Ze 74

Tags

2010´s, collage, family, memories, Mexico, Photo Album, Photography

Album Omega 73

Tags

2010´s, collage, family, memories, Mexico, Photo Album, Photography

How will this words be red?

I was thinking about the little things that I never said to you. Not so much as the things I did not hear from you, but about the details of the things that I always wanted.

Embarked on that ship I have to forgive my little knowledge about my grandfather´s work. He was not around too long, so to explain what went wrong; I still am amazed at the power the words he wrote had.

All the variations that came about, and are described here have the purpose to emotionally understand the meaning of the law, and how justice should light on people´s sorrow. If anything my world revolves around those words nature prevented him from transmission through the most native of his vessels… me.

Imagine my effort. I´m no Stephen King, but concerning the things that did happen later, its not candid to consider all the tension throughout my earlier steps cause no one else in the universe could conceive that he was willing to put everything on the line so to enter in to the great halls being remembered by things he did not say to me, but millions of people in Mexico have worked in the same quantity as they have abused doing whats opposite.

I myself right now hesitate to put my intellect through more humiliations by reading any further of his works, little to say he was an artist and a philanthropist. Many will take him as a reference, for he prepared legions of layers by thinking and trying as ever to break the boundaries of time and space.

The struggle now will be to follow on the cruel destiny of ignorance, and never having the gut to face all the “Bandidos” who have wrapped the XXIst century with the diapers of the very old traditional corruption of money and charade.

But in 1968 he surely had the chance to sleep across a good Kubrick film, and he must have surely been there when the president gave the special orders. He and his generation did not invent the original Planet of the Apes, but he was surely out there taking the big decisions to foresee the other side of the moon.

Well being as it is I hope that he is proud of all of the things I will do to praise if not his direct quote from an unknown editor, why not all the party of great authors that grandpa or not, have been always accessible to my left hand.

I think about the things you never said when Charlton Heston gets hit in the throughout right out of nothing, so many things that would not make the cut when ole Ben Hur is punished by the gorilla in Panavision pictures.

Wish that I had been more intelligent at the time to foresee my destiny, or see through the great crust of the wrong I have been living for so long. Just at this point in the timeline. We have been timeline people us from the eighties.

As my memories cuddle in some resemblance of what could have been the past, my intelligence excused, I remembered this stage was played in the neighbor’s backyard. One of the things we had to leave behind, after the Playmobil sacrifice, the masters of the universe, and the He-man character; after my very ancient paintings and drawings and many precious artifacts that my parents were ticking away to put into the garbage of the boy that was never to come back.

The boy was done when we parted. They let me keep my Jedi for a while, but the Ranch was a place of conflict more than a place of peace.

My neighbors. I often dream of the past and see that they parted in this story, as never after any other neighbor. Across the street, a boy that later shared the school grounds mounted every Tuesday and every Thursday, and from the times that we lived in Tlaloc, many other special families constructed a little paradise risking to go into the landscape.

When I was ten the view from my window gave me the big city and we would walk into our own national park to get to school. Well not so evolved, but once upon the time I could have over all the boys and girls from the classroom in the same garden, and that was not a dull thing to do.

Maybe in a way the things I little remember have to do about Grandpa, and about my father thinking he was smarter than everybody else. But what I target is that I was not as intelligent back then to have the keen sense to take photographs, do movies and songs like now.

So my dear feelings for all these ghostly people have been very blurry, and though they are among the people I will never forget, the details of that Kodak simplicity have not come across my later life.

The lesson by making garbage out of all my objects, and not being able to take or save the videos that would have eased this process allows me to go back again into my fatal flaw from childhood. I have always been to shallow with the people I loved, and I have been so happy doing the art that even as a boy I was always looking for ways to remember that chance did put me face to face with the most beautiful people ever.

Beauty is fading from that picture, and this is something if you ask me, I will always regret; cause I cherished my things. If my father would have been so intelligent would we have not kept him and me, all his empire by making a few investments?

The time to make those investments came and went as it goes right now, nobody can really own anything in the end. Even dead we may bounce back in some of the things we do to represent that which was presented to me.

I was never smart enough to say to all the people that nourished my spirit and gave me joy that I am really thankful for the past. I have never been the most social person, and from then, Mexican good manners and a sense of magic in the world did allow for our friendship.

