Hoy cumplo 27 años, y este blog, 2 años. Me parece increíble todo lo que me ha sucedido en estos 2 años. Cuando creí que mi vida estaba resuelta... en Londres, en un barrio judío junto a dos italianas deliciosas, cocinando pasta cada puto día (por ausencia de pasta, graciosa paradoja) pero viviendo como un señor. Recuerdo ir a unas cuantas obras de teatro y musicales aprovechando los stand by tickets, las entradas que dan durante los últimos cinco minutos antes de empezar la obra. Un día, con Grace, conseguimos dos entradas de 50 libras cada una (diez mil pelas!) por tan sólo 8 libras. Y nos sentamos en esos asientos, rodeados de gente de pasta con sus trajes y sus rollos, y nos sobró dinero para tomar unas copas en el intermedio de la función.
Elegantes y enamorados: quizá sea este el secreto de la vida. Lo es ahora para mí. A mis 27 años, tomo este rumbo. Quizá en unos meses esté viviendo en un loft en Hong Kong. Quizá siga en Barcelona, viviendo con Landiman a diez minutos de los sofás y la buena música del It. Quizás me decida por la marihuana y los campos de amapolas de Delf. Pero siempre, con elegancia. No con la elegancia del dinero o las palabras buenas. Sino con la elegancia de la simplicidad y el alma transparente. Con la elegancia de la complicidad, del buen rollo, de la independencia, de la sinceridad. Con la elegancia, a fin de cuentas, del don de saber vivir la vida sin complejos. Al máximo. No porque la vida se nos escape, sino porque merece la pena. Merece mucho la pena. Y tengo el don de saber disfrutarla. Y por eso, a mis 27 años, brindo por mi vida, y por mí. Porque soy la hostia, y estoy orgulloso de ello.
martes, 24 de mayo de 2005
domingo, 22 de mayo de 2005
Ayer volví a ver Melinda & Melinda. Tenía unas horas libres, me había despertado muy tarde y me apetecía estar sólo otra vez en la sala de la Filmoteca. Tuve que cambiarme tres veces de asiento para asegurarme que nadie tenía delante, y por fin se
apagaron las luces y me dejé llevar.
La película plantea la siguiente pregunta: ¿la vida es trágica o, por el contrario, es una comedia? A partir de ahí, Woody Allen construye dos historias paralelas, una en clave trágica y la otra en clave de comedia, con los mismos protagonistas y argumentos parecidos. En un momento de la película, Melinda deja caer una lágrima de sus ojos azules. Ellis le pregunta si es una lágrima de tristeza o una lágrima de felicidad. Y Melinda responde "ain't those the same tears?"... "acaso no son las mismas lágrimas?"
Y esta es la clave de la película. Lágrimas de felicidad o de tristeza, en el fondo son las mismas lágrimas. En el fondo, no dejamos de ser nosotros, nuestra vida, un mismo sentimiento: el sentimiento de estar vivo. No importa sin son lágrimas
de desengaño o de correspondencia, lo importante es que seguimos vivos, y que sólo vivimos una vez. Lo importante es que las lágrimas sigan cayendo de nuestros ojos.
Por la noche, salimos a celebrar mi cumpleaños con Ingrid, Anita, Lu, Marc y Xavi. Fue una noche excelente. Nunca creo haber abrazado a un hombre tantas veces en tan poco tiempo como abracé a Marc... el tipo tiene un buen tipo para ser abrazado :)
Hablamos y bebimos mucho y juramos mucha amistad y bailamos un poco menos: así deben ser las noches. Recuerdo estar a Marc en el New York: le propuse un brindis típico de Georgia, y lo brindamos con el mismo cubata. Y por supuesto, volvimos
a abrazarnos.
Recuerdo también a Ingrid preocupada, con esos ojitos brillantes de humedad y ese espíritu de madre que la hace tan adorable, y esas lágrimas invisibles que son a un tiempo felicidad y melancolía.
