Posts Tagged ‘English


Tower Top.


-Ichi go, ichi e-. (Yuriko).


Alone, standing in the wet pillar with his wings spread, he looked down into the crowd: dull faces, each of them with a purposeful look engraved in their eyes. A Meaning Of Life pouring down their cheeks and spilling into the asphalt they were treading on with a soundless splash. No doubts, no pain, just directions working by themselves, like small people reining them in by pulling on the sulci of their brains, keeping their stupid-horse walk steady and not letting them crash with the feared Obstacles of Evil: the Truth, the Doubt or the Dangerous Thoughts.

They were just going from A to B, from B to C, performing task number 1, or maybe now it was already task number 6… it didn´t matter at all: they had something to do, regardless of what it was. A reason to be. A place in this world.

Once, he was like them. He thought he could fit, he thought he would feel the same fullness or hope about the future that they were feeling now. He though he would have perspective, and that he would be able to speak up sentences beginning with that comforting “One day, I´ll…”.

But not anymore. Not now, knowing he was alone and that was it. Knowing we all die alone, but then there´s some of us that live alone as well. Knowing that you weren´t waiting for him. Knowing that all the options were none.

He stood there, envying them for a while, admiring that stillness in motion.

Then, folding his wings, he jumped.

If anyone would have looked up before he hit the ground, they would have seen a smiling human bullet.


“… And now I´m climbing to the tower top

And clearly differ what is right from wrong.

And now I´m seeing what the future brings…

And now I´m seeing what I´ve been searching for…

Right now my job I know:

Salvation through these bullets.

Right now my job I know…”.


Quote 6.


“I want a love that’s right
Right is only half of what’s wrong.
I want a short-haired girl
Who sometimes wears it twice as long.

Now I’m steppin’ out this old brown shoe.
Baby I’m in love with you!
So glad you came here, it won’t be the same now,
I’m telling you.

You know you picked me up
From where some try to drag me down.
And when I see your smile
Replacing ev’ry thoughtless frown…

Got me escaping from this zoo,
Baby, I’m in love with you!
I’m so glad you came here, it won’t be the same
Now when I’m with you.

If I’ll grow up I’ll be a singer.
Wearing rings on ev’ry finger.
Not worrying about what they or you’ll say
I’ll live and love, and maybe someday, who knows baby
You may comfort me (yeah)!!

I may appear to be imperfect
But my love is something you can’t reject.
Changing faster than the weather
If you and me should get together, who knows baby
You may comfort me

I want the love of yours
To miss that love is something I’d hate.
I’ll make an early start,
I’m making sure that I’m not late.

For your sweet top lip I’m in the queue
Baby I’m in love with you!
I’m so glad you came here, it won’t be the same
Now when I’m with you

So glad you came here
It won’t be the same now when I’m with you!

Oh, yeah, yeah!

(Good as… good as new)”.

(The Beatles, Old Brown Shoe).


The lyrics of this song have meant lots of different things for me during my life. Because of that, I guess I´ll never get tired of listening to it, finding each time a new reason to like it more and more.

Four ugly guys from an ugly town, a couple of instruments, and there you are: a masterpiece of music.

Long live the Fab Four!


I Wanna Do Bad Things With You.

Madrid, 2007.

-Don´t give me no shit ´cos… I´ve been tired!-.

(The Pixies, Tired).


She opens her legs, and you feel like the whole sky is opening.

You came to the bar fleeing her, The Other One, seeking a bit of peace in the only place you knew you could find it: the middle of this havoc called No Name Bar.

The first step in, and you felt security, pure, true safety crawling up your spine. The second step, a couple of handshakes with the usual suspects, and you started to relax. By the time you reached the bar, you already owned the place. You kissed the barmaid, got a brew without even ordering (no wonder about paying) it, and you just lay back, enjoying the music and how it helped to put some sense into all this nonsense happening around you. “No need for words now”: you´re finally watching your favourite Life´s TV live program.

So then, when the door opens  and She comes in, you know you´re in trouble. You feel a rumble, as the ground shakes with each of her steps towards you. She grabs your hand, smiles while nailing you to the wall with her perfect big, brown eyes, and speaks in a voice that sounds like petroleum poured over velvet:


It is just a sound, but it seems the one of a tombstone being dragged over your past life. You just can´t believe how lucky you are, as the pain, the misery and the weariness of everything that came before those legs walked in that bar fades away. Hell could froze over, the city could be bombed to ashes, but nothing would stop you for doing whatever she wants you to do.

