Mr. Colin White

I wrote this almost ten years ago. It is part of a series of conversations Colin and I had and it was the start for a biography-documentary project that was abandoned several years later. A newspaper just took things from it to publish something about Colin, which is rather amuzing and I know Colin would have been angry with me for posting it on a blog but secretely flattered (and amuzed too).
I am copying it here again, as inexact as it is and with the obviuos style of someone very young and incredibly overwhelmed of being in front of the man she admires the most.


Está sentado frente a mi. Es delgado, todo su pelo es cano y su rostro surcado de arrugas es como un mapa de rutas marinas. Tose frecuentemente por el humo del cigarro y el polvo de las minas acumulado en sus pulmones, y que seguramente terminará costándole la vida. Aún así es un hombre capaz de gobernar un barco él solo y de llevar el timón de un salón de clases.
Su padre y su madre pertenecían a la clase obrera de un pequeño pueblo al sur de Londres. Corría el año de 1932 y se empezaba a sentir en el aire la amenaza de la nube fascista que devastaría Europa. Se mudó con su familia en el ´39 a la capital, pero debió abandonarla pronto junto con su hermano, debido a los bombardeos. Su padre marcha al frente por lo que se convierte en el jefe de familia, dividiendo su infancia entre Gales, Escocia e Inglaterra.
Asiste a la secundaria en una escuela de gobierno, de la que conserva muy buenos recuerdos y al terminarla es aceptado en la Universidad de Cambridge.
Antes de partir a la Universidad debe hacer el servicio militar, que lo llevaría a entrenar soldados destinados a luchar en Corea. En un momento decisivo en su vida resuelve dejar atrás Cambridge; por lealtad permanece con su regimiento y parte él también hacia Corea. Sin embargo, es herido, debe regresar a casa y como algo predestinado, termina por ingresar a la Universidad.
Estudia Letras Inglesas con las figuras más influyentes en el ámbito cultural de la época. En las vacaciones trabaja como minero en túneles en Escocia, también como leñador y ocasionalmente en granjas, segando campos. Al terminar la Universidad continúa como minero, unas de las pocas decisiones de las que se arrepiente en su vida, me dice mientras deja vagar la mirada, sin encontrar todavía una respuesta.
En 1956, su postura política en torno a los problemas del Canal de Suez, lo hacen partir molesto de Inglaterra. Toma rumbo a Canadá, donde lleva la vida dura que nosotros leemos en las novelas de aventuras de Jack London. Trabaja como minero sacando plata, hasta que los precios bajan y se ve obligado a regresar a la profesión de leñador, lo que le agrada mucho, pues realmente le gusta el bosque.
Debido a una nevada imprevista se ve sin trabajo paseando un día por Vancouver cuando ve un póster invocador: México, decía de manera enigmática. Sin pensarlo mucho, se dirige a la terminal de camiones y pide un boleto para Veracruz, única referencia que tiene gracias a una película con Gary Cooper y Burt Lancaster. Ahí conoce a la mujer que lo ha acompañado a partir de entonces en todo su peregrinaje. Regresa a Canadá donde gana algo de dinero jugando cartas y se establece más tarde de manera definitiva en México. Por motivos de trabajo se viene a la capital, donde colabora con Juan Ibáñez y Carlos Fuentes como traductor en una serie de guiones, reminiscencias de cuando era crítico de cine en la Facultad.
Da clases en la Facultad de Ingeniería en la UNAM y después se pasa a Filosofía y Letras, a la carrera de letras Inglesas. Molesto, otra vez, por la situación en el movimiento estudiantil del ´68, deja la escuela por un par de años para construir su primer barco, el cual le es quitado por el gobierno, en un incidente del cual no habla mucho, lo que no le desanima y al poco tiempo inicia la construcción de otro.
Regresa a la UNAM en el ´74 y ahí permanece desde entonces, inspirando a generación tras generación, convirtiéndose en el mentor de muchos, incluyendo a quien escribe estas líneas. Hay muchas cosas que desconozco de él, pero sé que le gusta Keats, que aunque finja lo contrario adora a sus alumnos, que toma su café con mucho azúcar y piensa qué nosotros los jóvenes leemos muy poco. También sé que usa la misma corbata desde hace muchos años, misma que le regaló un alumno que murió joven y que como todos los que vieron sus vidas terminadas muy pronto, permanece en su memoria.
Dice que ahora nos preocupamos mucho por ser, que él no desearía haber sido nada más, que está contento con hacer. Ha hecho lo que quiere, pero cuando le pregunto que cosas le hubiera gustado hacer me contesta firme: todo. Es feliz en México, se sabe afortunado, pero ahora sentado frente a mí, veo el brillo en sus ojos cuando habla de su tierra, pero no deja traslucir nada con su característica flema británica.
Ahora finalizó la construcción de su tercer barco y lo tiene anclado en Isla Mujeres, listo para zarpar, en lo que promete ser un viaje a la isla caribeña de Cuba. Solo, pues navega en soledad.

Colin White

Mr. Colin White

yo no tengo frases para darte, pero puedo hablar con imagenes y estas son mis palabras para decirte cuanto te quiero

Mr. Colin White

My dear Colin has left me. Me, his students, his wife, his children.
I had the rare honor of him calling me his friend. Don´t know what i did to deserve such honor.
On wedenesday I was still holding his hand and telling him about the next boat we where going to built together. After four days of pure hell, hospital madness, he went away.
He is dead.
I told him two days ago that if he died, I was going to die of a broken heart.
And I can already feel the pieces of my heart falling down to my guts.
I miss him.
I wish I could sleep.
I wish he was alive.
He made my life exceptional jst by being part of it. He was exceptional.

