lunes, 20 de julio de 2020

One conversation
A single moment
The things that change us
If we notice
When we look up

domingo, 10 de marzo de 2019


You've hardly time to get used to the idea that someone's dead, before you're hauled off to the funeral.

The Stranger.
Albert Camus
[Translated by Stuart Gilbert]

domingo, 29 de octubre de 2017


Waiting on the day,
When my thoughts are my own.
When this house is my home,
And plans are made.
When you’ll be there for me baby.
When you’ll love me all the way.
When you’ll take my side in every little fire fight.
When you’ll hang your things and stay.

I’m waiting on the day.
When my life on the run
Bleaches out in the sun
And shows my age.
Waiting on the day,
When that voice comes to say
That it’s not wrong what you did for just a kid.

When you’ll be there for me baby.
When you’ll love me all the way.
When you’ll take my side in every little fire fight.
When you’ll hang your things and stay.

I’m waiting on the day,
Waiting on the day⟓,
When these words are in stone.
When the kids are all grown,
And we go dancing.
Oh, can you do it baby?
Can you love me all the way?
Will you tie me tight in little strands of paradise?
Will you walk with me before the morning fades?

I’m waiting on the day.
Waiting on the day.

domingo, 9 de julio de 2017

martes, 7 de julio de 2015


I am so small I can barely be seen.
How can this great love be inside me?
Look at your eyes. They are small,
but they see enormous things.

Dance, when you're broken open.
Dance, if you've torn the bandage off.
Dance in the middle of the fighting.
Dance in your blood.
Dance, when you're perfectly free.

domingo, 22 de marzo de 2015

«Dover Beach», by Matthew Arnold

The sea is calm tonight.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.

Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the Ægean, and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.

The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth’s shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.

Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.

sábado, 20 de diciembre de 2014

Corazón, ¿por qué no respondés?

Despertame con un rayo de sol
pon tu mano tibia sobre mí
Necesito ver que estamos bien
Corazón, ¿por qué no respondés?

Ay, no me dejes sola corazoncito
Que sin ti yo me muero de a poquito
Tengo tantas cosas para regalarte
Tengo tanto tiempo aquí esperando

Luz empecinada de la mañana
Deja ya tranquila a mi amada
Dicen que la vieron por los caminos
Detrás de un amor que no es el mío
Ay, me dejaste sola corazoncito
Y yo estoy penando en mi rinconcito
Tenía tantas cosas para regalarte
Tenía tanto tiempo aquí esperándote

Quien lleva la cruz más pesada al hombro
Que no se resigna mujer el amor
¿Y si de tu boca no vuelvo a saber?
Cantaré, cantaré hasta olvidarte...

Yo te canto corazón dolido
Yo te canto cántaro de gritos
Con la furia de un corazón bravo
Furia de un corazón lastimado

Ay, me dejaste sola corazoncito
Y yo estoy penando en mi rinconcito
Tenía tantas cosas para regalarte
Tenía tanto tiempo aquí esperándote

Quien lleva la cruz más pesada al hombro
Que no se resigna mujer el amor
¿Y si de tu boca no vuelvo a saber?
Cantaré, cantaré hasta olvidarte...

viernes, 19 de diciembre de 2014

viernes, 3 de enero de 2014

But why do I notice everything? She thought. Why must I think? She did not want to think. She wanted to force her mind to become a blank and lie back, and accept quietly, tolerantly, whatever came.

—Virginia Woolf, from The Years 

martes, 17 de diciembre de 2013

martes, 3 de diciembre de 2013

Love Is On The Radio

I was alone and my stomach was twisted,
But I can get up now, the dark clouds have lifted
Back in the old life, before you existed,
I couldn't see right, my windows were misted

Said one word, made me feel much better,
Starts with L and it's got four letters

Things are looking up, looking up (hey!)
There's magic everywhere you go
Strangers stop to say hello (hello, hello, hello)
So turn it up, turn it up (hey!)
As loud as you can make it go
'Cause love is on the radio

