La obsesión musical del momento

Últimamente estoy muy posteadora de links.
Ya estoy fumando de nuevo, así que en cualquier momento vuelvo a postear largos escritos autoexploratorios.

Do you miss somebody?

No voy a postear. Unos amigos me acaban de invitar un té.

De todos modos no tenía nada que decir...

Wallpaper fan

Me estoy volviendo fan del papel tapiz... O mejor dicho, de los diseños del papel tapiz y de los estampados de las telas. Creo que la mejor palabra es pattern. I'm a PATTERN FAN. Me gustan las repeticiones.

Barbara

Oh, glorioso ayer, cuando la ciudad de México recibió un chaparrón sorpresivo, que vino a acabar con el sofocante calor que ya había durado unas dos semanas. Para celebrar esta limpieza larga y necesitada, el día que hoy amanece fresco y con colores más brillantes, el cielo que promete brillar azul y tal vez por la tarde oscurecerse de nuevo, para celebrar todo esto es que escribo este post. Y sólo por eso. Rappelle-toi Barbara Il pleuvait sans cesse sur Brest ce jour-là Et tu marchais souriante Epanouie ravie ruisselante Sous la pluie Rappelle-toi Barbara Il pleuvait sans cesse sur Brest Et je t'ai croisée rue de Siam Tu souriais Et moi je souriais de même Rappelle-toi Barbara Toi que je ne connaissais pas Toi qui ne me connaissais pas Rappelle-toi Rappelle toi quand même ce jour-là N'oublie pas Un homme sous un porche s'abritait Et il a crié ton nom Barbara Et tu as couru vers lui sous la pluie Ruisselante ravie épanouie Et tu t'es jetée dans ses bras Rappelle-toi cela Barbara Et ne m'en veux pas si je te tutoie Je dis tu à tous ceux que j'aime Même si je ne les ai vus qu'une seule fois Je dis tu à tous ceux qui s'aiment Même si je ne les connais pas Rappelle-toi Barbara N'oublie pas Cette pluie sage et heureuse Sur ton visage heureux Sur cette ville heureuse Cette pluie sur la mer Sur l'arsenal Sur le bateau d'Ouessant Oh Barbara Quelle connerie la guerre Qu'es-tu devenue maintenant Sous cette pluie de fer De feu d'acier de sang Et celui qui te serrait dans ses bras Amoureusement Est-il mort disparu ou bien encore vivant Oh Barbara Il pleut sans cesse sur Brest Comme il pleuvait avant Mais ce n'est plus pareil et tout est abîmé C'est une pluie de deuil terrible et désolée Ce n'est même plus l'orage De fer d'acier de sang Tout simplement des nuages Qui crèvent comme des chiens Des chiens qui disparaissent Au fil de l'eau sur Brest Et vont pourrir au loin Au loin très loin de Brest Dont il ne reste rien. Jacques Prévert, "Paroles", Gallimard, 1946

Rules of Attraction Script (Fragmentos)