There is nothing I can do to change from lanes, but I am sure that there is a possibility to go back and change it all to my satisfaction, and if so, in a parallel dimension we would have kept that house and maybe I would have been neighbourly to the day.

Things happened differently. I´m also sure if one day in your heart, you search for me and our good days in Contadero, you will find me with happiness I suppose.

For now, I will go on from the point I started already from a little further on when I had the power to take my own pics of what was happening.

This is the point when I decided to start thinking about a job that could allow me to see over my fathers’ great vision and wisdom. I still am the same thing I thought as a solution from the times when my grandpas’ jive was lingering; it is art.

The time for our generation has opened even further the window of possibility to go deeper still into the innovation. What worries me is that all the works from my childhood, my Scribe drawings and all have been lost forever.

I lost some other pieces, like those I left in the country house when the clock clicked the teenage out of me, and even later when I achieved my degree.

My task now is to accept that one way or another I have been always afraid to face all the powers that would hunt me if I could be awarded the lowest paying price in my labour.

The exhibition in the Academia in January 2015, was finally the chance to make public this trend I crave will be considered still contemporary, considering nothing new has been invented anyway.

In my theory, as I become a master, is that every one of the pictures I took from the early nineties had a cost back then, that would allow me to price them in a general 1 euro each. However as they are going to be exhibited, this formulates some positive force that may re-evaluate my worth.

I want to dedicate some years to taking my art collections abroad, so to my career, it is important to state clearly how this is all an experiment designed to profit from the simulation we live in concerning the value of things.

The price for any page or individual picture is one thing, so now I think the theoretical price for each should be 10 euros so that he who buys my work can really understand the value of the thing I´m giving him or her.

If I put my self to work in to my doctorate and make emphasis on the importance as a society to understand the worth of money, and the part the banks take in our ordinary behavior, it is my believe that by making a Trust, all these pictures and things I have been making, might see their day with a new generation of boys and girls whose appreciation I mean to concern.

I have only published the pictures you will see in these blogs I have been investing on. There is a gap of all the years running from 1988 and way into the two thousand when digital media was not the meaning of pictures at all.

Nowadays if you took the power of distribution instead of putting it in the stream, I guess the cost and compromise it demands would make me think twice about it. I did my thing anyway, and here my part is that you remember it was never about the money, but about the right that I have to use my talent to make a living, even if I have to associate with the evil characters that have put me through so much heartache.

Everything started here. I´m thinking about making simulations as much as labyrinths these days, but whatever pride I take in the worth of words as they lay, I´m sure someday you will forgive me and see that I never fooled anyone, and every piece of thing I ever put my efforts to, was always somewhat humane and well worth more than 100 euros of electrical wires.

If my theories are correct I will be allowed to finish off and see what happens if I dare to use my knowledge and wind up making ends meet with my own Academy.

One day I will be able again to gain respect from the people that make things happen, so I don´t regret either having spent a little time going across the lines of a shady past when I had no pictures, and grampas treasures remain the only trace of the knowledge still left to be turned.

This is why there are no pictures today. I hope my memories of those days will always prevail in things that were kept from us like The Queen, and gay sex. I extend my invitation to whoever wants to walk all the way without the inevitable presence of pictures in my tellings.

 

 

The pause

My memories are stuck at this time of coming back to Mexico that year 1986 after Echo Lake. This was the first year at High School for Mexicans. It happens after your first certificate at 12. High School diploma in my community has always been considered a priority, even for the gob. but the establishment does not require you to have any higher education to start working.

My father as a child went as far as Highschool but quit at 15 to build up and become the substitute for my grandmother and my grandfather at the same time. By that tender age, Papa handled every bodies life.

So for him, within his own perspective, I guess it was never “so important” to study High school, especially at that time when he was doing so well at his family business.

We were never better off the Rossell and that is the year that completely goes without documentation. Perhaps to validate my stories I will push in some documents, but the amusing part of pictures is lost into the evil of what was going on between my parents, and what was going to happen to Mexicans in general with the upcoming elections.

So my father´s plan would have been at that point that I would help him out as he had done, but as it turns out there were other businesses that he attended that damaged our mama for the better.

She has hard memories from that year my ma, little to say dad became the ghost he is today in my consciousness. That tragic year I was not aware of things between them as being relevant to my log achievement survival I guess.

