sábado, 29 de octubre de 2005

Sore throat

I have a BIG sore-throat. It's a pain in the ass. The only think I can think of is this sore-throat. Man, a really bad post after such a long time without posting.

viernes, 21 de octubre de 2005

Christmas letter (from Pere)

I was reading joaquin's blog, a post where he mentions his christmas, perfectly gray winter at Ihouse. And I suddenly thought of an email letter I wrote to the Ihouse people from Spain, where I was having my christmas holidays, back home after 4 months at Ihouse, Berkeley, California. Here's the letter:

" Dear friends,

Still haunted by the Ihouse Christmas lyrism of Alyosha the plant-keeper, I
write you from the haunted bed of this haunted, my father´s house. The snow
covers the roof and whitens the fields that surround home... through the
window I can see, every morning, a line of icicles hanging from the
neighbours roof. Everything very Christmas-like, but believe me, the warm
sun is better: home, Spanish home, is not the same with white
all over. Anyway, it´s 1am, I don´t want to sleep and I´m writing in bed,
with an old bic pen and a few sheets: I´m against technology
these cold days, although you´re reading this in the screen of an impersonal
personal computer(even if it answers to the name of La Maga.)
A second feeling: I´m sort of tired, and don´t know exactly why. Must be
I´m getting (c)old, old because every year new memories fill my brain like
the red wine in a cup waiting to be drunk or rotten - and I had some (too
much according to my grandma) fine, Spanish wine these days. However, I am
enjoying my tiredness: I´ve come to the conclusion that a man needs nothing
more than a bit of tiredness to enjoy in the company of those he loves to be
the happiest thing on earth (things, like the lamp that lights my dear,
little, warm room now can also be happy.)
I came back home almost a couple of weeks ago (yes, Bernardo, it was also
difficult for me to fall asleep the first days, alone in a big, strange and
empty bed) and the third day I couldn´t help phoning my first-ex-love and
meeting her in a charming, expensive, couple-making restaurant. We ate
excellent foie de canard and I knew that she had just moved to
a brand new, modernist (that was the adjective she used)appartment with her
brand new boyfriend: good for her, and may she bring happy, brand new kids
to the world! We shared the bill, which is a beautiful way to stop sharing
anything else.
My sister is also happy (I´m afraid I´m abusing of this adjective -blame
Christmas spirit and my poor education) learning more and more in a new
jesuist high school. She plays her firsts sonatas on the piano, and sticks
to me the rest of the time... must be that she feels I am the only one who
can understand her (when you´re twelve, you want to
understand) of all the old-fashioned faces of my family. I
can´t hardly see a black hair in my father´s head, and his wife... well, let
me say they are (again!) happy too, because they are now sure (at last)
that they´ll have each other for the rest of their lives, and that´s the
best beggining for a still better ending.
Well, I´m afraid this letter (this is NOT an email) is getting longer than
Alyosha´s report, and anyway I guess it fulfilled its aim: after some
writing, I feel I will be able to sleep. The future is now new year´s eve,
when Barcelona becomes the wildest (and sweetest, like Cartman would say)
scenery to welcome a new year. I will keep a memory (a stardust memory, to
remember Woody Allen) for each of you in the
traditional chin-chin& with champagne at 12:01am, 2002,...
although I can´t predict what night will bring afterwards. I look forward to
seeing you all soon.

Your (virtual) friend, enemy, mom, fruit,... sends you a (virtual) hug,
kiss, hello, hands shaking,...


P.S. Merry Christmas from Stephen. I met him the other day (he was
completely high, as usual) and told me he might not come back for the Spring
semester. We´ll miss him! (??)"

Oh fuck, do I miss those days! The days when I would be innocent enough to lie, and still, enjoy. Those days were a feeling, a feeling you didn't need to analize or understand. Those days were a feeling, and a feeling is all I got now.

By the way, I love yahoo. Don't ever say google is king anymore.

domingo, 16 de octubre de 2005

la la la

I had the strangest day, but somehow I didn't really enjoy. Too many people it's too superficial. Besides, I'm not really into meeting new people lately: rather, I want time to be alone and just think of myself. Like now, finally, at 4:13am, having eaten a marijuana cookie that's not doing anything on me.

I had the longest chat with joaquin yesterday, over messenger, with font 16 so I could read what we wrote while sitting comfortably on landiman's wonderful little armchair, my legs relaxed on the table. It was almost until 7am, but what do you care, right? I do, that's why I write: so I'll remember later on: months later, I'll read that and will look for the saved chat, and read it over.

