I never would have thought I’d fall in love with a boxer, much less the Spanish language. I have always despised Spanish, the language I felt, of idiots. Obviously I know this is not true any longer, so please if you are spanish speaker and don’t for some reason feel the level of sincerity of that comment then please remember I am speaking as if I spoke spanish many, many, many ages ago and please read on so I can explain.
You see, for some reason the thought of Spanish always brought a taste of blood to my mouth. I even sort of daudled as a linguist in college, studying languages to get out of Physics in high school was a clear and present necessity but I did not understand why. But Spanish was not one of the ones I deigned to study.
Recently I started and ended a project to cleanse my past lives, not that they’re horrible. They aren’t. If I may so say, so many of these lives are veritably saintly in fact. Even if they were so unextraordinary as to have been spent as animals, specifically ants and fish. I would not yet again decide not to eat fish. When I have devoured a fish that once devoured me. When I may so deftly devour any little crumb as if our friends the minnow were subject to something akin to the rise in power of hitler. Like I did for so many years of those, as if when I was a shark, I did swallow Arians who gave themselves bodies as fish… Perhaps someone or someone else or someone else again, even if they might also inhabit the body of a fish or a shark or maybe a minnow in the belly of another fish, man might not always be treated as if the water was so powerful to cleanse not the palate but our disgust and stuff.
But wait there is more…
Yet, as it stands, there is only one story to be told here. The one about me and the Spanish language and the other one about the boxer and still one more about saintlihood shall have to wait till another day.
Let’s turn our eyes instead to a freak of nature we all know and love named Barack Obama. This man epitomizes something very guttural and strange in life and love. A true Spanish speaker in a way, it is as if he, too, has this insanely adept language ability to translate himself into Spanish. As if you didn’t know it, it is only in this life as his blood which any Spaniard would have to admit as reallly it is how we see him -the epitomy of being Spanish ¡si! is Barack Obama. Let me repeat myself more clearly– Barack Obama does not speak Spanish that I know of, maybe a little bit, but, his blood drives us forward as if speaks volumes in Spanish. Spanish, the language, courses thru his veins driving him forward passionately, like a bull.
But if you are Spanish you are not driven to water as is he. By that I mean that you would not pour your blood out, even when it is your favorite pastime, like a Boxer (who shall yet remain unnamed…) it is as if water is something you despise– on some level. I will explain that again later-for some maybe have heard that story before! Of blood, and everything in it, is like a fountain for water that runs out of life, despising all that is in it. We all (humans that is) ironically now have something in common. That is, that we all, as humans, love water.
Spanish speakers of course disagree somewhat.
Back to Barack, you see this man sometimes for his blood- a love of life in language expressed as passionately and sincerely as Spanish. Does that mean Spanish is the language of biology or neurochem? I think not. Instead I’d like to suggest, Spanish is to Love of Hate as Hindi is to Biology. [Let's start rewriting all those biology books- you can expect that a few more bicep curls would help you in getting what you want if you choose to study biology. For that matter some nadhi strengtheners, extra large index cards and more pens may also be necessary. ] (Hindi joke! sorry, I couldn’t resist!)
That is to say that hate is almost a necessary aspect of love. I wish I could dangle that phrase out there and let a few Hindi speakers explain that .. but knowing still a lot more about humans as well as about the Spanish language (simply from regurgitating my Spanish speaking past lives), I demand your attention in clarifying this statement. Spanish which is alll about love creates a forcefield to contain another form of love called hate which is inspires the love for living the lies of life….
What the fuck is she talking about??? [This is so Spanish you see...]
Let’s express instead as if Love itself has to be divided. It has so many different forms and expressions and one of them is hate, nevermind the kind of hatred which divides but is only fear. I speak instead of a love innately Spanish- oh sorry I lost myself in the thought- a hate rather so innately Spanish it is love.
A hate for one, such as Barack Obama does not understand. His love of water is English. He simply sees it as the blood of life. But for many of us, Spanish speakers (I claim this with much disgust for him as well as myself) see water for it’s potential threat. How could you see water as the blood of life? As if seeing water as blood of life is so completely distressing it thins our very blood. Nevermind loving the water and everything in it, seeing water sometimes evokes a sense so distressing it can keep us up at night. It’s not a fact I can relate to except on a deeply, clairvoyant level, something buried in my blood, perhaps for hundreds of years.
For its capacities to increase the love of life and everything in it, Barack Obama sees Spanish as blood and water for the same. A unique strategem for discerning well in this world, Barack, or Mr. President, to me, is well prepared to examine why life should be better in this world because his blood is well-prepared to argue, make love (well, you know) and create a new vista for living well.
But with Spanish lives once lived, Barack Obama cares as if not to besmirch reality when, as if we didn’t know it, now is a time not for hatred of the lowest kind, but as he has said, it is the time for what I know. And that is the love of knowing how to despise what we as humans did wrong as if we see blood thinning.
So, hasta ella cala ¡si¡ españa, because
*** This, by the way, is psychic work… not linguistics, nor linguistic paralysis as some might argue , nor are these images an indication of Alzheimer’s, because these are things we all experience from our past lives. If we look at Alzheimer’s, it might be more like ‘Dandelion’ the video? ¡no! It is more like the experience of ‘Dandelion’ the blog entry and therein being inclusive of the video and musical content which screams of relief. So if, you idiot candidate, have skipped the parenthetical content, so to speak, as if, ‘oh! I have had it! this … refuse … you are spewing much resembles the dialogue of someone like …’ Well, I say, no. It is not that, it is simply that Alzheimer’s is the reference I was making… And that this experience actually offers a unique vantage to the human mind, if not body,, because it appears that the Alzheimer’s body which otherwise stagnating has a propensity to detox something for the rest of us. and this, is much like tennis and everything it does for the world. Because as you watch the ground, so red, as we walk on, run on, dance on, tennis watchers, look to me? no look at the faces of the athletes doing the tennis and wonder whether they might in fact be processing information as if they are the supercomputers of the human consciousness. I think so. Yes, I think these people… the athletes, the alzheimer’s patients and in fact you and I, the viewers, are equal participants in these matches.
If you debate this well… that is fine. But, ¡no!, well, more on that later. As for the story of the running of the blood, tune in later…. [Again this is a short point but you might want some musical accompaniment- for your emotional enjoyment and nothing less. Music for Films, Aragon by Brian Eno http://www.allmusic.com/performance/aragon-mq0000286231]
No, I cannot finish this today… because there is more to be said.