Remembering Virginia Woolf: We never have complete emotions about the present but only about the past, that is why the past is always beautiful. What is truly incredible about these days is that sometimes I recover little bits from the past, what shows that I actually do have a past and no matter how crude and brutal those days were, today they appear to me as cunningly beautiful. A story: In 1999 or maybe the year before, no, it was 1999, two Americans showed up at the door (I don´t think my English was too interesting then nor were they too good-looking, but heck, what could I know, they were Americans!) in order to speak with my father about some whatever religion, and my father obviously was not interested. Let´s not talk about him now. I don´t think I had been too interested in religion then, or perhaps yes, I can recall something from the year before at the Catholic school (which I badly loved) when I was giving this lecture about women and heck, about Virgin Mary, I can only laugh about it now. I think in a way this was only interesting because I obviously was erotically fascinated by Juan Carlos, the ethics teacher. I also remember all those crazy letters I wrote him, I should not know what I was doing, really, how embarrassing. But then even later in life, I wasn´t ashamed of embarrassing myself through letters so I guess there´s no point in regretting from earlier years. Once I wrote a piece about this so-called Catholic school, but all might have been a lie, or a made-up story, I will need to read it again this week. Anyway, back to the Americans: I wasn´t too interested in their talk, it was just the fact that I had friends and that my friends were foreigners. I don´t think I had any friends in school, not that year, although looking back at the years that passed afterwards, I did make some friends, right now, I remember Daniel Rojas, and I even think he is kind of a beauty, but not a beauty I feel exhilarating about. I actually think he is very interesting but I would another day or two in his company to figure out what does interest me about him. The Americans belonged to this funny Mormon Church and what now looks like a parody of something I took very seriously back then. The older I am getting, the more homosexual I feel, but also more free. This is important to notice because I have mistaken often faith with sexual desire, intellectual desire with both faith and sexual desire, sexual desire with love, love with condescendence, infatuation with passion and most sadly, abandonment with fear from love. I changed my faith, or actually betrayed my faith, only for the sake of male bonding. At my age this is now different: There is no male bonding without physicality.
Enough with sex. Back to 1999 during my times of prophecy at this church of young men, I spread the word of God to some very nice family, but like really nice with a very young little boy (that I would take to bed today, or at least would lean against a wall, after all same age than Ariel Levy) and ultimately they received the faith and were baptized and grew into it with time. Coming back and seeing them this morning was rather gleeful, because they are still as nice as they used to be back then, and they are a vivid reminder that I have a past, and that is really something so good to know right now, when I am just about to leave some miser present. I am lying, it hasn´t been miser, it´s not even about being what I want, it´s just not mine, not true or not true enough. Same as with Ivan Kellmer, I´ve changed the lives of some people, but mine I haven´t changed in one bit for years with no end. I am exaggerating again. The whole church visit seemed illusory to me, deceitful but hilarious. I am disappointed because this journal is really uninteresting and unreadable, but then again, I am glad it is not false, and after a break from writing of three years, I can´t ask for more.
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