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