CROCHETHERAPY

There is not just one reason why I keep myself busy again with crochet, after quite a long time. It’s not just that I want to create, which of course is one of the reasons (I always need to do something creative). Crochet is a way to keep my mind busy in a way that, depending on what I crochet and which pattern I follow, I end up fully concentrating my mind on counting stitches and rows, on the shape of what I do, on the coming ideas. Nothing else exists. I use crochet as some kind of meditation. Suddenly the mind and the self fade. Everything around and the world itself can vanish. Just the action of crocheting and what it implies, and creating. Even the crocheted thing seems to fade from reality and becomes just a cluster of geometrical shapes dancing in harmony. I got a strange feeling yesterday, when I was crocheting a winter hat (obviously in green) while I watched a chapter of “el laberinto del Tíbet” on TV and I saw monks making a mandala. I felt abducted by the geometry and symmetry of the mandala and of the future hat.

Another reason is the need to see colours, for they have a positive effect on the mood and thus on the mind and body. It’s also pleasant to be surrounded by the softness and other textures of yarns and wools. And suddenly, the shine of the metallic crochet hooks.

Knowing how to crochet is something my mother taught me when I was rather little. I used to see her knitting or crocheting and seeing how yarn or wool suffered some metamorphoses and became something beautiful and/or useful fascinated me. Several years ago I made handbags, coin purses, some scarves, a hat...but there was a period afterwards with few or inexistent creations. Now I happened to have more time (until classes and so on begin) and I needed to create but also to keep this crochet knowledge alive. It’s one of the things I inherited from my mother and I want to keep crocheting, not to forget it, so as to be able to transfer such knowledge to the future generations, since my mother is no longer here. To her memory do I also keep crocheting. Now I won’t have her really good advice and I’ll have to find by myself the way to perform certain patterns or stitches. But I have some intuition which I also inherited from her, and many musters of stitches to remember stitches I know and to decode those I don’t know.

Lanas de colores, Asia y la política

Inmersión!!! Sí, nuevamente entre lanas, hilos y colores. Revistas de la biblioteca municipal con ideas (las de casa son muy viejas y las tengo vistas), y webs varias con patrones e ideas, así como direcciones. Retomé las agujas de ganchillo (porque nunca acabé de llevarme bien con largas agujas de hacer punto...)y ya empecé antes de ir al pueblo con algunos ensayos de cosas, y luego con algún regalo para gentes majas y para mi persona. Y qué grandes los chinos del bazar oriental de mi calle!!! Con lanas e hilos preciosos para tejer, ganchillo y demás, que ¡¡nooooo!!!, NO son de mala calidad!!! Ovillos caricias, de servimex a 0.60€ 0.75€....de colores varios y calidades diferentes (no tenían el Verde Ansiado q perseguía)...y los hilos perlé y egipcios (2€ ovillos grandes y 0.75€ ovillos más pequeños), qué colores!!, ahí entre el pasillo de las velas, aceites aromáticos, cosas de costura y artilugios para el cabello y el pasillo de juguetes mutantes (me pido un sweet pony para reyes, junto al prosikito y figuras de la gran peli turca “dünyayi kurtaran adam”, si existen....uoo!...los monstruos rojos de peluche!).


Indagando por la red y cabalgando con la mula topé con perlas y sorpresas. Collares mezclando cuentas de colores y ganchillo(!!!) e informaciones diversas. Las webs norteamericanas son grandes....los “afghans” activaron mi tendencia a asociar cosas y sacar teorías. Vi a Laura Bush o la madre de G.W. Bush haciendo afghans que a los señores Bush no les gustaron...y los afganos (personas) a sufrir...que no tuvieron bastante con las 2 guerras con rusos y británicos de por medio tiempo ha...y el Great Game. En medio como los miércoles....Miercolestán. Que Bush hijo, de pequeño, quizás tenía una idea rara de los afganos...pensando en los afghans de colores que seguro que alguien de su familia tejía felizmente. Y es que en la infancia se hacen asociaciones surrealistas que a veces nos marcan para el futuro.

