i've learnt that i can live without writing
probably i could live without reading (not so sure)
but, definitely i cant live without music





music is my radar.

dont you have those days when you are absolutely autoreferential?
well, probably i'm getting through this kind of period
but it will stop pretty soon
as soon as i land on earth again
i promise

-why are you so serious?
-because music is a serious stuff

 The useless dawn finds me in a deserted street-
      corner; I have outlived the night.
   Nights are proud waves; darkblue topheavy waves
      laden with all the hues of deep spoil, laden with
      things unlikely and desirable.
   Nights have a habit of mysterious gifts and refusals,
      of things half given away, half withheld,
      of joys with a dark hemisphere. Nights act
      that way, I tell you.
   The surge, that night, left me the customary shreds
      and odd ends: some hated friends to chat
      with, music for dreams, and the smoking of
      bitter ashes.  The things my hungry heart
      has no use for.
   The big wave brought you.
   Words, any words, your laughter; and you so lazily
      and incessantly beautiful.  We talked and you
      have forgotten the words.
   The shattering dawn finds me in a deserted street
      of my city.
   Your profile turned away, the sounds that go to
      make your name, the lilt of your laughter:
      these are the illustrious toys you have left me.
   I turn them over in the dawn, I lose them, I find
      them; I tell them to the few stray dogs and
      to the few stray stars of the dawn.
   Your dark rich life ... 
   I must get at you, somehow; I put away those 
      illustrious toys you have left me, I want your
      hidden look, your real smile -- that lonely,
      mocking smile your cool mirror knows.
   

Jorge Luis Borges

favourite

all the music during all these years
the music in the middle of the night
in a room that stays in darkness, except for the light that comes from a screen

the books
so many books read by two
maybe in the same language or not
probably at the same time, but not in the same space

some poets, dead, surely
some writers, dead, surely too
some musicians, dead and alive
("all the best ones are dead": someone would say)

the love for the bass
there is always a bass in between

some cats,
stray cats of ocurse

that is what we are.
 and nothing else

i lost myself so deeply that i cant even recognize myself when i look at my face in the mirror
how could this happen to me?
oh, how?
oh, so tragic
so, so tragic


ok, i need a vacation
inmediately

just sit and listen to this song

dont't even say a word

we'll be able to speak in a year or two

if we are lucky enough

and if the wind is on our side.

and billy was so right when he said:

"the more you change, the less you feel"

we are in the middle of something

i'm afraid to ask, but i'm almost sure that we are having an affair

have you ever had that weird sensation that a truck is going to crash into you?

... 

and you cant even move yourself to avoid the collision because it is too late to make a move and because you have no idea how the things got to that point, and probably because everything seems to be a very beautiful spectacle, including the truck itself.

well, something like that, but a little different.

not only pretty girls make graves, trucks make them too.

and sometimes the world is completely upside down, 

but it seems so perfect anyway

i've got a crush on Batman
he is perfect
a man with solitude
a scientist
a fighter against the injustice of a city
a darken soul
so tragic.

i really need a t-shirt of batman

inmediately

right now

you say love is real
like a disease
come on, tell me please
i'm not over it
i'm not over it




during days i'have been listening the same song.
probably, just probably, a kinda the song remains the same stuff.

"i've spent six years on your trail
six full years of my life on your trail"




*that weird feeling that you have when you think that a song was written for you
**or probably i was morrissey in my last life

my bass professor sent me a message today.

he said that he was great in his new town, teaching music and literature to people on rehab (Oh, my god, he is teaching to people full of addictions, when he could be here, teaching me... ME, the heir of Paul Mccartney)...

well, he also said that he was happy because his new place was so quiet and nice, and blah blah blah blah...

what does it mean? It means that he never, but never, but never in a million years will come back to Buenos Aires. Ok, probably i'm overreacting, but not too much, so i'll never have my bass lessons again.

There is no doubt at all that we hate it when our friends become sucessful... 

yeap, my dear, Morrissey is right as usual. 

he did it again.

playing and singing


*safe and sound

when you dedicate a song to someone -and i'm not talking about writing the lyrics and not even playing it-  i mean, when you just say: "hey, this song reminded me of you" or "i wanted to make you listen this song" or something like that; pay attention to this:

Nothing can have less loyalty than the fact that you dedicate the same song to two different lovers. 

I mean, you choose a song for someone in particular, for any peculiar thing that generates a connection between you and the other one, so just as the new lover cant take the place of the former, cant be the heir of that song either.

In other words, from my point of view, the best thing it would be to pick up new songs for the new relationships. 

it is not so difficult, the world is full of music.

because i'm pretty sure that there must be a circle in the hell for the lazy lovers and if there isnt one, they truly deserve it. I hope that Satan makes justice in a case like this.

really.

nothing much to say, i guess

there are so many but so many things that i would ask tonight...
but maybe or probably it is better not to do it








so i'll come back to my carnival and forget about yoEVERYTHING :0)

tell me, do you regret the most for the things that you've done and went wrong or for all that you didnt dare to do?

oscar wilde wondered: who being loved is poor?

and i answer: probably someone who is loved for the wrong person. someone who is loved for the one who is not wanted to be the lover.

As morrissey said: "i want the one i cant have, and it's driving me mad"

as it is usual we see that the smiths and morrissey give us the answers to everything

it is ok, haruki

now you are gone
it's just
your love is like a drug

the weirdest part is that i have seen that movie so many times and i never knew that it was a QOSA's song.

btw: everybody loves that scene for Salma Hayek

i celebrate this first night of the new year and while i drink wine (ok, i 'm not drinking right now) i think about all the writers who drank alcohol and about that union, very good indeed, between alcohol and literature.

and i find out that even when drinking wine can make you feel untied or whatever, there is impossible to reach that state of illuminati... and it is impossible to feel so untied to make such deep confessions.

i truly believe that you are a genious or not, and it has not connection with the wine you drink

and i also believe that i cant write what i really feel about many things, even in this state... or probably because i havent drunk enough.

anyway, happy new year

and i tie my fingers for not go on writing a couple of truths that you deserve to read

good night