I’m Sick

October 20, 2009 at 8:50 pm (gay) (, , )

I don’t dream anymore. I don’t smoke anymore. I don’t even have a story anymore.
I am filthy without you, I am ugly without you.
Like an orphan in her room; I don’t feel like living my life anymore.
My life stops when you leave. I no longer have a life, even my bed transforms into a sort of platform when you leave.
I am sick, completely sick. Like when my mom went out every night, leaving me alone with my despair.
I am sick, perfectly sick. I do not know when you come, you leave and I don’t know to where.
Soon it will have been two years that you have not given a shit! I cling to you like a rock, like a sin.
I am tired and exhausted of pretending to be happy when people are around.
I drink every night, but all whiskey tastes the same; all the boats hang your flag.
I don’t know where to go anymore, you’re everywhere.
I am sick, completely sick! I pour my all into you and when you sleep, I’m like a dead bird.
I’m sick, perfectly sick; you deprived me of my song and took away my words.
Though I had talent before you! This love is killing me.
If it continues I will die alone, next to my radio, listening to my own voice that will sing that I am sick, completely sick! Like when my mom went out every night, leaving me with my despair. I am sick, and that’s it I’m sick!
You deprived me of my song, you took from me my words and my heart is completely sick.
Surrounded by barricades, you hear I’m sick!!

I’ve found this song a few weeks ago, and I think it’s amazing.
I’ve felt like this before, and I’m pretty sure some of you have felt like this too.


Permalink 5 Comments

Verses (by Teresa Wilms Montt)

August 25, 2009 at 12:05 am (gay)

Diary Pages

This is my diary.
In its pages becomes fluffier the wide flower of death, dissolving in underground sap and opening the love lotus, with the magic of a strange clear pupil on the horizon.
Its my diary. I’m abruptly naked, rebel against all that it’s stablished, great among the little, little in front of the infinity…
It’s me.

Sentimental Restlessness


The light of the lamp, dimmed by the violet shade, faints upon the table.
Objects take a somnambulistc tone of sickened dream; like if a consumptive hand would have caressed the environment, leaving in it its aristocratic listless.
An ungodly bell repeats the hours and makes me understand that I live, and reminds me also, that I suffer.
I suffer from a rare disease that hurts by doping; heartaches, misenderstood greatness, infinite ideals.
Disease that incites me to live in a different heart, to rest of the rough task of feeling alive inside myself.
Like the thirsty want water, I yearn for my ear listens a voice promising dazzling sweetness to me; I yearn for a children’s hand lays on my eyelits, tired of staying awake, and calms my rebel adventurous spirit.
That’s how I wish to die, like the light of the lamp upon objects, spread in soft and trembly shadows.


Hats give me the impression of chopped and mummified heads, and those colored bridled, seem to me like heads ripped by a brutal hand, which still has a bloody vein attached.
I can never spot a pair of gloves without imagining they are skinf from disecated hands and, on those that are yellow, I see something disgusting that starts to rotten.
I hate the garments left forgotten upon the bed, there are many analogies among then and the dead.
I saw once, in an institution, a crazy dead girl; and it was the same as watching a violet rag threw into a coffin.


Even when in my soul I shelter petty sorrows
my face lights up when I smile…
I curse and it is in such armonic way the gesture of my arms in its painful manner, that we might say they lift from a strange strength…
Oh agonizing century of human vanity! I’ve sown a piece of fertile soil, where you can spread
the first seed destined to the Promised Land.


…you know my tragic devotion to legends
of enchanted princes…
You know that a melodic tune and a soft song made me cry,
and that a word of affection made me slave of another soul, and you know, also,
that all that I’ve dreamt had a heart-rending reality.


Nothing I posses, nothing I leave, nothing I ask.
Naked as I was born, I leave now,
so ignorant of what in the world inhabits.
I suffered, and that’s the only luggage admited by the boat that leads me to oblivion.


I want that in wise escence, Peace descends over me
and floods kindly in freshness my undermined true self.


Ok, that was intense.

I hope you like it!

Permalink 1 Comment

Teresa Wilms Montt, my favorite writer

August 24, 2009 at 11:08 pm (gay)