Now that I've found you, my heart's beating faster,
We could be happy forever and after
We could be married, like Mrs and Mr,
We'll have a son and we'll give him a sister

Just one thing holding us together,
A four letter word and it lasts forever

Things are looking up, looking up (hey!)
There's magic everywhere you go
Strangers stop to say hello (hello, hello, hello)
So turn it up, turn it up (hey!)
As loud as you can make it go
'Cause love is on the radio

Love is on the radio (turn it up, turn it up)

Funny one thing led to another,
You came along, filled my days with colour
And its been an everlasting summer,
Since we found each other

Things are looking up, looking up (hey!)
There's magic everywhere you go
Strangers stop to say hello (hello, hello, hello)
So turn it up, turn it up (hey!)
As loud as you can make it go
Play until your speakers blow,
Listen 'til your ears explode,
'Cause love is on the radio.

viernes, 29 de noviembre de 2013

Willing suspension of disbelief ~ Coleridge

Atribuyo esa predilección mía al hecho de que juzgo la literatura de un modo hedónico. Es decir, juzgo a la literatura según el placer o la emoción que me da. 


domingo, 17 de noviembre de 2013

viernes, 15 de noviembre de 2013

~And though you think the world is at your feet, it can rise up and tread on you~

"Dear Miss Morland, consider the dreadful nature of the suspicions you have entertained. What have you been judging from? Remember the country and the age in which we live. Remember that we are English, that we are Christians. Consult your own understanding, your own sense of the probable, your own observation of what is passing around you. Does our education prepare us for such atrocities? Do our laws connive at them? Could they be perpetrated without being known, in a country like this, where social and literary intercourse is on such a footing, where every man is surrounded by a neighbourhood of voluntary spies, and where roads and newspapers lay everything open? Dearest Miss Morland, what ideas have you been admitting?"
They had reached the end of the gallery, and with tears of shame she ran off to her own room.”

Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey

A person is, among all else, a material thing, easily torn and not easily mended.

miércoles, 25 de septiembre de 2013

To Autumn

SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

John Keats (1795–1821).  The Poetical Works of John Keats.  1884.

Just Another Autumn Day
In Parliament, the Minister for Mists
and Mellow Fruitfulness announces,
that owing to inflation and rising costs
there will be no Autumn next year.
September, October and November
are to be cancelled,
and the Government to bring in
the nine-month year instead.
Thus we will all live longer.

Emergency measures are to be introduced
to combat outbreaks of well-being
and feelings of elation inspired by the season.
Breathtaking sunsets will be restricted
to alternate Fridays, and gentle dusks
prohibited. Fallen leaves will be outlawed,
and persons found in possession of conkers,
imprisoned without trial.
Thus we will all work harder.

The announcement caused little reaction.
People either way don't really care
No time have they to stand and stare
Looking for work or slaving away
Just another Autumn day.

Roger McGough

sábado, 17 de agosto de 2013

Dos semanas.

lunes, 12 de agosto de 2013

sábado, 3 de agosto de 2013

Si los perros no van al cielo, cuando muera quiero ir a donde ellos van

Llegaste de pequeño en los brazos de mi tía. La tarea de matemática perdió por completo su interés en cuanto vi tus orejitas caídas y tu manto negro. Cumpliste un año, te enfermaste, te salvaste. Nos trajiste alegrías y varios enojos por las travesuras que hacías. Creciste conmigo, a la par, soportabas mis efusivas demostraciones de cariño. Me gruñías para demostrarme tus límites y movías la cola para hacerme saber que estabas contento de verme. Te subías al sillón, a la mesa, te robabas comida si te dejaban solo. Tu tamaño y tus ladridos hacían temer a las personas: '¿muerde? debe ser muy guardián' (y por las dudas mantenían distancia).
No me voy a olvidar de la primera vez que te vi, ni de todos los momentos juntos. Cuando venías a dormir conmigo a la pieza, cuando hacías tus truquitos –sentate, dame la patita, dame la otra patita, echate, tomá :3–
Ni tampoco me voy a olvidar del último día con vos. Te extraño perro hermossssssso. Que seas muy feliz en donde estés.