I wish for tomorrow to never come and I dread of it not coming fast enough.

I miss you.

Last pages

No matter I look good these days, i´m still dying.
I´ve even been feeling happy, which is not a contradiction if you ask me, I´ve been working, I have red cheeks and I´ve even gain in some weight.
But that is just temporal, I can feel it.
I am finally getting help but i believe it has come too late.
It´s coming back and I don´t think I have the strenght to fight against it again.
I´m scared.
I´m tired.

And I don´t want to die.

Looking for a new job.

Tired of doing numbers. (hate it)

In need of a drink.

Everyone´s invited for a drink.

So clap your hands and come for one to my own private bar.

and i do want to find somebody to love.

goodbye kid

this is the story of... wait a minute, do the lovers get together at the end? mmmmm no,
ok, it´s not that kind of story.
the truth is:
i am leaving behind a trail of blood, dead corpses, after me,
i am tired of drama, i´m tired of complications appearing one hundred million years after they happened. Iam learning to let go.
And so you are right.
I´ve been mean and cruel. I accept it regret it would like to say I´m sorry but at the end of the day it is also true I can`t give you what you want so it is time to say goodbye now.
and i`ve been selfish for not pushing you away amd letting you stay in my life when it was obviously me who had to do say enough.
I`m sorry kid.
I can`t love you. I´ll never will.
Don´t wish me too much evil, life is already collecting taxes with me.
I hope our paths won´t cross again for you to find happiness.
Someone who deserves your love.
a quiet place where you can be.
I won´t look back. I will think of you, i always do, but i´ll refrain my need to call you. I won´t stop by.
I´ll be hurt of course. don´t think i am not missing you.
i loved you in so many ways...
but i can´t love you the way you want me to.
so i´m saying goodbye.
i hope you won´t look back at our time as something bad. it´s just something that is gone.
goodbye kid, goodbye.

randomly

So, it´s almost over.
In my mind I saw myself writing a little bit everyday, something witty, something cool.
Obviously, my desire to do it didn´t match my strenght. To be awake for 24 hours without sleeping. To suck it up and forget where I come from and be capable to actually smile to those I despise but should praise.

But I still have my secret.

my dark terrible secret.
a plague o´ both your houses.

close your eyes and go back. retrace your steps. go out where you came from. don´t turn your back to the beast. don´t make eye contact. don´t make noise.

kneel to the one
who is our lord.

deception and chaos.

just get out, now.

And I still believe that I cannot be saved.

wine maybe?

does this qualifies as a new day?

should i have a drink?

have i mentioned how being a frigid bitch might affect your capacity for leadership?

have i mentioned how being an overweight ass living under the shadow of your relatives interferes with your ability to make wise deccisions?

when you work 16 hours a day and still you get e-mails at four in the morning you are not able to answer right away, you develop big dark round circles under your eyes.

when you feel like a fat over stressed single hitting thirties woman, you should have a drink.

when you spent 13 hours in front of a computer in a plastic chair your back gets deformed. it hurts.

when you review info again and again because your boss keeps making mistakes, you start dreaming about him. you develop a nervous tic.

when you consider stop shaving your legs and getting out of the house in track-suits you know you have an issue.

maybe i should get another drink.

My own personal pub

If you are in your thirthies and you are single, start considering getting a roomate.
My boss said to me today, dear Irene, as pretty as always. My former college principal said, Oh irene, looking as georgous as ever. have I mentioned they always do that?
have i mention I never hear them compliment on my actual work?
Have I mention I am a junior executive?

Have I mention no one has complained about my work?

If tomorrow i sit down to write the same, I´ll get a drink.

If you are starting to read this, You shloud get a drink.

una de copas

Un amigo ha escrito esto hace unos días. Y le secundo. Y me pregunto porque no me habré cruzado con tios equivalentes a estas hembras. Esos tipos bravos, que de la misma forma en que con sus brazos pueden levantarte y acomodarte las ideas, pueden treparse en un auto por seis horas para hacerte un favor, se quedan esperandote en la excursion cargando tu botella de agua y no te hacen preguntas absurdas o estúpidas.
En fin, supongo que como no quedan mujeres de rompe y rasga, los hombres se olvidaron de las causas por las que luchar.


Muchas veces he dicho que apenas quedan mujeres como las de antes. Ni en el cine, ni fuera de él. Y me refiero a mujeres de esas que pisaban fuerte y sentías temblar el suelo a su paso. Mujeres de bandera. Lo comento con Javier Marías saliendo del hotel Palace, donde en el vestíbulo vemos a una torda espectacular. «Aunque ordinaria», opina Javier. «Creo que no lo sabe», apunto yo. Seguimos conversando carrera de San Jerónimo arriba, en dirección a la puerta del Sol. Es una noche madrileña animada, cálida y agradable, que nos suministra abundante material para observación y glosa. Yo me muevo, fiel a mis mitos, en un registro que va de Ava Gardner y Debra Paget a Kim Novak, pasando por la Silvana Mangano de Arroz amargo; y Javier añade los nombres de Donna Reed, Rhonda Fleming, Jane Rusell y Angie Dickinson, que apruebo con entusiasmo. Coincidimos además en dos señoras de belleza abrumadora, aunque opuesta: Sophia Loren y Grace Kelly. Al referirnos a la primera, Javier y yo emitimos aullidos a lo Mastroianni propios de nuestro sexo –no de nuestro género, imbéciles– que vuelven superfluo cualquier comentario adicional. Haciendo, por cierto, darse por aludidas, sin fundamento, a unas focas desechos de tienta que pasan junto a nosotros vestidas con pantalón pirata, lorzas al aire y camiseta sudada; creyendo, las infelices, que nuestro «por allí resopla» va con ellas. Respecto a Grace Kelly, dicho sea de paso, me anoto un punto con el rey de Redonda –me encanta madrugarle en materia cinéfila, pues no ocurre casi nunca–, porque él no recuerda la secuencia del pasillo del hotel en Atrapa a un ladrón, cuando doña Grace se vuelve y besa a Cary Grant ante la puerta, de un modo que haría a cualquier varón normalmente constituido dar la vida por ser el señor Grant.