Recuerdo a Lu orgullosa una vez más de mostrarnos las delicias de la absenta en el Marsella, relatando las delicias de mezclar marihuana y sexo. Recuerdo pasarle la mano por el hombro y preguntarle si todo iba bien, avanzada ya la noche a las cuatro, y responderme repasando las puntas de mis dedos en busca de la uña que había arañado su piel.
Recuerdo a Xavi con una camiseta de significado dudoso pero chula al fin y al cabo. Recuerdo hablar en inglés con él durante unos buenos veinte minutos, y terminar preguntándonos qué coño hacíamos hablando en inglés.
Finalmente recuerdo hablar con Anita en Les Enfants, y escuchar palabras y deseos que nunca hubiera sospechado en ella. Palabras y deseos que la hacen más vulnerable, pero también más real. Y cuando subíamos Ramblas arriba, con los ojos confiados quise decirle lo que luego nos dijimos al amanecer, cada uno en un lugar ajeno al otro, pero de algún modo conectado por los hilos invisibles de la sinceridad de la amistad que sólo pide a cambio una sonrisa cómplice, un saber que nunca vamos a hacernos daño.
Y en fin, ya había amanecido en casa, y eran las siete cuarenta y cinco de la mañana, y en la cama los cubatas escocían en el estómago. Y sentí una paz que hacía tiempo que no sentía. La misma paz que he sentido esta tarde tomando un café con leche en una terraza del Paseo de Gracia con Ingrid. La misma paz que ya sentí viendo Melinda & Melinda en la Filmoteca, en la oscuridad y sin nadie en la butaca de delante.
Una paz que me dice que no puedo reprocharme nada. Una paz que ya no necesita reprochar nada. A punto de cumplir los 27 años, siento que mi vida sólo está empezando. Siento que tengo la suerte de ser como soy, y que ya no necesito buscar en el amor el salvavidas que me mantenga a flote en el naufragio. Porque no existe tal naufragio. Porque a medida que avanza mi edad, tengo la suerte de conocer a personas como las de anoche, que a su manera me permiten descubrir poco a poco la
complejidad del sentimiento humano, el misterio más apasionante que existe.
Cada uno a su manera. Y eso es lo mejor que pueden darme, y se lo agradezco.
apagaron las luces y me dejé llevar.
La película plantea la siguiente pregunta: ¿la vida es trágica o, por el contrario, es una comedia? A partir de ahí, Woody Allen construye dos historias paralelas, una en clave trágica y la otra en clave de comedia, con los mismos protagonistas y argumentos parecidos. En un momento de la película, Melinda deja caer una lágrima de sus ojos azules. Ellis le pregunta si es una lágrima de tristeza o una lágrima de felicidad. Y Melinda responde "ain't those the same tears?"... "acaso no son las mismas lágrimas?"
Y esta es la clave de la película. Lágrimas de felicidad o de tristeza, en el fondo son las mismas lágrimas. En el fondo, no dejamos de ser nosotros, nuestra vida, un mismo sentimiento: el sentimiento de estar vivo. No importa sin son lágrimas
de desengaño o de correspondencia, lo importante es que seguimos vivos, y que sólo vivimos una vez. Lo importante es que las lágrimas sigan cayendo de nuestros ojos.
Por la noche, salimos a celebrar mi cumpleaños con Ingrid, Anita, Lu, Marc y Xavi. Fue una noche excelente. Nunca creo haber abrazado a un hombre tantas veces en tan poco tiempo como abracé a Marc... el tipo tiene un buen tipo para ser abrazado :)
Hablamos y bebimos mucho y juramos mucha amistad y bailamos un poco menos: así deben ser las noches. Recuerdo estar a Marc en el New York: le propuse un brindis típico de Georgia, y lo brindamos con el mismo cubata. Y por supuesto, volvimos
a abrazarnos.
Recuerdo también a Ingrid preocupada, con esos ojitos brillantes de humedad y ese espíritu de madre que la hace tan adorable, y esas lágrimas invisibles que son a un tiempo felicidad y melancolía.