viernes, 26 de julio de 2013

You were a big fish in a small pond, but this here is the ocean, and you're drowning.

domingo, 7 de julio de 2013

4 legs good. 2 legs bad

MAN is the only CREATURE that consumes WITHOUT producing. He does not give milk, he does not lay eggs, he is too weak to pull the plough, he cannot run fast enough to catch rabbits. YET he is LORD of all the animals. He sets them to work, he gives back to them the bare minimum that will prevent them from starving, and the rest he keeps for himself.

martes, 2 de julio de 2013

Las imperfecciones riman

I love you

to the moon and back.

lunes, 1 de julio de 2013

Soon come tomorrow again

Me and you
Gotta the whole world in our hands
Come on take a chance to start anew

miércoles, 5 de junio de 2013


miércoles, 29 de mayo de 2013

Fair is foul, and foul is fair.

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,

To the last syllable of recorded time;

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle,

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage

And then is heard no more. It is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury

Signifying nothing.

martes, 28 de mayo de 2013


You wanna get young but you're just getting older
And you had a fun summer but it's suddenly colder
If you want a bit of love put your head on my shoulder
It's cool.

miércoles, 10 de abril de 2013

Just good Friends

I woke up before him feeling slightly randy but I knew there was nothing I could do about it.I blinked and my eyes immediately accustomed themselves to the half light. I raised my head and gazed at the large expanse of motionless white flesh lying next to me. If only he took as much exercise as I did he wouldn't have that spare lyre, I thought unsympathetically. Roger stirred restlessly and even turned over to face me, but I knew he would not be fully awake until the alarm on his side of the bed started ringing. I pondered for a moment whether I could go back to sleep again or should get up and find myself some breakfast before he woke. In the end I settled forjust lying still on my side day-dreaming, but making sure I didn't disturb him. When he did eventually open his eyes I planned to pretend I was still asleep- that way he would end up getting breakfast for me. I began to go over the things that needed to be done after he had left for the of fice. As long as I was at home ready to greet him when he returned from work, he didn't seem to mind what I got up to during the day. A gentle rumble emanated from his side of the bed. Roger's snoring never disturbed me. My affection for him was unbounded, and I only wished I could find the words to let him know. In truth, he was the first man I had really appreciated. As I gazed at his unshaven face I was reminded that it hadn't been his looks which had attracted me in the pub that night. I had first come across Roger in the Cat and Whistle, a public house situated on the corner of Mafeking Road. You might say it was our local. He used to come in around eight, order a pint of mild and take it to a small table in the corner of the room just beyond the dartboard. Mostly he would sit alone, watching the darts being thrown towards double top but more often settling in one or five, if they managed to land on the board at all. He never played the game himself, and I often wondered, from my vantage point behind the bar, if he were fearful of relinquishing his favourite seat orjust had no interest in the sport. Then things suddenly changed for Roger - for the better, was no doubt how he saw it - when one evening in early spring a blonde named Madeleine, wearing an imitation fur coat and drinking double gin and its, perched on the stool beside him. I had never seen her in the pub before but she was obviously known locally, and loose bar talk led me to believe it couldn't last. You see, word was about that she was looking for someone whose horizons stretched beyond the Cat and Whistle.In fact the affair - if that's what it ever came to - lasted for only twenty days. I know because I counted every one of them. Then one night voices were raised and heads turned as she left the small stool just as suddenly as she had come. His tired eyes watched her walk to a vacant place at the corner of the bar, but he didn't show any surprise at her departure and made no attempt to pursue her. Her exit was my cue to enter. I almost leapt from behind the bar and, moving as quickly as dignity allowed, was seconds later sitting on the vacant stool beside him. He didn't comment and