alleluia

Quería compartir esto.
Eso.

playing at questions

     ROS: We could play at questions.
     GUIL: What good would that do?
     ROS: Practice!
     GUIL: Statement! One-love.
     ROS: Cheating!
     GUIL: How?
     ROS: I hadn't started yet.
     GUIL: Statement. Two-love.
     ROS: Are you counting that?
     GUIL: What?
     ROS: Are you counting that?
     GUIL: Foul! No repetitions. Three-love. First game to...
     ROS: I'm not going to play if you're going to be like that.
     GUIL: Whose serve?
     ROS: Hah?
     GUIL: Foul! No grunts. Love-one.
     ROS: Whose go?
     GUIL: Why?
     ROS: Why not?
     GUIL: What for?
     ROS: Foul! No synonyms! One-all.
     GUIL: What in God's name is going all?
     ROS: Foul! No rhetoric. Two-one.
     GUIL: What does it all add up to?
     ROS: Can't you guess?
     GUIL: Were you addressing me?
     ROS: Is there anyone else?
     GUIL: Who?
     ROS: How would I know?
     GUIL: Why do you ask?
     ROS: Are you serious?
     GUIL: Was that rhetoric?
     ROS: No.
     GUIL: Statement! Two-all. Game point.
     ROS: What's the matter with you today?
     GUIL: When?
     ROS: What?
     GUIL: Are you deaf?
     ROS: Am I dead?
     GUIL: Yes or no?
     ROS: Is there a choice?
     GUIL: Is there a God?
     ROS: Foul! No non sequiturs, three-two, one game all.
     GUIL (seriously): What's your name?
     ROS: What's yours?
     GUIL: I asked you first.
     ROS: Statement. One-love.
     GUIL: What's your name when you're at home?
     ROS: What's yours?
     GUIL: When I'm at home?
     ROS: Is it different at home?
     GUIL: What home?
     ROS: Haven't you got one?
     GUIL: Why do you ask?
     ROS: What are you driving at?
     GUIL (with emphasis): What's your name?!
     ROS: Repetition. Two-love. Match point to me.
     GUIL (seizing him violently): WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?
     ROS: Rhetoric! Game and match! (Pause.)







     ROS: Where's it going to end?
     GUIL: That's the question.
     ROS: It's all questions.
     GUIL: Do you think it matters?
     ROS: Doesn't it matter to you?
     GUIL: Why should it matter?
     ROS: What does it matter why?
     GUIL (teasing gently): Doesn't it matter why it matters?
     ROS (rounding on him): What's the matter with you?
     (Pause.)
     GUIL: It doesn't matter.
     ROS (voice in the wilderness): ... What's the game?
     GUIL: What are the rules?

you hold up a sign that reads follow me

Como una vez dijo Lalin:
Cada día que pasa es una nueva reivindicación del afecto.
Y eso es lo que nos mueve (por lo menos a mí).



You lift up my spirits, you shine on my soul
Whenever I'm empty, you make me feel whole
I can rely on you to guide me through any situation
You hold up a sign that reads follow me.

You give me direction, you show me the way
You give me a reason to face every day
I can depend on you to send me to any destination
You hold up a sign that reads follow me, follow me.

Down the track of lonelines, down the path of love
Through the words of heartache, to the end
On the shores of sorrow, where the waves of hope crash in
The perfect place for me to find a friend.

You lead me to places that I've never been
Uncovering secrets that I've never seen
I can rely on you to guide me through any situation
You hold up a sign that reads follow me, follow me,
Follow me, follow me,
Follow me, follow me.

love sick

I'm walking through streets that are dead
Walking, walking with you in my head
My feet are so tired, my brain is so wired
And the clouds are weeping

Did I hear someone tell a lie?
Did I hear someone's distant cry?
I spoke like a child; you destroyed me with a smile
While I was sleeping

I'm sick of love but I'm in the thick of it
This kind of love I'm so sick of it

I see, I see lovers in the meadow
I see, I see silhouettes in the window
I watch them 'til they're gone and they leave me hanging on
To a shadow

I'm sick of love; I hear the clock tick
This kind of love; I'm love sick

Sometimes the silence can be like the thunder
Sometimes I wanna take to the road and plunder
Could you ever be true?
I think of you
And I wonder

I'm sick of love; I wish I'd never met you
I'm sick of love; I'm trying to forget you

Just don't know what to do
I'd give anything to
Be with you

¿sensaciones?

Hacía tanto que no escribía algo acá. Tanto. Que ahora al hacerlo (al intentar hacerlo) siento una ostranenie que ni les cuento (?). Tantas ideas, tan heteróclitas e intrascendentes. Tantos sentimientos encontrados. Tantos recuerdos. Y todo mezclado. Todo. Y ganas de reir. De reir porque sí. Y que la gente me mire y no entienda nada. Y piense que estoy loca. O enamorada. Y que me encante hacer lo que hago. Todo el tiempo. Aunque sean cosas que parezcan rutinarias. En el fondo, lo rutinario es tan irreal, tan construcción. No hay dos acciones exactamente iguales (como no hay dos personas exactamente iguales). Descubrir la unicidad depende de cada uno. Así que sí, vivir cada cosa, cada momento, cada encuentro, cada lectura, cada trabajo, cada paso, como lo único que son.[1] Disfrutar. Sobre todo eso. Disfrutar.

[1] frase gramaticalmente dudosa, es cierto, pero después de ciertas lecturas palaciegas no hay límites de ningún tipo que limiten mi expresión (?)