Journalistic article 3,109º: “A journalistic chronicle”

[Img #173123]There are days when you search/search for the topic and theme of the newspaper article and it seems like it runs away and avoids you. A thousand things become and a thousand things disappear. You understand and you don’t understand.

In short, it’s the story of the monkey for the brain, the fable of the Buda, as the three monkeys go from branch to branch of the brain-tree. Ideas, concepts, data and images come to mind that could end up in an article. The past and the present and the possible future.

It occurs to you/awareness that ultimately ideologies or systems of ideas almost always have to feed the stomach. This uncivil civil war, “some were hungry and wanted to eat”, “others were not hungry, but did not want to be hungry”. And, everything else is just ideas-concepts-statements, to defend one point or defend another. Those who were hungry didn’t pass it, those who didn’t pass it didn’t end up passing it.

You ask yourself the question, we must continue to fill sheets of words, articles-columns-chronicles of ideas and facts and data and perspectives. Or, you become silent and silent and silent. In the end, the journalistic columns is/are the exoteric, it is the message given to all, esotericism, which remains only for those who have a softer palate than the academic. It is the revealing of big ideas and big cultural mental constructs, pieces of them, like little windows or doors or decorations of the big conceptual mental cathedrals. Give them to anyone, the one who is having his coffee, and with his laptop, will perhaps read this article…

Without pride-vanity-arrogance-petulance-vanity, I think that these articles are already at the height of the great tradition of the chronicles of this Bull Skin, of the greatest. We can say that I went too far in the bullfighting of the Mihura bull-coso-thronio, but modestly, we think or we have or we feel this feeling. I know it’s saying too much, that a sufficient portion of everyone who bears the signature below, lives up, with other styles, to the last two centuries of writing articles in this society , opinions or personal or literary. colonism, at the height of the Larra, Roman Innkeepers, Alarcón, Clarín, Azorín, Unamuno, Ortega, Ruano, Vicent, Umbral, Montalban and another hundred, that I have left in the middle…

But even thinking-thinking like that, with blushing, but with humility, I express the deep feeling, if someone, wonders/wonders, if he should move away from this genre and this activity. ..

While you collaborated in the dressing of your other half, you visited the Health Center, you walked the aisles of the post office, you picked up a packet of returned cartoons, you entered the belly of the already old vehicle , you came back to the corner of your castle, you felt the jet of water on your cheeks and your arms, you opened this instrument of information, and, you continued with a/the article. That this chronicle does not matter, but that the reader becomes aware of the ups and downs of his thought, and the ups and downs of his journey through his microhistory, his microlandscape, his microtime, his microideology, his micropsychology…

But this writer’s question continues, that each article will have ten readers who will open that door, and, maybe only three, will finish reading and sip and swallow the words and pictures, will he have to keep filling those sheets ? As we indicated, let’s move on to the language of the street, understandable by all / as a multitude of questions of great philosophy / literature / aesthetics / metaphysics…, combining them with routine and normal facts, a conversation, without knowing whether to continue the articles, a meal, a designer, a state of consciousness, a thought, a vision, a fear of the past, a hope for the future, a pain, a joy, a stone, or the tip of a pencil. ..

It could be that the articulation was the spiritual and cultural testament that I offer to my society, I do not know if it will remain in the future, to humanity, of an entire existence under the trees of ideas , concepts, statements, arguments, patterns, images…

You fill out sheets of paper or electronic scraps, because for years the head has been a volcano of observations and ideas, and, you told yourself, many will be discovered centuries ago, others, others will have no value, but perhaps a percent or a thousand, they can serve society-humanity. Now that they have been presented in the vision of mind-consciousness, well, I must, I have a duty to capture it on paper, in sentence form or in color drawing form, so that other people, more educated and understood than this clerk, finish perfecting them, maybe they will be of some use. For example, out of a hundred suggestions to avoid traffic accidents, maybe one could avoid a few. And then you write it in a materiality. And, already, exposed at this level, you wonder if you’ll have to offer it to others, because in your drawer, it sleeps like cats on August afternoons, asleep and lying down. And so you try to publish… publish them… make them public… show them to the public…

Maybe I have no other destiny than to write words, to paint colors, maybe this is my/your destiny. Perhaps, now, in this trajectory, now definitive, concretize them in bottles in the form of articles… Others will have to build other things, me/you, modestly, opinion columns in boxes filled with ideas/perceptions/dreams/possibilities/suggestions/questions…

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