certainly made no attempt to offer me a drink, but the one glance he shot in my direction did not suggest he found me an unacceptable replacement. I looked around to see if anyone else had plans to usurp my position. The men standing round the dartboard didn't seem to care. Treble seventeen, twelve and a five kept them more than occupied. I glanced towards the bar to check if the boss had noticed my absence, but he was busy taking orders. I saw Madeleine was already sipping a glass of champagne from the pub's only bottle, purchased by a stranger whose stylish double-breasted blazer and striped bow tie convinced me she wouldn't be bothering with Roger any longer. She looked well set for at least another twenty days. I looked up at Roger - I had known his name for some time, although I had never addressed him as such and I couldn't be sure that he was aware of mine. I began to flutter my eyelashes in a rather exaggerated way. I felt a little stupid but at least it elicited a gentle smile. He leaned over and touched my cheek, his hands surprisingly gentle. Neither of us felt the need to speak. We were both lonely and it seemed unnecessary to explain why. We sat in silence, he occasionally sipping his beer, I from time to time rearranging my legs, while a few feet from us the darts pursued their undetermined course. When the publican cried, "Last orders," Roger downed the remains of his beer while the dart players completed what had to be their final game. No one commented when we left together and I was surprised that Roger made no protest as I accompanied him back to his little semi-detached. I already knew exactly where he lived because I had seen him on several occasions standing at the bus queue in Dobson Street in a silent line of reluctant morning passengers. Once I even positioned myself on a nearby wall in order to study his features more carefully. It was an anonymous, almost commonplace face but he had the warmest eyes and the kindest smile I had observed in any man. My only anxiety was that he didn't seem aware of my existence, just constantly preoccupied, his eyes each evening and his thoughts each morning only for Madeleine. How I envied that girl. She had everything I wanted - except a decent fur coat, the only thing my mother had left me. In truth, I have no right to be catty about Madeleine, as her past couldn't have been more murky than mine. All that had taken place well over a year ago and, to prove my total devotion to Roger, I have never entered the Cat and Whistle since. He seemed to have forgotten Madeleine because he never once spoke of her in front of me. An unusual man, he didn't question me about any of my past relationships either. Perhaps he should have. I would have liked him to know the truth about my life before we'd met, though it all seems irrelevant now. You see, I had been the youngest in a family of four so I always came last in line. I had never known my father, and I arrived home one night to discover that my mother had run off with another man. Tracy, one of my sisters, warned me not to expect her back. She turned out to be right, for I have never seen my mother since that day. It's awful to have to admit, if only to oneself, that one's mother is a tramp.
Now an orphan, I began to drift, often trying to stay one step ahead of the law - not so easy when you haven't always got somewhere to put your head down. I can't even recall how I ended up with Derek - if that was his real name. Derek, whose dark sensual looks would have attracted any susceptible female, told me that he had been on a merchant steamer for the past three years. When he made love to me I was ready to believe anything. I explained to him that all I wanted was a warm home, regular food and perhaps in time a family of my own. He ensured that one of my wishes was fulfilled, because a few weeks after he left me I ended up with twins, two girls. Derek never set eyes on them: he had returned to sea even before I could tell him I was pregnant. He hadn't needed to promise me the earth; he was so good-looking he must have known I would have been his just for a night on the tiles. I tried to bring up the girls decently, but the authorities caught up with me this time and I lost them both. I wonder where they are now? God knows. I only hope they've ended up in a good home. At least they inherited Derek's irresistible looks, which can only help them through life. It's just one more thing Roger will never know about. His unquestioning trust only makes me feel more guilty, and now I never seem able