Pero no sólo era el cine, concluimos, sino la vida real. Los dos somos veteranos del año 51 y tenemos, cine aparte, recuerdos personales que aplicar al asunto: madres, tías, primas mayores, vecinas. Esas medias con costura sobre zapatos de aguja, comenta Javier con sonrisa nostálgica. Esas siluetas, añado yo, gloriosas e inconfundibles: cintura ceñida, curva de caderas y falda de tubo ajustada hasta las rodillas. Etcétera. No era casual, concluimos, que en las fotos familiares nuestras madres parezcan estrellas de cine; o que tal vez fuesen las estrellas de cine las que se parecían muchísimo a ellas. Hasta las niñas, en el recreo, se recogían con una mano la falda del babi y procuraban caminar como las mujeres mayores, con suave contoneo condicionado por la sabia combinación de tacones, falda que obligaba a moverse de un modo determinado, caderas en las que nunca se ponía el sol y garbo propio de hembras de gloriosa casta. En aquel tiempo, las mujeres se movían como en el cine y como señoras porque iban al cine y porque, además, eran señoras.

Con esa charla hemos llegado a la calle Mayor, donde se divisa por la proa un ejemplo rotundo de cuanto hemos dicho. Entre una cita de Shakespeare y otra de Henry James, o de uno de ésos, Javier mira al frente con el radar de adquisición de objetivos haciendo bip-bip-bip, yo sigo la dirección de sus ojos que me dicen no he querido saber pero he sabido, y se nos cruza una rubia de buena cara y mejor figura, vestida de negro y con zapatos de tacón, que camina arqueando las piernas, toc, toc, con tan poca gracia que es como para, piadosamente –¿acaso no se mata a los caballos?–, abatirla de un escopetazo. Nos paramos a mirarla mientras se aleja, moviendo desolados la cabeza. Quod erat demostrandum, le digo al de Redonda para probarle que yo también tengo mis clásicos. Mírala, chaval: belleza, cuerpo perfecto, pero cuando decide ponerse elegante parece una marmota dominguera. Y es que han perdido la costumbre, colega. Vestirse como una señora, con tacón alto y el garbo adecuado, no se improvisa, ni se consigue entrando en una zapatería buena y en una tienda de ropa cara. No se pasa así como así de sentarse despatarrada, el tatuaje en la teta y el piercing en el ombligo a unos zapatos de Manolo Blahnik y un vestido de Chanel o de Versace. Puede ocurrir como con ese chiste del caballero que ve a una señora bellísima y muy bien puesta, sentada en una cafetería. «Es usted –le dice– la mujer más hermosa y elegante que he visto en mi vida. Me fascinan esos ojos, esa boca, esa forma de vestir. La amo, se lo juro. Pero respóndame, por favor. Dígame algo.» Y la otra contesta: «¿Pa qué?… ¿Pa cagarla?».

Arturo Pérez-Reverte

Tic tac tic tac

Please take this cancer back

My illness, the "maladie", will not kill me easily.
Euthanasia.
Those who are against it don´t know anything about the pain, the loss of self respect, all the little things that give you some dignity when looking at the mirror and claiming to be a human being.
really, please someone help me.

Take my life

One thing leads to the other, a snake biting its own tail, the beginning is the end is the beginning (thanks B.C.) and I don´t know anymore how it all started.

now I just want to die.

to afraid and to silly to do it by own hand.

not even for that I´ll be remember.

is there anybody who can help me?

intensity

So,
that´s all, I guess.

Not even goodbye.

No "let´s be friends"

nothing.

And it hurts as I´ve actually know you.

It´s night

So we are back to where we were before.
You won´t speak and damn me if I´m going to be one breaking up the silence.
It is silly, we´ve built this wall around and between us, leaving outside common sense and our feelings towards each other. I know we are so good together and at the same time so destructive. Now you are probably outside working, as I have been, but we are so stubborn we would not let the other know. We like it complicated. So now both of us sit in our rooms wondering where we are and if we are thinking of each other. No, I don´t think of you every night and second. No, I don´t sigh at your image, longing for your smile. That would be not knowing who we are.
I think of you. I know you. I´ve seen your demons.
That´s more than enough.
That´s more than you know about me. Will ever know about me.

A woman playing the cello

i´m angry with you

Long distance idea

Oh, it´s amazing how boring people can be.
I don´t like ping-pong, i don´t like hypocrytes, i´m bored to death of existencialist stucked ups who think they are smarter than anyone, i think people who like to be trendy by not being trendy are stupid and i have to say i enjoy much more this side of the moon.

I´m scared you are part of a terrorist unit.

adopt your own virtual pet!