TERESA WILMS MONTT (Viña del Mar, 1893 – París 1921): She was born in a wealthy family, daughter of Federico Guillermo Wilms Montt and Brieba, and his wife Luz Victoria Montt and Montt. Given the social context of that time, her primary instruction was given to her by governesses and particular teachers. When Teresa turned 17, she got married with Gustavo Balmaceda Valdés. In the following years (1911 y 1913) she gave birht to her daughters, Elisa and Silvia Luz. Almost ritght after the wedding, the problems between Gustavo and Teresa started, mainly due to how much the husband felt agravated by his wife’s personality, who frequently attended to literary gatherings, and followed the anarchist ideals, and freemasonery. Gustavo reacted sheltering himself in the gambling and alcohol; Teresa, on her side, sheltered herself in her friend and Gustavo’s cousin, Vicente Balmaceda Zañartu (whom she will refer on the future at her diaries as Jean). After numerous marital conflicts, moving from one city to another and letters from Vicente Balmaceda addressed to Teresa, Gustavo Balmaceda convened a family trial, which dictaminated her confinement in the convent of Preciosa Sangre, which she entered on October 18th of 1915, and escaped from it on June of 1916 setting off for Buenos Aires, helped by Vicente Huidobro. During her stay in the convent, she started a journal, in which she wrote her feelings about the loss of her daughters, being separated from Vicente Balmaceda and the motivations to her first suicide attempt on March 29th, 1916. In Buenos Aires, she contributed to Nosotros magazines, in which also did contributed Gabriela Mistral and Ángel Cruchaga Santa María, among others. She also published her first work “Inquietudes Sentimentales”, a collection of fifty poems with surrealistic threads, that enojyed an amazing success among the intelectual circles of Buenos Aires society. the same happened to “Los Tres Cantos”, work that explored erotism and spirituality. Two years after this work and after travelling to Barcelona and New York, she came back to Buenos Aires and published “Cuentos para Hombres que Todavía son Niños”. In it she evoked her childhood and some vital experiences, in tales of great originality and fantasy. “En la Inquietud del Mármol” was published in Barcelona and constituted a lyric toned elegy, made of 35 fragments, which central leitmotif was death. Written on first person, she focused her interest on the mediating role of love between life and death. She continued travelling accross Europe, visiting London and Paris, but always being a resident of Madrid. In 1920 she was reunited with her daughters in Paris; but after they were separated she become gravely ill. In these crisis, she consumed a large dose of Veronal, and died on December 24th of 1921. In the last pages of her diary, she wrote: “To die, after feeling everything and being nothing…”.

Permalink 1 Comment

The New York Streets

June 19, 2009 at 9:06 pm (gay) (, , , )


More than a year since I’ve decided not to blog again and here I am.

Tons of changes, most of ’em really good. I’ve been twice to the States so far, and I had a taste of the All-Included American Dream: the American job, the American freedom, the American boy. But, I decided to stay here in my own country. I’ll have here my own boy, my own job and my own freedom.

Ah, I miss though the streets of Manhattan, the rainy and cold days and the walks in the parks. I miss the squirrels (yes, we don’t have squirrels here) and Central Park, and to read a book while having a giant cup of tea on Starbucks.

But while I was there, my heart was still here in Chile. I could have myself totally adapted to the life in NY, working at a cafe, walking down the 7th avenue, having a drink on a Chelsea bar, and shopping veggies at the green market on Union Square. But life is more than just doing stuff, and my life rite now is full and rich. Why changing everything I have for an idea of happiness? I mean, I’ve always wanted to be there. But that’s not necessarily happiness. I’m happy now, here in my apartment with my life.

And that’s something that NY streets can’t offer.

Permalink 2 Comments

My Grandma Told Me… (by Pamela Jiles)

June 19, 2009 at 12:18 am (gay) (, , , , , )

Two ministers of this state paid tribute to the lead brain of dictatorship in Chile, Jaime Guzmán, and The President changed her mind about going at the last minute, but neither she nor any other government advisor did the least effort to remember the 100th and 101st of the most shameful part of Chilean history. Too little, to commemorate a day that shows the cruelty of the powerful against the poor ones in this country of us, and even when the remains of that tragedy are still visible: a pile of torn appart corpses that a lot of people tried to cover with facades.

My grandmother Elena Caffarena had only 5 years when this happened, but she remembered vividly what she saw that Dec 21st of 1907, when more than six thousand workmen and their families arrived after walking miles and miles from different places of The Pampa (nitrate deposits in the northern desert area of Chile), hungry and cold, to the city of Iquique. They demanded insignificant improvements to their appalling life conditions: to have scales where to weigh the meals they received in exchange for their fourteen hours workdays, and schools for their sons obligated to live with them in filthy barracks without the right to education.

The habitants of Iquique -supportive to movement of the Pampinos- housed them at the Santa María School, they brought them water, food and clothes. But the owners of the Nitrate companies refused to hear those minimum requiries, the government declared Iquique under siege, and demanded the working class and their family to go back to the nitrate deposits as soon as posible.

General Roberto Silva Renard, maximum military authority of the Tarapacá region (where Iquique is located), took over the charge on the situation. The O’Higgins regiment’s batallions, the cruiser Esmeralda and other war ships aimed their weapons towards the school. Facing the desproportioned threat from the protectors of our nation, the habitants of Iquique -who couldn’t leave their homes because of the siege- screamed claiming to the officers to at least let the children out. All of the habitants were willing to receive the criatures in danger.

