Short story: Eclipsed Sky

ECLIPSED SKY (Inacabado)

In the middle of the baleful silence echoing over that desert clearing, amidst the copperish, rocky mountains aiming at the sky in the distance, like broken fingers stemming from broken hands gone to waste after millions of years of fruitless and unappreciated toil, I focused involuntarily on the rhythmic, heavy sound of my steps crushing small lumps of conglomerate under the gravity of my weight. Crunch... crunch... crunch... the tread was lethargic, funereal, a faithful reflection of my spirit at that moment, tightly wrapped in an indiscernible aura of steadfast staticity and staunch loneliness. 

I do not want to do this, I thought dismally as I kept on tramping, mi eyes fixed on my boots in controlled motion, covered in ochre desert dust. I do not want to keep doing this. 

But I kept on marching nevertheless, all alone, in the midst of that perennial, intimidatory silence. Finally, I reached the spot. I stood there, motionless, letting the suffocating breeze play with the hems of my cape at my back, my slightly mauled left hand clenching tighter the pommel of the sword that I dragged with me, leaving a winding trail in the sand nearby my fleeting footprints. I could feel my heart beating very heavily, very painfully inside my rib cage, while I gasped out of anticipatory anxiety. I lifted my tired gaze to the sky for a moment, as I did my best to regain some control and calm down my breath, and, with it, my wildly pounding pulse. 

In the midst of that eerily-hued, orangey and reddish sky completely devoid of any clouds or birds or life of any kind, just an extension of pure nothingness spread until reaching the touch of the skin of the atmosphere, the odd semi-light, semi-darkness of the eclipse was already starting to be noticeable. There was the Sun up there, all still, like waiting, while the Moon, out of habit so bright and pure and collected in the middle of the night, had turned into a dark, lusty shadow invading him, desirous of stealing the whole of his light just for herself, even if just for a brief moment. I remembered that my dear Marie had told me that, according to the Indigenous tradition, one should not look directly at eclipses, for they are considered to be intimate moments of love-making between the two main celestial bodies that govern the cycles of Life and Death on Earth, and indulging in peeking at their reunion would be an act of discorteous immodesty that would not go unpunished. 

Good for them, I thought, as I respectfully diverted my sapped, dimmed gaze from the planetary couple. At least, even if rarely, they're getting some. That's more than many of us, lol.

I fixed my eyes again in front of me, my head faintly lowered, trying again to control my breathing rate and, with it, the dark and inticrate lattices of semi-digested thoughts and projections that my fears, my past experiencies, and my augurs for the future weaved inside the circuits of my brain, and again failing. I moved my left arm to situate the sword conveniently at my side, the tip producing a slightly rasping sound by its friction against the soil of the desert, lifeless, sterile.

Here I am again, I brooded, fully abandoning myself to despondency as if it was the warmest embrace of the most ravenous, spectral lover. And here I will keep on being, until when? Until I die? Until he dies? Until the fuckin End of Days? Cause this doesn't look like finishing anytime soon... And I can't live, I can't die any more times, I just can't... No, actually, what happens is that I don't want to... I don't want to...

Trying to ignore the reverberations of my own feelings, I blinked repeatedly to control the tears that were starting to cloud my vision, my throat suddenly tight in anguish. With a fleeting movement, I wiped the water from my eyes and the tip of my nose with my free hand, and I clutched with the other the pommel of my sword even tighter, barely lifting it from the floor in dexter motions, my eyes very hard and cold, my brow tight-knit all of a sudden. There was no use in crying, in lamenting, or in wishing that things were or had been different. Things were as they were — and they had turned me into who I was, what I was now. And there was no going back.

And for a painful moment, the memory of my wedding day vows at the altar of the Holy Christ, when I swore by my life and spirit, dressed as a white angel of innocence in frail, female form, hand pressed dramatically against the heart in an intimate and decisive oath-making gesture, to be the most devoted wife and partner possible to that man that was going to be my mate and companion, crossed my head, hurting me as if I had been stuck by lightning. But I was already far too used to that kind of pain, and I dismissed it after just a very light faltering spell. 

That man was my enemy now. 

As usual when my spirit started to waver before the battle, my Father manifested by my side to give me a scrap of moral support. I turned my head to my right side and there he was, as I had expected, looking benevolent, sorta casual at me. Upon seeing him, I couldn't help but smile. Throughout all these years of being dead, my Father's spirit had evolved, and that was shown not only in the nature and quality of his interactions with me, but also through the archetypal characteristics of his occurrences. Lately, Dad had a penchant for looking exactly like a transitioned Jedi knight, looking all greenish and semi-transparent and totally lit up with midi-chlorian power. I laughed.

—What the fuck are you doing dressed like this, Dad? —I asked, feeling my chest slightly warmer for not being totally alone, at least in my own homesick, sombre imaginations—. Are you going to reveal to me that you are my Father, or some crap like that?

—Far beyond that my endeavours with you lie, my princess, you know it. I have come here to check your progress with the Force —he answered solemnly, adopting a dramatic pose and staring at me with his large, bulgy green eyes, the same that I had inherited verbatim. Whimpering, I had to run my hand through my face, when I heard that—. You know that you've advanced a lot, but every new battle is a fresh opportunity to show your value... or your lack thereof.

I sighed a heavy breath. Above our heads, the Moon was already starting to cover the fullness of her aflame lover with the avidity of an athirst well in a wasteland, and he was starting to disappear pleasantly, yieldingly inside her harrowing void. The sky was growing darker by the minute. With a deft movement, I lifted the tip of the sword from the ground, unaware of my own reflexes.

