:0)

i

*

could say: miss thou

sure. could

but wont

walk

Again and again, however we know the landscape of love
and the little churchyard there, with its sorrowing names,
and the frighteningly silent abyss into which the others
fall: again and again the two of us walk out together
under the ancient trees, lie down again and again
among the flowers, face to face with the sky.

rilke

*let's go in the water
take me for a walk.

o.o

ok, i confess it: i always liked fat guys*

*this is the proof

hunger

and spiderman is always hungry*

*"you make make me hungry for you"

poet

"The poetry in greek has exactly this meaning: poetry (poiesis) means "to make that something extraordinary happens". The scots use the word maker (the one that makes) to refer to a poet, but often they write it makar that in greek is makarios and means "blessed" or "happy".

Robert Graves, Difficult questions, easy answers

*and jorge luis borges has a poem named "el hacedor" that means: the maker

tripping

"Kublai Khan had noticed that Marco Polo's cities were looking alike, as if the step of one to other was not implying a trip but a change of elements. Now, of every city that Marco described, the mind of the Great Khan was based on his own, and dismantled the city piece by piece, he reconstructed it differently, replacing ingredients, displacing them, investing them.
Marco meanwhile continued describing his trip, but the emperor already was no longer listening and interrupted him:
- From now on i will be who describes the cities and you will verify if they exist and if they are like i have thought them."

Italo Calvino, The invisible cities

* and cortazar's carachter which name is Traveller never travelled at all

muZiK

*i'm in love with my guitar

mindly

because it is hard to believe but everytime that she takes a walk around that circular church and the park that is in front of it, she cant avoid thinking about somebody who has never been there*

*sometimes the mind plays the most dangerous tricks...

springtime

what i like the most about the spring is that you feel that you are still in time for everything*

*well in fact probably for "almost" everything
**to be honest maybe you are "almost" still
***ok, ok, let's recognize it: with all the luck you "almost" feel

wantU

*and if it's the last thing i ever do: i'm gonna get you

enchanted

J.C
even a little frog could beat him

*enchanted froggie

fugitives

and he sings:

dont be so cruel
dont look for more excuses
we'll always be fugitives
both of us

*"now i know that i run away because i love"

fallin'*

*sometimes your make me feel like i'm living at the edge of the world. it's just the way i smile, you say

poetry

SONNET OF THE SWEET COMPLAINT

Never let me lose the marvel
of your statue-like eyes, or the accent
the solitary rose of your breath
places on my cheek at night.

I am afraid of being, on this shore,
a branchless trunk, and what I most regret
is having no flower, pulp, or clay
for the worm of my despair.

If you are my hidden treasure,
if you are my cross, my dampened pain,
if I am a dog, and you alone my master,

never let me lose what I have gained,
and adorn the branches of your river
with leaves of my estranged Autumn.

Federico García Lorca

*because what i truly believe is that poetry is much more than a way for writing about love. it's the way for singing (even in the saddest mood) about every little thing, that is why i like so much all those poems that speak about creepy stuffs, about worms, rats, bats, ghosts, decaying bodies and all kind of animals.

**like that sabato's poem that we like so much, and starts saying: "Oh dioses de la noche, oh dioses de las tinieblas..." (you know the rest of it)

inside

harold bloom says that if you search yourself outside yourself, then you'll only find the disaster, erotic or ideological*

*"man know thyself, then thou shalt know the universe and god" phytagoras

trakl

UYKU
Lanet olsun size karanlık zehirler,
Beyaz uyku!
Alacakaranlık ağaçların
Bu çok tuhaf bahçesi
Yılan, gece kelebeği,
Örümcek ve yarasalarla dolu.
Yabancı! Akşam kızıllığında
Senin yitik gölgen,
Karanlık bir korsan
Acının tuzlu denizinde.
Beyaz kuşlar uçuşur kıyısında gecenin
Yıkılan çelik
Kentler üzerinde.

