a thousand times, of which he served three and then return to the arms of the poor and Leila confused, convinced that he could not live without it, but because deep agonizing not stand for being so conventional and unable to understand. But Bruno needed it, that was obvious. Leila was the first listener of his songs, the only disciple of doctrines, the accomplice infallible projects. Leila was always there because she loved him, because he believed everything. And if I be blunt on this point, I would say that if Bruno ever became something that he thought to himself as it was for Leila. And Leila was the first to convert the disappearance of Bruno in a mystical event, and at times, when excited, prophetic. Leila because I felt I was losing, which was slipping from her arms, she saw him and it was as if he were not, as a vacuum, and with her kisses Bruno was saying goodbye. When I started writing this story undoubtedly the first thing I did was look at Leila and talk about Bruno. Leila was the only witness the last days with us. I became close friends with her and I get very personal details. Leila tells me for example that the last five days hardly left his room for anything. Bruno still lived with his parents and they are worried about feeding, but we hardly had any communication. Save Leila, who was to sleep with him and made love once in a while. Even told me that sex was acting very strange Bruno, stood up, hiding his head between the neck and shoulder of Leila and said nothing and did not issue any noise, just hid his head and moved for a few seconds end. The last few times they Leila been well and became almost an act of gratitude. She understood that as Bruno left his shelter to appease itself as quickly as possible that need "disgusting." That was the word used to refer to Bruno sex: nasty. And with that word I heard - and understood - another great torments endured Bruno almost in silence: his overwhelming sexual appetite. I did not know, but Bruno had never stopped to masturbate. Sex seemed to envelop, suffocate, torture while I hated it. It was a secret addiction that consumed every day because I could not stop thinking about sex, and that, he said, was the most terrible misfortunes because it separated from its artistic essence and spiritual things Bruno. When Leila told me this I laughed, but she said do not laugh. For Bruno it was very serious. One day Bruno was thinking so much in case he dreamed a little creepy. He dreamed that old men dressed as children played in a huge garden, and was masturbating while playing. This means that as they ran and were circled by taking the penis. And not stop until they got together to masturbate each other and fell to the grass to have an orgasm almost simultaneously, and all at once went into a delirious trance sounds of screaming and then relax as children with a finger in the mouth.
several weeks ago that I'm trying to write this story. The correct it and rewrite constantly. I have no fear of expressing exactly what happened and above all, do not want to reflect dramatics. Because everything looked like a joke, a joke current ceases to be funny at the time that Bruno truly go away. Until that time Bruno is candid, playful, fragile, brave but never, never able to fulfill what he did next. And it was precisely the dream that Leila told me what really motivated me to write. Many days I was thinking about that dream and got to see it as a symbolism of his life and it seemed a fantastic dream. I understood that Bruno was one of those old running around the huge garden without stopping to masturbate, because being in constant masturbation was his way of "denying" the reality, not to accept it, be satisfied with yourself and not needing anything else your body. Bruno prefers to masturbate and then continue playing in that huge garden which was the world and then sleep with a finger in his mouth. And so and so getting old.
I'm sure Bruno realized that and why not stopped thinking about that dream, and its funny and exaggerated desperation for change had to do with who wanted to stop being that old that did not stop masturbating. Because for me your sex drive comprised only part of his complex personality, and indeed his masturbation was widespread, that is, living masturbating with their hobbies, their fears, complexes, with his tenderness with his whole being enjoyed and got used to it so that not want to live in another world than their own satisfaction. But for some reason I do not understand, Bruno wants to break that bubble, inside this little world complacency. It felt empty, she was a child, he was immature.
One night, months before his death, talked about his future. This time Bruno had been playing his songs, was too restless, expressive and good humor, funny talk and sing with vanity, vanity sudden and exaggerated product more than the excitement and wine of real and fragile personality. What happens is that Bruno knew we were enjoying it, their hobbies to speak of his tender songs, his voice, original voice that strong and harsh tones that gave him some flair. And that we were hearing him sing and talk, until I do not know why or where it came from, we decided to curse him about his future as a musician. What I remember is that the initial idea had no more claim than to encourage it to think a little more on what you can do with their music, so of a scolding from friends. According to us, was a way to let him know that it seemed too good to continue wasting his time, though we had no clue what to do to achieve something, so long as the conversation progressed our idea became a series of stupid and useless comments about what Bruno had to do with his life. What else could I do Bruno?, Perhaps none of us had asked that really, after all, had his band had recorded, as he could, his songs on an album distributed to his friends, played constantly on local concerts and each Best time I was composing songs in a creative process that it was necessary and motivator, but what Bruno was good enough to get to something else? That night we behave like fools, and we spent a long time deliberating on the fate of our friend Bruno, who minutes earlier was playing a great time to be a special singer, sensitive and confident, but after being lectured by we began to experience a surround saddening that seemed to devour it and was clearly reflected in his face pale, his eyes fixed on nothing and their comments were reducing distracted and laconic monosyllables. Sometimes I am inclined to think that night began to change something inside of Bruno.
In one of his last night with Leila said while watching the stars through the window: "I think the last day of my life will be like this, watching the stars, without having understood anything"
March 2008
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