Pobres de las personas que están solas en un mundo sin belleza.

John Ajvide Lindqvist, Déjame entrar
pic Gregory Crewdson

"Your mother", he said distinctly, "is not crazy. Neither, contrary to popular belief, is your brother. He is merely miscast in a play. He would have made a perfect knight in a different century, or a very good pagan prince in a time of heroes. He was born in the wrong era, on the wrong side of the river, with the ability to do anything and finding nothing he wants to do."

S.E. Hinton, Rumble Fish

Ken: What the fuck are you doing, Ray?
Ray: What the fuck are 'you' doing?
[Ken sticks pistol behind his back]
Ken: Nothing.
Ray: Oh, my God . . . you were gonna kill me.
Ken: No, I wa-- You were gonna kill yourself!
Ray: Well . . . I'm allowed.
Ken: No, you're not!
Ray: What? I'm not allowed, and you are? How's that fair?

Martin McDonagh, In Bruges

bye my baby

Poesía: aún estamos con vida

& tú me prendes con tus fósforos

mi cigarro barato

& me miras como a un simple cabello despeinado

temblando de frío en el peine de la noche

Mario Santiago Papasquiaro, Consejos de 1 discípulo de Marx a 1 fanático de Heidegger

pic David Wojnarowickz

hair blowing in the hot wind
time hanging from a clothes pin
there's no sorrow that the sun's not gonna help

smell the leather of your new car
drive through the desert after night fall
sleep on the shoulder keep the stars all to ourselves

the kinda love that makes my back hurt
wearing nothing but a t-shirt
she's turning over on a mattress made of air

i close my eyes i see a stair case
leading upwards into blank space
all of creation makes a sound too soft to hear

so I remain between her legs
sheltered from all my fears
while bikers glide by highway shrines
where pilgrims disappear

Conor Oberst, Sausalito
pic Bruce Davidson

Marcharse no es problema. Es emocionante, en realidad; de hecho, es como una droga. Es quedarte lejos lo que te mata. Esta es la sabiduría compartida de los inmigrantes. La escuchas de gente que vuelve a su país luego de una década de ausencia. Te cuentan sobre la euforia que se acaba rápidamente; sobre las cosas nuevas que van perdiendo su novedad y, poco después, incluso su capacidad de divertirte. El idioma te desconcierta. Te cansas de explorar. Luego la lista de lo que extrañas se multiplica irracionalmente, y la nostalgia lo nubla todo: en tus recuerdos, tu país es limpio y honesto, las calles son seguras, y la comida siempre deliciosa. Los detalles sagrados de tu vida anterior se te aparecen una y otra vez de manera extraña y reiterada, en cientos de sueños que te mantienen despierto. Tus bolsillos se llenan de dinero, pero tu corazón se siente enfermo y vacío.

Daniel Alarcón, Guerra a la luz de la velas.

Anoche me acosté con un hombre y su sombra.
Las constelaciones nada saben del caso.
Sus besos eran balas que yo enseñé a volar.
Hubo un paro cardiaco.

El joven
nadaba como las olas.
Era tétrico,
suave,
me dio con un martillo en las articulaciones.
Vivimos ese rato de selva,
esa salud colérica
con que nos mata el hambre de otro cuerpo.

Anoche tuve un náufrago en la cama.
Me profanó el maldito.
Envuelto en dios y en sábana
nunca pidió permiso.
Todavía su rayo láser me traspasa.
Hablábamos del cosmos y de iconografia,
pero todo vino abajo
cuando me dio el santo y seña.

Hoy encontré esa mancha en el lecho,
tan honda
que me puse a pensar gravemente:
la vida cabe en una gota.

Carilda Oliver, Anoche
art Jonathan Viner

I know that it is freezing but I think we have to walk
I keep waving at the taxis; they keep turning their lights off
But Julie knows a party at some actor’s west side loft
Supplies are endless in the evening; by the morning they’ll be gone.

When everything is lonely I can be my own best friend
I get a coffee and the paper; have my own conversations
With the sidewalk and the pigeons and my window reflection
The mask I polish in the evening, by the morning looks like shit.

And I know you have a heavy heart; I can feel it when we kiss
So many men stronger than me have thrown their backs out trying to lift it
But me I’m not a gamble you can count on me to split
The love I sell you in the evening, by the morning won’t exist.

You’re looking skinny like a model with your eyes all painted black
You just keep going to the bathroom always say you’ll be right back
Well it takes one to know one, kid, I think you’ve got it bad
But what’s so easy in the evening, by the morning is such a drag.

I’ve got a flask inside my pocket we can share it on the train
If you promise to stay conscious I will try and do the same
We might die from medication, but we sure killed all the pain
But what was normal in the evening, by the morning seems insane.

