urs

now, today

tomorrow and always*

*wrapping again (so tragic)

dieci

cigarettes

oh no no, please dont smoke*

*i dont like men who smoke

really?

okcomputer

and lately i dont like to listen any radiohead's song*

*#anotherculturaldefeat

chocolate

*i'm waiting to see the big surprise that it has inside!

naked

and i have defined my new tact:

i write sth in a post... sth that i wouldnt dare to say usually,

but when i finish to write it, inmediately i write another post and nobody takes notice of what had been written before.

probably is a silly way of covering a thing with another one.

for me is the easiest way for saying sth like: imissyou, thinking that i wont be discovered.*

*made me take a new tact... lalala lalala laaaaaaa lalalaaaaa

asleep

green

and if one day you look at me with those cat eyes, i wont know what to do.
it is really tragic to be so shy*

*but look at me anyway

mourning

The dark eagles, sleep and death,
Rustle all night around my head:
The golden statue of man
Is swallowed by the icy comber
Of eternity. On the frightening reef
The purple remains go to pieces,
And the dark voice mourns
Over the sea.
Sister in my wild despair
Look, a precarious skiff is sinking
Under the stars,
The face of night whose voice is fading.*

*trakl

mad2

i have this other relationship with the literature:

i read something: a novel, a short story or maybe a poem.

then in the book takes place a situation and i find out that what is happening to the character is something that happened to me in my life.

in that moment i start thinking: "oh, well, if i were X (put the name of the character that you prefer) i should behave like this or i should do this, because i did it in my life (or not)".

it is something like what Umberto Eco describes when he explains that a book is never done when the writer finishes to write it. he says that a book is complete just in the moment when the reader gets to it and then his world (his sense of the world and the life) collides with the writer's world.

maybe this is the reason why a book is never the same for different people...

mad

there is a point when reality and fiction get mixed (at least in my life).

there was an argentinian writer named Roberto Arlt (i like him so much) he wrote a magnificent book named "the seven mad ones".

the main character is a poor man who is abandoned by his wife.

the text is very rich but i want to arrive to this point: the man is sad because his wife left him for another man. he knows that he cant offer a better life to her, he is a poor man, almost insignificant guy and the lover is strong and powerful.

along the novel, he imagines his wife with the lover. he is doing something and he starts to think that they are together, probably sleeping together, having sex. he feels terrible, he gets so jealous and sad at the same time.

....

meanwhile, the writer tell us that exactly in that moment the woman is not with the lover anymore, she is actually living with some nums.

she never had sex with the lover, she just used him as a excuse for leaving his husband, but she still loves him.

....

we, the readers know that, but the poor husband doesnt. and in that moment, i would like to talk to him for telling that everything is ok, that she has never cheated on him.

i feel all the pitty of the world for the insignificant man and i wanna help him to feel better.

but it is impossible.

it's just a book.

it's fiction.

it's just a character.

nothing is real.

except my pitty for him that goes on.

;0)

*this explains absolutely everything

scissorhands

best haircut ever *

*no doubts at all

morph

crossing the town by bus, during the night coming back from the university

meanwhile in my earphones sounds youlooklikerain

impossible not to think*

*just impossible

nobodyelse

citizen

i'm sure that happiness must be like this*

*flying over a city

dessert

*have you ever tasted an "alfajor"?

adored

he was an argelian writer (one of the best ones)

she was a spanish actress

they were in love*

*it makes me glad to know that he was loved till his death

remarkable

*things that i "textlight" while i "study" (?)

ten

anybody?

so

*what is real? ar u real?

flyer

maybe this is not the best way for flying

but i cant help trying *

*and what about if one day i finally reach the heights? ** it would be nice to see *** from above

exhausted

how long will it take till july?

i need holidays right now

i need vacations!*

*i want summer vacations in july (?)

japanesedog

she survived 21 days after the earthquake and the tsunami, over a roof, in the middle of the sea

this is why i love dogs so much*

*since she was rescued, it is said that she is very sweet and that she eats sausages and cookies

3/4

i know that today is your day

and i'm sure that you must be having a great time

in your new place, with many new friends

and a big big party, with great music,

full of joy,

with many girls mad about you, running naked around

and maybe some balloons

and a wet chocolate cake

and so many presents that you deserve

...*

*but i'm here, and altought i know that it is meaningless in comparison with all that big big ball, i wanna wish you the best today and all the happiness of the world

tutututtt

erasing again what it had been written here.