Y siguiendo por asia, me emocioné viendo calidades/modelos de lanas de la marca Katia: Himalaya, Tíbet y Nepal...Si según leí sobre la historia del ganchillo, la gran técnica había llegado al Tíbet nosécuándo....ya me imaginé al VI Dalai Lama también enfrascado haciendo obras de ganchillo, con sus ropajes de colores vistosos y brillantes, y sus poemas a jóvenes damas. Porque el ganchillo se daba en China antes que en la vieja Europa o en los EE.UU. Y en Mongolia??? Queridos mongoles...que vi una gran foto en El País Semanal, de una tele dentro de una ger...y encima del aparato había un tapete rosa de ganchillo con patos de goma encima (aceptamos patos de goma como sustituto de los toros de peluche o las muñecas con faralaes, claro, que yo pondría pollets de mona de Pascua o mi Trabi). Por Asia central algo habrá...Veo a la hija de Akaev en sus ratos libres haciendo ganchillo....o al mismo Turkmenbashi haciendo leyes al respecto en el gran Turkmenistán. Efigies de Niyázov a ganchillo, o variantes en punto de cruz o en encaje de bolillos (la sofisticación)...y Niyázov repartiendo patrones y esquemas entre los ciudadanos de la patria turkmena. Más chulo él que un ocho verde pistacho, retratado en labores hechas por los turkmenos. Labores con elementos subversivos en el reverso!!! uuuuh!

Larga vida al ganchillo y al punto de media!!! Un legado por mantener otras cuantas generaciones.

Die fliegende Trabis und die Pechvögel

Himmelblauen Trabis fliegen wie Trabanten und zeichnen Kreise aus mehrere Farben über mein Kopf. Himmelblau, hell grün, weiß, gelb. Nur ein paar Farbe entlang der Wegen der Wolken. Fliegende Trabis, die ich versuche zu folgen, aber Pechvögel haben wenig Kraft und es gibt immer etwas, dass sie schießen würde. Bang! Und weg oder Wunde, Wunde, Wunde. Wie ein trauriges Lied, fast alles ist schwer zu erreichen, und fast alles läuft mit den Trabis und wird entfernt. Aber...aber ich kann doch einen Planet erfinden und bauen. Auch kann ich Trabis und Trabanten aus Papier machen. Mit geschlossenen Augen werde ich reisen und, irgendwann, irgendwo, irgendwie, etwas neues entdecken, innen und draußen. Ich vermute, dass es etwas neben meinem Herz, hinter meinem Kopf, im Mittelpunkt meines Gehirns, ein tanzendes Etwas in meine Augen gibt. Und irgendwann bin ich keinen Pechvogel mehr sondern jemand oder etwas, wer mit einem fliegenden Trabi fährt.

Tears for the Aral Sea

I thought of going there, to Central Asia, and refill the Aral Sea with tears. I could succeed in filling it with My Reason and many other reasons to cry. Then, grab some reasons to feel positive and be happy and even laugh, and come back here. There are always reasons to both cry and smile, indeed. We just have to choose.

If only I could fly on a paper plane, on a paper crane...and cry where water is needed. So many droughts on Earth, so many dying lakes and seas...and so much pain and tears to be cried.

Those taking care of us from somewhere

Those who left this world remain somewhere else. I had been thinking about what is to come after death...eternal peace, return, reincarnation. I couldn’t choose any of them. But now I know that some people whose bodily existence ceases keep among us and take care of us. It’s not scientific, but I feel it. My mother died on 10th July and I feel and know that she is still with us and will stay around taking care of us and encouraging us to keep walking and to be happy. I already felt she’s been taking care of us. I didn’t say goodbye to her since I knew that she’d stay somewhere else. Death is not a farewell, maybe. Possibly.

