Pee Diaper Diaper Punishment

(Just in case I do not mean Manolo "FAP!" Fernandez, but a great topic of Daft Punk, which serves as the soundtrack for the occasion. To think that ad hoc topics always appear at times accurate ... one more to the extensive soundtrack of my life.)


All this was, if you want to call it an experiment. I always said a lot but sometimes thought that everything was very afraid that and nothing more: thoughts, musings, suggestions, everything was in my head. That's why it was necessary to experiment, find out if in fact it was just or whether they still remained intact all that remained hidden for almost a year and a half ago.

And yes, all intact. Starting it. Like in the physical than it was then. Unspoiled beauty, poise intact.


As it was still all to walk to where ever for the same street, at the same pace, the same way. And the same doubts: we come to a corner and did not know which way to go. Finally, continue along the long street a tired gait, as she wanted.


As we moved to either side my fears receded. Certainly, the scene was presented much better than how I imagined it: the silences were never called such, and the words came one after another as before. Many times I think the time wears relations, as I mentioned, but there are times when even if they may have spent 10 years and always follow all the same. It is worth mentioning that the scenario I imagined was unfounded reasons: the times we had met this year and a half everything was left in a "hello" to the distance and a smile. But not just any smile, clear.


A halfway spent three old on our side, of those typical old street, homeless, with a thousand stories of drunkenness, beatings and a life forgotten. When you pass one of them said aloud, "take his hand." Plainly, the comment referred to me, and that's how I thought, but I did not. It was strange, I felt that I should be in her hand: it was like to feel that this year and a half did not exist and never have done, that she was still with me as if nothing had happened.


We talked about life changes, people. Past people, situations inconclusive. But despite all the fluid that things were going, I could not even get to where he was scheduled to arrive. In fact it was very difficult to try to address it. Anyway, as I mentioned earlier to a "colleague", he would throw me into the pool without even leaning out to see if he had any water or not. As for all there are times and moments during the trip back home I figured some distances and times for everything that I wanted to talk and ask him to stay just at the point where I wanted. And so it proved, indeed.


Time will tell once again, as I said almost two years now, in a letter also published here. But aside from anything, I can conclude that the experiment was a success, and the results were favorable: it has been almost a year and a half and that was half hidden finally came to light. Everything is still there. All the same, everything intact.


What It's amazing you find face to face ...

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The weather was just the first day, but this time it was particularly strange. A summer rainstorm occurs almost every year for just one day. Had previously experienced some facts days of summer rain, like a ruined cites, for example.

The trip was eternal. Starting the usual walk 10 minutes to go grab the microphone, a section usually bored, which now has not changed. Another 5 minutes waiting for the bus at the bus stop and finally approached. Cheerful and danceable melodies orchestrated ruminations:

"You're gonna make me cry ...
're gonna make me fly ... high "

destination is reached, you cross the street. A look at the sidewalk in front and I was there. The band put out their music, and concluded speculation step. Then a kiss, a hug, impregnated her.

The rain ruined plans coastal walks and watch the sea in a hug, so he had to take refuge.

A stairway, and a return. Another staircase, and another.
Quick, direct, to the point .

was already up, ready. On a balcony, fingering the MP4, talked about music. Nerves here, nerves there. Short break, going to the bathroom. Return.


Wait ... Wait ...
still waiting.

was decided. How long.

huge aftershocks, earthquake interior.

What followed was communion, as never before. Sublime, beautiful, unique.
words, words. Hands clasped, tears fighting to erupt. A tight hug.

was love. Yes, love.

I also wanted to mourn with you ...

The soundtrack to a movie, ours. All wore, as he had been doing all along. You

made me cry. You
made me fly ... high ... very high.


Promises to accomplish, and I do not lie, you know.

I adore. I love you.