*why am i so shy?

HELP!!!!!

father is learning english.

i really need someone who rescues me from here (?)*

*an emotional rescue

bonovox

and it is absolutely impossible not to see Bono everywhere.

he's on the tv, he's on the stage, he's with the president, he's in the restaurants.

you are giving a walk and you see him in your town...*

*but i'm not going to the show yet.

**#culturaldefeat

shameful

*because you're not right in the head,

and nor am i,

and this is why...

birthday

"dont invite morrissey to your birthday party", by Natalie Dee

* i should invite him anyway, in spite that he sings to me: i wish you an unhappy birthday... lala laaaaaaaa

**in fact i should like you to be here today

hairdresserOnFire

ok, i have two options:

1- i may wear a hat

or

2- i may stay in home till my hair grows again*

*i'm gonna kill my hairdresser.

**i look like a boy (this is so tragic and sad)

volare

*i like so much chagall,because usually his carachters are flying

blondie

pills for dream*

*some dreams last for ever.

**i prefer my pillow for dreaming (?)

dictation

full stop, next line*

*.

chapter93

"...as if someone could choose in love, as if it were not a twilight that breaks your bones and let you stuck in the middle of the backyard."

taboo

maybe a tattoo would be a good idea*

*a little and hidden one

Маяковский

and if i were a writer, a real one, what face should i put in a photo?

*this is a friend of the house
** ' ve' been missing -somuch-

untitled

You Who Never Arrived

You who never arrived
in my arms, Beloved, who were lost
from the start,
I don't even know what songs
would please you. I have given up trying
to recognize you in the surging wave of
the next moment. All the immense
images in me -- the far-off, deeply-felt
landscape, cities, towers, and bridges, and
unsuspected turns in the path,
and those powerful lands that were once
pulsing with the life of the gods--
all rise within me to mean
you, who forever elude me.

You, Beloved, who are all
the gardens I have ever gazed at,
longing. An open window
in a country house-- , and you almost
stepped out, pensive, to meet me.
Streets that I chanced upon,--
you had just walked down them and vanished.
And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors
were still dizzy with your presence and,
startled, gave back my too-sudden image.
Who knows? Perhaps the same
bird echoed through both of us
yesterday, separate, in the evening...

Rainer Maria Rilke

spanish

*things i write while i'm in class

0.0

*yes, where?

great

*

it would be so great not to erase everything that i write because i'm so shy...

sin

and if you were my brother, i would be your lover anyway

*trakl's photo is just a distraction here

eleve

chinese shadows*

*is it necessary to say that the beautiful one with short hair is me? jejejeje

...

cycloping

*chapter 7 read by cortázar

chapter7

"I touch your mouth, I touch the edge of your mouth with my finger, I am drawing it as if it were something my hand was sketching, as if for the first time your mouth opened a little, and all I have to do is close my eyes to erase it and start all over again, every time I can make the mouth I want appear, the mouth which my hand chooses and sketches on your face, and which by some chance that I do not seek to understand coincides exactly with your mouth which smiles beneath the one my hand is sketching on you.
You look at me, from close up you look at me, closer and closer and then we play cyclops, we look closer and closer at one another and our eyes get larger, they come closer, they merge into one and the two cyplopses look at each other, blending as they breathe, our mouths touch and struggle in gentle warmth, biting each other with their lips, barely holding their tongues on their teeth, playing in corners where a heavy air comes and goes with an old perfume and a silence. Then my hands go to sink into your hair, to cherish slowly the depth of your hair while we kiss as if our mouths were filled with flowers or with fish, with lively movements and dark fragrance. And if we bite each other the pain is sweet, and if we smother each other in a brief and terrible sucking in together of our breaths, that momentary death is beautiful. And there is but one saliva and one flavor of ripe fruit, and I feel you tremble against me like a moon on the water."