*a poem that includes: serpents, nightmoths, spiders and bats is closer to the perfection

ant(ic)

and suddenly,while she was writing on that sheet of paper she noticed that all the numbers 8 that she had drawn were in fact little and black ants

and in a minute her desk was full of ants dancing with supreme happiness *

*if i received just one dollar for each ridiculous thought that i have during the day, i should be richer than "Pol Macarni" (how funny, and how beatle)

impossible

there should be a way:

for embracing a heart (from the inside)

for caressing the blood (with silked fingers)

for healing the brain sweetly ( just with band-aids)

there should be a way (but i know that it doesnt exist)*

*malisimo

4ever

Don't forget to call, whenever
I'll be here just waiting for you
I'll be under your stars forever
Neither here nor there just right beside you
I'll be under the stairs forever
Neither here nor there just right beside you

*i like so much cats under the stairs

heabed

"but take me to the heaven of your bed*
was something that you never said"

*ok, ok, but what about if that heavenly bed is in fact the procrustes' bed, ha! (?)

madness

and this is the moment when i start throwing the cds out of the window to the street

and i shout : "why, why?" (but probably in another language, for instance in french, because the french is the best language "pour la tragedie", so i'd shout: Pourquoi, porquoi?)

and i'd hit the walls with all my pillows

and all that kind of stuffs that would be perfect if i were juliette binoche and this were just a cheap b-movie (?)*

*how funny

sound

*ifallintothesea

------->

Lovely joy left blank, perhaps you are
the center of all my labors and my loves.
If I've wept for you so much, it's because
I preferred you among so many outlined joys.

repeat

same movie again*

*deja-vu

poetry

he says: sadness sells

and he is right

but sadness only sells if the sad one is beautiful*

* being sad and ugly is not easy

STOP!*

*tongue games. that is what i call dangerous

**and the same sensation again: i know that i have seen that attitude somewhere else (?)

mirrors

she says to him that he is beautiful (but -at least in this moment- he cant see it)
he says to her that she is beautiful (but she -always- thinks she is not)
they are able to see the beauty of the other, but they cant see their own

he says that they are not guilty, that is just a "code stuff"
she woke up today singing: i'll be your mirror*

*i find it hard to believe you dont know the beauty that you are, but if you dont let me be your eyes

you

*you have my loyalty = "you are just like me"

quarter

how much time would it be necessary?

how much time would it be enough?

to see if things are the way i think they are

could i say at the end: ok, it was exactly as i wished?

should i be released?

how much time? i cant help wondering this*

*fifteen minutes with you... oh, i wouldn't say no

exit

days when i am so -but so- me*

*why cant i be you?

b-day

*someone could say: it's not your birthday anymore
** but i dont give a damn

circle

paris, february 24, 1952

Dear Eduardo:

..." every day i like more George Trakl. I have a friend who reads to me in german and after she translates every line. We have many Trakl's poems, and it seems to us that he is a deepest poet"...

julio*

*julio is cortázar, obviously

thoughtful

infatuated only with ourselves
and neither of us can think straight anymore *

*i'm trying to remember if there was a time when i could think straight
** and definetely my answer is no

?

"Why do I love" You, Sir?


"Why do I love" You, Sir?
Because—
The Wind does not require the Grass
To answer—Wherefore when He pass
She cannot keep Her place.

Because He knows—and
Do not You—
And We know not—
Enough for Us
The Wisdom it be so—

The Lightning—never asked an Eye
Wherefore it shut—when He was by—
Because He knows it cannot speak—
And reasons not contained—
—Of Talk—
There be—preferred by Daintier Folk—

The Sunrise—Sire—compelleth Me—
Because He's Sunrise—and I see—
Therefore—Then—
I love Thee—

emily dickinson

miles

following M.D' s idea -if she is right and i'm sure that she is right- i have probably travel many times around the world visiting different writers (=reading so many different countries)*

* and the other night -or after midnight- he said: "reading S. it is like travelling to a lost land"

bench

*miss you