Wednesday, September 27, 2006

Entrevistando a Bukowski

Blogger's note: Estuve leyendo esta entrevista de Bukowski e iba recortando pedacitos de ella para poner aquí, y al final era casi toda así que la puse toda.
El que se interese la leerá toda y el que no bueno, que haga lo que le dé la gana.
Yo ya la tengo aquí para volver a ella cuando quiera.
Hay un link para la página de donde la saqué. Está en la sección "links". Very clever. Enjoy (or not)

Tough Guys Write Poetry

Charles Bukowski by Sean Penn

Editor's note: Time magazine has called writer Charles Bukowski "the laureate of American lowlife." It is in Europe, however, that the author has found his greatest admirers. He is the most widely read living American writer in translation in the world today. More than 2.2 million copies of his works have been sold in Germany alone.
Now 66 years old, Bukowski has written 32 books of poetry, 5 collections of short stories and 4 novels. His best-known works are Ham on Rye, Women, Hot Water Music, South of No North, Post Office, The Tales of Ordinary Madness, War All the Time and Love Is a Dog From Hell. His latest collection of poems is entitled You Get So Alone at Times That It Just Makes Sense.

This fall a film made from his first screenplay, Barfly, will open around the country. Starring Mickey Rourke and Faye Dunaway, directed by Barbet Schroeder and presented by Francis Ford Coppola, the film is an autobiographical account of Bukowski's early years as a writer. Barfly's two main characters, Henry and Wanda, are "immersed in an effort to escape the embalmed method of living which grips most of American society," according to Bukowski. "It is that fearful desire to continue to exist at any cost, their lives or anybody else's. Henry and Wanda refuse to accept the living death of acquiescence. This film is a focus on their brave madness."

We asked actor and poet Sean Penn to visit Bukowski and focus on the brave madness of the great man himself.

Charles Bukowski was born in Andernach, Germany, in 1920. At the age of three he was brought to the United States and raised in Los Angeles. He currently resides in San Pedro, California, with his wife, Linda. A notorious boozer, brawler and womanizer, both Genet and Sartre called him "the best poet in America," but his friends call him Hank.


Don't do too much bar stuff anymore. Got that out of my system. Now when I walk into a bar, I almost gag. I've seen so many of them, it's just too fuckin' much -- that stuff's for when you're younger, you know, and you like to duke it with a guy, you know you play that macho shit -- try to pick up broads -- at my age, I don't need all that. Nowadays, I just go into bars to piss. Too many years in the bar. It just got so bad, that I'd walk into a bar, I'd walk through the door and I'd start to puke.


Alcohol is probably one of the greatest things to arrive upon the earth -- alongside of me. Yes...these are two of the greatest arrivals upon the surface of the earth. So...we get along. It is ultimately destructive to most people. I'm just one apart from that. I do all of my creative work while I'm intoxicated. Even with women, you know, I've always been reticent in the love-making act, so alcohol has allowed me, sexually, to be more free. It's a release, because basically I am a shy, withdrawn person, and alcohol allows me to be this hero, striding through space and time, doing all these daring things...So I like it...yeah.


I like to smoke. Smoke and alcohol counterbalance each other. I used to wake up from drinking, you know, and you smoke so much, both your hands are yellow, see, like you've got gloves on...almost brown...and you say, "Oh, shit...what do my lungs look like? Oh Jesus!"


The best feeling is when you whip a guy you're not supposed to whip. I got into it with a guy one time, he was giving me a lot of lip. I said, "Okay. Let's go." He was no problem at all -- I whipped him easy. He was laying there on the ground. He's got a bloody nose, the whole works. He says, "Jesus, you move slow, man. I thought you'd be easy -- the goddamn fight started -- I couldn't see your hands anymore, you were so fucking fast. What happened?" I said, "I don't know, man. That's just the way it goes." You save it. You save it for the moment.

My cat, Beeker, is a fighter. He gets mauled up a bit sometimes, but he's always the winner. I taught him it all, you know...lead with the left, set up the right.


Having a bunch of cats around is good. If you're feeling bad, you just look at the cats, you'll feel better, because they know that everything is, just as it is. There's nothing to get excited about. They just know. They're saviors. The more cats you have, the longer you live. If you have a hundred cats, you'll live ten times longer than if you have ten. Someday this will be discovered, and people will have a thousand cats and live forever. It's truly ridiculous.