All is full of birds

No matter when you have a look at your watch, at any clock, no matter what you might be doing at a certain point of time, there might be a bird observing you. Invisible or visible birds. Birds always seem to be observing something accurately...and when they chirp, it’s as if they were doing comments on reality and maybe conspiring. Agile creatures that, like happiness and illness and death and good news and new acquaintances and friends, come across our way, all of a sudden, on the ground, above our heads, in some balcony we decide to look at. Birds are not birds, but something else. They make me notice some other world flowing, happening alongside my steps, the path I end up following. And as I make paper birds, that other world seems to be invading the world I always thought was the world, till some moment in time, and still from time to time. Everything becomes filled with colour paper birds as everything is emptied of its sense or meaning. Maybe some other birds are meanwhile looking at Prosikito saying “vámonos de fiesta”. Reality and unreality and transreality and interpretations of the 3 dimensions.

ja tinc la idea per Reis 2007!

Havia llegit en algun diari o anàleg, sobre el nou gran anunci de la Kangoo de la Renault (tant és dir noms de marques...que tot n'és ben ple): després del mític anunci amb aquell crack que era Amunike (el ball d'Amunike) i un altre futbolista , Tren Valencia, de qui no n'havia sentit parlar (en l'anunci promocionava un videojoc molt d'estar per casa). Doncs el darrer és amb el gran Robert Prosinecki, del que recordo la seva etapa al Barça, perquè un cop fora, no era un subjecte que destaqués gaire...Però tots tres ara han tingut una nova glòria. sentit de l'humor i món de la publicitat i una neteja de la seva imatge amb dosis de popularitat-entranyable. Aquí us poso el vídeo que vaig trobar per youtube amb l'spot. què gran!!!

jo em demano un prosikito per Reis l'any vinent!!!! oooh..jo que tenia un nino de plàstic petit d'aquest Prosi mal pintat, vestit del Barça!!! (no sé d'on va sortir i per on deu parar ara...)...el que potser si conservo és algun tazo o fitxa mutant amb l'efígie d'en Prosi (tothom té un passat...fa moooooolts anys seguia les lligues de futbol).

apa, gaudiu del vídeo!!!...tot i que el passaran uns quants cops per la tv.

Wandering thoughts and wandering souls

It could have been my turn; it could have been yours. But it wasn’t. It was decided, had been decided, or who knows how do these things work, that the one to leave this existence was the partner of a friend, the father of the child of that friend, somebody who has a part of many bigger parts, which were, at the same time, parts of bigger parts, and so on till we feel that death could affect all people. I hardly knew him, but it’s not important, I know that friend since I was 4 and we studied in the same class till we were 16 or 17 and I know the meaning that young man had to her. Numbers, images, all fade away. Just thoughts, ideas, memories, maybe souls too remain here or somewhere else. That friend might not read this, her partner would neither read this, but I do want to say from here that I hope that his soul, no matter where it is, reaches some kind of peace. Maybe there is some point in the middle of space, or somewhere beyond space or the perceivable space, where wandering or expelled or cried or professed thoughts meet wandering souls. And maybe these wandring souls meet our thoughts, no matter if we expressed them afterwards with spoken words or written words. What I’m sure about is that there is always something good emerging from the depths of sadness, negative episodes in life, darkness, tragedies... And fortunately I know that that friend of mine will be strong.

Armenia belongs to Europe

Most of those reading this might think that Eurovision song contest is not worth being watched...and it’s in fact not difficult to find arguments to support such idea (uuuh! What an exhaustive and objective way to vote!). I’ve been following such “event” for years, basically because I was curious about songs sung in less common languages, let’s say, Croatian, Estonian, Icelandic, Albanian (great song and performance the one from Albania this year’s edition!). Slavonic and Balkanic songs were usually among my favourite ones, but unfortunately, in the last years, most countries choose to sing in English (oooh). Some years I didn’t even watch it, but this year I felt that there some revolution could take place, with Finland candidates (Lordi, the nice monsters). And it was indeed revolutionary. I felt that something was finally happening there. But there was something else: Armenia was there with her candidate singing happily! Many thought for ages about Israel’s belongingness to Europe, since she has been in the contest for ages. Just think of A ba ni bi...or that singer named Shlomo Artzi, rather famous in the 70es. (I tend to think about politics when I watch or hear certain things...eurovision and star wars are 2 examples –I’m not a fan of Star wars and I’ve only seen the first movie, filmed in 1977, I think-).