Sometimes it´s harder if it is your friend

After nearly ten years of silence i´ve discovered something.
I don´t like living with you.
And you don´t like living with me.
The problem here is that I suspect you´ve known this for quite a long time, but never said anything. Why?
It´s hard for me right now because I don´t want to lose your friendship and that is precisely the reason I´m asking you to go. If we are to still be friends in the future only going separate ways seems to be the answer.
I don´t want to push you away, I still care for you, you are still my best friend... and I have to let you go.
But what bothers me is your silence. Why you´ve kept quiet all this time?
laziness? I wish you´d tell me, but your lips are as sealed as they´ve always been.
The illness is back, the next months will be tough and I really don´t want to lay any burden in you.
I wish to be alone.
I just need space and I think you do too.
You need a house of your own, to care for, to decorate, to be a mother...
I need a house to create, to distruct, to be my own...
I´m sorry.
I hope you can understand me.
I hope you will not hate me.
I hope you still want to be my friend.
Because I am.

我爱你

Reichenbach

At least in my imagination it is.

I wish I had never met you.

you left her earrings in the bath.

it hurts so bad now that you are gone.

Mr. Colin White

Está sentado frente a mi. Es delgado, todo su pelo es cano y su rostro surcado de arrugas es como un mapa de rutas marinas. Tose frecuentemente por el humo del cigarro y el polvo de las minas acumulado en sus pulmones, y que seguramente terminará costándole la vida. Aún así es un hombre capaz de gobernar un barco él solo y de llevar el timón de un salón de clases.
Su padre y su madre pertenecían a la clase obrera de un pequeño pueblo al sur de Londres. Corría el año de 1932 y se empezaba a sentir en el aire la amenaza de la nube fascista que devastaría Europa. Se mudó con su familia en el ´39 a la capital, pero debió abandonarla pronto junto con su hermano, debido a los bombardeos. Su padre marcha al frente por lo que se convierte en el jefe de familia, dividiendo su infancia entre Gales, Escocia e Inglaterra.
Asiste a la secundaria en una escuela de gobierno, de la que conserva muy buenos recuerdos y al terminarla es aceptado en la Universidad de Cambridge.
Antes de partir a la Universidad debe hacer el servicio militar, que lo llevaría a entrenar soldados destinados a luchar en Corea. En un momento decisivo en su vida resuelve dejar atrás Cambridge; por lealtad permanece con su regimiento y parte él también hacia Corea. Sin embargo, es herido, debe regresar a casa y como algo predestinado, termina por ingresar a la Universidad.
Estudia Letras Inglesas con las figuras más influyentes en el ámbito cultural de la época. En las vacaciones trabaja como minero en túneles en Escocia, también como leñador y ocasionalmente en granjas, segando campos. Al terminar la Universidad continúa como minero, unas de las pocas decisiones de las que se arrepiente en su vida, me dice mientras deja vagar la mirada, sin encontrar todavía una respuesta.
En 1956, su postura política en torno a los problemas del Canal de Suez, lo hacen partir molesto de Inglaterra. Toma rumbo a Canadá, donde lleva la vida dura que nosotros leemos en las novelas de aventuras de Jack London. Trabaja como minero sacando plata, hasta que los precios bajan y se ve obligado a regresar a la profesión de leñador, lo que le agrada mucho, pues realmente le gusta el bosque.
Debido a una nevada imprevista se ve sin trabajo paseando un día por Vancouver cuando ve un póster invocador: México, decía de manera enigmática. Sin pensarlo mucho, se dirige a la terminal de camiones y pide un boleto para Veracruz, única referencia que tiene gracias a una película con Gary Cooper y Burt Lancaster. Ahí conoce a la mujer que lo ha acompañado a partir de entonces en todo su peregrinaje. Regresa a Canadá donde gana algo de dinero jugando cartas y se establece más tarde de manera definitiva en México. Por motivos de trabajo se viene a la capital, donde colabora con Juan Ibáñez y Carlos Fuentes como traductor en una serie de guiones, reminiscencias de cuando era crítico de cine en la Facultad.
Da clases en la Facultad de Ingeniería en la UNAM y después se pasa a Filosofía y Letras, a la carrera de letras Inglesas. Molesto, otra vez, por la situación en el movimiento estudiantil del ´68, deja la escuela por un par de años para construir su primer barco, el cual le es quitado por el gobierno, en un incidente del cual no habla mucho, lo que no le desanima y al poco tiempo inicia la construcción de otro.
Regresa a la UNAM en el ´74 y ahí permanece desde entonces, inspirando a generación tras generación, convirtiéndose en el mentor de muchos, incluyendo a quien escribe estas líneas. Hay muchas cosas que desconozco de él, pero sé que le gusta Keats, que aunque finja lo contrario adora a sus alumnos, que toma su café con mucho azúcar y piensa qué nosotros los jóvenes leemos muy poco. También sé que usa la misma corbata desde hace muchos años, misma que le regaló un alumno que murió joven y que como todos los que vieron sus vidas terminadas muy pronto, permanece en su memoria.
Dice que ahora nos preocupamos mucho por ser, que él no desearía haber sido nada más, que está contento con hacer. Ha hecho lo que quiere, pero cuando le pregunto que cosas le hubiera gustado hacer me contesta firme: todo. Es feliz en México, se sabe afortunado, pero ahora sentado frente a mí, veo el brillo en sus ojos cuando habla de su tierra, pero no deja traslucir nada con su característica flema británica.
Ahora finalizó la construcción de su tercer barco y lo tiene anclado en Isla Mujeres, listo para zarpar, en lo que promete ser un viaje a la isla caribeña de Cuba. Solo, pues navega en soledad.


Something written by a young friend of mine, big eyed lady who still believes in fairies and knights.