And I’m not sure what the trouble was that started all of this
The reasons all have run away but the feeling never did
It’s not something I would recommend, but it is one way to live
Cause what is simple in the moonlight, by the morning never is
What’s so simple in the moonlight, now is so complicated
What’s so simple in the moonlight, so simple in the moonlight

Bright Eyes, Lua
pic Philip-Lorca diCorcia

She says baby if you wanna be wild
you got a lot to learn, close your eyes
Let them melt, let them fire, let them burn
Cause in the darkness there'll be hidden worlds that shine
When I hold Candy close she makes these hidden worlds mine

Bruce Springsteen, Candy's Room
art Ray Caesar

Tragedy is possible solely because of the limitations of the human spirit. There are levels of despair from which it rightly seems the human spirit should not recover.

Wole Soyinka, The Man Died

whatever doesn't kill you makes you stranger

No affection were the words that stuck on my mind
When she walked out on me for the very last time
Oh mamma sweet mamma can you tell me what to say
I don't know what I've done to be treated this way
In a cold dirty room that's where I found myself
With a bottle of wine and some pills off the shelf
Oh mamma sweet mamma can you tell me what to say
I don't know what I've done and I'm feeling so ashamed
Then an angel appeared she was just 17
In a dirty old town with a conscious so clean
Oh mamma sweet mamma can you tell me what to say
She's brought back the life that I once threw away

The Flying Burrito Brothers, Juanita
she's michelle rodriguez

In polaroids you were dressed in women's clothes
Were you made ashamed, why'd you lock them in a drawer?
I don't think that I ever loved you more

Then when you turned away
When you slammed the door
When you stole the car
And drove towards Mexico
And you wrote bad checks
Just to fill your arm
I was young enough, I still believed in war

Well, let the poets cry themselves to sleep
And all their tearful words will turn back into steam

Bright Eyes, Poison Oak
pic by David Wojnarowickz

You say my time here has been some sort of joke
That I've been messing around
Some sort of incubating period
For when I really come around
I'm cracking up
And you have no idea

No idea how it feels to be on your own
In your own home
with the fucking phone
And the mother of gloom
In your bedroom
Standing over your head
With her hand in your head
With her hand in your head

I will not pretend
I will not put on a smile
I will not say I'm all right for you
When all I wanted was to be good
To do everything in truth
To do everything in truth

Oh I wish I wish I wish I was born a man
So I could learn how to stand up for myself
Like those guys with guitars
I've been watching in bars
Who've been stamping their feet to a different beat
To a different beat
To a different beat

Martha Wainwright, Bloody Mother Fucking Asshole
asia in the pic

La imagen que más temía era aquella en la que estaba de vuelta en casa, en la que Sarah y yo vivíamos juntas, en la que ella me hacía los encargos y me masajeaba los pies, apoyados suplicantes sobre un diván de piel. Me traería tazones de caldo a la cama y me podría una toquilla sobre los hombros, me limpiaría los restos de comida de las comisuras de los labios con un trapo húmedo. Y yo comenzaría a olvidarme de ella, a gritarle, a hacerle comentarios crueles acerca de su cuerpo, de su vida amorosa, de su inteligencia.

Alice Sebold, Casi la luna

My kitten walks on velvet feet
And makes no sound at all;
And in the doorway nightly sits
To watch the darkness fall.

I think he loves the lady, Night,
And feels akin to her
Whose footsteps are as still as his,
Whose touch as soft as fur.

Night, Lois Weakley McKay

Image Edward Gorey & his cats

Mama's in the fact'ry
She ain't got no shoes
Daddy's in the alley
He's lookin' for the fuse
I'm in the streets
With the tombstone blues

Tombstone Blues, Bob Dylan

I've come 500 miles just to see your halo
Come from St. Petersburg, Scarlett and me
When I open my eyes, I was blind as can be
And to give a man luck, he must fall in the sea
And she wants you to steal and get caught
For she loves you for all that you are not
When you're falling down, falling down
When you're falling down, falling down, falling down

Falling Down, Tom Waits

You know who I am,
you've stared at the sun,
well I am the one who loves
changing from nothing to one.

Sometimes I need you naked,
sometimes I need you wild,
I need you to carry my children in
and I need you to kill a child.

Leonard Cohen, You Know Who I Am
pic by Nan Goldin

Well, I kept thinking about what the weatherman said
And if the voices of the living can be heard by the dead
Well, the day is gonna come when we find out
And in some kinda way I take a little comfort from that (now and then)
Cause people often talk about being scared of change
But for me I'm more afraid of things staying the same
Cause the game is never won by standing in any one place for too long

Nick Cave, Jesus of the Moon
pic Cris Jordan

"Entonces, con un anhelo que no había experimentado hasta esa noche, hasta esa brava y tierna noche en nuestra sala, en ese pueblito escondido, deseé conocer algún día el amor de una persona sin importar cuán amarga pudiera ser su pérdida".