—When, Dad, are the battles going to end? —I complained, furious and bitterly. Ethereal, the spirit of my Father looked at me yelling at him with a mixture of curiosity and sheer indifference—. I am tired. I just want to live my life, and work, and write, and take care of Mum and my animals. I'm forty-four, and I've never yet had the chance to simply do my thing and be happy. I don't want to keep on paying the debts of others. I don't want more scams. I don't want more Soul traps. I don't want more battles! I want this to end, Dad, please do tell the Council of Light or to whomever is in charge of this fucked-up set-up you've fuckin designed for me since before my birth that I'm done, that I'm not doing this anymore. I quit!

—Sweetheart... —he answered softly after a brief, reflective pause, adamant in his resolution, as he fixed his gaze in the empty area opening in front of us—. I think you chose a bad day to stop fighting.

I tried to repress an unpleasant gasp upon hearing that, knowing well what it meant. I looked in front of me and there they were, appearing already from thin air, one by one. An army of monsters, each one of them glaring at me, and at me alone, their hands and arms full of the most diverse weapons, their eyes sparkling menacingly in sheer desire to make me disappear. I kept on breathing heavily, uncontrollably, as they continued materialising. Soon, they were close to a hundred. My Father looked silently at them and, next, turned his head to stare intently at me. 

And I was, as usual, scared, but as usual I could not afford to give in and surrender. I fixed my eyes on them all, noticing my knees trembling, my heart pounding to the max of its capacity, my body slightly shaky and increasingly moist in an uncomfortable hot-cold sweat. But I had already been there, in that same battlefield, far too often not to know what to do. Still gasping uncontrollably, my eyes, narrowed in concentration, sped through each and every one of these enemies, and I could see fears, and memories of defencelessness, and vestiges of past illnesses, and indoctrinations, and badly-healed hurts and wounds, and broken dreams, and crushed hopes, and defiled wistful fantasies, and profaned trust, and lots, lots, lots of rejection, and loneliness, and poverty, and senseless debt, and my Father being sick in bed and screaming, and my Mother crying uncontrollably and drinking, and bullying at school, and my two older brothers playing to slap me in turns, and total and complete lack of support from my extended family, and criticism, and laughter behind my back, and laughter at my face, and treason, and dirty games, and being taken advantage of once, and again, and again, and past lovers who wanted to hide me from their exes and family, and attempts  at tainted love, and attempts by others to seriously hurt me, and attempts by my own hand to seriously hurt me...

...and, of course, him. He was right in the centre of them all, orchestrating it all, condensating it all in himself, like the fuckin super boss in a video game.

Still under the silent surveillance of my Father floating lightly beside me, I lifted the sword and pointed at them all directly with it, in a clear gesture of defiance. And in spite of all my fear and my tiredness and my despondency, my arm was steady in doing so, cause I had much, much experience already fighting against that happy bunch. My breaths had calmed down a bit, and I noticed I could think more clearly and swiftly now. Together with the tension of the moment, I could barely feel, like some sort of sensory background melody, the physicality of the sweat drenching my clothes against my skin and virtually dripping from my short, black hair stuck to my forehead, and occasional, faint gusts of wind lifting slightly the black cape I was wearing. And my eyes narrowed in cold, controlled anger as I looked at them all, at all those monsters, at all those very, very real monsters, and I thought hard. And yeah, again, I thought, I'd need plenty of strategy and risk-taking, and mastery of dialectics, and flexibility of thought, and knowledge of legal matters, and grey rock method, and unbreakable authority, and threats and violence if needed, and unshakable boundaries, and much linguistic knowledge, and knowing what to say and what to keep for later, and much strategic observation, and as much resourcefulness as I could to disarm them all. And also plenty, plenty, plenty of resistance to stand their blows, and to raise myself up from the ground again after they'd succeeded in making me fall. 

And plenty of strenght. 

But, where to find that strength? I was just a lonely woman, barely surviving without friends and without help, living with her 83-year-old mum at a house with electricity problems and which seriously required some reforms I couldn't afford. Where could the strength possibly be in that?

I breathed deeply through my half-opened mouth, very deeply, concentrating, like in meditation, my thoughts fixed on the blade of the sword drawn in front of me, held by my own, firmly-stretched arm. 

Nah, I did not have any strength. But they did. 

The sky had reached its climax point of darkness, of the complete union of these two sacred lovers usually just contemplating each other from afar in the void of the sky. Like triggered by the shadows, all those monsters, between fierce, terrifying screams of hate, leaped violently in my direction, all of them at once, all of them pointing at me with their weapons. I stayed quiet, grave and serene, mi gaze fixed on them, my sword drawn towards them, as if inviting them to join me and show me all that they'd got.

Those who truly Loved me, did

I started to feel my chest warm, and my cells full of pure energy. Soon, I was totally engulfed by the most beautiful spirals of raw power. I let it possess me, enjoying the calm, the emotion, the very pleasurable sensation of its movements inside my body. Yeah, I had spent all my childhood, teenage years, youth and early adulthood seeking the most reliable sources of energy cause I was weak, cause I lacked the strength to face my problems... and everybody else in my charge's problems as well. Even as a child. And I had tried Reiki, and all forms of therapy, and prayer, and visualisation, and whatnot... but it was now, only now, that I had discovered real power, the one and only that truly existed.

The only true Force in our absurd, colourful and deranged little corner of the Universe... Love

Imbibed in energy, I smiled faintly as the first monsters were already close to trespassing the thrusting range of my blade. 