Recuerdo a Lu orgullosa una vez más de mostrarnos las delicias de la absenta en el Marsella, relatando las delicias de mezclar marihuana y sexo. Recuerdo pasarle la mano por el hombro y preguntarle si todo iba bien, avanzada ya la noche a las cuatro, y responderme repasando las puntas de mis dedos en busca de la uña que había arañado su piel.
Recuerdo a Xavi con una camiseta de significado dudoso pero chula al fin y al cabo. Recuerdo hablar en inglés con él durante unos buenos veinte minutos, y terminar preguntándonos qué coño hacíamos hablando en inglés.
Finalmente recuerdo hablar con Anita en Les Enfants, y escuchar palabras y deseos que nunca hubiera sospechado en ella. Palabras y deseos que la hacen más vulnerable, pero también más real. Y cuando subíamos Ramblas arriba, con los ojos confiados quise decirle lo que luego nos dijimos al amanecer, cada uno en un lugar ajeno al otro, pero de algún modo conectado por los hilos invisibles de la sinceridad de la amistad que sólo pide a cambio una sonrisa cómplice, un saber que nunca vamos a hacernos daño.
Y en fin, ya había amanecido en casa, y eran las siete cuarenta y cinco de la mañana, y en la cama los cubatas escocían en el estómago. Y sentí una paz que hacía tiempo que no sentía. La misma paz que he sentido esta tarde tomando un café con leche en una terraza del Paseo de Gracia con Ingrid. La misma paz que ya sentí viendo Melinda & Melinda en la Filmoteca, en la oscuridad y sin nadie en la butaca de delante.
Una paz que me dice que no puedo reprocharme nada. Una paz que ya no necesita reprochar nada. A punto de cumplir los 27 años, siento que mi vida sólo está empezando. Siento que tengo la suerte de ser como soy, y que ya no necesito buscar en el amor el salvavidas que me mantenga a flote en el naufragio. Porque no existe tal naufragio. Porque a medida que avanza mi edad, tengo la suerte de conocer a personas como las de anoche, que a su manera me permiten descubrir poco a poco la
complejidad del sentimiento humano, el misterio más apasionante que existe.
Cada uno a su manera. Y eso es lo mejor que pueden darme, y se lo agradezco.
sábado, 14 de mayo de 2005
Tele-working
It's 0:27. The web was down. I'm testing from home and having a whisky. Nice friday night :)
jueves, 12 de mayo de 2005
Office stuff
Let me begin a new series of posts regarding life in the office. I know, it's a common thing. But it is part of my life, too.
Today I told an office mate how much I was earning, and how much I wanted to earn. The answer I got was sort of "you don't ask that much cause then there's no more dough for the others"
I thought it to be the answer of a total loser. It's sad how money always shows you the parts you don't wanna know about people. But it's like that, just that we tend to ignore it.
Today I told an office mate how much I was earning, and how much I wanted to earn. The answer I got was sort of "you don't ask that much cause then there's no more dough for the others"
I thought it to be the answer of a total loser. It's sad how money always shows you the parts you don't wanna know about people. But it's like that, just that we tend to ignore it.
Play it again, fruitman
Yes, again. Again I've been looking for flats. What do you think? Yes, I know. I thought the same, so I left my computer behind and grabbed the guitar. And I played one by u2. Fucking one. Yes I did. And I did quite well. I still remembered the chords from my good old days, and I realised I can sing even better than bono. Serious :)
Should I pack my things and leave to amsterdam to play the blues?
Play it again, fruitman. Almost 27, but I can still play... the game has just started.
Should I pack my things and leave to amsterdam to play the blues?
Play it again, fruitman. Almost 27, but I can still play... the game has just started.
miércoles, 11 de mayo de 2005
Meanings
What happens when you get to the point where you understand that there are no meanings? I don't know. Lately, I have been doing a lot of thinking on what happiness might be. I have been doing a lot of thinking on the meaning of life. Why am I here? What am I supposed to do? What makes me feel I want to keep on living?
