There are days when I lose a little strength and I’m tired of the idea of going on and on along a path where nothing in the end looks very clear. It’s difficult to swim against the current, or against the currents, because at times in truth I feel I am going to be alone with two or three cats who inspire me when I’m tired. I think I would miss this blog like I’ve never missed anything before, and that finding a space of freedom has been the strangest thing that ever happened to me, in fact it’s not something that happened to me, it’s something that is. For that reason I find it hard to use adjectives like good or bad, because it’s difficult to describe the existence.
The other day I was walking around handing out CDs on G Street and a boy told me he had a blog and gave me the address for it with a warning: Don’t manipulate me. I laughed and told him I wouldn’t manipulate him, but I would put a link… then I changed my mind, in case he might feel manipulated if I put a link, who knows. Later heading over to 23rd I was thinking that I might have responded that I’m not Randy nor Taladrid to be manipulating anything, that he had the newspaper Granma for that and I, thanks be to God, was small enough that it would be almost laughable to thin =k I could manipulate anyone, especially in a country where information is a chimera and ideology is in its death throes and how can you support your weight on the crutch of opportunism.
I find that people without Faith make me shed my own, people who don’t understand, who swallowed paranoia as if it were an ice cream infinitely digested in the belly. Then I get sad and ask myself if it wouldn’t be better to return to my calm drawings, to throw myself only into my work and relax every day, if in any event someone tells me every 24 hours one of two things:
- You’re wasting your time. - This isn’t the way it’s done.
And I wonder: Are there any specific way to express themselves freely is more important than others? What better way than trying to be free? I really feel that I very happy with my blog, so simple, if not the ideal way is what I chose, if I'm wasting time, I found no greater pleasure than to waste time telling me what want. And I wonder: Are there specific ways to freely express yourself that are more important than others? What is the best way to try to be free? The truth is I feel most content with my blog, it’s that simple, if it’s not the ideal way it’s the way I choose; if I’m wasting my time, I haven’t found a greater pleasure than wasting time saying what I want.
But it’s been almost a year and I almost forgot the post with which I presented Octavo Cerco: for people without Faith who move to my side. Then I have no reason to doubt, I have always been against the current and I’ve never promised Faith, I’ve just wanted to share the little I have.
This is an excerpt to a version of the song, Epitaph for Vladimir Visotski by Karsmarski Jacek (Polish dissident songwriter), which includes Ciro Diaz in his latest album, The Blue Slug, that I listened to compulsively for at least two months, especially on the street with my mp3 inherited from a friend who now has an I-pod. (Download the lyrics here) (Download the recording and album cover here) The song (in summary, which runs about ten minutes) is about a desperate artist going through the circles of hell in search of an answer or death, and at the end of his journey there is only loneliness and the weight of the supreme power above himself. So I found myself at times catching the bus across Havana at 12 noon in August under the perennial sunshine and with the distressing feeling of not going anywhere, or arriving too late, or going for pleasure ... I feel that I have already arrived at the eighth enclosure (this is the finale of the song) where there is nothing, and I feel useless and empty, and I look at people without faith who walk along the street and who have so much fear that they no longer know they're afraid, and who have seen so many Roundtables and so many news broadcasts that they no longer know what belongs to reality or just to the TV screen. They cannot discern that they no longer believe, but cannot disbelieve either, and just move along past me not going anywhere.