And you know that you will pull down the zipper of her dress, and the curtain will fall down for your own private act. She will take off her clothes, and it will feel like a new dawn. And yes: she will spread her legs, and you will think the whole sky is opening for you.


“And I heard as it were the noise of thunder…”.

Depo Hostivar (Praha), 28th of November, 2007.

-Who wants flowers when you’re dead?  Nobody-.
(Holden Caulfield. The Catcher in The Rye, by J.D. Salinger, 1951).


Lips cracked by exposure, the young, beautiful woman was standing in the middle of the street, looking up to the sky with her pale-blue eyes, as if she could see anything beyond the smoggy, starless night of the city.

Nobody was paying attention to her, but just because she didn´t want them to: feeling alive and connected was all she needed right now. Feeling complete, loved by all the countless unmaterial beings that formed this world. Her world.

Ah, she was happy and ready to enjoy all of it: the pain, the misery, the joy and the pleasure.

Her name was Death. And she was here to stay.




It all happened on that college pub, with the “Pub Quiz” signs hanging from the walls, bearing an almost-faded chalky invitation that no one was paying attention to. It was right after The Fat Of The Land was released, and I´d like to think it was House Of Pain or Nirvana playing on the PA, but it´s more likely that the sound that was making the teenage crowd jump and rub against one another was made by Whigfield or Gala. After all, we are talking about the 90´s.

You came to me, smiling, and I had to check my back twice to make sure it was me you were coming for. I was held in place by a pint glass filled with coke, after the refusal from the bartender to pour me a shandy, and thus I remained, still as a wooden pidgeon in a fair´s shooting range.

“Do you wanna dance?”.

“No”, I answered.

“Ok, let´s go outside”. As if I had just spat on your face and the only thing we had left was fighting to death in the dark alley that led to the pub.

I remember my legs turning into jelly as we approached the bench, kicking empty cans of Strongbow as we walked; I also remember the stream of cold sweat that was running down my spine, glueing my blue raincoat to my t-shirt, and the load of stupid subjects I managed to bring up for conversation just to delay the feared moment that we both (but specially you, quietly leading me to the ambush´ spot) knew was bound to come.

I remember talking and talking without really thinking about what I was saying, just checking every detail on you, taking the most perfect picture I´ve ever taken of any situation that I´ve been into. Breathing the summer in with the beer-smelling night air, hearing the distant roar of a car going round the corner of Parker´s Piece mixed with the music coming from the pub´s open door…

“I´m really nervous”, I managed to say through my dry throat, as if it could have passed unnoticed to you, and as if I hadn´t already made a fool of myself.

“Just do it”, you replied.

Yeah. After all, we are talking about the 90´s.


(Bar universitario. Carteles de “Pub Quiz” colgando de las paredes. Acababa de salir el The Fat Of The Land, y me gusta pensar que sonaban House Of Pain o Nirvana, pero lo más posible es que fuesen Gala o Whigfield los que atronasen a la masa de carne adolescente que se movía en la pista de baile y sus alrededores. Al fin y al cabo, estamos hablando de los años 90.

Te acercaste, sonriendo, y tuve que mirar a mis espaldas para comprobar que era a por mí a por quien venías. Seguí allí plantado, como un pato de madera en una caseta de feria, aguantando el balazo de tus ojos negros.


“No”, respondí.

“Ok, entonces vamos fuera”, como si acabase de mentarte a la madre y la única salida posible a aquella situación fuese darnos de hostias en la oscuridad del callejón que llevaba al pub.

Recuerdo cómo las piernas se me iban convirtiendo en gelatina según nos acercábamos al banco, cómo me sudaba la espalda tanto que se me pegaba el chubasquero al cuerpo a través de la camiseta, y la cantidad de conversaciones estúpidas que fuí capaz de inventarme sólo para retrasar el momento inevitable que ambos, pero sobre todo tú, que eras la que había montado toda aquella emboscada, sabíamos que tenía que llegar.

Recuerdo hablar y hablar, sin pensar realmente en lo que estaba diciendo, ganando tiempo y fijando cada detalle tuyo en mi cabeza, tomando la fotografía más perfecta que he tomado nunca de cualquier situación en la que me haya encontrado. Respirando el verano con aquel aire que olía a cerveza, y escuchando el sonido del motor de un coche al acelerar en Parker´s Piece mezclado con la música que salía por la puerta abierta del pub…

“Estoy muy nervioso”, dije, como si no fuese evidente, y como si no hubiese hecho ya bastante el ridículo.