There was a time when I thought love might be the answer. I am here to love and to be loved. To share my life with someone, to raise my kids, to watch TV on the sofa and hug my wife. I also thought I would find a nice job at university and teach the boys and girls something completely useless but entertaining. I also thought entertainment was a good reason to live for.
Yesterday night, back home from Jamboree, I started thinking about it all over again, and a terrible headache took over my body. The same one I am feeling now. It's terrible, you know. It starts as a terrible pain in my forehead, and then it feels like there's something boiling inside my head. I feel it now, right now, and actually I find it very difficult to keep on writing.
It makes me feel like I arrived to a limit I cannot trespass. It's actually just that: there is something I cannot understand, something I can somehow see but doesn't cristalize completely. It's there, but I can't grab it.
And then those images come to my head. My mother, a man, my girlfriend, my youth, a river, me as a child in the dark with the same headache, my father asking whether he should take me to hospital. And me, always me, keeping everything inside, not explaining anything, convincing myself that there's nothing to explain. All over, all over, all over... up until now.
Up until now, to this night. Up until now, up until I have repeated myself so many times that there was nothing to explain. Up until I don't know anymore whether there's anything to explain. Up until where meaning does not exist anymore. Where there are no meanings.
Is that what you call growing up? That headache... I should sleep.
There was a time when I thought love might be the answer. I am here to love and to be loved. To share my life with someone, to raise my kids, to watch TV on the sofa and hug my wife. I also thought I would find a nice job at university and teach the boys and girls something completely useless but entertaining. I also thought entertainment was a good reason to live for.
Yesterday night, back home from Jamboree, I started thinking about it all over again, and a terrible headache took over my body. The same one I am feeling now. It's terrible, you know. It starts as a terrible pain in my forehead, and then it feels like there's something boiling inside my head. I feel it now, right now, and actually I find it very difficult to keep on writing.
It makes me feel like I arrived to a limit I cannot trespass. It's actually just that: there is something I cannot understand, something I can somehow see but doesn't cristalize completely. It's there, but I can't grab it.
And then those images come to my head. My mother, a man, my girlfriend, my youth, a river, me as a child in the dark with the same headache, my father asking whether he should take me to hospital. And me, always me, keeping everything inside, not explaining anything, convincing myself that there's nothing to explain. All over, all over, all over... up until now.
Up until now, to this night. Up until now, up until I have repeated myself so many times that there was nothing to explain. Up until I don't know anymore whether there's anything to explain. Up until where meaning does not exist anymore. Where there are no meanings.
Is that what you call growing up? That headache... I should sleep.
martes, 10 de mayo de 2005
Jazzy night
The day was kind of boring. You know: usual office stuff. You know: one of those days you wanna come back home as soon as possible to hug your teddy bear. I came back home and there was no teddy bear, but a message from landiman was waiting on my cellphone.
And so I did: jazzy night at Jamboree with Landiman, Torjman and Mr. Palace. Landiman is in love, Mr. Palace very talkative and Torjman, well, he's the one that reads the blog but never leaves any comments. Will you this time, torj? (hope you slept well, anyways ;)
Jamboree is a great place to be, even though the beer got up to 5 fucking euros. We listened to jazz sitting on the floor and smoking casual cigarretes. Beautiful women all over were reminding us of our loneliness. How many beatiful women fit inside Jamboree? Countless...
Jazz and beautiful women. That's Jamboree, and I love it.
And so I did: jazzy night at Jamboree with Landiman, Torjman and Mr. Palace. Landiman is in love, Mr. Palace very talkative and Torjman, well, he's the one that reads the blog but never leaves any comments. Will you this time, torj? (hope you slept well, anyways ;)
Jamboree is a great place to be, even though the beer got up to 5 fucking euros. We listened to jazz sitting on the floor and smoking casual cigarretes. Beautiful women all over were reminding us of our loneliness. How many beatiful women fit inside Jamboree? Countless...