I call 'em complaining machines. Things are never right with a guy to them. And man, when you throw that hysteria in there...forget it. I gotta get out, get in the car, and go. Anywhere. Get a cup of coffee somewhere. Anywhere. Anything but another woman. I guess they're just built different, right? (He's on a roll now.) The hysteria starts...they're gone. You go to leave, they don't understand. (In a high woman's screech:) "WHERE ARE YOU GOING?" "I'm getting the hell out of here, baby!" They think I'm a woman hater, but I'm not. A lot of it is word of mouth. They just hear "Bukowski's a male-chauvinist pig," but they don't check the source. Sure I make women look bad sometimes, but I make men look bad too. I make myself look bad. If I really think it's bad, I say it's bad -- man, woman, child, dog. The women are so touchy, they think they're being singled out. That's their problem.


Fuckin' the first one was the strangest -- I didn't know -- she taught me how to eat pussy and all these fucking things. I didn't know anything. She said, "You know, Hank, you're a great writer, but you don't know a damn thing about women!" "What do you mean? I've fucked a lot of women." "No, you don't know. Let me teach you some things." I said, "Okay." She said, "You're a good student, man. You catch on right away." That's all -- (He got a little embarrassed. Not by the specifics, but rather by the sentimentality of the reminiscence.) But all that eatin' pussy shit can get kinda subservient. I like to please them, but...It's all overrated, man. Sex is only a great thing if you're not getting any.


I just used to pop in and out of those sheets. I don't know, it was kind of a trance, a fuck trance. I'd just kinda fuck, and fuck (laughs)... I did! (laughs)

And the women, you know, you'd say a few words, and you just grab 'em by the wrist, "Come on, baby." Lead 'em in the bedroom and fuck 'em. And they'd go with it, man. Once you get in that rhythm, man, you'd just go. There are a lot of lonely women out there, man. They look good, they just don't connect. They're sitting there all alone, going to work, coming's a big thing for 'em to have some guy pop 'em. And if he sits around, drinks and talks, you know, it's entertainment. It was all right...and I was lucky. Modern women...they don't sew your pockets...forget that.


I wrote a short story from the viewpoint of a rapist who raped a little girl. So people accused me. I was interviewed. They'd say, "You like to rape little girls?" I said, "Of course not. I'm photographing life." I've gotten in trouble with a lot of my shit. On the other hand, trouble sells some books. But, bottom line, when I write, it's for me. (He draws a deep drag off his cigarette.) It's like this. The "drag" is for me, the ash is for the tray... that's publication.

I never write in the daytime. It's like running through the shopping mall with your clothes off. Everybody can see you. At night...that's when you pull the tricks...magic.


I always remember the schoolyards in grammar school, when the word "poet" or "poetry" came up, all the little guys would laugh and mock it. I can see why, because it's a fake product. It's been fake and snobbish and inbred for centuries. It's over-delicate. It's over-precious. It's a bunch of trash. Poetry for the centuries is almost total trash. It's a con, a fake.

There have been a very few good poets, don't mistake me. There's a Chinese poet called Li Po. He could put more feeling, realism, and passion in four or five simple lines than most poets can in the twelve or fourteen pages of their shit. And he drank wine too. He used to set his poems on fire, sail down the river, and drink wine. The emperors loved him, because they could understand what he was saying...but, of course, he only burned his bad poems. (laughs)

What I've tried to do, if you'll pardon me, is bring in the factory-workers aspect of life...the screaming wife when he comes home from work. The basic realities of the everyman existence...something seldom mentioned in the poetry of the centuries. Just put me down as saying that the poetry of the centuries is shit. It's shameful.


The first time I read Celine, I went to bed with a big box of Ritz crackers. I started reading him and eating these Ritz crackers, and laughing, and eating the Ritz crackers. I read the whole novel straight through. And the box of Ritz was empty, man. And I got up and drank water, man. You should've seen me. I couldn't move. That's what a good writer will do to you. He'll damn near kill you...a bad writer will too.


He's unreadable and overrated. But people don't want to hear that. You see, you cannot attack shrines. Shakespeare is embedded through the centuries. You can say "So-and-so is a lousy actor!" But you can't say Shakespeare is shit. The longer something is around, snobs begin to attach themselves to it, like suckerfish. When snobs feel something is safe...they attach. The moment you tell them the truth, they go wild. They can't handle it. It's attacking their own thought process. They disgust me.


I read in The National Enquirer, "Is your husband homosexual?" Linda had said to me, "You have a voice like a fag!" I said, "Oh, yeah. I always wondered." (laughs) This article says, "Does he pull his eyebrows out?" I thought, shit! I do that all the time. Now I know what I am. I pull my eyebrows out...I'm a fag! Okay. It's nice for The National Enquirer to tell me what I am.


