lunes, 9 de mayo de 2011
And you rejoice
It all starts, the night, the moving, with chill out music, with Vector Lovers, but SSSSHWOOOM, the beat changes, people come in, you grab your beer and the rythm and you cling to it - BUM, it goes into your head and BANG the night-s started, and ZING you are offered a shot and you take it, and you don-t know what it is, and there goes another shot, and beer, the music WACKS AND CRACKS your head, and you take another beer, but suddently you are in another place, the night moves - and you lose your senses and BOOM more music kicks in,it is fast, like the night - and there you go again, shot, shot, shot - But then you go out, grab your jacket because the street is cold and chilly and windy and SWHOOSH the people and the music and like a madman you chat with strangers about the past and the future and them and us and the world and nothing, and laugher... and BAM BAM BAM BAM, beer, whisky, soda, tequila, tequila, tequila - So it looks like the night-s over, and that it belongs to you and with a splendorous SHINE there it is, the sunrise, and the music kicks in again, but you are home- it is chill out music again, plus you, and your beer, your beer, your beer, your friends, and your bed, and the peace in your soul, in your smile, but the world fades to black, the youth, you capture it, there it goes, the sadness, and the hapiness, and all that you can hold in your hand, and all that you can wish for, and you rejoice, but with a CLASH you fall asleep.
jueves, 28 de abril de 2011
Noche en Nueva York
Después de escribir y borrar la primera palabra mil veces, han llegado las dos menos cuarto, aquí, en Nueva York, y las palabras siguen resistiéndose a aparecer, o a aparentar ser las correctas. Incluso mientras escribo esto, soy consciente de que, muy probablemente, acabe o borrado, cancelado de la existencia, o abandonado en alguna carpeta perdida de mi ordenador. De hecho, y mientras escribo, echo de menos, aún sin haberlo hecho nunca, el escribir a mano… la sutileza, la necesidad de precisión… uno no puede vagabundear entre un mar de palabras descartadas si está escribiendo en papel. La pantalla, su luz, su haz, me atonta, me ensimisma…. Me resta concentración.
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