Jazz and beautiful women. That's Jamboree, and I love it.
domingo, 8 de mayo de 2005
Round day
Today was just perfect from 6pm, quite a good deal if you consider I woke up at 3pm. After showering myself exhaustively, I headed off with -j and torjman to watch j's sweetheart dance. And she did good, really. It was at a village 20 mins from Barcelona. After the dance, typical catalan style they told me, we were dragged to the correfoc (sort of "fire runner"...)
The correfoc is, I was told, a catalan tradition that goes as follows:
1) you protect yourselve with old clothes all over and a scarf covering your face.
2) you go to a street full of people with fire crackers and those sticks that throw fire sparks in every possible direction
3) there are also several dragons that throw fire sparks through the big big mouth and the wings and the tail
4) you are in the street, surrounded by fire and the smell of powder and the smoke, and you can't but run and scream inside and outside
At the end of the correfoc I entered a football court where everybody was getting into. Suddenly, surrounded by all the smoke, I saw those men. Fuck, I saw a line of six men each one with this big fucking gun. That's it, I thought. I screwed up. And then one of those crazy men shooted the gun. And the other, and the other. It was really a scaring experience, but here I am safe.
Anyway, after that it was time to have dinner, and dinner we had. At the park of the village, a big slice of bread full of tomato, and a long sausage and a glass of beer for 3 euros. And then a little bit of pot: the right amount to make it all so perfect. And the cold air, and the conversation under the stars and the orchestra playing some music. And the wet green grass, and me thinking how much I missed you there, and how much we would laugh at that moment together.
And well, everything seemed to finish there, at 2am, when torjman and me were coming back to Barcelona, me driving still with some pot inside my brain. But safe, really safe man, I was so perfectly precise. So I drove torjman home, and then thought "Ktur".
"Are you still having that party tonight, ktur?" "Sure I do, give me a ring when you're home and I'll throw you the keys from the balcony"
And well, I parked two blocks from ktur's, and he threw the keys, and I entered ktur's world at 2:30 am. And alcohol kept filling my veins, and some more pot relaxed my lungs. And I realised why I like ktur so much. Usually, with the people I have the most intelligent conversations, I also have the most absurd ones. And this is absolutely great. I like so much to laugh with people like ktur. And tonight, we laughed, and I chatted with this guy, and this other one, and that black haired girl that speaks russian and english, and well, it all was so cool and yet so close, so natural and so strange, so mine.
And then kel discovered that I copied a verse from Neruda on this blog some days ago. And I smiled to her :)
And now, the first light of this Sunday enters by the window, and Norah Jones is caressing my ears.
The correfoc is, I was told, a catalan tradition that goes as follows:
1) you protect yourselve with old clothes all over and a scarf covering your face.
2) you go to a street full of people with fire crackers and those sticks that throw fire sparks in every possible direction
3) there are also several dragons that throw fire sparks through the big big mouth and the wings and the tail
4) you are in the street, surrounded by fire and the smell of powder and the smoke, and you can't but run and scream inside and outside
At the end of the correfoc I entered a football court where everybody was getting into. Suddenly, surrounded by all the smoke, I saw those men. Fuck, I saw a line of six men each one with this big fucking gun. That's it, I thought. I screwed up. And then one of those crazy men shooted the gun. And the other, and the other. It was really a scaring experience, but here I am safe.
Anyway, after that it was time to have dinner, and dinner we had. At the park of the village, a big slice of bread full of tomato, and a long sausage and a glass of beer for 3 euros. And then a little bit of pot: the right amount to make it all so perfect. And the cold air, and the conversation under the stars and the orchestra playing some music. And the wet green grass, and me thinking how much I missed you there, and how much we would laugh at that moment together.
And well, everything seemed to finish there, at 2am, when torjman and me were coming back to Barcelona, me driving still with some pot inside my brain. But safe, really safe man, I was so perfectly precise. So I drove torjman home, and then thought "Ktur".