Letters to a friend

to Percy Bysshe Shelley,
Ravenna, April 26, 1821



The child continues doing well, and the accounts are regular and favorable. It is gratifying to me that you and Mrs Shelley do not disapprove of the step which I have taken, which is merely temporary.
I am very sorry to hear what you say of Keats - is it actually true? I did not think criticism had been so killing. Though I differ from you essentially in your estimate of his performances, I so much abhor all unnecessary pain, that I would rather he had been seated on the highest peak of Parnassus than have perished in such a manner. Poor fellow! though with such inordinate self-love he would probably have not been very happy. I read the review of "Endymion" in the Quarterly. It was severe, - but surely not so severe as many reviews in that and other journals upon others.
I recollect the effect on me of the Edinburgh on my first poem; it was rage, and resistance, and redress - but not despondency nor despair. I grant that those are not amiable feelings; but, in this world of bustle and broil, and especially in the career of writing, a man should calculate upon his powers of resistance before he goes into the arena.

"Expect not life from pain nor danger free,
Nor deem the doom of man reversed for thee."

You know my opinion of that second-hand school of poetry. You also know my high opinion of your own poetry, - because it is of no school. I read Cenci - but, besides that I think the subject essentially undramatic, I am not an admirer of our old dramatists, as models. I deny that the English have hitherto had a drama at all. Your Cenci, however, was a work of power, and poetry. As to my drama, pray revenge yourself upon it, by being as free as I have been with yours.
I have not yet got your Prometheus, which I long to see. I have heard nothing of mine, and do not know if it is yet published. I have published a pamphlet on the Pope controversy, which you will not like. Had I known that Keats was dead - or that he was alive and so sensitive - I should have omitted some remarks upon his poetry, to which I was provoked by his attack upon Pope, and my disapprobation of his own style of writing.
You want me to undertake a great Poem - I have not the inclination nor the power. As I grow older, the indifference - not to life, for we love it by instinct - but to the stimuli of life, increases. Besides, this late failure of the Italians has latterly disappointed me for many reasons, - some public, some personal. My respects to Mrs S.
Yours ever.
BYRON
P.S. Could not you and I contrive to meet this summer? Could not you take a run here alone?

Wife of an acrobat

She listens to him shouting in the other room, the tone of his voice raising with each phrase. She wasn´t fully asleep when the phone rang for the first time and after a couple of angry shouts he hanged up. She stayed awake, very still, waiting for the next ring, for she knew there was to be another one. When it came she heard him sigh and felt him getting up and going outside the room. She layed there for a couple of minutes and heard him. She was a little bit annoyed for being woke up and felt slightly curious for the woman on the other side of the line. She barely knew her, but from what she could tell, the other was a smart, pretty woman. She wondered what nasty turns of destiny had put that woman into that situation. She wondered if he would shout at her like that one day. Hardly. She wasn´t planning on staying long enough for that to happen. She was tired, she wanted to fall asleep again, but it was impossible with all these things going trough her mind. She got up and look at herself in the mirror. The image answered back, the dark circles under her eyes, her soft body, her messy hair. That look of too many dawns, the look of knowing. She cursed both him and the other woman for forcing her to get into these mental acrobatics. She started to get dressed, thinking of having breakfast down the park, strawberries and french toasts, or maybe go to the gym, when he entered back into the room. Without any word, as if he knew what she had been thinking, he jumped into the bed and embraced her and hid his face in her chest. She felt his heart still running fast from his fight with his exgirlfriend. She touched lightly his back, just the tip of her fingers, feeling his breath slowing down. She relaxed and let his full weight fall on her. It amused her a little bit to discover she wasn´t going to move, that she was going to stay there, holding him. She knew she was in love. With a yawn she wondered, but for how long? She was sure he didn´t love her, never will, so she could only hope to get away before it was too late. She wished for a moment to be able to stay, really stay, but then she remembered the living dead, the image in the mirror and shook her head with a shriver running down her spine. She looked at him and closed her eyes. Just a couple of minutes, and she would be gone for good, the sound of her heels and laughter still floating in the air long after she was gone.
Just one more moment...

Counting the minutes

I can´t sleep tonight, expectation too high running through my head to close my eyes.
Tomorrow I´ll get a phone call, a succesful tough woman is calling me, she´s going to interview me for a job. She doesn´t wan´t me for that job. A friend of mine has almost forced her to take me. It´s nothing personal, she just doesn´t like working with girls and would much rather have a friend of hers for this kind of work. But that is precisely the reason my friend has pushed so hard to get me, because he NEEDS a friend close to him for this particular job.
But I need to say the right things to this woman, or she might find something to not hire me.
I´m nervous.
Specially because I´m not really sure I´m fit for the job. I´m supossed to be. In theory. I always get cold feet when something is about to happen to me. This also has to do with all the second thoughts I´m having in my life right now about everything who I am.
But listen to me, I sound so pathetic. Little scared girl not being able to stand up for what she´s been fighting for.
I know that script almost as well as the director, I helped write it, I just need to feel and sound strong enough to not discourage this woman. I need to convince myself that I can do this and then I will be able to convince her.
And if things don´t work out, is not the end of the world. Really girl, you already have more job options.
You just want this really hard, it´s going to be a proof, a life proof.
Tomorrow might change my life.

