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23 artículos etiquetados con English
Amanecer menos diez, en La Manga (Murcia)

—Dream—

I want to kiss you before the world ends. In my dream, the world is ending. Everything is falling apart.

People try to ignore it, to make the feeling go away: but if you listen, it’s there.

Suddenly, I think: the world is ending, and I’ve never kissed you. Where are you?

I run, and run, and run, through streets and offices and libraries, but you are not there. I ask around: have you seen him? Have you seen him? Nobody has. They point me in one direction: it’s the Comic Book Writers’ office, and there’s a party there. Everyone is leaving when I arrive, they are closing the building, they make me go the other way.

I enter a room, and it’s a surprise party. It’s a party my husband has prepared for me, now, that the world is ending. I look around, and you are not there, and I look at him, and I tell him: This is wonderful, honey, but the world is ending and I’ve never kissed him. I leave and keep looking for you.

I get to a fancy office, and the walls are black and the people there dress like Steve Jobs. They tell me: thanks for coming to work with us. Can you help? We need your help to do his. I’d try to help, —I say—, but the world is ending and there’s something else I need to do. With that I leave, and I keep looking around, hoping to see your face in the crowd. Already some parts of the library are crumbling, and it’s a pity because it’s a beautiful place, bright and airy with golden light, like Grand Central Station, in New York, in the movies.

Suddenly I’m in the back seat of a three-door car, and there are two girls in the front seats, so I can’t get away. Will they help me look for you? Will they drive me where you are?

They won’t drive me anywhere, because they are visibly drunk. In fact, one is drunk and the other one is drunk and high. She’s also wearing a white t-shirt, wet with water. Her right nipple shows very clearly: it’s round and brown and hard, and she wants me to touch her. I look at her and I want to refuse, to run away from their laughter and booze and drugs, but it’s too late, because the world has now ended, and I’ve never kissed you.

La Manga, 03/08/2011.

Luna llena sobre el mar (La Manga, Murcia)

colmenas

Poverty anywhere
is poverty everywhere.*


Why is that? Why are other people’s problems my problems? Are we all together in this? How can we be together in this if I don’t know who they are, why are we here? If I can’t feel them as I can feel my body. Do my toenails know about my hair? Do my fingers know about my heart?


pau_vallecas

Somewhere I read: I often wonder if life is easier for other people or if they are better at faking it.

I get to the outskirts of the city and I see all those buildings, and it’s not the big sprawling of tiny houses that bothers me, it’s the big, huge buildings and the tiny flickering lights that make me think of ants, and working bees, and insignificant little lives, with anonymous problems. I just can’t tell if I’m scared because I know that deep down, I’m just one more working bee, in the middle of its working life. Dead and forgotten already, in the grand scheme of things. Maybe I’m scared for all those little bee people I imagine, living in horrible places that I’ll never see, but that I can sort of imagine, because they are in a way, just like mine. With that weird kitchen smell that kitchens other than your own have. With their children and their laundry and their skid marks in the WC. With their fights and flat screens and unpaid bills and salary rises and sudden unemployment. Why do I care about them? Why won’t they ever know that I am here, trying to imagine who they are?

colmenas

* Sounds revolutionary? James Wolfensohn, President of the World Bank, said that in 2002.

Photos: Noktonmagazine.com