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Sometimes you swear a thousand times will not do something that will not make the same mistakes, you will not stumble on the same stone, but the fate or what have capricious and headstrong thing makes you go on and on in the same. Surely anyone reading this and you will realize what I'm talking about, but is that really so difficult to understand how, at first glance , a jerk can be as followed in the same errors and mistakes forever. But after pondering a bit, and give a few laps in my head empty of ideas (the holiday period justifies it), I made certain assumptions and have drawn some conclusions that I present below:

Before anything, I would say that this case in particular I'm grieving for a crime still have not even committed, putting the patch before the injury. Sure, it happens that in such cases, one naturally wants to avoid at all costs that those same mistakes of the past that I talked a little back-surface new, but at the same time see how everything is happening and realizes that it is exactly or almost equal to what has happened several times already. It's really hard to take: one insists on avoiding error, but all roads lead to him, the same personality betrays one in his zeal, and at the end of all our belief in the beginning gives way to the impulses to be saying, first, timidly ( as for example in this paper ), and then, when there is no turning back, there is no other as long all.

As one song Saiko if I am not mistaken, "I learn from the mistake" of course! After so many cagazos an end to learn that one is fairly predictable, in the eyes of oneself, of course, in terms of reactions to certain circumstances and when it finally comes to these instances of knowing how the mechanisms of one, when one ends meet, and I think nothing left to give up on trying to act and molded to each mine, accept and resign ourselves to what is self "is what is just" and wait for one of these many failed attempts is not the end , formerly called the error ceases to be and the way we are is the right way to be, even for one person.

may sound like that "some of all has to work "but does not mean they are going to go through life-as we say in soccer jargon- " hitting everything that moves " , but establishing a pattern of conduct (the be yourself), even by a matter of statistics and probability, at some point going to work. Well, if you go to the romanticism should say: "The key is to be yourself, but if you are already tired of the clichés and wants to be slightly cooler, we recommend the previous option, the math: among many failed attempts, one will be.

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Each time I have written drought open the Word to try to get something mildly interesting, but I always get the impression after about three lines I do not think many people want to read the existential problems of a fool, or young or a man of 18 years. A guy who does not yet know for sure where he goes to micro, that studied little or nothing, who likes a girl and does not dare to gamble, they say they have friends who see little or nothing, having lunch alone in the courtyard on Friday , arriving late for classes or all the hair is pulled to see a problem with Enter.

I've counted seven lines (in Word ) and I decided to stick with it, to see what happens. I remember the last time I wrote out what, in my opinion (and that of several) was the best essay I've placed here: that of Deborah and I contemplate a half hour. This time it was all of a sudden, it was real inspiration was a thing of wanting to get home quickly, grab the notebook and type. Those are the elements needed to achieve a rich writing: inspiration, like writing. But lately that my special corner on the web, in addition to being overwhelmed by the simplicity of Fotolog (which, despite what may seem banal allows me to show another side of me), has not had food since there has been none of the above. No inspiration. The things that have happened not to want to have a mad desire to write and express to the world, and after all are the same as ever, and as someone once told me that, you can find here, or in any Blog of a person my age, or even less. On the urge to write, I have not failed to tell the truth, but as I said in the first paragraph, the concept is uncertainty of unknown origin sick of not knowing what (or who) write.

I guess I needed attention, because it also has become a pathological thing to review about 10 times a day Fotolog when I get a new picture for new posts ; similar thing with this, when I write something new. I do not know if it fills me know that I read or look at my pictures, or know me, or leave me messages, I really do not know. I've always pretended and at times tried to reflect an image of self, but I think many times I also pass the bill, and so when there are dips deep enough, to think the right and necessary, lie down and close my eyes and wait pass. And it happens, luckily, if I do not know what would happen to me.

I worry people think about me, who I care so much that I should care. Of how such type talks, how she dresses, who is coupled with, and so on. I trust not too worried as the rest, not socialize like some others do. I was also sorry to see my side and do away with people who believed they would be closer. Confuses me sometimes that my life is linked greatly to a computer, a group of nicknames givers phrases. Interesting phrases, but virtual. Could be real but I miss my mind my being antisocial.

At this stage of writing I can apparently more depressive kind in the world but it does not convince me. I still hope the providential event that will bring me out of lethargy. I keep waiting. Perhaps too static, but continue waiting.

Photo: "Night." Torre Coraceros, Viña del Mar. 7 February 2007, by Diego Cordero.