I´ve seen it all

She lays in her bed, closed curtains and the smell of sickness around, empty glasses, pills, medicine jars, her room has become the escenario of her disease.
She reaches over and grabs a book, reads a couple of lines but can´t concentrate. She opens her diary and writes a couple of lines but closes it impatiently without being able to find words.
Words, words that used to come to her so easily and now elude her. A ray of light filters trough one or the curtains and she follows its trace, longs for the warmth of that little piece of sun.
Milla enters the room and goes straight to the warm spot of the room. She sits there, light playing over her rich coat of snow and dots, staring with her hazel big eyes to the woman in the bed, wondering when she´ll get up to play with her.

The first and the last

I´ve seen things you people would´t believe

You cunt
how could you?

I can´t tell the truth

if i believed, i would pray right now.
for forgivness.

the horror, the damage is so strong?

shall i never find redemption?

on my knees i am praying to a godless sky.

My name is pain and my blood is revenge

But I will not ask for revenge.
I will remain in my distant kingdom staring at the empty walls.
I shall not pray for revenge.
I won´t ask for his blood. My curse won´t fall upon his name.
I can´t call for revenge.
I´ll refrain the treacherous hand that threatens to close his eyes.
Revenge will not knock on his door.

I´ll forgive him.
I´ll forgive me.

He knows his blood is on my lips.

He knows I´ve turned my eyes to the other side. Pride no longer being a weapon to use.

He doesn´t know everything.

My steps are silent. You won´t hear me entering the room. You´ll hesitate before turning your head.
By that moment I´ll already be behind you.

Never saw that coming didn´t you?

The last days of winter

Angel

Angel come on down from heaven yesterday
Stayed with me just long enough to rescue me
And she told me a story yesterday
About the love between the moon
And the deep blue sea
Then she spread her wings high above me
And she said she gonna come back tomorrow

And I said
Fly on by, sweet angel
Fly on through the sky
Fly on, my sweet angel
Tomorrow I will be right by your side

Sure enough, this woman came home to me
Silver wings, silhouette against a child's own prize
Oh, angel, she said unto me
Today is the day for you to rise
Take my hand, take my hand
You're gonna rise
And then, she took me high over yonder

And I said
Fly on by, sweet angel
Fly on through the sky
Fly on, my sweet angel
Forever I will be right by your side
(Hendrix)

Another day´s lifetime for the lonely wolf.
Back in the asphalt world, getting back in shape.
Who knows where the next battle´ll take place.

Pretending not to care, holding my stomach tight everytime the phone rings, wondering if it´ll be my partner for this silent stars of the cinema, the bloodstream, the river...

All my walls are plain white after I took every bit of me off them. Now they don´t belong to anyone.

But I guess it´s le temp pour la nouvelle chanson, and I must open the windows and let the night air hit me straight in the face.
One by one the pictures will take their place. The image of Chatterton on his death bed, the lady of Shallot, Byron´s greek costume, Damiel kissing the acrobat under Cassiel´s watch, the Brittanny enchanted forests, the photos of the forever boy with the sad eyes, the beaches, the Camdem town hookers of Walter Sickert, my preciuos rivers, the Africa I´ve never been to. The family I long for so strongly.
Some might be lost in the way, but it´s time to say goodbye to some ghosts and most of the living will remain.

And so, I smile and make a little curtsy and present myself to this spring summer to be, wearing my winter´s gloves, because my hands are always cold.

And I let the light to fall in my face while shivers travel down my spine.

lonely Wolf

Life
Live
living
i´m still alive
one day
another one
warmth inside me
Holding on.

I am trying to hold on
i´m learning to paint an elephant.
a lamb
a fox

for the lonely wolf

Bad bad girl

I´ve been a pretty good girl.
I am taking my medicines, eating well (kind of), calling my mother and I´ve found a job. Yei! surprise surprise, it´s one that doesn´t involve taking out the worms out of anybody´s arm or going to the bathroom in a hole on the ground.
Yei! Please, please not let anything ruin it, i´m becoming so superstitious.
I love being able to let go. I should´ve start doing it years ago! I love not caring for you anymore, it´s a great feeling to go out, maybe watch a film or have a cup of tea or maybe not even speak to each other and feel ok with it. I have always said we are better as friends. we are finally achieving it. I know you have your doubts and you still put that puppy face look, but come on, isn´t it more fun this way? Go to your girlfriend, to your work, to your life of little details, to the voices in your head, to your friends and I´ll keep running on the other direction. Just like it was always meant to be.

On the other hand I´ve managed, as I said on the previous post, to put myself in trouble with YOU again. Gosh, why i like you so much? I am not calling you, I´ve managed to keep that promise to myself. But I would really really love to see you. Besides, with the kid walking in the forest, I feel bored, obviously I don´t miss him, but at least he is fun to be around and keeps me from thinking of you.
Oh and trust me, I do feel a little bit guilty about that issue I haven´t told you about Him who can read minds. I know that if HE finds out he´ll go crazy (interesting choice of words), but i am still tryoing to figure out what will be your reaction, probably best to just find out and tell you. But for that I need to see you and I won´t call you and you are such an intense little thing who is precisely thinking of calling me or not, depending on the ammount of trouble we want to get involved. Yeesh.

But well.

These pretty life of mine

I never look back on the things I´ve written, like an obscure pact between words and myself, once in the outside they don´t belong to me anymore, so why dwell upon them?
But, if I ever read these things again, probably I´ll find this story about a pretty, little intense girl trapped in the body of a transvesti who is convinced he is a woman, lines and lines of blood, revenge, passion and intensity. lots of it.
Some days lighter than others I guess. This is a hard job to keep 24/7.
But I think I`ve managed pretty good, so far.