to find a way of letting him know the truth. After Derek had gone back to sea I was on my own for almost a year before getting part-time work at the Cat and Whistle. The publican was so mean that he wouldn't have even provided food and drink for me, if I hadn't kept to my part of the bargain. Roger used to come in about once, perhaps twice a week before he met the blonde with the shabby fur coat. After that it was every night until she upped and left him. I knew he was perfect for me the first time I heard him order a pint of mild. A pint of mild - I can't think of a better description of Roger. In those early days the barmaids used to flirt openly with him, but he didn't show any interest. Until Madeleine latched on to him I wasn't even sure that it was women he preferred. Perhaps in the end it was my androgynous looks that appealed to him. I think I must have been the only one in that pub who was looking for something more permanent And so Roger allowed me to spend the night with him. I remember that he slipped into the bathroom to undress while I rested on what I assumed would be my side of the bed. Since that night he has never once asked me to leave, let alone tried to kick me out. It's an easy-going relationship. I've never known him raise his voice or scold me unfairly. Forgive the cliche, but for once I have fallen on my feet. Brr. Brr. Brr. That damned alarm. I wished I could have buried it. The noise would go on and on until at last Roger decided to stir himself. I once tried to stretch across him and put a stop to its infernal ringing, only ending up knocking the contraption on to the floor, which annoyed him even more than the ringing. Never again, I concluded. Eventually a long arm emerged from under the blanket and a palm dropped on to the top of the clock and the awful din subsided. I'm a light sleeper - the slightest movement stirs me. If only he had asked me I could have woken him far more gently each morning. After all, my methods are every bit as reliable as any man-made contraption. Half awake, Roger gave me a brief cuddle before kneading my back, always guaranteed to elicit a smile. Then he yawned, stretched and declared as he did every morning, "Must hurry along or I'll be late for the office." I suppose some females would have been annoyed by the predictability of our morning routine - but not this lady. It was all part of a life that made me feel secure in the belief that at last I had found something worthwhile. Roger managed to get his feet into the wrong slippers - always a fifty-fifty chance – before lumbering towards the bathroom. He emerged fifteen minutes later, as he always did, looking only slightly better than he had when he entered. I've learned to live with what some would have called his foibles, while he has learned to accept my mania for cleanliness and a need to feel secure. "Get up, lazy-bones," he remonstrated but then only smiled when I re-settled myself, refusing to leave the warm hollow that had been left by his body. "I suppose you expect me to get your breakfast before I go to work?" he added as he made his way downstairs. I didn't bother to reply. I knew that in a few moments' time he would be opening the front door, picking up the morning newspaper, any mail, and our regular pint of milk. Reliable as ever, he would put on the kettle, then head for the pantry, fill a bowl with my favouritebreakfast food and add my portion of the milk, leaving himselfjust enough for two cups of coffee. I could anticipate almost to the second when breakfast would be ready. First I would hear the kettle boil, a few moments later the milk would be poured, then finally there would be the sound of a chair being pulled up. That was the signal I needed to confirm it was time for me to join him. I stretched my legs slowly, noticing my nails needed some attention. I had already decided against a proper wash until after he had left for the office. I could hear the sound of the chair being scraped along the kitchen lino. I felt so happy that I literally jumped off the bed before making my way towards the open door. A few seconds later I was downstairs. Although he had already taken his first mouthful of cornflakes he stopped eating the moment he saw me. "Good of you to join me," he said, a grin spreading over his face. I padded over towards him and looked up expectantly. He bent down and pushed my bowl towards me. I began to lap up the milk happily, my tail swishing from side to side. It's a myth that we only swish our tails when we're angry. 
~By Jeffrey Archer