"Are you still having that party tonight, ktur?" "Sure I do, give me a ring when you're home and I'll throw you the keys from the balcony"
And well, I parked two blocks from ktur's, and he threw the keys, and I entered ktur's world at 2:30 am. And alcohol kept filling my veins, and some more pot relaxed my lungs. And I realised why I like ktur so much. Usually, with the people I have the most intelligent conversations, I also have the most absurd ones. And this is absolutely great. I like so much to laugh with people like ktur. And tonight, we laughed, and I chatted with this guy, and this other one, and that black haired girl that speaks russian and english, and well, it all was so cool and yet so close, so natural and so strange, so mine.
And then kel discovered that I copied a verse from Neruda on this blog some days ago. And I smiled to her :)
And now, the first light of this Sunday enters by the window, and Norah Jones is caressing my ears.
sábado, 7 de mayo de 2005
One
Is it getting better?
Or do you feel the same?
Will it make it easier on you now?
You got someone to blame
You say
One love
One life
When it's one need
In the night
One love
We get to share it
Leaves you baby if you
Don't care for it
Did I disappoint you?
Or leave a bad taste in your mouth?
You act like you never had love
And you want me to go without
Well it's
Too late
Tonight
To drag the past out into the light
We're one, but we're not the same
We get to
Carry each other
Carry each other
One
Have you come here for forgiveness?
Have you come to raise the dead?
Have you come here to play Jesus?
To the lepers in your head
Did I ask too much?
More than a lot.
You gave me nothing,
Now it's all I got
We're one
But we're not the same
Well we
Hurt each other
Then we do it again
You say
Love is a temple
Love a higher law
Love is a temple
Love the higher law
You ask me to enter
But then you make me crawl
And I can't be holding on
To what you got
When all you got is hurt
One love
One blood
One life
You got to do what you should
One life
With each other
Sisters
Brothers
One life
But we're not the same
We get to
Carry each other
Carry each other
One
One
Regreso a casa borracho. Jojo está en el msn. Son las 6. Escucho one de u2.
You act like you never had love
And you want me to go without.
Pienso que esta canción explica muchas cosas de mí mismo ahora mismo.
You gave me nothing,
Now it's all I got.
Or do you feel the same?
Will it make it easier on you now?
You got someone to blame
You say
One love
One life
When it's one need
In the night
One love
We get to share it
Leaves you baby if you
Don't care for it
Did I disappoint you?
Or leave a bad taste in your mouth?
You act like you never had love
And you want me to go without
Well it's
Too late
Tonight
To drag the past out into the light
We're one, but we're not the same
We get to
Carry each other
Carry each other
One
Have you come here for forgiveness?
Have you come to raise the dead?
Have you come here to play Jesus?
To the lepers in your head
Did I ask too much?
More than a lot.
You gave me nothing,
Now it's all I got
We're one
But we're not the same
Well we
Hurt each other
Then we do it again
You say
Love is a temple
Love a higher law
Love is a temple
Love the higher law
You ask me to enter
But then you make me crawl
And I can't be holding on
To what you got
When all you got is hurt
One love
One blood
One life
You got to do what you should
One life
With each other
Sisters
Brothers
One life
But we're not the same
We get to
Carry each other
Carry each other
One
One
Regreso a casa borracho. Jojo está en el msn. Son las 6. Escucho one de u2.
You act like you never had love
And you want me to go without.
Pienso que esta canción explica muchas cosas de mí mismo ahora mismo.
You gave me nothing,
Now it's all I got.
jueves, 5 de mayo de 2005
Watching the wheels
It's strange how happiness suddenly fills up your soul, if only for a second. I was talking to Lu on the msn, and suddenly, Watching the wheels by John Lennon started playing on iTunes. And I realised that, even though sometimes you can't make in on your own, you can always listen to John Lennon and well, you know, people say I'm crazy doing what I'm doing, well they give me all kinds of warnings to save me from ruin, when I say that I'm o.k. they look at me kind of strange, surely you're not happy now you no longer play the game....