Without paying any attention, General Silva Renard and Colonel Ledesma ordered to shoot when it was fifteen minutes to four of that december afternoon. “To more shots -informed Silva- and then use the machine guns against the comitee in the roof”. The habitants of Iquique witnessed from their own roofs and windows how the soldiers fired against the families.

The highest leaders of the Pampinos -José Briggs and Luis Olea- were in front of the crowd, facing the soldiers, as if they were trying to protect their people. Without running and with a chilean flag waving in the air, teh workers received the first bullets on their chests. Then, numerous women fell in front of the sons and daughters they want to protect. Faced with the impotence of the entire city, once and again the soldiers fired against the civilians gathered in the Santa Maria School. Once and again the survivors raised their flags. Once and again the habitants of Iquique begged to the soldiers to stop the massacre. Untill the silence was made, by killing the nitrate deposits workers, their wives and children.

The United Sates consul informed to the US government the bloodcurling scene: hundreads of corpses piled and torn appart bodies. The Peruvian consul noted: “I went inmediately to the place where these unfortunate events occured, with the 10th Firemen company, who dedicated themselves to recover the few survivors and carry them swiftly to the hospital. There’s a rumour about two sailors that were killed during the military intervention, due to their refusal to fire against the children”. Something similar was suggested by the British consul, who told that all the soldiers who didn’t want to participate on this intervention, were executed the next morning.

Three thousand and six hundread workmen, their wives and children were assassinated by chilean soldiers at the Santa Maria School, days before 1907’s christmas. In the following years, official history denied these facts, ignoring the survivors and erasing all the possible reminders of the massacre ’till today, when the authorities are still indiferent.

But the people from Iquique never forgot the horror that happened in front of their eyes. During the 103 years my grandmother lived, not a single day passed without remembering those who fell with their chileans flags waving. She told the story a thousand times -to her kids, her grandchildren, her greatgrandchildren- “to not let the martyrs of Santa Maria School die twice because of forsake”, she said.

Elena Caffarena did many important things on her long life, started epic battles that place her as the precursor og the femenin participation on chilean politic, and the jurist who got the right to vote as men did. But she always repeated that “if there’s something I’ve ever done that has been worthy, is to be courageous enough to cross the line of soldiers that blocked the school the next day of the massacre. With my sister, and scared to death, we left flowers for the dead children”.

Permalink 1 Comment

Last Wish

February 14, 2008 at 1:38 pm (gay)

The man I was is dead, I promise,
Even I feel sorry for him;
so false, so cruel, so crazy,
so absurd in his living, so grotesque.

He passed away today, but it was for the best.
Let’s remember about him and the few true things he had;
the way he loved his work, his lack of money,
the passion he showed every time he talked about you.

He’s gone, but he parted happy.
Upon his lips he had your name, mixed with the flavor of guilt,
in his eyes, the most quiet landscape and in his mouth his last wish:
to hold you tight once more if ever coming back.

And I, the one who saw his longing for your kisses,
I must wait your return, after months of silence,
and give you the hug I owe you and left the departed behind.

I won’t cry, I’ve already cried all the tears life gave me.
I won’t hesitate, doubts will not exist if I see a small smile on your face.
I won’t keep dreaming, because my greatest dream is becoming real.
And I will come back to life, to reinvent the love I made once for you.

Yes,cause from now on, I will love you for the both of us,
And I confess that I, while he was talking about you…
I confess that I also loved you in silence!


Today I’m very happy.

Well, is Valentine’s Day, so I wrote a poem about love…

Thanks everyone for all the support, all the nice comments. I found that I can write interesting lines, so I will be doing this for a while (it might be annoying, but I know you’ll understand).

Hugs and kisses for everyone!

PD: there’s two of you I’m gonna call today. 😀

Permalink 5 Comments

Ok, it’s MeMe time!!!

November 16, 2007 at 5:34 pm (gay)

I’ve been a little bit down this days, and it’s just because. I have no reason for being sad/miserable, but that’s the way it happened.  So, I’m done with it.  That’s why I’m back posting.   Luv y’all!

5 Things in My BackPack Briefcase

1. Laptop (How could I live without it?)

2. Cellphone. I used to have a very cool cellphone, but I’m kinda stuck with a past generation cell. Whatevs.

3. My wonderful “Magic Box”. For those times when I need to smoke some magic 😛

4. Cigarettes (I’m sorry, I’m an addict)

5. Another Shirt or T-shirt (you never know…)


5 Things in My Wallet
1. Cash

2. Transportation Card

3. Picture of Chris 😀

4. All wrappers I refuse to throw in the street.

5. Receipts


5 Things I Like Most in My House

1. Chris on my bed (no coments)

2. My bed

3. My PC

4. My TV

5. My PS3


5 Things I’d Like To Try

1. Being less of a workaholic

2.Travel around the world

3. Stay in bed a whole weekend just ordering food over the phone.

4. Play piano in Public

5. Sing in Public


5 Things I’m Doing Now

1. Watching videos on Youtube

2. Trying to figure out how can I do 5 things at the same time.

3. Eating Lunch at my desk

4. Talking to Chris on MSN

5. Making Plans for tonight.

Permalink 8 Comments

Melancholic Me

November 8, 2007 at 2:54 pm (gay)