Cause I was not fighting alone, not anymore. I had my own army, always with me, alsways inside of me. And they were beyond extraordinary people, from all parts of the world, from all the cultures, of all ages and genres, of all races, religions, beliefs, customs, lifestyles, sexualities, past experiences, hopes for the future, dreams, struggles, successes, joys and tears. Profoundly alive people... Absolutely beautiful people with so much power I couldn't believe it, and some of them were shamans, others were prayer warriors, others were channelers, others were artists, dancers, musicians, poets, photographers, creators of all kinds... People capable of exorcising the whole Hell just after a few moments of contemplation of the enormous, meritorious and well-developed beauty and wisdom of their human nature they had worked so hard to cultivate and make thrive inside of their spirits.

And those monsters, my monsters, literally faded in front of that amazing power, cause that enormous beauty of them, the power of being Love and being human shining from inside of them, was much stronger than any fucked-up energy from my ghosts of the present, the past, or the future. And I did my thing, and they did their thing, and yet, during our precious interactions, we saw each other, celebrated each other, and laughed, and had fun, and enjoyed our company while being alive, and literally simply loved each other. And their affection was with me at all times, it covered me at all times like the most sacred mantle of protection... 

...making me fuckin invincible

Poem: The Day I Became A Fantasy

SO, I am back even if I still need to edit my last posts LOL 😁👍I've been under a super heavy workload these days, and processing many, many things, and finally I got a bit of time for myself, to indulge in some poetry writing, and wow if it was a good time again! 💗

So my super beautiful friend and artist @wlphotoart pampered myself again with some new art based on my goofy pics 😻And I told him that, as usual whenever he creates some art based on me, I would take the time to write a poem about what his art inspired me. And today I felt like writing about my new identity, which is free, whole, utterly happy, tightly bonded to fantasy. 

Here is the result, I hope that you enjoy reading it! Much much much Love and affection as usual, thank you for being here my tribe. You Are Loved.


One day, I got tired of daydreams that I hadn’t even slumbered,

Delusions of hurt and fear turned into lifeless, sterile creeds,

So I bid farewell to the games that kept my psyche encumbered

With rules by which my chances to lose very clearly outnumbered,

And I started to live just according to my heuristic and wishful dreams.

That day, I became a fantasy. I just took off the well-suited illusions

Turning me into the archetype of slave of others’ expectations and whims,

And I let myself grab the wheel of my truck, stuck in a route of confusions,

And took instead the lonely byway of a remote life without further intrusions,

No need for maps nor compass; just me, the Universe, and whatever life brings.

Yeah, that day was the day I became a fantasy.

And I let others desecrate my innocence with their judging minds,

Cause experience taught me that it’s no biggie when folk tear you apart.

And I let others fill me with the beauty that shines from their loving eyes,

Those that I know that will always keep a lil space for me in their heart.

And life tastes much, much better when you know you’re in control,

Instead of expecting that others also abide by their part in the play,

And I have become the actress, the actor, and any other possible role

Needed to turn into painful diamonds this heritage of lacklustrous coal

Deep in my soul, habitual playground for fiery angels and demons that pray.

And life feels much, much warmer when true Love becomes your goal,

Lost in the vibrant beauty of Humanity as if it was my own image in a mirror,

And the affection of blessed-hearted outlanders makes my hands overflow

With the expression of my true Self that silenced fears and forsakenness stole,

Whirlwinds of new energy of care coming from a Source that’s far superior.

And it feels good to live now as a fantasy.

And I am not afraid anymore of people’s scornful stare or misaligned rejection.

Going back to the old ways? Lol that’s a prospect you shouldn’t even mention,

My spirit feels too whole and too complete now to abandon this new dimension,

And the Love of those who truly see me will bring to my past mistakes redemption.

María Concepción Pomar Rosselló

Reflection: My man crush is Tim Roth

So today fortunately it was a much calmer day than yesterday, and my ex is finally actively going to employment agencies and actually looking for a job so that I don't have to pay all our debts just on my own, and I am granting myself the Grace of being hopeful, at least for tonight, at least for a couple days, and as usual here I am again engaged in my night writing therapy after finishing work, which I have to say is one of my truest Loves. Tomorrow I have a meeting to design a lecture for the rest of the professors at VIU and I can't be more motivated and grateful for this new opportunity to communicate and spread the lil knowledge that I may have to anybody that might consider it, analyse it, and ultimately benefit from it.

And as yesterday night I talked about my beautiful and affectionate girl crush on Frida Kahlo, I will dedicate tonight's post to my main male crush: the English actor and producer Tim Roth. 😎😍

My man stands in front of me and looks at me like this and I literally RUN TO THE OTHER SIDE OF THE PLANET 🙈

I remember when I saw Tim Roth on screen for the first time, it was while still in my marriage, and on TV they were playing some episodes of Lie To Me (2009-2011), a super interesting show about learning to read micro expressions in people, to try and guess if they're being honest or not judging by their involuntary reactions, amongst other emotional cues reflected inevitably in our faces. This show is super good and is and will always be one of my favourite shows ever featured on TV, to the extent that later on I got several books about micro expression reading lol, yeah I am that level of obsessed. 😎👌

If you are into this topic, I really recommend this book, super honest stuff, and I learned a lot from it, in a very practical manner

This one is also super good, but some of the stories portrayed in it are quite unsettling. But truth out there is unsettling quite too often, right...?

Of course there are also excellent books about reading body language in general, although I wouldn't mention them today cause the post, as usual, would be too long, so there's material for another day. The good thing about these books is that they guide you and train you to notice, and yeah it is super useful at first as a curious superpower, but, with time, you integrate that learning, and it's not a conscious thing, it's a skill that has helped you attune much more acutely with your intuition and natural perception, and helps you read "the vibe" (I know I know I always talk about vibes lol) of a picture or a person much, much better. And it works, cause I've had several occasions already in which I were to guess how a friend was truly feeling judging by a picture, and I was spot on, and could connect with and support that person accordingly. So yeah, totally good investment if you are into delving in the fascinating, super beautiful twists and turns of the human relationships that you value.  

