21 July, 2017

Rest in peace Chester.


So shocked and sad to my core to hear these heartbreaking news... I grew up listening to this incredibly talented musician, so hard to believe he had to go. Always one my favorite voices, one of my favorite bands, that pushed me to keep walking through the hardest times, lifted me up when I was down, and gifted me so many unforgettable memories with friends.

Linking Park served as the banner and voice of generations, brought people together, gave us such memorable masterpieces, leaves a wonderful legacy.

Thank you Chester for being an inspiration and a driving force for so many, for sharing your talent, your energy, your mind, yourself. For giving it all out on stage, your heart and soul, and your beautiful unique voice. I will always wish I could have gotten to see it... You touched so many who will keep you with them forever, as I will.

#RIPChesterBennington


23 March, 2017

Oda al mate

Una bebida,
eso cree la gente.
Una bebida más,
que viene de un lugar lejano,
algún país que queda muy al sur.
Un jugo que al beber,
me alimenta de su tierra.
Directamente de mis hermanas,
el licor de la amistad.
La yerba,
elixir de la Argentina.
Un té para el resto.
¿Un té? Para nada,
che, no ofendan.
El mate,
simple en la distancia,
complejo en su composición.
Ilex paraguariensis.
Té de los jesuitas.
Yerba del Paraguay,
hasta Uruguay
y el sur de Brasil.
Del rio Paraná
a Rio Grande.
Hojas del mate,
todas diferentes,
mil emociones,
sensaciones.
“Viejo mate,
el orgullo has de ser
de abuelita que te cree un primor.
Porque guardas secretos sin fin,
tu bombilla es flor ideal
donde liban abejas de amor”.
Suena a conversación,
suena un tango.
Huele a patria
y mira al sur.
Joya color plata.
Está hecho de vida,
de amigos,
de padres,
hijos,
hermanos.
De gente,
de amor.
Preparado con la magia
de la pasión argenta.
Para trabajar duro,
para esos domingos vagos.
Para llorar, y reír.
Sin motivo ninguno.
Porque sí, y,
¿por qué no?
Un toque en la puerta,
“¿unos mates?”
Para el rico, y el pobre.
En todas las casas,
“poné la pava al fuego”.
Para el niño, y el abuelo.
El mate, la sobremesa,
para el tiempo.
Una hermosa figura,
las curvas de una mujer.
De cuero su piel,
su alma auténtica.
De calabacita,
y de madera también.
Para todos los gustos.
Tereré, si querés.
Un rito de iniciación,
un recibimiento calentito.
Una sabrosa bienvenida,
el legado del tarefero.
Su regalo, la tierra
en sudor empapada.
La noble tarea del cebador,
que siga la ronda.
Buenísimo para la salud,
sin duda, pero,
aún mejor para el corazón.
Para el tiempo,
detiene esta gastada, fatigante,
ajetreada y afanada vida.
Tocan la puerta,
“Che, ¿cómo andás?”
“Bien, ¿y vos? ¿unos mates?”
“Dale.”

                -Irene Soto (la gashega colorada)

22 September, 2014

Surrounded by cats it is.

So now it turns out that being a tattooed woman means being easy, slutty, a perv, having a certain pre-established morality, or all of those things together. Well, let me tell you something, that is the biggest insult and offense I ever imagined I could receive.

My body decor is just one part of me. I am not conditioned and won't ever be conditioned by prejudice or stereotypes. I am who I am way beyond how I dress or the tattoos I have. And the fact that some moronic and ignorant idiot thinks he can classify and read people by how they look like is something I find extremely shocking. If anyone thinks they are able to judge me by looking at me, they got it wrong.

For anyone who believes they might know me: I am as tolerant, liberal and open-minded in some aspects of my life and of my idiosyncrasy, as I am old-fashioned and conservative in others.
Every little tiny detail about myself and how I think are what define me, and me being tattooed is just one more of those tiny details, one of a thousand.

Keep this in mind, and this is addressed to that particular, irritating, carcinogenic kind of people: I would rather kill myself than live being defined and confined by what you think you know about me. I would rather die before having to put up with someone who thinks they can categorize people into shoe boxes, or what is even worse, into just two sorts: 'mainstream' and 'weird'. Because we are ALL weird in some ways, in the eyes of certain people. It is all a matter of perspective.

So do not think you have a right to judge or share your thoughts before someone asked you to. Because maybe, while you are openly being an ignorant simpleton; or while you are saying things to me you find totally normal but which should make me call the police; I am thinking you are probably one of the most despicable people I have encountered in my whole life.

I will never behave by what anybody wants me to do, I will never speak by what anybody wants me to say, I will never shape my ethics according to what people expect me to be, and I will never adapt or adjust myself to meet any standard or to fit into the disgusting morality and lack of decency and values which these days abound in certain aspects of this rotten society.

I am who I am, I believe in what I believe, and my hopes, my dreams, and mainly my principles, come before any other thing to me, because I do know myself and the person I want to become. And what should be most important to anyone is to feel comfortable in their own skin and to make sure they do not spend their life pretending.
You wanna call me traditional, rigid, strict, or a freak! Then go for it, cause I do not give a flying fuck.
I know I do not belong in this era in many, many ways, but if I have to be the weird one my whole existence, so be it.

As long as I am happy with myself. Proud of how I live.
As long as you do not hurt anyone, be yourself and fuck everything else.


Surrounded by cats it is.

29 July, 2011

What would I do without you... ?


Nothing.