Jose González – Heartbeats

One night to be confused
One night to speed up truth
We had a promise made
Four hands and then away

Both under influense
We had devine scent
To know what to say
Mind is a razorblade

To call for hands of above
To lean on
Wouldn’t be good enough
For me, no

One night of magic rush
The start a simple touch
One night to push and scream
And then releaf

Ten days of perfect tunes
The colors red and blue
We had a promise made
We were in love

To call for hands of above
To lean on
Wouldn’t be good enough
For me, no

To call for hands of above
To lean on
Wouldn’t be good enough

And you, you knew the hands of the devil
And you, kept us awake with wolf teeth’s
Sharing different heartbeats
In one night

To call for hands of above
To lean on
Wouldn’t be good enough
For me, no

To call for hands of above
To lean on
Wouldn’t be good enough
For me, no.


Have a nice nice day.

Permalink 3 Comments

Gay Pride and Danny Radcliffe (or should I say Dan?)

September 28, 2007 at 4:30 pm (Daniel Radcliffe, friendship, gay, love, music, Parade, Pride)

Mood:  Tired but happy.

Song:  Gloria Trevi – Todos Me Miran ( Everyone looks at me)

Tú me hiciste sentir que no valía (You made me feel I wasn’t worthy)
y mis lágrimas cayeron a tus pies (And my tears ran down to your feet )
me miraba en el espejo y no me hallaba (I stared myself in the mirror and I didn’t find myself)
yo era sólo lo que tú querías ver (I was only what you wanted to see)

Y me solté el cabello, me vestí de reina (And I untied my hair, and dressed like a queen)
me puse tacones, me pinté y era bella (Put my heels and make up on and I was beautiful)
y caminé hacia la puerta, te escuché gritarme (I walked towards the door, I heard you yell at me)
pero tus cadenas ya no pueden pararme (But your chains won’t stop me anymore)
y miré la noche y ya no era oscura, era de lentejuelas (And I look the skynight and it wasn’t dark, it was made of sequins)

Y todos me miran, me miran, me miran (And everyone looks at me)
porque sé que soy linda, porque todos me admiran (Cuz I know I’m pretty, cuz everyone admires me)
Y todos me miran, me miran, me miran (And everyone looks at me)
porque hago lo que pocos se atreverán (Cuz I do what few dare to do)
Y todos me miran, me miran, me miran (And everyone looks at me)
algunos con envidia pero al final, pero al final (some may be envious, but at the end)
pero al final, todos me amarán (At th end everyone will love me)

Tomorrow is the Chilean Gay Pride Parade.  I’m very excited, because Chris and I decided to go 😀 Is the first time I’m gonna be at one, and I even bought tickets to the official party 😀

And, puleeeeesah!… take a look at Danny Radcliffe.  He’s not little Harry Potter anymore, and he’s showing us that he’s a lot of things but a kid.



Permalink 7 Comments

And then came you.

September 25, 2007 at 5:48 pm (being better, dinner, dreams, flirting, gay, happyness, improving, kiss, love, music)

Mood:  Superhero!

Song:   Snow Patrol – Chasing Cars

Is funny how things happen.

I was always bitching about how lonely I feel, and when I decided to feel lonely no more, I found him feeling lonely too.
And I’m amazed by the fact that two guys can be born and raised so far from each other and still being so alike.

We’ve been seeing each other every single day since we started to date.  Movies, dancing, park, restaurants, whatever: there’s always something fun to do.
And yesterday, he was a little bit quiet.  I asked him why, if something was wrong…  His face was blushing and suddenly he asked me to be his boyfriend.

And I said yes  😀


We’ll do it all, Everything on our own
We don’t need anything or anyone

If I lay here, if I just lay here, would you lie with me and just forget the world?

I don’t quite know how to say how I feel
Those three words are said too much, they’re not enough

If I lay here, f I just lay here, would you lie with me and just forget the world?
Forget what we’re told, before we get too old, show me a garden that’s bursting into life

Let’s waste time chasing cars around our heads
I need your grace to remind me, to find my own

If I lay here, f I just lay here, would you lie with me and just forget the world?
Forget what we’re told, before we get too old, show me a garden that’s bursting into life
All that I am, all that I ever was is here in your perfect eyes, they’re all I can see
I don’t know when, confused about how as well, just know that these things will never change for us at all

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Permalink 10 Comments

Next page »