People say I'm lazy dreaming my life away
Well they give me all kinds of advice designed to enlighten me
When I tell them that I'm doing fine watching shadows on the wall
Don't you miss the big time boy you're no longer on the ball?
I'm just sitting here watching the wheels fo round and round
I really love to watch them roll
No longer riding on the merry-go-round
I just had to let it go
People asking questions lost in confusion
Well I tell them there's no problem, only solutions
We
ll they shake their heads and look at me as if I've lost my mind
I tell them there's no hurry...
I'm just sitting here doing time
I'm just sitting here watching the wheels fo round and round
I really love to watch them roll
No longer riding on the merry-go-round
I just had to let it go
People say I'm lazy dreaming my life away
Well they give me all kinds of advice designed to enlighten me
When I tell them that I'm doing fine watching shadows on the wall
Don't you miss the big time boy you're no longer on the ball?
I'm just sitting here watching the wheels fo round and round
I really love to watch them roll
No longer riding on the merry-go-round
I just had to let it go
People asking questions lost in confusion
Well I tell them there's no problem, only solutions
We
ll they shake their heads and look at me as if I've lost my mind
I tell them there's no hurry...
I'm just sitting here doing time
I'm just sitting here watching the wheels fo round and round
I really love to watch them roll
No longer riding on the merry-go-round
I just had to let it go
miércoles, 4 de mayo de 2005
Crueldad
Es la noche apacible. La brisa entrando por la ventana y acariciando mis pies, la lámpara de luz ténue, el olor del tabaco.
La crueldad acude a mi cabeza. Y borro lo que he escrito, porque mi crueldad te es indiferente. Y nada es más cruel que la indiferencia.
It's the quiet night. The breeze by the window caressing my feet, the dime light, the smell of tobacco.
Cruelty visits my head. And I delete what I wrote, because you are indifferent to my cruelty. And nothing is more cruel than indifference.
La crueldad acude a mi cabeza. Y borro lo que he escrito, porque mi crueldad te es indiferente. Y nada es más cruel que la indiferencia.
It's the quiet night. The breeze by the window caressing my feet, the dime light, the smell of tobacco.
Cruelty visits my head. And I delete what I wrote, because you are indifferent to my cruelty. And nothing is more cruel than indifference.
martes, 3 de mayo de 2005
My love
I do not love you as the red rose in the morning.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul. Alone.
And I am fucking tired of that shit. Alone, alone, alone.
Seems like, ever since I met you, I can't be but alone.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul. Alone.
And I am fucking tired of that shit. Alone, alone, alone.
Seems like, ever since I met you, I can't be but alone.
lunes, 2 de mayo de 2005
Fucking desperate
Really, I'm fucking desperate. I earn more than I ever did, but can't live on my own. It's really really depressing. Landiman seems to have found something for 700, but even in that case: isn't that insane? I mean you can buy a house for 1000 a month, why should you rent one for 700? I mean the fucking difference between a fucking capitalist and a fucking loser like me is just 300. Three fucking hundred.
Anyway, I shouldn't have said loser. Fuck everyone, I'm gonna find something. Shit, it was nicer when I wrote about love, don't you think?
Anyway, I shouldn't have said loser. Fuck everyone, I'm gonna find something. Shit, it was nicer when I wrote about love, don't you think?
Exercising and looking for a flat
I came home, turned on my computer, played bob dylan and started to exercise. Total outcome: 300 sit ups. My stomach aches like hell now. But it had to be done. Today, and tomorrow, and the other, and the other... until my belly dissappears.
After killing myself with the sit ups, I did some more killing by looking for flats. I found one: 125,000 euros, near the train station in a sweet village 5 minutes from the office... It could not be true. I called. The woman said "it's a bit small, it's 17 square meters." I said ok, i'll get back to you. I hate life. I hate it so much. Unless.... I find a way to stuck myself in 17 fucking square meters. What da ya think?
