How to be what one is

Hace unos días entró en mi blog un chico alemán que dejó un comentario, entró porque yo había dejado un post en el Blog de Sonata Arctica, comentando el concierto de Madrid, el chico en cuestión se interesó por el penúltimo post, así que se lo he traducido, de forma rápdia y sin fijarse. Y es que eso de traducir un texto, que tiene alguna chispa de liteario y donde se buscan dobles sentidos, tiene alguna miga. Y es que es inevitable perder mucha de la escencia del texto, muchísima y si el traductor es el mismo autor, pues aún, eso sin embargo nunca se produce. Por lo tanto, al traducir algo pasamos por dos filtros, primero el de la diferencia de lenguaje, de contexto, pues un lenguaje nace y se desarrolla sujeto a la tierra donde este habita, y ahí aunque sea el propio autor el que traducza ya se pierde mucho, y en segundo lugar, tiene que pasar el filtro de el traductor, que incesantemente violará las intenciones iniciales del autor en el texto original, para ver más, recominedo, Los Testamentos Traicionados y el Arte de la Novela de mi amado Kundera. Lo que sigue es una violación a mi mismo, a ver que les parece:

The title, translated says "how to be what one is". I write A phrase (it's a phrase while it has no verb, if it had it would be a sentence): "The Twilight of time". Some might have seen throughout my posts that I arbitrarily put capital letters on my titles, it is nothing arbitrary at the end, it's more than that, it's more about "at God's sight we all are NOT the same", some wear ties, others capital letters. Fix on "twilight" for me is a magical word and that's it. IT goes with capital letters. Time otherwise comes with plain letters, and what follows is the explanation.

Time, let's say that is the thing that measures the longivity of our errors, the lightness of our happiness, the feeling of eternity administrated in extasy instants, not to be blown up by that greatness. Time, that master that teach us and that finally kills us, the one that heals aeverything and changes everything. Heals everything that is what they say. But, what if it was not like that? Does time exist out of the human stain? Isn't time something exclusively human, a parameter like a flag fot the army of mortals, the banner would be a clock. Time, that powerfull judge that considers us as equal: nobilty, priests or plain villagers. Cause the Judgment Day we all wear the same cloths. The role of time in the not-human plane is something very fragile by the same universe surrounding human being, was there any initial time condition? Who cares, what is to be reflected throughout this words are the following points:
First, that time does not heal everything, I can assure that and second, that time does not kill killing loves, because those loves do not die. And as yu know, time will put everything where is meant to be.