Oh, this one is great. I´m in love with you again. Ain´t that cute? after all this time, avoiding it, knowing you will hurt me and all that stuff and it took less than five minutes to be tangled up again in this little piece of a mess.
Good think you don´t know. I think you don´t know. Bullocks. That would be awful, because you are already a little work of egocentric energy, so if you are sure I like so much, good grief, you´ll become intolerable. And I´ll stand you anyway.

The kid is right about something, I like men because of the reflection of myself I see in them, which as a matter of fact I believe applies for everyone (we all have egos, right?), so throw the first stone. But it is true, altough sometimes might not be an image of myself of which I feel so proud. That is the catch. So that is way I´m not so great in picking the right guys. But I really like the woman I see trough you. So I´m back in trouble again.

That doesn´t mean I feel relieved about this big issue of mine, but as I was saying, I can´t be THAT intense all the time.
Maybe, just maybe, it is actually time to ease things a little bit on me.

Yeah, right. Like that means actually going after you. Oh, you are so tricksy.
Uff
Why I like you so much?

we don´t even stand a chance...
maybe that´s why.

I should write these stories instead of living them.

pain

God
please
I am looking for forgiveness,
here and only here I cry my secret, my burden,

should I be punished?
does hell fall upon those who have lived in its edege for too long and daringly cross its limits?

please it´s been so long since my life was taken away from me, i can´t remember anymore who i was before.

but take this away from me.
or sink me into oblivion so I shall not have memory.

And when the end comes, I know I´ll be alone. I can never go home.

Take this evil from my heart and leave me laying in the cold, sleeping, the long dream of snow.

Let´s be friends, best friends

Don't bother saying you're sorry.
Why don't you come in?
Smoke all my cigarettes - again.
Every time I get no further.
How long has it been?
Come on in now,
Wipe your feet on my dreams.

You take up my time,
Like some cheap magazine,
When I could have been learning something.
Oh well, you know what I mean.

I've done this before,
And I will do it again.
Come on and kill me baby,
while you smile like a friend.
And I'll come running,
Just to do it again.

You are the last drink I never should have drunk.
You are the body hidden in the trunk.
You are the habit I can't seem to kick.
You are my secrets on the front page every week.
You are the car I never should have bought.
You are the train I never should have caught.
You are the cut that makes me hide my face.
You are the party that makes me feel my age.

Like a car crash I can see but I just can't avoid.
Like a plane I've been told I never should board.
Like a film that's so bad but I've gotta stay til the end.
Let me tell you now,
It's lucky for you that we're friends.

Like a car crash I can see but I just can't avoid.
Like a plane I've been told I never should board.
Like a film that's so bad but I've gotta stay til the end.
Let me tell you now,
It's lucky for you that we're friends.


This is the way it is.
You might say my ankles are ugly, or maybe give the job to that cunt, or steal my boyfriend, or get angry because he likes me better than you.
Maybe you can hit my car and never pay for the damage. You can come and after years of working together say that I´m not fit for you anymore and kick me out of the project. You can spend months without telling me you are going to have a baby. You might flirt with me after you drop your girlfriend to the airport. You can loose my earrings. You can ruin my shoes and clothes.
You can shout in the morning because that little flirty silly of a girl won´t let you in her bed. You can finish my drugs. You always forget to pay the bills. You´ve never taken me for dinner. You can threw me out of your house ´cause I won´t sleep with you. You may call me silly. You have even threathen me. You´ve made fun of the way I dress. You have said anything nice about someone I was dating. You didn´t go to the premiere of my movie. You didn´t bring me flowers. You never remember my birthday.

You are so lucky for you that we are friends.

Or otherwise who would have lend you money? Or taken your cute little girlfriend for a night out while you were out with some one night stand? Or kept quiet while you where betraying MY friend, lying to her, to save your marriage? Or lend you my shoulder for you to cry for hours for some silly red haired bimbo.
More importantly, who else would have worked with you all these years, when everybody turned their backs to you, and nobody believed in your projects? Who would have done it for free.

But now it´s not that i don´t love u anymore. I´m still crazy for you. we are friends. I´m just tired.
And bored.
Of all your little life of details.

So next time you want someone to help you, please go you little piece of cunt and fuck yourself.

And remember. I will always be here for you.

Oh, by the way, I´m telling cat eyed lady that you lied to her, and maybe give her gorgeous indian type girl phone number. i´m sure they will have lots of things to talk about.

chop chop

The reason

Pa papa papa papa
Pa papa papa papa
Pa papa papa papa
Pa papa papa papa

I found a reason to keep living
Oh and the reason, dear, is you
I found a reason to keep singing
Oh and the reason, dear, is you

Oh I do believe
If you don't like things you LEAVE
For some place you never gone before

Pa papa papa papa
Pa papa papa papa
Pa papa papa papa
Pa papa papa papa

Honey, I found a reason to keep living
And you know the reason, dear it's you
And I've walked down life's lonely highways
Hand in hand with myself
And I realized how many paths have crossed between us

Oh I do believe
You're all what you perceive
What COMES is better that what came before

Oh I do believe
You're all what you perceive
What COMES is better that what came before

Pa papa papa papa
Pa papa papa papa
Pa papa papa papa
Pa papa papa papa
And you'd better come, come come, come to me
Come come, come to me

pa papa papa pa


I found a reason. Velvet Underground

for there is a reason.
maybe.
please

and I´m alive.
and the ones that are, are too.