*hopscotch, julio cortázar

guau

*i wanna be your dog

casablanca

Ilsa: "With the whole world crumbling, we pick this time to fall in love."

Rick: "Yeah, that's pretty bad timing."

calendar

*threeyears seemtobe alotoftime*

pride

first time in history that u2 will play here and i'm not going*

*#culturaldefeat

dream

**

nope

and suddenly my heart cant tell you no*

no, no, no *

sunburned

*back to the future (?)

fire

*in the water where i center my emotion

slim

ok, let's suppose that i bought something for you in a moment, when you were fat (but strong as a bull, we know that) and beautiful too... because you can be a beautiful fat.

so, let's suppose that i bought a special stuff, in a special moment, and it means a lot, it's a kind of souvenir or something like that, but the point is that this is a large-large, so large (i'm talking about the size, sure) thing that now you can seem like a small boy inside of it... because now you are not fat, but you are still beautiful, a beautiful thin, you know.

so, what do i do?

do i keep that large large so large thing that can be wear for a fat and strong spanish bull for sending it to you (and maybe you can wear it over your adored leather jacket) or do i throw it to the garbage, for being rescued by a dozen of homeless who can sleep covered with it?

shyness

* so if there's something you'd like to try. ask me i wont say no, how could i? ...

weirdness

how many time can you spend hugging a box?*

*a lot.

**never said it was normal

!

favourites

Morrissey's Top 13 albums of all time are:

Jobriath - 'Jobriath'
Jeff Buckley - 'Grace'
The Smoking Popes - 'Born To Quit'
Damien Dempsey - 'Seize The Day'
Roxy Music - 'For Your Pleasure'
The Velvet Underground - 'The Velvet Underground & Nico'
The Velvet Underground - 'White Light/White Heat'
Sparks - 'Kimono My House'
Iggy & The Stooges - 'Raw Power'
Nico - 'Chelsea Girl'
Patti Smith - 'Horses'
Ramones - 'Ramones'
New York Dolls - 'New York Dolls'

*album n° 2....

more

bernard sumner (joy division, new order)
johnny marr (the smiths)
both of them are so adorable

what else?

oh, yes, besides there is a beautiful bird in the video




*this song was co written by neil tennant (pet shop boys), inspired by morrissey's public stereotyping as unloveable

**however i look is clear to see

u.U

still collecting things.

little things but with a deep deep meaning (at least for me)

few stuffs in life make me happier than this "collecting behaviour", specially when i find something special, but i wont say what it is*

*just consider nothing in particular

war

when you sleep
i will creep
into your thoughts
like a bad debt
that you cant pay
take the easy way
and give in
yeah, and let me in *

*i like specially the part when he says: "ah, you are asking for it*
**i love his sick mind (?)

somuch

*cut here and the cure have the same letters, robert smith wrote this song one of the many times that he said that "the cure" was over.

**i like the way that simon moves while he plays the bass

advice

are you nervous?

*this is what i usually do

celebration

in the middle of the carnival*

* and i dont know why but in buenos aires, all that we have are melancholy carnivals

**we are not brazilian. we'll never be.

***the spirit of the tango chases this city

metegol

*looking for new play-mates

-

ok, i'm agree with the sentence: "you are what you write",

but the point is this: if i have no idea about what to write (like it happens to me in this moment) and i'm not even able to write a word, does it mean that i'm nothing?*

*so, molko was really so right? (?)

with

it is so but so easy to see that life with you here is better*

*something inside the cards i know is right. dont want to live somebody elses life

without

if i were brave enough i could write that nothing here (in this blog) has sense without you.

but we all know perfectly that i'm a complete coward who is not able of writing a thing like that.*

*thanks jesus that nobody is reading (this blog) right now

questioning

and now what?*

*what?

u

and the point is that now i cant conceive listening blur without thinking about you*

*and when i say "you", i'm talking about "you", yes "you"

voice

a friend of yours*

*someone with that voice cant be actually dead (?)