The case of Armenia is different than that of Israel or Turkey: Eurovision reaching the Caucasus, which is relatively unknown and strange to most people. I feel as if some day, the central Asian republics (formerly part of the USSR), will be included in Europe, by means of such song contest. Astana 2020 Eurovision song contest...or Tashkent 2021 Eurovision song contest. Perhaps, by the time those years come to us to greet us, Mr. Nazerbayev and Karimov are somewhere else, in some Spa in Turkey, painting, practising regional dances, and in those countries we find, instead the regimes they created, some kind of heterodox but purer democracy. But anyway...now Armenia seems to be part of Europe.

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This morning I read a mail from a friend with several pics attached...and one is wooorth being mentioned, because thanks to it I got to know that from Gdańsk (oi que era Gdańsk on era el senyal amb tots els noms de ciutats I distàncies??) to Astana (ooooh) there are 3968 km. Not so far away to consider Kazakhstan that far away. “Astana 2020” is not that odd. Kyrghiz people might enjoy watching it...as they eat cockles (just to say something...in fact, one day, all of a sudden I thought of the action of eating cockles in Kyrgyzstan and I wondered what might people there think and feel about it). Eurovision is globalising itself...and soon it might be named worldvision or whatever...eurasiavision, most probably. Eurovision reflects politics after all.

(I dedicate this post to some people: to Dudu Jae-dong...ei...que he posat allò del cartellet de la foto, allò de les escopinyes que et vaig dir–paradigmàtic del frikisme crònic- i del nostre amic Luiz de les Albànies!!! To Meriwoki del Patzwokistan, fan de les àsies centrals –bé...aquí no podia fer esment de les Corees- and to Mònica de la ROIP, entusiasta del Kazakhstan i les coses boniques que hi ha)

SOBER-EIGNTY

At social gatherings, parties, discos and other kinds of social events people wonder and ask why I don’t drink. It should be normal to find people who choose not to drink, like it’s also normal to find people who love black colour, skirts, a certain kind of music...yesterday I was asked again about my reasons not to drink. I never say all the reason because they seem a bit odd and it’s a bit long to explain...especially to people who is already a bit drunk. Let me share the reasons...so as not to be asked, so as to make you think a bit of the rare side of people.

1-I don’t need alcohol to feel fine, to say what I want, to have fun with people.

2-my stomach doesn’t want alcohol...neither my mood. The sudden poor management of the idea of the Void I suffer from time to time, making me fall in a sharpened nihilism neither opts for alcoholic drinks.

3-I’m not a hedonist...I must see something behind so-called pleasures (including sex)...like mental benefits, health benefits, catharsis, purification to go into such pleasures. That’s rare nowadays...but I don’t care whether I’m understood or not. I can’t help thinking of positive side-effects of some pleasures. I’ve found none in alcohol, or they’re fewer than the negative ones...so no need to drink.

4-I prefer feeling and facing things being sober. It’s also interesting to see the changes in people around, as they go drunk...I don’t want any substance to interfere in my perception...but inner chemical substances and inner processes of the body.

5-My perception sometimes goes for other ways and alters itself when he/she (is perception feminine or masculine) likes. Besides, by laughing and some mental control one can change one’s perception.

6-if I have chosen to life and I’ve been given life, I prefer to keep it in good conditions. Besides I want to have a healthy liver so as to be able to give it to someone when I die, when it happens or when I decide it to happen (that’s another topic I might talk about...death, healthy organs and death and so on).

I am the sober-eign...hehe...but just of my body and senses, and perceptions.