sábado, 30 de marzo de 2013

sábado, 23 de marzo de 2013

jueves, 14 de marzo de 2013

viernes, 8 de marzo de 2013


No sé, me importa un pito que las mujeres
tengan los senos como magnolias o como pasas de higo;
un cutis de durazno o de papel de lija.
Le doy una importancia igual a cero,
al hecho de que amanezcan con un aliento afrodisíaco
o con un aliento insecticida.
Soy perfectamente capaz de soportarles
una nariz que sacaría el primer premio
en una exposición de zanahorias;
¡pero eso sí! -y en esto soy irreductible- no les perdono,
bajo ningún pretexto, que no sepan volar.
Si no saben volar ¡pierden el tiempo las que pretendan seducirme!
Ésta fue -y no otra- la razón de que me enamorase,
tan locamente, de María Luisa.
¿Qué me importaban sus labios por entregas y sus encelos sulfurosos?
¿Qué me importaban sus extremidades de palmípedo
y sus miradas de pronóstico reservado?
¡María Luisa era una verdadera pluma!
Desde el amanecer volaba del dormitorio a la cocina,
volaba del comedor a la despensa.
Volando me preparaba el baño, la camisa.
Volando realizaba sus compras, sus quehaceres...
¡Con qué impaciencia yo esperaba que volviese, volando,
de algún paseo por los alrededores!
Allí lejos, perdido entre las nubes, un puntito rosado.
"¡María Luisa! ¡María Luisa!"... y a los pocos segundos,
ya me abrazaba con sus piernas de pluma,
para llevarme, volando, a cualquier parte.
Durante kilómetros de silencio planeábamos una caricia
que nos aproximaba al paraíso;
durante horas enteras nos anidábamos en una nube,
como dos ángeles, y de repente,
en tirabuzón, en hoja muerta,
el aterrizaje forzoso de un espasmo.
¡Qué delicia la de tener una mujer tan ligera...,
aunque nos haga ver, de vez en cuando, las estrellas!
¡Que voluptuosidad la de pasarse los días entre las nubes...
la de pasarse las noches de un solo vuelo!
Después de conocer una mujer etérea,
¿puede brindarnos alguna clase de atractivos una mujer terrestre?
¿Verdad que no hay diferencia sustancial
entre vivir con una vaca o con una mujer
que tenga las nalgas a setenta y ocho centímetros del suelo?
Yo, por lo menos, soy incapaz de comprender
la seducción de una mujer pedestre,
y por más empeño que ponga en concebirlo,
no me es posible ni tan siquiera imaginar
que pueda hacerse el amor más que volando.

sábado, 23 de febrero de 2013

domingo, 17 de febrero de 2013


It is time for us all
To decide who we are
Do we fight for the right 
To a night at the opera now?
Have you asked of yourselves
What's the price you might pay?
Is it simply a game
For rich young boys to play?
The color of the world
Is changing day by day...

sábado, 9 de febrero de 2013

sábado, 2 de febrero de 2013

martes, 22 de enero de 2013

H o y  m e  h i z o  f a l t a  v e r t e  b i e n .

martes, 15 de enero de 2013

Tick tock goes the clock... even for the Doctor

D'you wanna come with me? 'Cause if you do then I should warn you; you'll see all sorts of things. Ghosts from the past. Aliens from the future. The day the Earth died in a ball of flame. It won't be safe, it won't be quiet and it won't be calm. But I'll tell you what it will be; the trip of a lifetime!

"He's like fire and ice and rage. He's like the night, and the storm in the heart of the sun. He's ancient and forever. He burns at the center of time and he can see the turn of the universe. And... he's wonderful."

viernes, 4 de enero de 2013

La tregua

Pero ¿y lo demás? Porque está la opinión que uno puede tener de sí mismo, algo que increíblemente tiene poco que ver con la vanidad. Me refiero a la opinión cien por ciento sincera, la que uno no se atrevería a confesarle ni al espejo frente al que se afeita. Recuero que hubo una época (allá entre mis dieciséis y mis veinte años) en que tuve una buena, casi diría una excelente opinión de mí mismo. Me sentía con impulso para empezar y llevar a cabo «algo grande», para ser útil a muchos, para enderezar las cosas. No puede decirse que fuera la mía una actitud cretinamente egocéntrica. Aunque me hubiera gustado recibir la aceptación y hasta el aplauso ajeno, creo que mi primer objetivo no era usar de los otros, sino serles de utilidad. Ya sé que esto no es caridad pura y cristiana; además, no me importa mucho el sentido cristiano de la caridad. Recuerdo que yo no pretendía ayudar a los menesterosos, o a los tarados, o a los miserables (creo cada vez menos en la ayuda caóticamente distribuida). Mi intención era más modesta; sencillamente, ser de utilidad para mis iguales, para quienes tenían un más comprensible derecho a necesitar de mí.
La verdad es que esa excelente opinión acerca de mí mismo ha decaído bastante. Hoy me siento vulgar y, en algunos aspectos, indefenso. Soportaría mejor mi estilo de vida si no tuviera conciencia de que (sólo mentalmente, claro) estoy por encima de esa vulgaridad. Saber que tengo, o tuve, en mí mismo elementos suficientes como para encaramarme a otra posibilidad, saber que soy superior, no demasiado, a mi agotada profesión, a mis pocas diversiones, a mi ritmo de diálogo: saber todo eso no ayuda por cierto a mi tranquilidad, más bien, e hace sentirme más frustrado, más inepto para sobreponerme a las circunstancias. Lo peor de todo es que no han acaecido terribles cosas que me cercaran (bueno, la muerte de Isabel es algo fuerte, pero no puedo llamarla terribles; después de todo, ¿existe algo más natural que irse de este mundo?), que frenaran mis mejores impulsos, que impidieran mi desarrollo, que me atara a una ruina aletargante. Yo mismo he fabricado mi rutina, pero por la vía más simple: la acumulación. La seguridad de saberme capaz para algo mejor, me puso en las manos la postergación, que al final de cuentas es un arma terrible y suicida. De ahí que mi rutina no haya tenido nunca carácter ni definición, siempre ha sido provisoria, siempre ha constituido un rumbo precario, a seguir nada más que mientras duraba la postergación, nada más que para aguantar el deber de la jornada durante ese período de preparación que al parecer yo consideraba imprescindible, antes de lanzarme definitivamente hacia el cobro de mi destino. Qué pavada, ¿no?