I was unaware that my dislike towards the family was justified elsewhere in the feelings other people never shared with me about their own past. That year from 86 to 87 was the most fun and the most friendly.

We enjoyed school in happy times thus I can recall only a very few events. Within the classroom, I guess it will come easier to me, yet by the end of primero the school system failed us, and some had to part cause they were not responding well to education and discipline.

Campestre environment transformed as our bodies did. The older generations were rebellious teens by then, and many played games with us to share the sensations of being a sexual counterpart.

We returned to Mexico that year to live at a fatherless home in Contadero, rested hillbillies one whole cycle more. What memories I hold that I can´t foresee right now as the day awakes.

Maybe recalling that beautiful mansion at Tlaloc 97. We were so fortunate, every family member had a room and a private WC. The house was designed to privilege the view of Mexico City, and at night we could see the starry night every day of the week.

There was a pimp process that had stopped and a couple of dogs at that residence, oh and a guard that lay in his room built specially for his services. I never felt insecure up till then, and thinking of it, this private police remained after my father was gone, for a long time to come.

We had a red wagon that was fashionable and one or two televisions, also an antenna that would allow for the reception of signals from the USA like those offered by Cable Television.

That year I spend a lot of time watching movies. My addiction to Hollywood entertainment started off like that in my parents’ bedroom. I still preserve one of the furniture pieces from that decoration set and somewhere lay too the wood cabinet for the tv.

That cabinet was filled with Beta movies from the eighties and consisted of our fading childhood, as I´ve mentioned somewhere, I may have done some video that year, cause my father never came back. Maybe it wasn´t clear to me that he would provide me with the right camera for many many years.

I wouldn’t quote any footage though specifically from 87 and was very foolish not to have done so, cause it is hard to fish out the events of that year. Anyway, mama put all those memories in the trash soon after.

So I´m guessing soon as we packed off we were led to school, and I had never any choice. It was next year, it was Campestre, it was high school, but we were children still in many ways.

The group was gathered that year. From the remains of sexto a y b, primero was created, and we followed into the tradition of the first generation that crossed over to Mexico City school in Polanco.

Everything was working fine for the entrepreneurs of a liberty tendency to educate… without boundaries or prejudices; without religion or social parties, without anything other than the guidelines established by the Republic.

Our uniform changed to jeans and a white t-shirt. We were allowed to bring whatever sweater in grey and whatever shoes. There was no other color for jeans at that time when fashion hit us strongly into who we wanted to look like.

Since my father allegedly had bought some ranch at Nuevo Leon, and that was close to Brownsville, he often traveled and brought back goodies for us. I had a trapper keeper that year that was to die for, but can’t remember where I got it from since “falluca” back then was not so easy to go by.

At those years very few American products were sold. A few insertions into the international markets allowed for better goodies that have flourished like never before, but for now, think of a Mexico where you could not get simple things like school or office appliances.

From that year on I had to build my school work to the machine. I had my apple, but never really used it; it became part of the decoration and is now part of our computer museum.

Nobody did any better, though I remember Barish, my uncle´s lover had tried to show me how to use a word processor in the Apple I had, which was the same every one had back then.

That year school teachers were not so uptight, but I have evidence of a play I transcribed to the typewriter as a first project ever.

As a matter of fact, we were the most anarchist that year and became lambs from 88 on. We were given enough air to have tendencies between us, however, primero was very awesome cause we hit puberty and little by little started adventuring with our sex.

I recall no better year socially, cause on a Saturday morning almost everybody was available. I had some list and filled up an agenda to call everyone. This means our father was gone most of the weekends and we were finally left to wander into other bonds that became essential.

Since there are not many pics, I have only the one where the Guerson girl is presented to the front door of Tlaloc 97. My features surely mutated in this period and all I have is a pic from 88, but that year, we came back to Las Lomas into Palmas 1450 and that has nothing to do with this year of naif parties in 87.

 

U Camp Family day!

Yes, I was a happy camper all through the summer of 86. Every day one could enrol in any activity from an array of possibilities that I have never since been faced upon, oh except on Jewish day, and of course family day.

Jewish day was a fright. Yes, the camp authorities also obligated the groups to gather for other traditions, but none as clever when it came to emotional control, cause although it was clear that we could have a lot of fun; other matters also concerned the clan, mainly the place where one goes in a spirit.