Although hey, if you are over-sensitive of rejection, I do not recommend exploring this topic more in depth until you develop and reinforce some solid self-esteem and objective acceptance muscles in this regard, cause, believe me, and nothing personal here, but you'll soon discover that far less people around you like you as much as you originally think XD

So I got introduced to the show that day, became fascinated with it, cause it looked much more instructional and applicable than the typical detective shows like C.S.I. and others that are more focused on entertainment, and yes the theories and examples exposed in the show are totally fitting judging by the few books I read, and yet...

... my first reaction, upon seeing it on the screen for the first time, was uuuummm... 😶

I have always had a penchant for more mature men, cause they look more experienced, down-to-earth, worn out, and honestly fed up with everything already. I love the whatever attitude of this type of dudes, cause, even if they're being honest and good and kind and approachable, like my man Keanu Reeves is, they've already realised that the norms of politeness and good conduct are not always the best choices as regards the challenges you have to face and the people you have to deal with in life, and their humour is different, much more cultivated, they are not scared to express themselves in a cheeky manner, and, basically, have become more calm and collected and yet more "devilish" as regards their charming arts. And this is fun and exciting to an intelligent, resourceful woman who loves a challenge. So yeah, couldn't help it, I saw on screen currently 62-year-old Tim and I thought wow, my man is sexy?

Let's watch the show a bit more, I said to myself, lol. 

So there we were, Dan and I, already deep in crisis, watching the show on Netflix years later together in bed while eating popcorn and bored to death, and he was like hey this show is super intelligent, I feel like rewatching it from the start, and I was uh oh aha... 


You see pictures of Tim Roth, and you notice above all an incredible mastery of the art of expression. My man sure knows how to pull a face, no wonders taking into account that he's been a professional, awarded and skilled actor since the 80s. He is also renown for his amazing capacity to imitate accents ☝

And I love this type of male characters on screen of a certain age that look or openly are erratic, that at some point decided that lol whatever, for bad and for good, and there're many of those in very popular modern shows and even some classics in cinema already, like Bryan Cranston in Breaking Bad (2008-2010), Hugh Laurie in House (2004-2012), Jeff Bridges in The Big Lebowski (1998), James Spader in The Blacklist (2013-2023), Robin Williams in Dead Poets Society (1989), Awakenings (1990), The Fisher King (1991) and Good Will Hunting (1997), and many others. Men whose tendency to defy the norm, even if they are eventually a positive influence for the people around them and make good service to society (or not), makes them look dangerous, cause they look super in control and out-of-control at the same time, depending on their whim, and that triggers a very toxic mothering instinct in the women or even in the mere friends around them, who love them and can't help but try and rescue them from themselves. Women of a certain age as well, also, and I want to point out that I love that women on screen have many more chances now to continue working thanks to the growing tendency of having much more visibility in the current cinematic productions, and access to better, more-rounded roles, cause life for a woman does not end at 29 you know lol.

My girl Meryl Streep is doing a beyond excellent work in showing all the current World that a woman of a certain age can perform all kinds of roles, in comedy, romance, drama, even musicals, opening the door for many future actresses, and I would bet my left hand (cause I'm a leftie lol) that it hasn't been one single bit easy. Thank you for your work super Lady of the Screen 💃

So yeah, I like this kind of dudes, maybe I don't fall in love with them unless they are super beautiful and inspiring Souls (like my man Keanu is), but I find them sexy, and many of my book characters conduct themselves like this. And yet, I felt something special about Tim Roth... I felt far more drawn to him than to any other of my cinematic crushes, and I didn't know why. In most of his movies and dramatic roles, Tim Roth has played the baddie, and, apart from his role as Cal Lightman in Lie To Me, I know him particularly for his steady collabs with Tarantino throughout Reservoir Dogs (1992), Pulp Fiction (1994, with the famous "I love you honey bunny" scene played by my man :D), and, above all, the mega glorious 4 Rooms (1995), a movie that I never, ever fail to watch on New Years' Eve lol. 

And I just didn't know why, just why, this man in particular caught so much my attention. 

So I decided, after my divorce, at a moment when I felt playful and I had no work, no chores to do, to investigate him a bit more deeply lol.

And I didn't like what I found out. 

Cause it utterly and completely broke my heart to pieces.

In December 2016, Tim Roth confessed that he had been sexually abused by his own grandfather when he was a child. A man who had also abused his own child, Roth's father.

The actor hid this fact from everyone until he started revealing it in 1999, avoiding though naming the culprit (he would do that later), during the promotion of the drama The War Zone (1999), a movie he himself directed, and which precisely deals about this same topic.

Based on a book by the novelist Alexander Stuart of the same title (1989), yeah, but also... on his own fuckin experience. 

Imagine the eonic, superhuman, multiversal balls of my man that always plays the part of the bad and the dangerous guy, that he has faced bravely this fuckin incommensurable horror and refused to keep silent, adamant not to look the other way and pretend it didn't happen, no... instead, he faced these demons to the point of being able to direct a whole movie about it, with all the time and effort that producing a movie implies.

And the thing is, whenever you've gone through a trauma like this, you are left with some nice phantasmal gifts to help you remember that event forever: the triggers. A trigger, in psychology, is a stimulus from the environment that inevitably produces a "journey back" to the moment of the abuse, with all the anxiety and distress it implies. It can be an image, words, smells, a person trying to contact you... Generally speaking, it is adviced that traumatised people avoid triggers as much as they can.