martes, 1 de enero de 2013

sábado, 8 de diciembre de 2012

Amor, hay tanto por hacer
Vivir nos puede enloquecer
Ay, las palabras duelen más
cuando están en mi mente y no las pronunciás
¿Por qué si todo brilla así
cuando te hablo no podés mirar a través de mí?

Amor, caímos en la red
Nos dimos contra una pared
Quiero cantarte esta canción
¿Por qué no me ayudás haciendo percusión?
¿Por qué si todo brilla así
cuando te hablo no podés mirar a través de mí?

Yo no quise lastimarte
Todas las canciones
dicen eso, pero en esta
es verdad y no me cuesta
es verdad y no me cuesta repetir

Amor, hay tanto que esconder
Vivir nos va a enloquecer
Ay, las espinas duelen más
si son inesperadas y son por detrás
¿Por qué si todo brilla así
ni siquiera yo puedo mirar a través de mí?

martes, 20 de noviembre de 2012

Alice in Wonderland

March Hare: Have some more tea?
Alice: I haven't had any yet, so I can't take more.
March Hare: You mean you can't take less. It is very easy to take more than nothing.

I've often seen a cat without a grin - but a grin without a cat!

miércoles, 14 de noviembre de 2012

El sueño

Hay momentos de soledad en que el corazón reconoce, atónito, que no ama. 
Acabamos de incorporarnos, cansados: el día oscuro.
Alguien duerme, inocente, todavía sobre ese lecho.
Pero quizá nosotros dormimos...
Ah, no: nos movemos.
Y estamos tristes, callados. La lluvia, allí insiste.
Mañana de bruma lenta, impiadosa. ¡Cuán solos!
Miramos por los cristales. Las ropas, caídas;
el aire, pesado; el agua, sonando. Y el cuarto,
helado en este duro invierno que, fuera, es distinto.

Así te quedas callado, tu rostro en tu palma.
Tu codo sobre la mesa. La silla, en silencio.
Y sólo suena el pausado respiro de alguien,
de aquella que allí, serena, bellísima, duerme
y sueña que no la quieres, y tú eres su sueño.

sábado, 3 de noviembre de 2012


Our whole universe was in a hot dense state, then nearly fourteen billion years ago expansion started. Wait... the Earth began to cool, the autotrophs began to drool, Neanderthals developed tools, we built a wall, we built the pyramids!! Math, science, history, unraveling the mysteries, that all started with the big bang! HEY!

martes, 30 de octubre de 2012

Moonrise Kingdom

What kind of bird are YOU?  
- I love you but you don't know what you're talking about. 
- I love you too. 

Sam: Why do you always use binoculars?
Suzy: It helps me see things closer. Even if they're not very far away. I pretend it's my magic power.
Sam: That sounds like poetry. Poems don't always have to rhyme, you know. They're just supposed to be creative.