Clausurado. Será la próxima vez.

So now I hang out down by the train's depot/ No, I don’t ride, I just sit and watch the people there/ They remind me of wind-up cars in motion/ They way they spin and turn and jockey for positions/ And I wanna scream out that it all is nonsense/ Their life’s one track and can’t they see it’s pointless?/ But just then my knees give under me/ My head feels weak and suddenly It’s clear to see, it’s not them, but me/ Who’s lost my self-identity/ And I hide behind these books I read/ While scribbling my poetry/ Like art could save a wretch like me/ With some ideal ideology/ That no one could hope to achieve/ And I'm never real, it's just a sketch of me And everything I’ve made is trite and cheap and a waste/ Of paint/ Of tape/ Of time.

Bright Eyes, Waste of Paint

"El mundo se creó para los muertos. Piensa en todos los muertos que hay --dijo y luego, como si hubiera concebido la respuesta a todas las insolencias, añadió--: ¡Los muertos son un millón de veces más que los vivos y el tiempo que los muertos se pasan muertos es un millón de veces más que el tiempo que los vivos se pasan vivos!"

Flannery O'Connor, Más pobre que un muerto, imposible

Sometimes it's like someone took a knife baby/ Edgy and dull and cut a six-inch valley/ Through the middle of my soul./ At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet/ And a freight train running through the middle of my head/ Only you can cool my desire/ Oh oh oh, I'm on fire.

Bruce Springsteen, I'm On Fire (Bat For Lashes' version)

Pic by Jan Saudek

All the soldiers/They're all gonna die/ All the little babies/ They're all gonna die/ All the poets/ And all the liars/ And all you pretty people/ You're all gonna die.

Low, All You Pretty People

Art Daniel Martin Díaz

The World According To Sawyer

So Young

Mona tried to tell me/ To stay away from the train line./ She said that all the railroad men/ Just drink up your blood like wine./ An' I said, "Oh, I didn't know that,/ But then again, there's only one I've met/ An' he just smoked my eyelids/ An' punched my cigarette."

Bob Dylan, Stuck inside of Mobile With the Memphis blues again.
art by Camille Rose García

"Just remember that the things you put into your head are there forever, he said. You might want to think about that.

You forget some things, don't you?

Yes. You forget what you want to remember and you remember what you want to forget"

Cormac McCarthy, The Road

Pic by Paul D'Amato

Me acerco al agua /Bebiendo tu beso/ La luz de tu cara/ La luz de tu cuerpo/ Es ruego el quererte/ Es canto de mudo/ Mirada de ciego/ Secreto desnudo/ Me entrego a tus brazos/ Con miedo y con calma/ Y un ruego en la boca/ Y un ruego en el alma

Lhasa, Con toda palabra

Art by Jenny Bird Alcantara

Nostalgia

I have crossed oceans of time to find you.

It's a kind of magic

"No hay más que un problema filosófico verdaderamente serio: el suicidio. Juzgar que la vida vale o no vale la pena de ser vivida es responder a la pregunta fundamental de la filosofía (...). Es profundamente indiferente quién gira alrededor del otro, si la tierra o el sol. Para decirlo todo, es una cuestión banal. Nunca vi a nadie morir por el argumento ontológico".

Albert Camus, El mito de Sísifo.

Well sooner or later the ground's gonna be holdin' all

Of my ashes too

But I can't help but wonder if after I'm gone

Will I still have these three hundred mile perhour,

finger breaking, no answers makin',

battered dirty hands, bee stung and busted up,

emptycup torrential outpour blues

One thing's for sure: in that graveyard

I'm gonna have the shiniest pair of shoes

The White Stripes, 300 M.P.H. Torrential Outpour Blues

Please don't bring me down

Please don't let me go

My heart is a worried thing

Memories have now planted seeds of a field I now

Want to reap and sow

I'm on the same side as you

I'm just a little behind

Cat Power, Willie

"He imagined the pain of the world to be like some formless parasitic being seeking out the warmth of human souls wherein to incubate and he thought he knew what made one liable to its visitations. What he had not known was that it was mindless and so had no way to know the limits of those souls and what he feared was that there might be no limits. "

Cormac McCarthy, All The Pretty Horses

Pic Jean Philippe Charbonnier

If you were coming in the fall,

I'd brush the summer by

With half a smile and half a spurn,

As housewives do a fly.

If I could see you in a year,

I'd wind the months in balls,

And put them each in separate drawers,

Until their time befalls.

If only centuries delayed,

I'd count them on my hand,

Subtracting till my fingers dropped

Into Van Diemens land.

If certain, when this life was out,

That yours and mine should be,

I'd toss it yonder like a rind,

And taste eternity.

But now, all ignorant of the length
Of time's uncertain wing,
It goads me, like the goblin bee,
That will not state its sting.

Emily Dickinson, If you were coming in the fall

And I Never Think You'll Get It

Tonight You're Doing Something

This Fix Is More Important

Than You Are

Hooking In The Streets

Don't You Have Somewhere To Go

This Man Is More Important

Than You Are

Girl Can This Summer Turn You On

When You Walk Inside Yourself

And Feel The Moon Has Let You Down

Remember When The Heat Could

Knock You Off Your Feet

I Remember When The Streets Would

Still Be Good To Me

Girl Where Were You On That Perfect Day

When Hearts Were Handed Out

And Young Girls

Found Pretty Lover Boys

Come On

Make It Right

The Raveonettes, Remember

And the wonderful Gia Carangi