Back home, kiddo.
Welcome back

and as the illness comes again

It´s back.
As the illness comes again...
yesterday
during the night the cunt
while i was asleep.
It woke me up and would not let go of me.
Images,sounds,thoughts.
Driving me mad.
Insomnia

please let it not last
please let me be sane for the next days, the last effort,

just enough to sail everyone away.

please

please let go of me.
im powerless, to it´s horror i kneel down,
trembling, death, sadness,
the wind scattering my ashes
fragmented

never a whole

please

The end of the season

Otro adiós...
Another goodbye
my house feels empty these days, it misses the rattle rattle of my thoughts, sweeping the floor after me. The boys are gone and only the ghost of the pale lady has stayed there, mourning for the days that will never come.
Who knows when i´ll go back. This project comes to an end, sadly, in a bad manner and maybe one of these days I´ll tell you about the eyes in the jungle and the smell of smoked wood. But not today. Today we are about to say goodbye. I´m opening doors and windows, searching the corners for some lost dream, I think I left a little bit of idleness in the backyard...
This other house will soon be filled with rage and uncertainty, with long hours under the sun waiting for news. With the souls of a thousand different lifes that we´ve picked up in the jungle.
And all those steps walked.
All for nothing.
Some might say nothing comes for nothing. But sitting here, watching as the hours of shooting escape like grains of sand between my fingers, I feel overwhelmed.

And maybe there are other doors waiting back home. But I know there is more blood behind them, tattoed tears in the face like the ones I carry inside of me. But that´s my curse, my star, never clear the line beteween the price and choice.

But I was saying goodbye.
Don´t know if I´m coming back.
Quick, turn off the lights, before melancholy grabs hold of us, run, run afar and catch a boat that returns you to safe shores.
Goodbye! Goodbye!

Maybe it is time to say goodbye

Oh, por las barbas de las barbas, deja de ser tan intenso.
ya es aburrido y bienvenido a mi vida, ¿no te conte? me dicen señora mi nombre es dolor y mi sangre es venganza, o sea, mega intensa punto com y realmente tu folklore personal me abruma y duele.
Por favor relajate.
Un mensaje desde un lugar perdido entre las montañas donde las cosas SI pasan de verdad y no la nata de una pequeña vida de detalles a la cual me niego a rendirme.

Dejar ir.
ya es hora

Tributes

1930-2007

Estos tiempos han sido tiempos de decir adiós. A amigos, a conocidos, a mentores, a compañeros, a cómplices. De más de una manera. Y quedamos otros, aferrándonos desde una frágil ramita a la intemperie de un muy crudo invierno. Pero llegará la primavera y con su clima más benigno, con suerte, podremos ver salir el sol.

Los atardeceres más hermosos ocurren en invierno. Que valgan como tributo para aquellos que no están.

Gracias Young angry man por la foto.

And let us hope for those that are still here, that they remain.

i´ll wait

I don't believe in an interventionist
GodBut I know, darling, that you do
But if I did I would kneel down and ask Him
Not to intervene when it came to you
Not to touch a hair on your head
To leave you as you are
And if He felt He had to direct you
Then direct you into my arms
Into my arms, O Lord
Into my arms, O LordInto my arms,
O LordInto my arms
And I don't believe in the existence of angels
But looking at you I wonder if that's true
But if I did I would summon them together
And ask them to watch over you
To each burn a candle for you
To make bright and clear your path
And to walk, like Christ, in grace and love
And guide you into my arms
Into my arms, O Lord
Into my arms, O Lord
Into my arms, O Lord
Into my arms
But I believe in Love
And I know that you do too
And I believe in some kind of path
That we can walk down, me and you
So keep your candles burning
And make her journey bright and pure
That she will keep returning
Always and evermore
Into my arms, O Lord
Into my arms, O Lord
Into my arms, O Lord
Into my arms

nick cave and the bad seeds

why not start the year with a little melancholy courtesy of mr. dark himself.
because i believe that for a second everything was real.
we stumbled and for a brief moment our paths touched each other.
so i´ll close my eyes and i´ll keep your image as it was that night that you stood awake while i was sleeping.
and i´ll make a quiet toast to the replicants whose moments are lost in time.

now, alone, in my new home, in the middle of the hills and the jungle where the gods are always thirsty for blood, i am thinking of leaving the door open. just in case.

happy new year

i´ll wait

I don't believe in an interventionist
GodBut I know, darling, that you do
But if I did I would kneel down and ask Him
Not to intervene when it came to you
Not to touch a hair on your head
To leave you as you are
And if He felt He had to direct you
Then direct you into my arms
Into my arms, O Lord
Into my arms, O LordInto my arms,
O LordInto my arms
And I don't believe in the existence of angels
But looking at you I wonder if that's true
But if I did I would summon them together
And ask them to watch over you
To each burn a candle for you
To make bright and clear your path
And to walk, like Christ, in grace and love
And guide you into my arms
Into my arms, O Lord
Into my arms, O Lord
Into my arms, O Lord
Into my arms
But I believe in Love
And I know that you do too
And I believe in some kind of path
That we can walk down, me and you
So keep your candles burning
And make her journey bright and pure
That she will keep returning
Always and evermore
Into my arms, O Lord
Into my arms, O Lord
Into my arms, O Lord
Into my arms

nick cave and the bad seeds

why not start the year with a little melancholy courtesy of mr. dark himself.
because i believe that for a second everything was real.
we stumbled and for a brief moment our paths touched each other.
so i´ll close my eyes and i´ll keep your image as it was that night that you stood awake while i was sleeping.
and i´ll make a quiet toast to the replicants whose moments are lost in time.

now, alone, in my new home, in the middle of the hills and the jungle where the gods are always thirsty for blood, i am thinking of leaving the door open. just in case.

happy new year