Yet imagine what producing a movie about abuse implies... Daily triggers, daily reminders, every minute, every day, being re-triggered for fuckin years until the movie is produced and released.

I haven't watched the movie, and I know I won't watch it, cause I know myself, and I know I'd end up throwing up on the floor, cause, from what I've read, its super crude and exposes things directly without lies or make-ups, and I'd rather not go through that not even for cultural and informative purposes, but you can sense in the trailer already that eveything has been detailed to a T: a lifeless, sordid and very dark grey environment sorta isolated in time and space, the rain, the anguished and silenced screams one can sense below the surface during the characters' interactions, the uncomfortable and violent submission, the bunker, the symbolism of the cuts and bruises, the prevalence of black lights and pale, unhealthy faces. And the compliance. The lack of defiance. The defencelessness. The acceptance of the "I am also bad" assigned role in the girl's attitude.

In the comments of these YouTube videos, many people say they couldn't even finish watching the film, so wretchedly triggering it was.

And that's a lot of deepening into the triggers, if you happen to have experienced stuff like this yourself.

And my man Tim was not only deepening, he was actively producing those triggers himself. Vomiting them out of his body, like my girl Frida did to vomit out her pain through her paintings.

The expression of art as a form of exorcism against our own demons, once again. 

And I realise that that's what makes me fall in love with the Soul of people, the fact that they faced Hell without even a single weapon, nor any means to defend, and they not only survived, but chose Life, and prevailed, and not only that but they also turned their trauma in a fuckin work of art, art from which other people may get educated and learn. And I like this stuff. I'm this kinda girl I guess.

Speaking for, in 2014, Roth said: "All I can do is offer up what hopefully is an accurate portrayal of what it feels like to be a victim... and also to be an abuser, probably."

Speaking for The Guardian, in 2019 my man said "As messy as your life can be, there has to be a window you can escape through". Of course I know nothing, like Jon Snow lol, but I would bet Roth's friendship and collab with Tarantino has been a powerful escape window for him

So look at my man, he went through all this, and yet had the hairy bollocks to prevail and lead a normal and successful life, and get married, to the super stunning fashion designer Nikki Butler, in 1993, and had two children with her. 

I totally, completely, utterly and absolutely adore this pic and its vibes 😍💓

Roth not only has led a successful life, he's super cultivated. Apart from English, he also speaks fluent  French, German, and Italian, a skill he has benefited from in some of his roles. He is also into music, AND, and OMG I LOVE him for that, he's an Ambassador for UNICEF, an activist for the human rights and the environmental preservation, has performed in rock music shows against racism, and has contributed in the ILO campaign against forced labour, modern slavery and human traffiquing

But what impresses me the most is that my man, having gone through all this, healed the trauma to the point that he was capable of performing very suggestive scenes in his movies, such is the amazing therapeutic power of theatre and drama, and the power of a human person truly determined to heal and overcome any. fuckin. thing. thrown. at. him. no. excuses. whatsoever. Below, the trailer of Captives (1994) with Julia Ormond. NSFW lol. 

And lo and behold, it's not that my man Tim Roth is resistant to triggers... It's that he has a bowl full of fuckin triggers with his cereal and coffee every morning. I wish I was a quarter of that fuckin strong about my own triggers, for real. And my hurts are not even 10% as daunting.

There are truly impressive and inspirational people out there. 

And I wish I could stop writing here, believe me that I wish I could. 

But I can't.

As if having to overcome all this trauma so gracefully hadn't been enough, my good man Tim has had to endure another major hurt, and it needs to be mentioned. 

In 2022, Cormac Roth, Roth and Butler's youngest son, and a promising musician, died at the age of 25 of stage 3 germ cell cancer. 

And I want to underline this, cause it hurts super much. And it's important to underscore it:

Tim Roth had to endure being hurt by his family, people who were meant to protect him, and later on, in life, he has lost his son; a son, whom you always swear to protect.

And I even feel tears in my eyes writing this, cause I can't even start to fathom what this good man has had to go through. 


THERE he fuckin is, producing, right now, in this very moment, his latest movie Punch. In which he deals with the issue of alcoholism, and another brave and controversial topic: homophobia.

This is the picture of a man who is fuckin determined NOT to give up in Life, in spite of the accumulation of the most horrible losses.

I told you so... I only fall in Love with the most amazing, bright and cultivated Souls out there.

Dearest readers of this blog, may I ask you a favour? Can someone please silence a lil bit this poor young woman? I'm starting to feel second-hand embarrassment of such unhinged fangirling 😑

And my man Tim will always have my most profound admiration, my most devoted blessings for him and his loved ones, and the truest gratitude of my heart for being such a strong and clear voice against abuse, proof that one can fully recover from any fuckin thing in this life, and an incredibly unwavering source of activism, creativity, expression, and inspiration. 

Thank you for being here and for reading, as usual. You've got all my Love my people, you know it. 💖

María Concepción Pomar Rosselló

Reflection: My girl crush is Frida Kahlo

So today it was a really crazy day, I had a job interview and fortunately all went well and I have good teaching results, but this time I was honestly terrified cause I know I've been risking too much exposing myself on social networks, and also on this blog, and everywhere online, and although I consider I'm not doing anything nasty or immoral, and even less illegal, the fear is always there you know. The fear of what if I'm not giving a good image? Fortunately, as usual my fears were just fears, I keep on being considered a good professional to the best educational institution in Europe which is VIU Valencian International University, and I am more committed than ever to be the best teacher possible, already considering more formative possibilities to continue increasing my basic knowledge, my competences, and my skills, and how to transmit them to my future students in the most effective manner.