William Goyen, Precious Door

Can you feel the spirit?

If I Can Shoot Rabbits, Then I Could Shoot Fascists

pascua
foto hiroshi watanabe

Ser bello es ser un poco distinto de todos los que nos rodean. Y no tiene significado alguno... Es imposible dudar que el amor a la belleza es, con frecuencia, el amor concreto a cosas raras y sin sentido... La belleza, dice Stendhal, no es más que una promesa de felicidad. Puede. Pero es, del mismo modo, el recuerdo del dolor.

Armand Marie Leroi, Mutantes
art by Jan Saudek

Build yourself a castle
Keep your family safe from harm
Get into classical music
Raise rabbits on a farm

Log on in the night time
Drink a half-bottle of wine
Buy a couple of records
Look at naked girls from time to time

And people tell me
what a real nice guy you are
So come on, serenade me
on your acoustic guitar

And don't believe me
if I claim to be your friend
'cos given half the chance
I know that I will kill again
I will kill again

And wouldn't it be nice
for all the world to live in peace?
And no-one gets ill or ever dies
or dies of boredom at the very least

And people tell me
what a real nice guy you are
So come on, serenade me
on your acoustic guitar

And don't believe me
if I claim to be your friend
'cos given half the chance
I know that I will kill again
I will kill again


Jarvis Cocker, I Will Kill Again
art by Mïa Mäkila

Durante mucho tiempo
He estado siguiendo una negra hiedra
No puedo hallar la raíz
No puedo hallar la punta
Hay un alto muro de espinas
Hay un grueso muro de espinas
Alrededor de un castillo desconocido
Las espinas están cubiertas de flores
Cada flor es diferente
Pero su olor es el perfume
De un cuerpo que he perdido

Fragmento de El tiempo es una serie inclusiva dijo McTaggart-5 poemas sobre este asunto, Kenneth Rexroth

Pongan atención señores, que sin poner ni quitar,
un suceso de Galicia, aquí les voy a explicar.
Valor le pido al buen dios y a la virgen soberana
para contar este caso que sólo nombrarlo espanta.

En la tierra de Allariz un criminal sin entrañas,
a tres hermanas mató sin cuchillo ni navaja;
Se crió de malos padres sin consejo ni enseñanza
y pasó la mocedá viviendo en mala compaña.
Andándose el tiempo adelante el criminal se juntaba
con Manolita García natural de Ponferrada.
Al cabo de nueve meses Manolita embarazada
tuvo un hijo, Rosendito, ojalá no lo alumbrara.
Y después que lo parió al mercado se marchaba
a llevar la mercancía de paño fino de Holanda.
A eso de las ocho y media viene una grande ventada
y se fueron a guardar debajo de una pagana,
y entonces el muy cabrón cuando le daba la espalda,
la cogía por el cuello y a bocados la mataba.
Y después que la mató, al ver que el niño lloraba,
le retorcía el pescuezo y la lengua le cortaba,
Y en lo más hondo del bosque con él la dejó enterrada.
A las preguntas que harán por aquella desdichada
que se ha marchado a servir a la ciudad de Granada.

En esta segunda parte, si la fuerza no me falta,
daremos fin al relato que estremece a toda España.
El perverso criminal, no contento de su hazaña,
a la hermana de Manuela, que Benina se llamaba,
luego mató en el camino que a Santander la llevaba
y también a Josefina que era la tercera hermana.
Grandes investigaciones empezaron en España
las muertes del sacauntos por docenas se contaban.
Dando gritos por el monte al malhechor encontraban,
las manos igual que garras y la cara ensangrentada.
Ha salido ya el proceso y el juez lo sentenciaba
a morir en el garrote como la opinión demanda.
En la cárcel de Valencia ya sus días terminaba
y el cadáver del maldito con petróleo quemaban.
Madres las que escucháis y buenas gentes honradas
educad a vuestros hijos en la religión cristiana,
no sea el caso como este por una mala crianza,
que un malvado criminal salga de vuestras entrañas.
Aquí la historia termina, aquí la historia se acaba,
del sacauntos de Allariz. ¡Gloria al señor, deo Gratia!

