** Sinfonía de Tourette **

Trata de recuperar un tiempo perdido. Una época que ya se fue. Sus horas se abrigan con un manto oscuro que no cobija a otra alma aparte de la suya. Añora el abrazo de cierta criatura en particular. Aquella que tiene manos que usa como puente con los Maestros... No existe otra como ella, él podría interactuar con otras pero ninguna ninguna le alcanza a él para sentir su propia sangre fluir...  Mientras tanto las hojas que él revisita inspiran palabras atingentes con el momento presente, o por lo menos al vivido hace un par de meses.

four of six of two thousand three.  no vale la pena vivir aunque hay que seguir viviendo... those fucking classmates of the fifth floor... are pure shite... Marcela with a buffalo... and when I feel like I can feel once again, let me stay a while soak it in a while...  you ask me what you need, hate is all you need... professor Kiger were cool... I think of Céline.. what is this moon with no face between the grey clouds?... her vivid eyes... I think of bf each hour, qu'est-ce q'je  fais ? que ferai-je alors?... her eyes... some sound remains in my mind... I wonder if monday could be the day when those eyes could ever talk to me... maybe her voice wishes to caress me
viernes.
when was it when I watched Big fish? was it @ two thousand five or six? now I've been watching Esther Kahn... reading this book makes me nostalgious... makes me wish to go back to those days... nonsense: I am missing those days at Michelangelo... missing Marcela and th blonde french... and th house and Luna...
décimosexto del séptimo del tercero.
a man passed away, a chilean writer Robert Bolaño, I never read a page of any of his books... 

Pero años después tendría lugar una larga lectura a Los detectives salvajes y La literatura nazi en Latinoamérica.

... he seemed an interesting writer... other man left this ugly world where we live on, a cuban musician: Compay Segundo... good music funny man, aged 96... now the cold came into my room... soon I'll go to the library... "no son todos ruiseñores"... I hope a teacher won't be an asshole...
vigésimo sexto del séptimo.
a semester found its end... I think my hand and my calligraphy would begin to betrays me you know... I'll put some words in yr mind...
now it's time for bed, cause I caught flu...
I remember Estación de los peces and Adiós enigma tornasol because I wrote recently some good verses... I know I'm modest... it's been cold lately, still with flu... and why I think often of Cyann? why I fancy quite lately? Cyann and bf... well I think I'll have to do something about them... the poems will soon be published somewhere... "dress sexy at my funeral my good wife, for the first time in your life..."

Etiquetas: dear wendy