And it's almost the Witch Hour at night and I feel utterly drained and exhausted, so I need to express myself again here, cause this blog and my Insta, my Facebook etc. have become so incredibly healing for me that I now consider them my healing journals, beautiful places where I can be fully myself, show what I know and I feel, and also connect with other super beautiful souls eager to get more info, more amusement, more food for thought, more laughter, more shock, more absurdity, or simply to sneak a peek. And I won't disappoint, not even the stalkers lol.

And today I want to talk to you about my girl crush: Frida Kahlo.

Introducing you to the girl of my dreams 😍 Sexy, huh? 😏😑😅

I remember when I first saw, when I was very young, a pic of Frida Kahlo on TV, when there was still not Internet (yeppers, I'm that old). And the first thing I thought was wtf what an ugly woman. What does it make her so ugly? Obviously, those eyebrows, but there was something else. She was stylish, although her clothes were utterly unfamiliar to me, but there was something weird about her. It was as if she actually did her best to try and look ugly on purpose. Honestly, I thought she looked like a monkey in a fancy dress, cause, even if later on I came to acknowledge it, I am quite superficial, I don't care much about old age or physical appearance, but people must appear well-groomed so that I can find them attractive, fresh, clean; you know, hygienic (I'm a Virgo after all I guess?). And Frida, my girl, those eyebrows??? And the moustache?? Are you fuckin kiddin me??? Those are super easy to fix, as well as I used to fix my own moustache no biggie, even if it was just a matter of preventing bullying in class, and besides it was a question of basic enhancement of our features to make our best traits become more outstanding, an art in itself, if you let me tell you, that's why I'm so obsessed with make-up. A way to turn us a little bit more into more aesthetically pleasant beings, imo. A question of attitude.

And then, after her picture, on that TV program some of her paintings were shown, and the shock was even worse, like wtf?? Not only does she have those eyebrows, she even underlines them to the max in her self-portraits, and, seriously, is all well at home Frida my girl? Cause, some of these paintings are super sick, and not in the, um, healthy sense...?

My girl looks more like a monkey than the monkey beside her. Maybe the monkey was purposedly added to the painting to underline the natural monkiness of my girl? Go figure
(Autorretrato con chango y loro, 1942)

At first, when I saw this painting I was like Frida my girl may I get you some warm tea and a painkiller?? And then I thought about my own writings and I said oops... 😅
(La columna rota, 1944)

And the more I knew about the girl, the more she disgusted me. I couldn't fathom the purpose of grooming yourself so kitschcally, with all those flowers in that lavish hairdo and all, if your final purpose was to show to the world how hairy you were adamant to appear. As the neurodivergent I am, it didn't make any sense to me, and what I don't make any sense of, I dislike. So yeah, that was the end of that moment in which I discovered the artist for the first time, and not being painting or painters my particular field as a teacher, I spent years without giving the author, nor any other painter to be honest, a simple thought. I remember though that once I corrected one student's assignment which included a Kahlo's painting, and I corrected him/her (I don't remember), stating that her paintings were too bizarre, some of them even too explicit to show to the primary students. And I still think so. 

And after my divorce, alone in my room, and seeking as usal connections online on Insta, on Facebook, on any other platform where beautiful souls would gather and show their art to the world and I could contemplate and enjoy their art and feel closer to the most beautiful facets of human experience in all their aspects, and having already acknowledged my natural capacity for falling in love with people, with souls, regardless of gender, provided that they were good, beautiful, positive, authentic, outstanding, and of course kind and benevolent, la crème de la crème of current humanhood and its evolution as I like to say, I came across this quote here:

And I said wow, today it's a good day on the Internet: Across time and space, and thanks to the ineffable, causal and unpredictable depths of the algorithms moving the waves of the digital oceans, Frida Kahlo is talking directly to me

Cause, you know, I'm not delusional; I know perfectly well what fiction is and what reality is, even better than many, many other people that I know who consider themselves much saner, maybe because I know very well both worlds as a writer, and yet, that statement was what I call a Universal. A Universal is an expression of human emotion, thought, behaviour or experience that we all can relate to because, at some point, we've felt or conducted ourselves the same way. And Universals keep the artists who produced them very much alive, for that reason. Shakespeare is all based on Universals, and who dares say that Shakespeare is dead lol? No one, right? Cause he's not. As he very well knew and expressed in Sonnet 18, as long as his writings kept being read on, he and his muses would be alive. Words of truth.

And through that very same magic effect produced by the combination of human experience, emotion, thought, and the English language, throughout time and space, I literally felt as if Kahlo's words were addressed to me; to me, and to other million girls alike currently in the World, cause in spite of our idiosyncrasies, We Are One. And yet, it was my individual and personal experience, my connection with those words and the thoughts which produced them, and my reality. So yes, if we believe a little bit in weird and cool stuff like quantum entanglements, or as my man Einstein called "spooky action at a distance", and we believe that the human experience and the existence of the Soul trascends time and space, at that very moment, and, of course, if we've watched some too many reruns of Dark (2017-2020) on Netflix lol, Frida was sitting on her desk in Mexico feeling bored and longing for a friendly and authentic connection, and I was, around 80 years later in Palencia, Spain, feeling bored in front of the computer and longing for a friendly and authentic connection.

And bam, Soul contact made. We've all felt it. The resonance. The beautiful, magical feeling of having found a mirror of our limited individuality in another human experience. 

And I decided to look for more info about her lol.