“Just do it”, dijiste tú.

Sí. Al fin y al cabo, estamos hablando de los 90).


Quote 5.


“Life is like a box of chocolates. A cheap, thoughtless, perfunctory gift that nobody ever asks for. Unreturnable because all you get back is another box of chocolates. So you’re stuck with this undefinable whipped mint crap that you mindlessly wolf down when there’s nothing else left to eat. Sure, once in a while there’s a peanut butter cup or an English toffee. But they’re gone too fast and the taste is… fleeting. So, you end up with nothing but broken bits filled with hardened jelly and teeth-shattering nuts. And if you’re desperate enough to eat those, all you got left is an empty box filled with useless brown paper wrappers”.

(“La vida es como una caja de bombones. El regalo barato, superficial y sin intención que nunca nadie pediría. Y no puedes descambiarlo, porque lo único que recibirías a cambio sería otra caja de bombones, así que te quedas con esa basura rellena de menta batida, y la devoras sin prestarle demasiada atención cuando no te queda nada más que comer. Sí, de vez en cuando hay alguno relleno de mantequilla de cacahuete o de toffee, pero se acaban en seguida y su sabor es… efímero. Así que lo que tienes al final es un montón de trocitos rellenos de gelatina endurecida y nueces rompe-dientes, y si estás tan desesperado como para comerte esos también lo único que te queda es una caja vacía llena de inútiles envoltorios marrones“).

(The Cigarette Smoking Man, en The X-Files: Musings of a Cigarette Smoking Man [Chris Carter/Glen Morgan, 1996]).


Chúpate esa, Forrest.


A Killing Compliment.

Riga (Latvia), April 2008.

-I´m a lackey to Fate, but no slave to the Law-.
(Tattooed on Nikolai´s skin, on Eastern Promises. David Cronenberg, 2007).


“I´m sorry, I´m sorry, I´m sorryI´msorryI´msosorryI´msorry…”.

The words came out from her mouth like an unending mantra, in such a flow and with such speed that he found himself wondering about the breathing technique she might be using to keep uttering them.

He stood up, trying to think of a way to get themselves out of the really bad mess they were into: a corpse on the bed, a corpse on the toilet, blood everywhere and the two of them in the middle of that hotel room, mentally blocked and starting to panic.

He recalled the last few moments when everything seemed to be going smoothly: he entered the room to deliver the goods, she smiled to him, he ignored her… and then the shots came and everything turned into a blur. When he finally pulled himself together, he was lying on the floor, both the guys were dead as a doornail and the girl was kneeling on the rugged floor, muttering nonsense and blankly staring at the crawling pool of blood that was slowly approaching her.

“Shut the fuck up!”, he snapped, and she went silent as if he had smacked her on the cheek. The blood now started to surround her knees, like the tide rising and embracing a cliff, but she made no move that would show she was noticing it.

He took her by the hand, lifting her almost unexisting weight, and led her through the sliding door and into the balcony: outside, the whole city was standing at their feet, divided by the river like the scar he wore divided his left eye in two. Drops of blood from the girl´s knees marked their trail on the floor.

He put the gun on her right hand. Funny, he thought, how badly his own hands were shaking, and how calm and still her hand was. He closed her left hand around the pistol grip, too, and let go the whole knot he had made.

“Now, I want you to point it at my head, and pull the trigger”.


“I can live a life on the run, but I´m sure you can´t: at some point I will loose you, either because of them or because of yourself. And the result will be this one, too”.

“So? Why now?”.

“Because I´d rather have my head blown off right now by the beautiful animal you are, than live a couple of months more just to have my brains scattered by the mean bastard I am. Seems fair to me, after the life I´ve lived”.

She started to cry, silently and without looking away. Not a single sob, just slow tears rolling down her perfect cheeks and halfway into the corners of her mouth. “Tough girl”, he thought.

“But… why me?”, she asked, calmly.

“Because you´ve already done this”.

“Wha… when?”.

“The moment I entered the room”.

She looked him in the eye, her pupils narrowing. Then, her lips barely parted in what looked like a smile, as she lifted the gun and slowly pulled the trigger.