There was never any direct talk on the subject, neither were there any radicals, still the week after week all action paused and one was meant to think and feel towards whatever was happening inside.

At that moment when I was only 12, these events did not spook me, I´ve had many years to think about such rituals, and find I was a boy. Little or nothing did I suffer interested in other matters. From then I guess many children better decided to remain closed into their inner circles, happy outside, and together inside.

All the emotional bonds between us were doomed from the start cause I was not a New York jew, and never was I going to be “that” integrated because I never had any religion anyway, or so I´ve thought.

We were 2 o 3 thousand children and teenagers that year; altogether things went fine. Every day we slept in the same spot and did mop the floors a couple of times. I did not make a deep impact on anyone in particular, and I was never discriminated formally except on one special day at the middle of the road.

Campers dreamed of happy summer family day. The “super Jewish weekend reunion”, can´t remember if they mingled it with some alumni gathering as well. On that date, one was expected to walk about silently without disturbing the kids and the dads who finally realized their 3 grand prices every year.

This camp offered me some attention on this grave day, although we probably made our own sandwiches those who were sentenced to really think deep and feel if maybe something was not making a click for some Mexican duck.

Everybody was kind and condescending that they, nobody really really wanted me into their little parties cause I was hellish as can be for sure. So I probably went by and masturbated at the lake watching some folks and their babies.

Bunk bodies waited like crazy for this opportunity to show an image of wellness that somewhat died I guess after that Seventies Show. For the rest of the adventures we had to make an effort, and everyday endured challenges that would place us at different risks and no other guarantee of love than that of counselors permanent observation.

A book was made for every camper to cherish, cause even if you were not the famous Jewish lad, anyone would remember about what was told over the experience of the group you were with. Some lines were specially written for every child; of me that year the football mate said I was a rough tackle. This was obvious cause I was the taller jew back then, and did play some soccer.

From all these happenings we were pushed to make the day profiting from everything. I water skied every day and went sailing every two days. We hiked, caved, camped, song and played all sorts of adventure games. Then at nights girly merge, and nobody was to comfortable with chics, but some fellows had been going to camp since the early eighties, some came from the same neighborhoods and some came from ole Canada, and had been coming to Echo since the 50´s or 40´s.

I did never find anyone capable of mounting musicals at the speed these children did, all due to some piano reading prodigies that I admire and envy from then. This beautiful boys and girls were some integrated into the arts which were an elite who could skip some hours of labor sports activity to practice.

We sang and sang all summer long. Singy singy when its sunshine, singy singy when in the rain, every day was a good day to sing about happy emotions and brotherly love. No accidents ever happened, even when the black counselor, and I mean peach black started spanking the kids to mark his friendship forever.

So no there was no happy family day back then. I suffered and guess what, I suffer still cause my parents would divorce some years further, no Jewish boy ever called or wrote to me, and other events where awaiting life-changing impact.

I was never meant to climb on trees ever more; no more court hokey, and no football. No more swimming in the lake, no more archery, never any musical theatre ever again, and Echo was renown for their greatness I must say.

During my stay, I was never in panic. I got to see Jason´s first and do find the terror from that camp scene so ancient, and so attached to with secrets and policies of truth reserved for higher meetings.

My guess is that from that age, I was not so much interested in any one´s intimacy, I had no concern neither for the human body and neglected my own potential. However, it was awesome to be writing letters that I preserved for some time and were later lost as we moved from home to home.

This narration would be ironic if I could only go back and witness the evil lurking in my parent’s hearts. That was a hard summer for them, but mama had my sister all to herself and thus started her transformation into the women they have become.

The rest of this telling goes blah, blah, blah into that first stay at the big apple. Hopefully, I´ll remember some details further than the Waldorf´s suites.

 

The mighty past

 

Hidalgo Mexico

700 pages from the mighty past!

Family album encyclopedia

Helios the conceptual artist of the XXIST Century

The mystery about the eighties books!

Through my lifetime I have been psychologically disturbed on more than one occasion. Surely, I didn´t start the fire, and even when you are a baby, the concept of reality has a double reflection that gives joy some shadows.

These little pictures that follow are all pieces of artwork information that I have preserved and now distribute after a long, long time. To me each is worth 100 dollars, however, they all represent a memory snap and thus if revised carefully can be as universal and free as this media which offers them absolutely with no charge.