*

everywhere I am is just another thing without you in it

smithing

subversive

your hand-writting

marks of a little spider left on the paper

a little spider that writes with its four pairs of legs in a white paper.

*there is something about your hand writting that reminds me the idea of a perfect revolution

wish

*Come pick me up
Take me out
Fuck me up
Steal my records
Screw all my friends
They're all full of shit
With a smile on your face
And then do it again
I wish you would

nazar bead

i like so much the little white elephants

and the misterious eyes
and the white

and the blue

*

*this blue stuff is really powerful, believe me

**first time in the history of this humble blog that a post has a title of two words

insistent

one of my friends says that things said in english sound better than in our mother tonge.

and i say to her that in fact they dont sound better, they just seem further...

so someone can sing: "fifteen minutes with you, oh, i wouldnt say no", with absolutely calm, because they are just morrissey's words.*

*cowarder than yesterday (?)

lyricing

that mania of talking with lyrics.

hiding the own voice and using someone else's.

because apparently it is easier singing: "you just get me like i've never been gotten before" than saying... well, you know... that saying something instead.*

*so coward (?)

singme

dont get me wrong but i guess that when rorbert smith is singing the song: "high", he is not talking about being in a high place, for instance a tree or a tall building,,,

i think that he is talking about something completely differente....*

*when i see you high as .... lalala lalala lalala la

option

*si

pink

because it is said that things in life depend on the colour that you see them.
and finally "je vois la vie en rose"*

*mercie, mercie ray ban (?)

quijote

running against the time

fighting against everything: my internet connection, the notebook, the modem, the router, etc etc etc

just to come here for listening some tunes -in invisible rooms-

just to come here for writting some words -silly, sure-

just to wrap some meanings with words, as if they were papers that wrap beautiful gifts.

as if they were the only way i have for saying: "yes, THIS IS, i'm completely sure THIS IS"*

*nothing to comment about THIS

:0P

q: were the smiths four friends or just four people joint for a common objective?

morrissey: there were big differences between us. johnny (marr) had many friends and i just had a cat. *

*i'm so agree with you, steven patrick. if you have a cat, you need nothing else in the world...

gracias!!

¨
*me gusta todo lo que viene de vos (i like everything that comes from you)

misterpostman

*my mr postman waited a minute and brought to me what he had to... good for him.
**btw: i've heard that some turkish postman suck... (?)

today

i had had a nice dream about me with a white bird and i was going to write it here (nevermind, i'll write it here in another moment) when the bell rang and the postman came bringing this packet from the other side of the world...*

*and nothing else matters, of course

freeworld

and the new president is...

MuBarak Obama

congrats!*

*yeah, i'm being sarcastic

teacher

nevergonnalearn*

*educate me

math

and actually she n4v4r kn0w5 what 70 say 0r what to think....

so*

*th4 answ4r is obvious

subterranean

when she doesnt know what to say or what to think, she just thinks about him *

*some things are really hard to forget

600

six hundred beats

six hundred written stuffs from this side of the world to the other

six hundred ocassions for writting and saying what i dontknowhowtosay

*just this... "*" this i mean

2morrow

some day you'll know i was the one, but tomorrow may rain...*

*it rained today in fact (?)

monthless

honestly, if someone takes out the month of february from my calendar, i promise not to make any fuss.

there is no empathy between us, definitely*

*i can live my life just with eleven months, i mean it, really (?)

sol

if i were a cat i could play with a wooden ball like this.
but i'm not a cat and this is not a wooden ball
i'm a cut (?)

* i will battle for the sun, sun, sun, sun, sun

madness

"you wouldn't believe the things that i´ve done for her"*

gustavo cerati

*yes, i should

days

i dont know why but i have this sensation that this tuesday is in fact a monday.

i mean, this point about changed days, about tuesdays that are not tuesdays could be extended to another things of my life. so february could be march and this year could be another and people could be animals.

and probably i'm not me anymore. i have the strong sensation that i must be isadora duncan or maybe humprey bogart