After killing myself with the sit ups, I did some more killing by looking for flats. I found one: 125,000 euros, near the train station in a sweet village 5 minutes from the office... It could not be true. I called. The woman said "it's a bit small, it's 17 square meters." I said ok, i'll get back to you. I hate life. I hate it so much. Unless.... I find a way to stuck myself in 17 fucking square meters. What da ya think?
domingo, 1 de mayo de 2005
Fin de semana
Empezó el viernes a las 16:30h. Justo al mismo tiempo en que recibía un sms diciéndome que estoy como una cabra, por el otro teléfono me reconciliaba con mi novia. Curiosa coincidencia. Luego comí e hice la maleta, cuidándome de llevar conmigo mi pequeña libreta roja, la misma libreta que compré en Sant Cugat una tarde aburrida, y que estrené en un magnífico café que aún conserva un aire antiguo, escribiéndole una carta a mi querido jojo.
Muchas horas más tarde, escribí lo que sigue en la mencionada libreta:
"Es la hora tranquila de la noche. Todo está tan silencioso que me parece que oigo el ruido de la luz de la bombilla. Aquí estoy, en este pequeño pueblo donde la gente con dinero de la cuidad construye sus casa y sus vidas alejadas del ruido y del cemento.
Hemos cenado en el jardín: sardinas a la brasa, embutidos y tomates que saben como tomates: aliñados con sal y aceite, son insuperables. Durante la cena, he pensado en ti, y también en ti.
Hace tres veranos, ¿recuerdas? Estuvimos aquí unos días, y pisamos la hierba verde que hoy he buscado nada más entrar en casa. Cada vez que regreso a esta casa, tras dejar la maleta en mi habitación, lo primero que hago es salir al jardín a respirar el olor a hierba, y te veo junto al olivo, y recuerdo tu sonrisa y cómo nos abrazábamos y nos besábamos, con la sinvergüenza de la felicidad encontrada.
Esta tarde me has dicho que tienes tantas ganas de pasear conmigo, de cenar juntos, de ver una película en el sofà y acariciar mis manos, de hacer el amor otra vez y decirme que me quieres mientras abrazas mi espalda. Que tienes ganas de volver a viajar conmigo y planear, en la cama, la ruta del día siguiente.
Por un momento, he dudado. Y finalmente te he dicho que sí, que yo también te quiero y que fui débil y cobarde al dejarte. Y tu has vuelto a creer en mi mentira, confiando en que el milagro de la primavera alargue nuestra agonía unos días, unos meses, unos años más."
Muchas horas más tarde, escribí lo que sigue en la mencionada libreta:
"Es la hora tranquila de la noche. Todo está tan silencioso que me parece que oigo el ruido de la luz de la bombilla. Aquí estoy, en este pequeño pueblo donde la gente con dinero de la cuidad construye sus casa y sus vidas alejadas del ruido y del cemento.
Hemos cenado en el jardín: sardinas a la brasa, embutidos y tomates que saben como tomates: aliñados con sal y aceite, son insuperables. Durante la cena, he pensado en ti, y también en ti.
Hace tres veranos, ¿recuerdas? Estuvimos aquí unos días, y pisamos la hierba verde que hoy he buscado nada más entrar en casa. Cada vez que regreso a esta casa, tras dejar la maleta en mi habitación, lo primero que hago es salir al jardín a respirar el olor a hierba, y te veo junto al olivo, y recuerdo tu sonrisa y cómo nos abrazábamos y nos besábamos, con la sinvergüenza de la felicidad encontrada.
Esta tarde me has dicho que tienes tantas ganas de pasear conmigo, de cenar juntos, de ver una película en el sofà y acariciar mis manos, de hacer el amor otra vez y decirme que me quieres mientras abrazas mi espalda. Que tienes ganas de volver a viajar conmigo y planear, en la cama, la ruta del día siguiente.
Por un momento, he dudado. Y finalmente te he dicho que sí, que yo también te quiero y que fui débil y cobarde al dejarte. Y tu has vuelto a creer en mi mentira, confiando en que el milagro de la primavera alargue nuestra agonía unos días, unos meses, unos años más."
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