I warn anyone who might reach these windows to appreciate without prejudice, and consider the voyage as being part of a new understanding of art; that of conceptual means.

None of my snaps, however, are meant to be negative esthetically, I present them now as an internet memorial, but they certainly have a broader potential, as they all represent the technology that encompasses positive prints and negative film.

For now I publish them with the trust that someone, some psychology friend, some investigator, some viewer that may not distinguish any difference in the imagery of his or her lives at first, will be amused by being presented with the stream that led picture taking in to a different level in the process of growing old.

My first stop is a couple of pictures from the lost times of my boyhood. See now back in the 70´s cameras were not super friendly, although the process to make postcard positives from a film, had been present ever since the XIX century.

It would take time to explain the whole process, so let’s say we are all familiar with albums, and many families have still the habit of collecting and editing their photos.

My albums now include a few magnificent snaps as old as 100 years, it will be the spectator, nonetheless who will best judge if I have achieved in my view a sense o beauty about the way we came to be part of the world

Only a few initiated managed a camera back then, it was ever-present in the middle class since the 20´s, but it is our day and not every family has many snaps, a cause of dysfunctional marriages and little interest to make bonds to illustrate imaginary grounds to the past. Nothing to the sense of digital imagery today anyway.

Originally someone from the family took the oldest pics, cause precisely the point of them is that from a clear moment in time, I started making the works my self. This is moment cero in my career, cause as a teen, I decided to make myself responsible for my investment in doing what is encouraged as visual arts.

Professional photography is like that. You become a little more professional when you learn to safeguard all your information. It is a one-way road from there. The academy has shown me you also become handier when you stop repeating the past and start bravely a new, but that is another story that has allowed ironically to the exhibition they will host of my albums altogether with many surprises.

None of my friends expected when I took this pictures that I would keep them and now share them. We did not imagine the impact of Macs and media so clearly. Maybe they foreshadowed I was not working for charity, son on Sundays like this that I wake up for a magical day I wonder on my past and find these collections that I will slowly get here to the public affairs.

These are by no means the intimate art images that are singular to the pages of the albums a little forward in life. It seems none the less that I have a tendency to achieve some intimacy friendship or not, with people, and sometimes I have got my way to have models butt naked just dance around.

Please forgive me, oh dear friends from the past must of you were significant in a special time and place. My purpose is to remember you with everlasting joy and inner awe. I always said I would share these works when I became older, so before too long maybe with a little patience, everyone will share all my work.

Mainly my objective will be to present my encyclopedia in the sense of galleries or maybe Y will create a digital book from each album, experiment and find if people can sense the same beauty in it all. If for any reason my artwork is sold I will be persuaded to boot off from the internet anything that could be inappropriate for a price. I can also send a copy for a price, and I may be blowing up and painting over a few in the following years.

I would even go under to reach the negative if it is well rewarded. I have only these photographs of my tiny past, so again don’t underestimate them, and don’t ever be ashamed of the things that I will say, given an analysis over what they mean both socially, emotionally and psychologically.

My life so long consisting of many events and not every event has been gracious. The most disgusting thing in my films, fortunately, is the outcome of an illness that comes when you treasure too much and don´t share that camera look at the world. I release that fear now and put my behind into the future learning of my own value as a slave to my work constructing an imagery that also explains history.

I never got rewarded for making this work, I never did any of it for some money and invested in doing it with all my resources to assure I was making art. My esthetics are mostly amateur in the first albums, these would be the more naive. Soon after, my professional pursuit is clear in the quality of the photos that slowly fade from common places, on to the secret places of my artistic desires.

I have released on Facebook and other media, the same ole first albums that will be displayed at San Carlos in 2015. Only certain of these pics are mine, and at this stage, I had no interest in cameras. They are mine in the sense that I keep them and cherish them, though they are very alike the ones millions must have their own.

My subject or theme in the first project was to document my friends. We were conscious of our superficiality, and I was able to click a few vibrations that express emotions accordingly with the age of innocence.

I have been retarding the digital transformation and publication of all my other works, because of the exhibition, and to concern my beautiful friends with my doings.

I loved my gangs and some of the snaps about the transition from childhood to adolescence. The quick breeze of puberty. My camp summer days. All can be decrypted leading to why I never got to share my love in a way that we would always be together when we would need to.