(Sólo para clavados. Para ver el script completo, dar clic aquí.) Lauren: It's a story that might bore you, but you don't have to listen, because I always knew it was going to be like that. And it was, I think, in that last year, or weekend-- really a Friday in December at Camden-- and this was years ago, when I was a different person and I was so drunk that I ended up losing my virginity. This wouldn't have happened with Victor. He would have taken me gently in his big, strong Drama major arms, and undressed me quietly and expertly, taken my bra off with grace and ease. And it probably wouldn't have hurt. I should have given myself to Victor last term when I had the chance. Paul: Sometimes I can't believe the shit that spills out of my mouth. So while I talk about God knows what, I let my eyes drift across the room, as my mouth allows thoughts to drop out of my brain and roll off my tongue like gumballs, I imagine all the things in life that never were, and all the things that could have been. - Fuck you, I'm no fag! - You sure about that? I definitely detect a certain "faggy-ness" to you. - Get the fuck outta here, you fucking homo! I'm not gay. You're lucky I don't kill you. Luck has nothing to do with it. Everything is preordained. Manifest destiny. You can stop time from happening no more than you can will the oceans to overwhelm the world, or to cause the moon to drop from her outer sphere. Three months later, the handsome dunce had an affair with a friend of mine. Within a year, he was a full-blown queen and telling people I couldn't get it up. Luck has nothing to do with anything. Sean: A great numb feeling washes over me as I let go of the past and look forward to the future. I pretend to be a vampire. I don't really need to pretend, because that's who I am, an emotional vampire. I've just come to expect it-- that vampires are real, that I was born this way, that I feed off of other people's real emotions. -You look familiar, have we met? I think I fucked her somewhere toward the beginning of term, the "Wet Wednesday" party. She has dick-sucking lips, so I consider the options. I leave right now, go back to my room, play the guitar, masturbate to broadband-speed Internet porn, go to sleep. Or I could play "Quarters" with Dickie and Quinlivan and that dumb guy from LA. Or I could take her to the Carousel for some coffee and ditch her there with the bill. Or I could take her back to my room, hope the Frog is gone, get stoned and fuck her. But when he kissed her on the lips, he instantly went hard. She was crying, her face was slick, but she let him pull her clothes off. She smelled like sweet fruit. She was small, too. Her pubic hair was light and sparse. Yet, when he fingered her, he didn't feel anything-- she wasn't getting wet, even though she was making soft little moans. He was semi-stiff and losing his erection. Something was wrong, something was missing, he didn't know what. Confused, he started to fuck her. Before he came, it hit him-- he can't remember the last time he had sex sober. Is she coming tonight? - I doubt it. - Why? - She's been looking at the book. - What book? It's this big medical book she's got of venereal diseases. Before a party, she looks through it to discourage herself from hooking up with people like you. It's got some pretty nasty imagery. And it helps her keep her focused on her homework. - So, she's not coming, then? - Nope. So, you want to get me another beer? So where did you spend last summer? - Berlin. - Paul: Sprechen sie Deutsch? What? - Do you speak German? - No. - What the f--? - You don't? No. Why? Well, I don't know. I just assumed, since you spent the summer in Berlin-- I thought maybe you-- No. Berlin, New Hampshire. Sean's voice: I need to get some more pot. I'm running out. And I need to get laid. Where the fuck was Lauren tonight? Lara's kind of hot. I could bang her and feel good about it. I'd rather have Lauren. I wonder why. It would just ruin my illusion of her innocence, her purity. Whoa! Is that really what I want? I need to fuck someone. Then I need to get more pot. Paul's voice: I watched him with growing intensity as he refilled the pipe in the dark and smoky din of the room. He delicately fingered what looked like dried moss to me, and it struck me then that I liked Sean because he looked slutty, a boy who'd been around. A boy who couldn't remember if he was Catholic or not. Whooo... Sean's voice: I wonder if Lauren goes wild during sex. I wonder if she comes easily. Or at all. I won't go to bed with a girl who doesn't. If I can't make a girl come, why bother? It would be like asking questions in a letter. Mmmm... I'm hungry. "Tonight's the night. Tonight's the night. Tonight's the night. Tonight's the night. Tonight's the night." So, tonight's the night? - I'm going all the way. - Who's the lucky boy? - I'm not telling. - You will if you want the room. Okay, okay... - Sean Bateman. - He's a drug dealer. - He made me "zzshing"! - "Zzshing"? "Zzshing" like you just know that you'll be with that person and something amazing will happen, like he just fucking fucks you right up the-- "Zzshing." - No, I've never heard that. - You will someday. You know, you might be afflicted with synesthesia. What? It's a clinical disorder which causes you to hear what you see and see what you hear-- an uncontrolled combination of your senses. You should really get that checked out. - Prozac might help. - What? Aaah! Oooh... Rusty pipes. Mrs.Denton: Then I realized my Cadillac had been stolen. Mrs.Jared: Oh, my God. Mrs.Denton: Stolen. The police couldn't have cared less. They said my insurance would take care of it. Frankly, I was getting sick of the color, you know? Mrs.Jared: I'm going to ask one more time, Richard, kindly remove your sunglasses. Sean's voice: Disillusionment strikes. After all my pining for Lauren, this-- her roommate. The inevitable conclusion. It's like bad poetry-- and then what? I'm still hard, so I keep on going. She's groaning now. Humping up, down, up. Is it ever going to end? I should never have done this. I should have kept it innocent. God, oh yes. I put my hand over her mouth. She comes, licking my palms, snorting. It's over. -Kleenex. What's wrong? I told you I came. -I was born in a Holiday Inn. Sean: Better it's not Lauren. Note to