Language

Like, I didn't even write a thing about language. (Besides that little blurb on my name and all). Language is so imperfect. It's a terrible means of expression. But for so many it's all we've got. No. It's not. but for some of us it's all we use. And therefore it's all we've got. language is a construction that was developed by humans. What does that mean? Not that it sucks and everything humans do is destructive and meaningless. only that it's not perfect. So as you read my blog, remember, no as you read anything, ever, in any language, remember that it is in a language, and therefore it's not. it does not exist in a language as it does in a feeling or emotion or a thought. But we think in languages when we try to explain in our heads anything. And I'm trying to explain this in a language, so I'm gonna quit. Because I know what I mean and if you all think you do too, then that is awesome and I've done my work with it. Have a good day. Que tengan un buen día. :)

Idea

Well, that was an idea. "Idea", that's a Spanish word. You know, ever since I started understanding the Spanish language, I suck at English. No, not really, I'm just not as good as I used to be. Like, it took me over a week to figure out that "arquitecture" is not how you spell "architecture" in English. Oops. And what are we doing putting the comma on the wrong side of the quotes. Oh well. Anyhow, I originally planned on writing on the reason I have written the last few of my blogs on Spanish: language.
I think I won't though, maybe later.
The frase directly below my name on here is, "If beauty were in every aspect of our lives, there would be no need for art." Piet Mondrian said that. Un artista=imagine that. The thing is, he wanted to create art that would change society so that beauty would be in all aspects of our lives. Hmmmm... he aspired to be the last artist. Glad that didn't work out for him.
That phrase, more than anything, yo creo, makes me rejoice for all my lack of beauty. Within, without, you decide. It doesn't matter to me. I am beautiful, and I am not beautiful at the same time. And I see beauty, but much of the time (I openly, freely, and thankfully admit) I have a difficult if not impossible time finding beauty in some things. Sometimes in todas things (that hasn't happened for a while and I am thankful for that). Thank Dios, what would I do without art?
I liked how my blog looked when I wrote it all in Español. My sign-in name is a Spanish palabra. It seemed to be more fitting that I wrote in Spanish. "Veracidad" in English, if you follow the exact contruction of the word, means "truthy". not a word (there I did it again, the period on the wrong side of the quote thing). That doesn't make sense. Both sides of the quotes are part of the sentence. Why do we stick one of them out of it? Oh well I guess, as long as we know what to do and we all do it, right? Anyhow, the best translation we have is "truthfulness," which to me kind of sucks, but whatever. I had trouble picking my word because my favorite words in English either too closely resemble their Spanish counterparts, or the Spanish counterparts are ugly. Take the word "honesty" for example. This word fits both cases, "honesto." Ewww. Maybe Linguistics is a good place for me to go. Why I don't choose to study my own language, I don't know. Yes I do. That's too easy! I get bored with easy. But then again, I don't actually think it would be easy. I think I am just in love with exploration and developing my understanding of other cultures and ideas and reasons. This world is NOT America. And por Dios it shouldn't be.
OK why'd I do it. I don't really know for certain the reason I thought I'd write in Spanish. Some of my blogs are actually reactions to others' blogs, one person in particular. Sometimes they cause these feeling of something like "what the hell", or "uuugggh". Ha ha. That first time I wrote in Spanish was one of these reactions. You all don't know what you're reading. No, strike that, you know what you're reading, but you don't know what I wrote. You can't "read" my life. I believe I just proved that with my last few posts. I knew what I wrote. You didn't. Maybe I was also seeing if anyone actually wanted to know what I was writing. I found out that not many people did. Though I knew it would turn out that way. Maybe I used it to prove to myself that most people who read these blogs are mostly uninterested. They just want the most basic, shallow, and easy information they can get. Not everyone, but most by far. FAR. One of these minorities is I'm happy to announce my Mom. It should be that way. If you only want the information acquired from a blog about your daughter, that's not right. So I'm saying thanks to you, Mom. (of course for more than digging a bit deeper than a blog into my life and ideas and cares and aspirations). It's nice to know that a few others are out there that are either more curious or caring than others. :)
Along with that thanks, I want to say thanks to Amy, because I ran out on the Paul Bunyan Trail and I had to really really try, but I lost myself for a bit in time. So thanks.
That's not all I wanted to say, to be sure, but it's enough.

Lista

Estoy lista.
Para vivir, para llamar la casa de los Julies y no tener miedo de que G va a contestar. Porque casi todas veces que nosotras pasabamos juntas el tiempo, era muy extraño. Pero no más. Mi corazón está contenta. Él canta música tan bella, tan bella. Estoy lista para tener amigas/os que son amigas/os mías/os también. Nunca más voy a tratar y tratar y tratar y tratar y para nada. Nada. Estaba tan cansada del trabajo por esa "amistad". Pero no era esa. Ella tiene demasiado mucho en su vida. Yo no fui nada para ella. Espero que intenta a traducir esto y lo funciona. Estaré feliz. Chau.

la inspiración

Acabo de leer el blog de una amiga. Una amiga que no sabía se tuviera o no. No sé si ella piensa que soy su amiga. Pero no me importa porque nosotras somos amigas. Amigas. Si yo salgo de este pueblo para siempre. Si yo viajo a través de la oceana y nunca regrese, somos amigas. Seremos amigas para siempre, si es sólo por el tiempo que escribíamos, hablábamos, llorábamos, tocábamos la guitarra, corríamos en el invierno (e infierno!).
Yo recuerdo el año pasado cuando yo estaba deprimida y también borracha. Ella no me dejó correr sola. Ella corró conmigo. Jajaja. Guau.
Yo recuerdo mucho. No sé si esta amistad es perdida, pero siempre recordaré el tiempo que pasábamos juntos. Porque en estos mementos estaba felíz. Actualmente felíz.
Pregúntame lo cual yo escribí esta vez. Simplemente pregúntame.

Por qué

(even YOU know what that means)
Por qué leemos sobre otras vidas cuando sólo queremos saber. Si quieres conocer a mí, habla conmigo. Pasa tiempo conmigo. Habla conmigo porque no puedes leer mi vida. Nadie puede leer lo cual escribo, ni en español ni en inglés ni en cualquier otra lengua. Sí, es la verdad que las cosas que escribemos son parte de nosotros, pero no son nosotros. Estas cosas orígena en nuestros cerebros, pero mi cerebro no es mí por completo. Tengo un cuerpo, tengo piel, tengo pelo, tengo manos y ojos y pies y dedos (y dedos largos), y, lo cual yo creo que tiene el más importancia, tengo una sonrisa. Y, también, tu cerebro no es tú. Tus pensamientos son importantes, y son una parte importante de tú, pero no es tú. A veces parece que no son tuyos. A veces sé que mis pensamientos no son míos, pero vivo con esto. Vivo con mucho. A veces no quiero vivo, pero existo. Y voy a continuar existir porque eso es todo que es. Cuando no existemos, no hay nosotros. Sin nosotros este mundo no es el mundo. (Es posible que el mundo sea mejor sin nosotros), pero la verdad es este mundo puede ser mejor con nosotros. Tenemos que creer en esto, Todo depende de la esperanza. Nunca queda atrás la esparanza, Jamás.

Escribo lo cual quiero que sepáis. Pero en realidad, si quireís saber algo sobre mí, por qué no me llamaís. Para tí no te importa que siento. No te importa si me importe. Y esto está bien. Porque me vida es algo más que la vida. No, no es. El mundo es muchísimo más grande que todos. Si, más que tu y tu y tu y tu y vosotros . . . y vos. No te dés mentiras a tí. Que tengáis un buen día.