Or are we always together in the chance of this window to the XXth century!

the late eighties

con Ile Rossell, Juanjito y Helios Rossell

weekend Rendez-Vous

con Polainas y Nuriette

Rossell Project Sunday fun!

It enrages me inside when I face the fact that my French is doomed to this land. This project will remain bilingual for the time being, and until I meet my French love.

I have begun taking precautionary steps towards my summer. At a time I didn´t have many expectations of going into some adventure. My method will show slowly that it was ok to take it easy and really concentrate on the objective. The solution of this family business in 2012 will allow me to grow on to “El Solitario” again.

Today its a herb number five day, I´m happ¡ly doing my work to really express the importance of this days. In a day like this 30 years ago, we would gather around the Rossell family lunch tradition. I had my knowledge from the family making fits against paella.

This day, however, I tribute to the memories I hold by the pictures I inherited from my old grandfather. There is no other memory like this in video o film. The Rossell had no musical appliances back then and didn’t play any instrument.

The television was hip all through that era, and our family has always depended on good entertainment like football soccer. My ole grandpa liked to watch the European tournaments and the last thing he detested was when they sang the Spanish anthem cause it reminded him of the war.

Back in the seventies, he was not so old, Francisco, and ever since I was a child he had his ranch, kind of like “La Casa de mi Padre”. The little family that was my mama and papa would go to the big family where finally Maria´s parents also resided.

The paella was actually made by them. I can’t remember if there are any pictures of those times. The pictures I hold are scarce and show only a basic interest in childhood portraits. All throughout that great stage of history, there are no more documents that I´ve seen to recall on their children´s stories.

Evidently, from the nineties on, everybody had a little camera; family or not. Whatever pictures were taken all throughout that great second stage I have never seen, but maybe have been preserved.

Mexico

 

I have some pics leading up to our date, but these are very, very scarce, and are mixed with other documents some time in my catalogs of printed photos. So all together my stock is only a reference, and I will try to have my relatives share some of their pictures to use them in the edition of the documentary I´m putting together.

The deeper side of this project is the meanings family has thru the memories that we might ensemble. I have not contacted anyone yet, but I have profited from some savings and am ready now to face the final frontier. Whatever I´m more concerned with the competition right now. If I fail the competition I will have a crisis and then I will move on to everything else I work on.

Proyecto documental sobre la familia Rossell en América

Hace un mes, muy entusiasmado; me lancé a escribirles a mis parientes en facebook que comparten mi apellido. La intensión es convencerlos de que me permitan retratarlos en el contexto de la familia y sus vivencias cotidianas. Verdaderamente los paraderos de todos ellos son muy distantes y en conclusión, aunque una prima Violeta me insiste que no es mala onda que no coincidamos en vernos; lo cierto es que ninguno de mis otros 26 parientes en este medio tuvieron siquiera la gentileza de contestarme algo una vez que les dije de qué se trataba.

Obviamente he sido muy sincero al escribir. Así es como he sido siempre y ello me ha traído más tragedias y más soledad que otra cosa; sin embargo no puedo rehuir al hecho de que mis textos son inmutables y por lo menos permanecen mis deseos de conocer a mis familiares aprendiendo de sus historias.

En otra época esto hubiera sido imposible de resolver fácilmente; espero este año 2012 reunir los recursos necesarios para poder comprar una nueva cámara y lanzarme a la aventura de conocerlos en el lapso del verano.

No se si me van a aceptar en la maestría… Bien para los que no me conocen soy Helios. Mis textos seguramente no les van a parecer tan cotidianos como cuando escribía para el periódico, hoy; conózcanme, lo que puedo ofrecer esta en la evaluación de mi sinceridad.

Como antecedente sepan que en estos meses se evalúa si mi proyecto de pintura amerita que entre yo a la maestría para estudiarla. Sólo uno de cada tres aspirantes puede ser aceptado. En la UNAM no quieren que uno se deprima si después de tanto dedicarle la vida a lo que uno verdaderamente estudia sin financiamiento, se les niegue la entrada a la Universidad Pública. Valga decir que con mis parientes Rossell tengo por coincidencia este mismo tema vigente que es la dualidad española/mexicana; mismo que no parece tener mucho interés para los evaluadores de la casa de estudios.

