My friend Elizabeth was a little firecracker. She went to puces de lignancourt to buy some magical liquid. It was unavoidable; It not only took half the neighborhood with it, it left generations thinking, because she was freaking high!
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The man in the third phonebooth on the right at the jack off room in a gay bar was playing kikball. He was sitting with his girlfriend, a little pig, dressed in a pink dress looking like Miss piggy, because they were afraid to be caught, obviously the cops didn't know they were about to do it but eventually they'd discovered.
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Emma was a very happy cow in their lover's bedroom. She was stealing candy from as many small children as possible in 28 minutes, with a bunch of alcoholics, in a land before time but still in time so not really before it but amidst the cycle of age progression, because she stole some magic mushrooms from Stevy.
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Arnold Schwarzenegger was hidden in the kitchen cupboard scrubbing his ass with a toothbrush with San Claus' top elf because they ate all the cookies before church.
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A fire marker was in an isolated island and at the side of our hero stood a youth of but tender age, with that one that your mother should know, when my wife is cleaning my underwears that it's to say, at the same hour everyday, because he couldn't stand licking more chocolate cake.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Sunday, April 25, 2010
HUMO
Mi tributo al cigarro en el bar, al humo que se pega a la ropa, al que se mezcla con el olor del barril de cerveza, del chupito de whisky y el de tequila. A la música acompañada del papel que arde, al entornar los ojos para divisar el fondo del bar.
Mi tributo a compartir cigarrillo, a ofrecer ronda, a pedir mechero, a que te lo robe algún amigo espabilado, a la brasa roja de un extremo elevada el alto, por encima de la multitud.
Mi tributo al humo: al humo azul bajo las luces de la discoteca, al humo blanco al abrir la puerta del local, a la nube que sale de tu boca, al hilo transparente que se eleva hasta el techo.
Mi tributo al placer de poder fumar en buena compañía, acompañada de buena música. Hay cosas que nunca deberían separarse.
Mi tributo a compartir cigarrillo, a ofrecer ronda, a pedir mechero, a que te lo robe algún amigo espabilado, a la brasa roja de un extremo elevada el alto, por encima de la multitud.
Mi tributo al humo: al humo azul bajo las luces de la discoteca, al humo blanco al abrir la puerta del local, a la nube que sale de tu boca, al hilo transparente que se eleva hasta el techo.
Mi tributo al placer de poder fumar en buena compañía, acompañada de buena música. Hay cosas que nunca deberían separarse.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Monday, December 28, 2009
He regresado....
...a San Francisco en busca de mi corazón, pues se quedó aquí hace dos años.
Lo único que he encontrado ha sido que aquí sólo dejé medio corazón. Y ahora he perdido el otro medio.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Why not in English?
A Long Post...
...Telling things and stopping living nothing to imagination. The thing is that there have been so many things, that the problem is to not know where to start. The trick? Learned years ago at college, from the words of a wise man:
So I’m throwing myself into the void:
Morning. Brightness becomes noticed by caressing my eyelids. The knot of sheet doesn’t protect me against the cold, but having it tight around my body makes me feel good. The wood floor creaks in time to the steps of those who are already awake. Sound of cups, water… and a line. A line that succeeds in getting a half-sleep little lazy girl out of bed. A line that has been successful for years, no matter how early it was. Two words that always cause the same effect: Creaking of springs, struggle against blankets, cold barefoot in the cold floor, a race through the window, a nose against the glass, a smile in the lips. And the result is always the same: coffee smells better, toasts are even nicer, and silence- that embraces everything around, fill the ears of those who want to listen.
It is still a magic line, even in a different language.
It’s Snowing!.
...Telling things and stopping living nothing to imagination. The thing is that there have been so many things, that the problem is to not know where to start. The trick? Learned years ago at college, from the words of a wise man:
You have always to go from particular to general. Advancing little by little and
unraveling a mystery.
So I’m throwing myself into the void:
Morning. Brightness becomes noticed by caressing my eyelids. The knot of sheet doesn’t protect me against the cold, but having it tight around my body makes me feel good. The wood floor creaks in time to the steps of those who are already awake. Sound of cups, water… and a line. A line that succeeds in getting a half-sleep little lazy girl out of bed. A line that has been successful for years, no matter how early it was. Two words that always cause the same effect: Creaking of springs, struggle against blankets, cold barefoot in the cold floor, a race through the window, a nose against the glass, a smile in the lips. And the result is always the same: coffee smells better, toasts are even nicer, and silence- that embraces everything around, fill the ears of those who want to listen.
It is still a magic line, even in a different language.
It’s Snowing!.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Un post largo...
...Que cuente cosas y no deje todo a la imaginación. El caso es que han sido tantas cosas, que el problema es no saber por donde empezar. ¿Cuál es el truco?... Aprendido hace unos años en la facultad, de las palabras de un sabio:
Siempre hay que ir de lo particular a lo general, avanzando poco a poco y
desentrañando un misterio.
Así que me lanzo de cabeza:
Mañana. La claridad se hace notar acariciando los párpados. El nudo de sábanas no protege del frío, pero reconforta al tenerlo ceñido sobre el cuerpo. La madera del suelo cruje al compás de los pasos de los que ya están despiertos. Sonido de tazas, agua correr... y una frase. Una frase que consigue levantar a una niña media dormida que está remoloneando en la cama. Una frase que ha conseguido despertar a esa niña durante años, sin importar lo temprano que fuera. Dos palabras que siempre surten el mismo efecto: Crujir de muelles, pelea contra las mantas, pies fríos sobre el frío suelo, carrera hacia una ventana, nariz contra el cristal, sonrisa en los labios. Y las consecuencias son siempre las mismas: el olor de café es mejor, las tostadas están más ricas, y el silencio, que todo lo abraza, llena los oídos de los que quieran escuchar.
Sigue siendo una frase mágica, aunque sea en otro idioma:
It's Snowing!
Monday, November 23, 2009
Monday, November 16, 2009
Monday, November 2, 2009
¿Qué es...
lo más importante de un viaje?.
¿Los lugares que visitas?
¿Las fotos que tomas?
¿Los kilómetros que recorres?
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El tiempo que pasas en buena compañía, sin importar nada dónde lo haces.
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