El Sacaúntos de Allariz, anónimo en versión de Nacho Vegas
art by Mïa Mäkila

Baby's driving too fast
she says she's got to get away
yeah she needs somewhere
where the sky is wide
and she won't feel afraid

Baby's driving out late
she says that she just feels so lost
She'll be back when the sun comes up
and she can't see the stars

Soon you will be walking down
Roosan St again and you will feel alright
You'll be dancing on the line
Dancing because you feel alive
Yeah that's right
Baby's coming home

Baby's driving too fast
and she dont' wanna know which way
Yeah she's read enough rock & roll
to know that it's right now that counts

Baby's driving too fast
but she don't really understand
Why she's got everything she needs
but nothing she really wants

Mojave 3, Baby's Drivin Home
Pic by Tom Chambers

"Ted me besó violentamente en la boca y me arrancó la cinta del pelo, mi pañuelo rojo del pelo que había soportado el sol y mucho amor y no volveré a encontrar otro igual, y mis pendientes de plata preferidos: ja, continuaré, rugió. Y me besó el cuello y yo le mordí fuerte la mejilla y cuando salimos de la habitación la sangre le caía por la cara”.

Sylvia Plath en su diario, 1956.
Foto con Ted, circa honeymoon

The Real Prophet

Jesus the Mexican boy
born in a truck on the fourth of July
gave me a card with a lady naked on the back
Barefoot at night on the road
Fireworks blooming above in the sky
I never knew I was given the best one from the deck

He never wanted nothing I remember
Maybe a broken bottle if I had two
Hanging behind his holy even temper
Hiding the more unholy things I do

Jesus the Mexican boy
Gave me a ride on the back of his bike
Out to the fair though I welched on a $5 bet
Drunk on Calliope songs
We met a home-wrecking carnival girl
He's never asked for a favor or the money yet

Jesus the Mexican boy
Born in a truck on the 4th of July
I fell in love with his sister unrepentantly
Fearing he wouldn't approve
We made a lie that was feeble at best
Boarded a train bound for Vegas and married secretly

I never him nothing I remember
Maybe a broken bottle if I had two
Hanging behind his holy even temper
Hiding the more unholy things I do

Jesus the Mexican boy
Wearing a long desert trip on his tie
Lo and behold he was standing under the welcome sign
Naked the Judas in me
Fell by the tracks but he lifted me high
Kissing my head like a brother and never asking why

Iron & Wine, Jesus The Mexican Boy pic by Anton Bruehl

Bat For Lashes - Whats a Girl To Do

La belleza es tomar algo en las manos y dejar que se vaya después. Uno no se puede aferrar al mar y a la sonrisa de los amigos que se van lejos.

Banana Yoshimoto, Amrita
art by Audrey Kawasaki

I knew him as a gentle young man
I cannot say for sure the reasons for his decline
We watched him fade before our very eyes
And years before his time

Surrounded himself with shiny things
First night tickets, ermine, pearls upon a string
And disappeared in all the pestilence
that sudden pleasure brings

The Triffids, Tender Is The Night
and heath ledger as joker

i'm sorry

http://www.pagina12.com.ar/diario/suplementos/las12/13-3860-2008-01-19.html

art by ana mendieta in memoriam ana maría

Levantó su cabeza rígida de entre las hojas y la sostuvo o trató de sostener lo que no puede ser sostenido, lo que ya corría por las montañas, a la vez terrible y de una inmensa belleza, como las flores que se alimentan de carne.

Cormac McCarthy, The Crossing

Pic by Tina Modotti

I'm gonna make a mistake/ I'm gonna do it on purpose/ I'm gonna waste my time/ 'Cause I'm full as a tick/ And I'm scratching at the surface/ And what I find is mine

Fiona Apple, A Mistake

hopefully dammed return ticket

The sun shines only to burnish her skin and gild her hair; the wind blows only to whip up the colour in her cheeks; the sea strives to bathe her; flowers die gladly so that her skin may luxuriate in their essence. She is the crown of creation, the masterpiece. The depths of the sea are ransacked for pearl and coral to deck her; the bowels of the earth are laid open that she might wear gold, sapphires, diamonds and rubies. Baby seals are battered with staves, unborn lambs ripped from their mother's wombs, millions of moles, muskrats, squirrels, minks, ermines, foxes, beavers, chinchillas, ocelots, lynxes and other small and lovely creatures die untimely deaths that she might have furs. Egrets, ostriches and peacocks, butterflies and beetles yield her their plumage. Men risk their lives hunting leopards for her coats, and crocodiles for her handbags and shoes. Millions of silkworms offer her their yellow labours; even the seamstresses roll seams and whip lace by hand, so that she might be clad in the best that money can buy.

Germaine Greer, The Female Eunuch

Pics by Julia Kissina

Anthony walked to his death because he thought he'd never feel this way again/ If he goes back to the house then things would go from bad to worse, what could he do?/ He wants to remember things exactly as he left them on that wednesday/ And if there is something else beyond, he isnt scared because/ Its bound to be less boring than today/ Its bound to be less boring than tomorrow.

Belle & Sebastian, If You're Feeling Sinister

Art by Neumorin