Bueno el pensamiento social para mi de entrada es algo muy Rossell. Hace falta tener un nivel muy bajo de inteligencia como para no darse cuenta de que hay algo que no funciona muy bien en la sociedad. Imagínense en España donde trabaja sólo uno de cada cuatro. O aquí mismo en la ciudad ¿cuántos encuentran el trabajo para el cual se prepararon? ¿Cuántos de pronto agarran lo que sea y se resignan a perder el tiempo por un cinco más o menos?.

Pues si. El primer punto en este proyecto de la familia es aclarar un poco mis ideas. Sinceramente el que no contesten ni muestren interés alguno en nada de lo que les mando no necesariamente me victimiza. Es evidencia una disfunción en el sentido humano, emocional de mi persona, pero también es una evidencia del tipo de valores que imperan en la sociedad; en este caso la indiferencia y pues poquita fraternidad.

Si supieran las historias de mi vida tal vez sufrirían más que yo en el asombro de reconocerlas, pues sin duda siento y comprendo el significado de los sentimientos y las dudas del otro lado de la pantalla. Todos los rencores del silencio para evitar ir más en lo profundo a la maldad, donde no se controla ya la provocación y no triunfa el placer sino el dolor; lo mismo existencial. No olvidemos los terrores de la guerra y el sin sentido de la moral.

Mi deseo pues, la misión que me ha guiado todos estos años es revertir el orden de todas estas variables. Reivindicando lo verdaderamente Rossell en mi; por lo menos en el origen de la tradición que yo recuerdo de niño. No voy a hacer hincapié en lo cabrón de lo Rossell como comprenderán de entrada. Debe haber registro hace cientos de años sobre la familia, empero el registro documental es una novedad contemporánea.

Hoy es un día radical para mí pues no me siento muy orgulloso de mi sexualidad que digamos. Me he sentido en un rato deprimido, ofuscado, fatigado con pensamientos de odio y resentimiento. Mientras caminaron y bailaron sexy sobre reforma miles de inconformes o bien muy requeteconformes que manifiestan su diversidad en oposición a la intolerancia. También andaban por ahí miles de maestros inconformes porque les quieren hacer un examencito. Que bueno que ya se va acabando y así rápido se me olvidan tantas personas de muchos géneros que nada más acabaron por fastidiarme la carrera. Por eso ya no busco como antes las emociones peligrosas de la noche.

Hago nuevamente el llamado a mis 26 familiares facebook. Sea que nos iluminemos y podamos registrar algunas de nuestras historias para reinventarlas con un mensaje de nostalgia por la tradición de la familia. Los juegos con los primos, las aventuras de fin de semana, la paella de la bisabuela; aquella gran mesa de los adultos donde nos fuimos agandallando lugar en la medida que crecimos.

Todo para mi comienza en ese momento de los colores chillones de las fotografías cuando todos eran muy jóvenes. Cuando los hijos de mis abuelos eran unos chamacos irresponsables. Tal vez algunos se acuerden de los Rossell cuando andaban por la San Rafa en el Rubí. Antes de los ranchos y las casas de padre, antes cuando los bisabuelos vivían sobre Tlalpan.

La verdad es que me acuerdo muy poco de entonces. Sólo me quedan las fotos de mi abuelo y la posibilidad de que ustedes me actualicen con las épocas que describen. Supongo ustedes tendrán fotos también y si quieren compartirlas creo que se vale en este medio; lo mismo pueden escribir el comentario que quieran con la extensión que mejor les convenga.

Sea este el primer reporte sobre los avances de este proyecto de familia. La relación que busco debe trascender los silencios para que alcance a comprender lo que representamos como grupo, o si la idealización del grupo se ha diluido completamente en el individuo.

Hay una generación joven de chiquitines que ya tienen opiniones acerca de este tema familiar; muchos vivirán los eventos más trancendentes de sus vidas ante terminar la primaria y se preguntarán en el futuro cómo será esta institución cuyos valores están retorcidos por la existencia del tercer sexo.

Yo como tal no tengo familia hecha. No he dado con quién me convenga casarme, y creo que se decidió hace mucho que yo no le convengo a nadie. Empero no pasa un día que no luche por reivindicar también mis sapiencia en temas del amor cuya energía es la esencia de la familia.

Por ahora les mando un abrazo y mi voluntad de que disfruten como yo de estos pequeños cachitos de nuestras historias.

Helios Francisco