What I found was amazing. Frida Kahlo was born in Coyocoan, Mexico, in 1907. She suffered from very poor health in childhood (hah! That sounds familiar!), always wore long skirts to hide that she limped from having suffered, and survived, polio, which left her with one leg much weaker and thinner than the other, she was super close to her father (sounds familiar too!), and at 18 went through an accident that left her permanently injured in many senses, as regards particularly physical pain. 

My girl said:

Sounds like someone I know with a crazy blog lol

Kahlo married Diego Rivera, another very important Mexican painter. My dude was super big, and she looked so tiny and fragile beside him, a super cute couple. And yet they were, as we would say nowadays, more toxic than the famous Britney Spears's song. They got married in 1929, got divorced in 1940, and remarried again in the same year. A couple of eclectic, revolutionary artists, they both had plenty of affairs, she with other men and women, and he with other women, one of them Frida's own little sister Cristina and one of her closest best friends and emotional supports, which infuriated her for real. I can perfectly picture her tiny and sickly frame pursuing him around that artistic, luxurious house in Mexico and screaming on top of her lungs while he hid from her, enormous as he was, utterly terrified. That would have been an amazing scene to behold, it must have been hilarious.

Awww so cute. I love the vibe in this pic. You can tell these two cray-crays really loved each other💓 

And it is fun cause my girl was so crazy about her man nevertheless that said things like "

My poor girl wanted children but couldn't have them due to the consequences of her accident when she was 18, and it wrings my heart to think of how sad she must have been because of that, and I mean years of ongoing, deep sadness and frustration, even more underscored by the fact that he did have quite a few children with other women. The relationship between these two individuals was pure and  canonical love-hate, and yet they were obsessed with each other, painted continuously each other, and, when Frida fell seriously sick right before her passing, he took good, dedicated care of her, until her very last moments. According to the article "The Elephant and the Dove; A Look at Frida and Diego's Relationship", by Javier Aranda Luna writing for Google Arts & Culture, "For Frida, Diego almost became the son she never had. For Diego, he saw Frida as the young revolutionary, the painter who watched the world, the mother who protected him and knew the secret of yin and yang". Damn, sounds too familiar... As well as the fact that, judging by the pics of them both plaguing the Internet, she was as fuckin and insufferably clingy as I was with my ex lol. 

(The Love Embrace of the Universe, the Earth (Mexico), Myself, Diego and Señor Xólotl, 1949)
Dayum! This is weirder than what I write, and even weirder than what I regularly read lol, I love it too much hahahahahahahaha 😂

And I looked for more quotes by my girl and found the following ones particularly fascinating:

Trying to find mine in writing, and also without prejudice, apart from a sense of humanity

I relate so much, particularly as regards laughing at my own stupidity. This girl certainly got the same vibe as I 

Words of truth

So yes, Frida Kahlo, this girl looking like a monkey, has become my girl crush. She is because she was super brave, and insisted in working hard even when very sick, overcoming all difficulties, and supported positive revolutionary causes, making an impact. And she loved; she loved super deeply that enormous big baby of hers she couldn't stay away from, even if he cheated on her on an ongoing basis - she was no better in that sense though, hah. Frida Kahlo died in 1954 when she was only 47, so sick that she couldn't even move from the bed. According to the records, she died of a pulmonary embolism, although it is highly speculated that she actually committed suicide. 

But we folks that have lived a little, and know a little, and suffered a little, know very well she didn't die neither of pulmonary embolism, nor of suicide.

She died of pain.

My girl looking much better in the pic than her painting cause honestly her paintings are a bit oof haha

Frida Kahlo has become a symbol of feminism, of the LGTBIQA+ community, of art and revolution. But, to me, she is a symbol of someone who was super severely sick, all her life, and yet she had the megalithic balls ('xcuse language) to ignore the constant pain and have an exciting and productive life full of emotion, passion, expression, lovers, and experiences. And anybody who has such ingent mind control over the daily, adverse circumstances lodged even inside her own body - cause the causes of my personal torment are, fortunately, outside of me - gains my immediate and total respect and admiration. 

So yeah, that's the kind of girls I crush on, Frida Kahlo. A woman that had Death itself lodged inside her very body and, yet, she managed to Live, and who used her art, her paintings, to vomit that Death, that Pain, out of her, and created something beautiful and inspirational out of it. Even if it was for just a brief moment. Even if it was just right before she grabbed the pencil again, and started a new painting, aiming to ease, again, and somehow, that permanent, permanent pain.

And my girl is an icon for that.

María Concepción Pomar Rosselló

Poem: I exit this cliffhanger

So today was a truly amazing #8M day in which I was finally admitted as an activist for Amnistía Internacional España 😍 (tomorrow I'll write extensively about it), and it's Friday night and I feel super calm and good, with all the work on point, tomorrow I will start the configuration of the platforms for the April edition of my subjects, and I felt like having some sweet, sweet time for me tonight as I listen to some meditation music and cuddle with my black precious kitty girl on my lap so... poetry time it is! 😊💗

And tonight the writer in me wanted a real challenge, so of course rhyming in English it is for a start, and then I wanted to try something new: to link literature, drama, and fiction in general in the arts to a relationship that is, per se, so problematic that has also become fictional. Of course I wrote something directly related to my healing process after my divorce, so as usual I let it all out, enjoyed immensely the process of playing with the English language, learned from the experience, and meditated deeply on what my own writings were telling me about myself. And yes, I see that I still need to go through a lot of healing lol, and even despite that, I would dare to say I'm on the right track, cause I feel better and better every day. I will be patient and trust the process and the Universe guiding me gently.