There's very little. About the last best humorist was a guy called James Thurber. But his humor was so great, they had to overlook it. Now, this guy was what you call a psychologist/psychiatrist of the ages. He had the man/woman thing -- you know, people seeing things. He was a cure-all. His humor was so real, you almost have to scream out your laughter in a frantic release. Outside of Thurber, I can't think of anybody...I've got a little touch of it...but not like he did. What I've got I don't really call humor. I'd call it..."a comic edge." I'm almost hooked on the comic edge. No matter what's ludicrous. Almost everything is ludicrous. You know, we shit every day. That's ludicrous. Don't you think? We have to keep pissing, putting food in our mouths, wax comes in our ears, hair? We have to scratch ourselves. Really ugly and dumb, you know? Tits are useless, unless...

You know, we're monstrosities. If we could really see this, we could love ourselves...realize how ridiculous we are, with our intestines wound around, shit slowly running through as we look each other in the eyes and say "I love you," our stuff is carbonizing, turning into shit, and we never fart near each other. It all has a comic edge...

And then we die. But, death has not earned us. It hasn't shown any credentials -- we've shown all the credentials. With birth, have we earned life? Not really, but we're sure caught with the fucker...I resent it. I resent death. I resent life. I resent being caught between the two. You know how many times I've tried suicide? (Linda asks, "Tried?") Give me time, I'm only 66 years old. Still working at it.

When you have a suicide complex, nothing bothers you...except losing at the track. Somehow that bothers you. Why is that?...Because you're using your mind [at the track] not your heart.

I never rode a horse.

I'm not so interested in the horse, as in the process of being right and wrong...selectively.


I tried to make my living at the track for a while. It's painful. It's exhilarating. Everything is on the line -- the rent -- everything. But, you tend to be too's not the same.

One time I was sitting way down at the curve. There were twelve horses in the race and they all got bunched together. It looked like a big charge. All I saw were these big horses' asses going up and down. They looked wild. I looked at those horse asses and I thought, "This is madness, this is total madness!" But then you have other days where you win four or five hundred dollars, you've won eight or nine races in a row, you feel like God, you know everything. It all fits together.

(Then to me:)

CB: All your days aren't good, are they?
SP: No.
CB: Some of them good?
SP: Yeah.
CB: Many of them?
SP: Yeah.
(After a pause, the laughter of surprise)
CB: I thought you were going to say "Just a few..." How disappointing!


I don't look too much at people. It's disturbing. They say if you look too much at someone, you start to look like them. Poor Linda.

People, mostly, I can do without. They don't fill me, they empty me. I respect no man. I have a problem that way...I'm lying, but believe me, it's true.

The valet at the track is okay. Sometimes, I'm leaving the track and he'll say, "Well, how you doing, man?" I'll say, "Shit, I'm ready to go for the jugular...throw up the white flag, man. I've had it." He'll say, "Oh no! Come on, man! I'll tell you what. Let's go out tonight, get drunk. We'll kick some ass, and suck pussy." I'll say, "Frank, let me consider that." He'll say, "You know, the worse it gets, the wiser I get." I'll say, "You must be a pretty wise man, Frank." He'll say, "You know it's a good thing you and I didn't meet when we were younger." I'll say, "Yeah, I know what you're going to say, Frank. We'd both be in San Quentin." "Right!" he says.


The other day I'm sitting there and I feel them staring at me. I know what's coming, so I get up to move, you know? And he says, "Excuse me?" And I say, "Yes, what is it!" He says, "Are you Bukowski?" I say, "No!" He says, "I guess people ask you that all the time, don't they?" And I say, "Yes!" and I walked away. You know, we've discussed this before. There's nothing like privacy. You know, I like people. It's nice that they might like my books and all that...but I'm not the book, see? I'm the guy who wrote it, but I don't want them to come up and throw roses on me or anything. I want them to let me breathe. They wanna hang out with me. They figure I'll bring some whores, wild music, and I'm gonna slug know? They read the stories! Shit, these things happened 20 to 30 years ago, baby!


It's a destructor. It's the whore, the bitch, the destructor of all time. I've got it the sweetest because I'm famous in Europe and unknown here. I'm one of the most fortunate men around. I'm a lucky dog. Fame is really terrible. It is a measure on a scale of the common denominator, minds working on a low level. It's worthless. A select audience is much better.