self: never 'shroom again. Only gets you into trouble. Victor: Took a charter flight on a DC-10 to London, landed at Heathrow. Took a cab to the city center. Don't let people lie to you, hostels are for the ugly. I'm staying at Home House, the most beautiful hotel. Called a friend from school who was selling hash, but she wasn't in. Met a couple of Brits who take me to of all places, Camden Street. I flirt a bit at the Virgin Megastore, buy some CDs, then follow some girls with pink hair. I wandered around trying to get laid until it started to rain, then went back to Home House. "Ministry of Sound" is dead, so I go to "Rem Forum," but it's "Gay Night." I find one hetero girl and we dry-hump on the dance floor. We cab it back to Home House, I strip her clothes off suck her toes and we fuck. Hung out for four or five days, met the world's biggest DJ, Paul Oakenfold. Kept missing the Changing of the Guards. Wrote my mom a postcard I never sent, bought speed from an Italian junkie trying to sell me a stolen bike. Smoked a lot of hash that had too much tobacco in it. Saw the Tate. Saw Big Ben. Ate a lot of weird English food. It rained a lot. It was expensive and I'm jonesing-- split for Amsterdam. The Dutch all know English so I didn't have to speak Dutch, which was a relief. I cruise the red light district, visit a sex show, visit a sex museum, smoke a lot of hash. I meet a Dutch TV actress and we drink absinthe at a bar called "Absinthe." The museums were cool. Lots of Van Goghs and the Vermeers were intense. Wandered around, bought a lot of pastries, ate some intense waffles. Bought some coke and I cruised the red light district I found some blonde with big tits that reminds me of Lara. I gave her 100 guilders. In the end, she pulls me out, I come between her tits even though I'm wearing a rubber. We made small talk about AIDS, her Moroccan pimp and herself. I wake to the sound of a wino singing. It's 8:00 a.m. and hot as blazes. I pretend to ice-skate around Central Station. Trade songs with a Kiwi girl, then split for Paris Wandered the Champs-Elysees, climbed the Eiffel Tower for only seven francs-- the ticket machine was broken. Got the hang of the Metro, took it everywhere. Ford model party, hooked up with a model named Karina. She chugs my cock at the Marriott, which is good. Played billiards, went shopping I think she gave me mono. Drove a Ferrari that belonged to the Saudi royal family. Made out with a Dutch model in front of the Louvre. Saw the Arc de Triomphe-- almost became road kill. "Oakie" invites me to Dublin, I catch an Aer Lingus flight, stay at the Morrison-- Dublin rocks like you can't imagine. Oakenfold lets me spin some discs with him. Irish girls are small as leprechauns. I swap hickeys with a drunk woman after groping my abs and calling me "Mr.LA." She strips for me in the bathroom of the club. Sneak into the Guinness factory and steal some stout so good my dick goes hard. I fly to Barcelona which is a bust. Too many fat American students, too many lame meat markets. I dropped acid at the Sagrada Familia, which was a trip, to say the least. Cruise up the coast to Museo Gala Dali, but had no more acid, which sucked. Some girl from Canada calls me on my cell, so I let her listen to the church bells. Canta Cruz is beautiful but there are no girls there, just old hippies. So I went to Switzerland where, ironically, I couldn't find anyone with the time. Took Glacier Express to Shiltone which is beautiful in a way I can't describe. EuroPass into Italy, ended up in Venice, met a hot girl who looks like Rachel Leigh Cook, and speaks better English than I do. She's living for a year on only $5.00 a day. We gondola around, buy hash. She thinks I'm a capitalist-- my room costs more for one night than her entire trip. She doesn't mind much when I pay the bills. I ditch her and hook up with a couple who obviously want a threesome. Much tension, but the doofus offers to drive me to Rome, an offer I jump at. Traffic's bad, we're stopped for hours. The wife's a freak. The guy wigs out on me. It's like a Polanski film. We stop in Florence, where I see some big dome. A bomb goes off I lose the weird couple, which is probably for the best. Ended up in Rome, which is big and hot and dirty. Just like LA, but with ruins. I went to the Vatican, which is ridiculously opulent. Stood for two hours to get into the Sistine Chapel, which now cleaned, looks fake. I meet two underage Italian girls who I try to talk into fucking each other while I jack off onto them. Bored, I buy them some ice cream instead. My hotel has a gym, so I work out. I bump into some guy from Camden who says he knows me, but I'm sure that he's a fag, so I lose him. I try to fart and instead shit my pants. In my room I masturbate and have a pain in my groin. I dream about a beautiful girl, half in water, stretching her lean body. She asks me if I like it. I tell her she can clean fish with it. I don't know what it means, but I wake well-rested, masturbate in the shower, and check out. Make my way back to London, hang out in Piccadilly Circus. Swap shirts with some upper-crusty Cambridge chick. Hers was an Agnes B.; mine, it cost me my Chanel. She acts stuffy and prudish, but is really wild underneath. She barely looks at my abs, though she wants to. The next day I drop acid and get lost in the subway for a full day and can't find my way out. I meet a cute girl that lets me jack off onto her as long as no come gets onto her Paul Smith coat. We get stoned while listening to Michael Jackson records. The next morning, I wake up talking to myself. I had a big bump on my head from flailing in my sleep. I get my stuff and barely make my plane back to the United States. I no longer know who I am and I feel like the ghost of a total stranger. So then I ended up back here. Deal with it, Sean. It's over. Rock and roll. Lauren, I want to know you. What does that mean, "know me"? "Know me." Nobody knows anyone else, ever! - Then there's someone else. - Doesn't matter anyway. Not to people like him. Not to people like us. Sean: I started driving faster as I left the college behind. I didn't know where I was going. Someplace unoccupied, I hoped. At first I thought there were things about her that I would never forget, but in the end, all I could think about was--