The video I always add to my writings is not music this time, but a documentary of the production and performance of Waiting For Godot (Samuel Beckett, 1952) for two reasons: first of all, because I've always felt super attracted to this play, and it's only now that I fully get the message, as regards human relationships and the expression of our inner angst, and the waiting, ah the waiting, I understand the waiting SO well now XD; and, secondly, because it is performed at San. Quentin. It is super beautiful to see these inmates doing something artistic that helps them, even if for a little moment, for a little bit, express themselves and realise that they are beyond mere prisoners and outcasts, trasncending their guilt, their sentence, and all the circumstances related to their situation. Prisoners deserve humanitarian treatment too. We all are human and should be treated as such. 

Hope you enjoy, thank you for being here and reading my stuff as usual, know that you're deeply loved my tribe 💟


You’ve shot your best shot, and I’ve captured your energy,

Your pose is as easy and clear to read as an open book,

And I don’t like what I’m reading, I sense no good synergy,

The plot you’ve devised for me in all this is not precisely good,

There are plenty of better-written novels for me to take a look.

So my dear one please excuse me as I exit this cliffhanger.

The stories you write in your head don’t add up to my senses,

I’m not really pleased with being your eerie fantasy now,

You focus your vision of me through dim and distorted lenses,

Always making me look like the bad one and I don’t know how,

And yet not that that matters that much to me anyhow.

So my sweetheart please excuse me as I quit this cliffhanger.

And you’ll see me in front of you, in my fleshy physical frame,

And be sure that you got me and I am now in your possession,

While I yawn at your attempts to make me play your boring game,

My dear you’re so nauseatingly alliterative in your obsession,

Trying so hard to chain me to a lousy metaphor of your pretension.

So my baby please excuse me as I leave this cliffhanger.

And I’ll be talking to you yet you’ll notice that something is missing,

Our soliloquy exchanges will lead to nothing but empty asides,

Stream of consciousness turned into a continuous, muzzled dissing

Aimed at the intent of leading my steps into your plotted storyline,

While the prompter of my soul is adamant to turn to any other side.

So my beloved please excuse me as I pull out of this cliffhanger.

And I’ll be civil and pragmatic, diplomatic and politely cruel,

Cause you won’t notice any changes in my lines addressed to you,

I will just watch your act as you pretend to be engaged in such a duel,

Not knowing that I have already been granted my turn to take the cue

And leave the stage of all those scamming schemes you put me through.

So my dear love please excuse me as I laugh out loud at your cliffhanger.

María Concepción Pomar Rosselló

My favourite memes XD Feel free to steal them! 8-)

 So after my favourite quotes, I think I will gather in this post a thread of my favourite memes, the best quality ones I can find XD just to make you all, my audience, laugh a little. It will be growing exponentially with time, always under construction. So let's go!

Definitely sending this one to both friends and love interests, it's SUPER SMOOTH for when you've been ghosted LOL XD

Can't agree more XD

Hermione me representa y me representará hasta el fin de mis días xD

Durante una temporada yo misma fui a un psicólogo, pero lo tuve que dejar porque de pronto empezó él a tener que ir a terapia 😕

Aplica a divorciadas también 😟😁

Me identifico demasiado 😸

Buenísimo tanto para enviar a amistades como a love interests 😍😁

Cuando no sólo ghosteas, sino que te regodeas en ser mala persona jajajajajajaj

Este para trollear a algún exalumno está Divino, pero no creo que lo use nunca, no hay tanto nivel de confianza 😅

Este para cuando te pidan por texto que te calles ya 😕y tú les reconoces que sí que tienes un problema y que no puedes evitarlo, y después les envías esto 😁😂

Totalmente mi estilo para enviarlo a algún love interest 😂😂😂

Perfecto para comentarios en blogs de colegas 😁👍

Obviamente para cuando te llaman intensa 😎😍😂

¿Alguien ha cabreado a tu amix? Le envías esto de apoyo moral 😁

Para el o la amix que no se siente lo suficientemente bueno/a 😃

Obvia decir para cuándo usar este jajajajajajajaja

Pa cuando el o la amix siempre dicen que no contestan porque estaban en el sobre jajajaja

Este lo hice yo básicamente para reírme de mis propios flipes XD

I also made this one, applies to me often hahahahahahaha 😁😁😁😁😁

Nadie es ni podrá ser nunca tan coquette como el bueno de Tao Pai Pai xDDDD

I also made this one and also to apply it to myself obviously xDDDDDD

Another one I made xDDDDD

Mi favorito de todos los que he hecho hasta ahora jajajajajajajaj

Amistades que valen 😁☝

Un clásico xDDDDDD

Filosofía cringe Shinji Ikari, me la aplico totalmente xDDDDD

Perfect for racists, homophobes, abusers, and meanies of any kind ☝

But it would have certainly been much less amusing... lol

Perfect for posting at your friends' blogs 😎☝

Love this one. Use it a lot LOL

Please don't leave me on tenderhooks LOL

I always feel so flattered when they say that to me... ❤

Me and my book characters, basically xDDDDDD

Made this one too and for fucks' sake true story 😕😂

When folk ask me how come you became gender fluid at 44? Well... 💁😁

Este siempre lo envío a contactos nuevos me encantaaaaa xDDDDD

I had a dude friend who ghosted me like this, in the end I sent him to see the Warrens

I definitely qualify as a feral housewife 😎😁

Perfect, neutral meme for wishing someone good morning lol

Perfect for when your friend is simping 😟😁

You get it now? 😑😁

The million dollar question lol xD

Walter is perfect for sending to love interests after they shown you some affection lol

Great for sending the canonical gmorning message 😁☝

Being polite always matters LOL

When your amix texts you at 4:00 am 😣😁

I made this one for an ex friend who I knew he was stalking me LOL

Basically what I do on this blog LOLOLOLOL