Come touch me here / so I know / That I'm Not There ***
Yesterday morning I called a friend to get a consulting job, he lucidly answered everything I can, hang up and go for a swim. A few minutes later the phone gets me out of the shower, is again the same friend. When I growl about what carancho wants now, he says, "Rebella was killed." ***
few days ago I went to the mini to buy something that did not need. In trying to go to the bottom I found the aisles blocked by an old woman crouched trembling that trying to see the price of something. I immediately became angry and quietly pute mentally old shit, unnecessary hindrance poor stupid me back because I do not see. Finally let me pass, I went to the bottom, grabbed the X and returned to the box only to find that the old lady was there. Again I began to wish the worst things without moving his lips, waiting for the lightning from a time, remove and finish with my unjust delay, my unjust discomfort, the old woman turned and smiling said " happens, happens ... I take a long . " I thanked him somewhat puzzled and went to the box, and he paid the old woman asked me " how's the puppy? Long time since I've seen on the balcony ... ." I realized that the old woman was a neighbor, and acting as a neighbor has to do, before someone who did not recognize and I hate noise radiated. I got red secret shame, as if I had been caught with his fly open and a swastika hanging out. Because those are things that happen when you live with your eyes closed heart, when we let him climb bugs unclean, when someone says how ugly they are when we are not careful. ***
As I walked to work today in a neighborhood missed, made new soon. While watching that rare urban geography came into my head a song by Laurie Anderson where not long ago thought. It's called 'Ramon ' and at one point says:
Some people walk on water
Some people walk on broken glass
Some just walk round and round in their dreams
Some just keep falling down.
So when you see a man who's broken
Pick him up and carry him
And when you see a woman who's broken
Put her all into your arms
Cause we don't know where we come from
We don't know what we are.
And you? You're no one
And you? You're falling
And you? You're travelling
Travelling at the speed of light.
***
De noche dos amigos en común que teníamos con Juan Pablo, dos músicos argentinos cuyas venidas a Montevideo solían ser una fiesta de varios entornos at the same time, ask me on msn unbelievers, what happened, what happened, what happened. More or less I'll tell you what I can know which is more or less what we can know about what we know nothing. But while I answer these two types of giant heart, think of laziness I do not see the last time I was in Buenos Aires, not to make a few phone calls and take a couple of trains. And while they tipean words impotent and full of pain soundproof, think how easily relegated to future encounters ghosts. In a world that when you hold your breath, it becomes huge and makes it all away, a distance of ignorance. ***
Travelling at the speed of light . "We are nothing" is a phrase often heard at wakes. I do not mind the phrases that are whispered at wakes, it is better to say something empty that try to say something that means something, because you never know what to say, because everything is wrong, everything is so wrong. But it is logical that "we are nothing" has become popular because we are nothing, and we know less. ***
The literary police look around, move the crane and fishing a sentence of Thomas Burnett Swann where not long ago thought that says that " the penalty is not a dress but nudity . " Yes, a little that.
"But the sound of the record that finally falls and makes you see the emotional landscape that dribbled an unconscious and can not be done from memory, there are dozens of spas whole people are not going to mention without feeling they put a hand on his chest, the findings of songs that will not be defended passionately in bars no longer smokes. And as I turn
language as a fag, thinking about how to get something good to not have anything, and you think in the brackets, the semi-circles and bars with which we measure the distance sensitive, the differences between friends and acquaintances, including how we should feel and how really we are, and how all these measures do not mean anything because at the end of the day we just want to talk about love with the simple language of love, the monkeys despulgándose to find excuses to rub. The plain language of touch, which reminds you that we can touch and what we feel here is what we could not feel further. ***
At night I hear a stubborn cricket near the window. You must be confused, no crickets in the Palermo area where I live and effort is rather useless. But it bothers me, on the contrary, I appreciate your stubborn vitality. I close my eyes and remember the chorus of crickets at night in Maldonado, vibrant joyfully celebrating the unique gift magnificent gift.
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