Actually, maybe that's what i'll do now. To end this strange day that, finally, was able to give me some peace. For that, and for Luca's imagination, it was worth it.

domingo, 9 de octubre de 2005


Danielle se marcha mañana, a Córcega, para ver a su familia. Danielle es mi vecino: Álex está terminando de montar un vídeo para él en donde salimos todos, todos menos el Sol, todos menos Sol.
Conozco a Danielle desde hace muy poco: sé que le gusta fumar algún porro, que es un excelente cocinero, que sabe reirse con aquellos diferentes a él, pero que comparten una misma pasión de buscar la felicidad por todos los rincones del día. Y encontrarla, a veces.
Si ahora estoy calentito en mi habitación es porque Danielle tapó con silicona los agujeros de la ventana, y me ayudó a reemplazar un cristal roto.
Si ahora está habitación es lo que es, pues es porque, entre otras cosas, Danielle y Álex me hicieron pasar una noche memorable alrededor de un poco de marihuana y una botellita de orujo y un poster de Marilyn Monroe y una postal de un videoclub.
Me da pena que marches, Danielle. Me da pena, porque me recuerda que, un día, también yo me marcharé de aquí, pero para siempre. Me iré de esté piso para vivir en otra parte, un día.
Y entonces, ¿dónde estarás tu, amigo? Como muchos otros amigos que he ido dejando atrás, junto a muchos otros lugares, a lo largo de mi vida, como muchos otros tú también te desvanecerás, Danielle. Tú también serás un recuerdo de lo que fué.

Y yo no sé si esto es bueno, o es malo. Mientras tanto, que tengas un buen viaje, vecino, aunque no haga Sol.

And I remember Alyosha

Alyosha... do you remember the postcard you gave me? There's a man sitting on a chair on top of a roof in a house in the middle of the night and the city. Well, when I first looked out the balcony of my room in my new rented old appartment, I thought of that postcard. As you can see from the previous picture, it sort of looks alike.
You gave me the postcard inside the book "Invisible cities", by Calvino... how much happiness I have had reading that book... here's what you wrote on the postcard, one of the most beautiful texts that have been written for me... mmm, maybe I will transcript it another day :)

sábado, 8 de octubre de 2005

Life in the city

People talking, laughing, shouting outside. I look out of the balcony: there's a square of buildings looking inside, and I look outside and see all the balconies, some of them lighted in a mellow yellow: there is life outside, there is life at 23:44 in a random block in Barcelona.

A man looks out the balcony, then retires slowly back to his computer, and continues preparing the class he has to teach next wednesday. It's saturday night, but the man is smiling inside.

Four pictures

Four pictures I've taken recently.

There's landiman's face...

There's a dutch, philips light bulb, the same one that lights landiman's face...

There's my grandma looking outside, facing the light outside that seems to call her...

And, finally, there's two beautiful women but just one kiss...

lunes, 3 de octubre de 2005

Korina y Landiman

Landiman y Korina vienen a mi habitación a despedirse: se marchan. Son las 0:20 y ella coge el autobus a la 1 en la estación de sants. Los acompaño a la salida para cerrar yo la puerta: Landiman olvida algo y entra hacia su habitación, Korina juega con una pelota y la pelota se le escapa de las manos y entra en el piso, y la veo y le digo adiós otra vez, y entonces regresa landiman con una sonrisa enorme en su cara, y coge a Korina de la mano y la lleva escaleras abajo, y yo cierro la puerta y oigo a landiman decirle a Korina "he smoked, he was stoned".

Y sí, es verdad, voy fumado, muy fumado. Y además me he bebido media Leffe, cerveza belga, que sobró de ayer. Pero porque voy fumado, soy capaz de ver felicidad y amargura a un tiempo en la imagen de korina y landiman marchando escaleras abajo haca la estación de autobús. No los he visto casi en todo el fin de semana: no sé que habrán hecho, que se habrán dicho; pero si estuviera sobrio sabría decirte si landiman estaba feliz o amargo. Pero voy muy fumado, así que te diré que landiman estaba en ambos estados a la vez: feliz y amargo. Los dos a un tiempo, pero ninguno en particular: como el spleen de un electrón.

Este blog es lo mejor que he hecho en estos últimos años. Así que, de algún modo, mi vida es lo mejor que me ha pasado en estos últimos años. Y esto que he escrito lo contaré frente a la cámara, con la luz crema de mi habitación, y tu lo filmarás, landuman, de principio a fin, incluído esto. Y cuando acabemos de editarlo, landiman, nos sentaremos en el sofá y fumaremos un cigarrillo verde, y tú me dirás, landiman, si fuíste feliz o amargo cuando la viste marchar.

De momento, este post se lo dedico a ustedes: felicidad y amargura. Quiénes son ustedes, tendrán que averiguarlo ustedes mismos.