Not much

Sábado 8:50 pm. Los días no han dejado de ser extraños. Ayer viernes el aire se revelaba cargado de emociones. Esos días de tensión perceptible, de pensamientos casi eléctricos, cuyo origen se desconoce. Días en los que -no sé si les pase, o si conozcan a alguien a quien le pase- cualquier cosa desencadena el llanto. And I really mean cualquier cosa. Ah, sí, lo olvidaba, estoy en mis días, eso también creo que cuenta. Pero no creo que sea el único factor. Ayer más de uno tenía los nervios de punta. Hoy tengo una pequeña reunión, que sabe más a junta de trabajo, no sé por qué, en mi casa. Vendrá la gente de mi taller. A ver qué resulta (tengo ya el agua caliente para los tés, el refri vacío de cerveza...) Me voy.

enhebrando

(qué buena palabra) No, not really a boring life... specially this last week. Oficialmente ya entregué mi último trabajo escolar y estoy fuera. Se siente bien, libre, aunque mi preparación mental me ha permitido seguir levantándome temprano (ñoñez, i know...) Entre encargos, ilustraciones y una inesperada sesión plenaria de consejo, la semana pasada se pasó en chinga. O.'s birthday is on sunday. Anyone feels like partying?

wednesday night

Luiggi

Hoy. Punto. ¿no les apetece oir help, de los beatles? (mejor me voy a dormir, ya me di un baño)

8:50

Son las ocho de la noche con cincuenta minutos. Estoy en el comedor de mi casa, fumando un cigarro, sufriendo el calor y esperando a Sol. Se supone que viene en camino para tomarnos una cerveza fría y platicar. No es ni siquiera una reunión, pero me alegra verla. Sobre todo después de una semana difícil como ésta, de llantos, cansancio y extraños momentos con O. Por lo menos ya está terminando el día. No saben cómo me alegro, sobreviví un día de las madres más sin que se nos cayera el teatrito...

Domingo una de la tarde

Foto de una foto que tomó Carlos.

Lo vi ayer y me dio gusto. Lo vi contento.

Tarde de domingo

O más bien noche de domingo. Siempre resultan un poco aburridas, demasiado ligeras y cansadas por el rush del fin de semana...

Me parece un buen momento para postear la siguiente foto:

Eugenio. Recién estrenando brackets. Buenas noches a todos.