lunes, septiembre 14, 2009
I like those lost battles,
those that are fight for right reasons
and against a countless enemy.
Like Thermopiles.
How i would like to be there,
to fight there,
to lie there in the home of the braves.
Not in that everyday bed of loneliness
with this fat heart of mine,
old and bored,
counting the days
one by one hidden in the chest of the days,
all of them the same.
Days that do not count.
Days that only are worth to be counted.
domingo, septiembre 13, 2009
jueves, septiembre 10, 2009
"Cualquiera que frecuente los canales History y National Geographic puede considerarse experto en nazis y tiburones. A veces emiten documentales sobre otras cosas, pero intentan incluir en ellos algún nazi o algún tiburón. Si algún día se descubre que los tiburones simpatizan con el nazismo, o que Hitler adoraba secretamente a los tiburones, ambos canales habrán resuelto su programación para siempre."
(Apocalipsis, Enric Gonzalez. Publicado en El Pais, edición del 10 de septiembre de 2009)
¡Jajajajaja!
All that little failures...
the jobs we didn't get
the ones that didn't love us
the trains we lost
the words that we didn't say on time..
All that stuff,
in the solitude of our own special night of each shaking night,
sounding like some weird kind of soft crazy saxos and trombones,
dancing around our warm perplexity,
like dreams that inevitably come true,
like dreams that paradoxicalle banish sleep
deepening the distance that separates what we really are from what we would like to be,
but always with a friendly smile on their faces,
but always understanding better than us what we really are,
but always in love with our narrow circunstance,
that one that we can never understand.
the jobs we didn't get
the ones that didn't love us
the trains we lost
the words that we didn't say on time..
All that stuff,
in the solitude of our own special night of each shaking night,
sounding like some weird kind of soft crazy saxos and trombones,
dancing around our warm perplexity,
like dreams that inevitably come true,
like dreams that paradoxicalle banish sleep
deepening the distance that separates what we really are from what we would like to be,
but always with a friendly smile on their faces,
but always understanding better than us what we really are,
but always in love with our narrow circunstance,
that one that we can never understand.
Suscribirse a:
Entradas (Atom)