I've never been lonely. I've been in a room -- I've felt suicidal. I've been depressed. I've felt awful -- awful beyond all -- but I never felt that one other person could enter that room and cure what was bothering me...or that any number of people could enter that room. In other words, loneliness is something I've never been bothered with because I've always had this terrible itch for solitude. It's being at a party, or at a stadium full of people cheering for something, that I might feel loneliness. I'll quote Ibsen, "The strongest men are the most alone." I've never thought, "Well, some beautiful blonde will come in here and give me a fuck-job, rub my balls, and I'll feel good." No, that won't help. You know the typical crowd, "Wow, it's Friday night, what are you going to do? Just sit there?" Well, yeah. Because there's nothing out there. It's stupidity. Stupid people mingling with stupid people. Let them stupidify themselves. I've never been bothered with the need to rush out into the night. I hid in bars, because I didn't want to hide in factories. That's all. Sorry for all the millions, but I've never been lonely. I like myself. I'm the best form of entertainment I have. Let's drink more wine!


This is very important -- to take leisure time. Pace is the essence. Without stopping entirely and doing nothing at all for great periods, you're gonna lose everything. Whether you're an actor, anything, a housewife...there has to be great pauses between highs, where you do nothing at all. You just lay on a bed and stare at the ceiling. This is very, very important...just to do nothing at all, very, very important. And how many people do this in modern society? Very few. That's why they're all totally mad, frustrated, angry and hateful. ln the old days, before I was married, or knew a lot of women, I would just pull down all the shades and go to bed for three or four days. I'd get up to shit. I'd eat a can of beans, go back to bed, just stay there for three or four days. Then I'd put on my clothes and I'd walk outside, and the sunlight was brilliant, and the sounds were great. I felt powerful, like a recharged battery. But you know the first bring-down? The first human face I saw on the sidewalk, I lost half my charge right there. This monstrous, blank, dumb, unfeeling face, charged up with capitalism -- the "grind." And you went "Oooh! That took half away." But it was still worth it, I had half left. So, yeah, leisure. And I don't mean having profound thoughts. I mean having no thoughts at all. Without thoughts of progress, without any self-thoughts of trying to further yourself. a slug. It's beautiful.


There is no such thing as beauty, especially in the human face...what we call the physiognomy. It's all a mathematical and imagined alignment of features. Like, if the nose doesn't stick out too much, the sides are in fashion, if the earlobes aren't too large, if the hair is long...It's kind of a mirage of generalization. People think of certain faces as beautiful, but, truly, in the final measure, they are not. It's a mathematical equation of zero. "True beauty" comes, of course, of character. Not through how the eyebrows are shaped. So many women that I'm told are beautiful...hell, it's like looking into a soup bowl.


There's no such thing as ugliness. There is a thing called deformity, but outward "ugliness" does not exist...I have spoken.


It was wintertime. I was starving to death trying to be a writer in New York. I hadn't eaten for three or four days. So, I finally said, "I'm gonna have a big bag of popcorn." And God, I hadn't tasted food for so long, it was so good. Each kernel, you know, each one was like a steak! I chewed and it would just drop into my poor stomach. My stomach would say, "THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!" I was in heaven, just walking along, and two guys happened by, and one said to the other, "Jesus Christ!" The other one said, "What was it?" "Did you see that guy eating popcorn? God, it was awful!" And so I couldn't enjoy the rest of the popcorn. I thought; what do you mean, "it was awful?" I'm in heaven here. I guess I was kinda dirty. They can always tell a fucked-up guy.


I kind of like being attacked. "Bukowski's disgusting!" That makes me smile, you know, I like it. "Oh, he's a horrible writer!" I smile some more. I kind of feed on that. It's when a guy tells me, "Hey, you know, they're teaching you at such and such a university," my mouth drops. I don't be too much accepted is terrifying. You feel you've done something wrong.

I enjoy the bad things that are said about me. It enhances [book] sales and makes me feel evil. I don't like to feel good 'cause I am good. But evil? Yes. It gives me another dimension. (Bringing up the pinky finger of his left hand...) Did you ever see this finger? (The finger seems paralyzed in a downward "L" configuration.) I broke it, drunk one night. Don't know how, but...I guess it just didn't set right. But, it works just fine for the "a" key (on his typewriter) and...what the adds to my character. See, now I've got character and dimension. (He laughs.)


Most so-called brave people lack imagination. As though they can't conceive of what would happen if something went wrong. The truly brave overcome their imagination and do what they have to do.


I don't know a thing about it. (He laughs)


I think violence is often misinterpreted. Certain violence is needed. There is, in all of us, an energy that demands an outlet. I think that if the energy is constrained, we go mad. The ultimate peacefulness we all desire is not a desirable area. Somehow in our construction, it is not meant to be. This is why I like to see boxing matches, and why, in my younger days, I'd like to duke it in back alleys. "Expulsion of energy with honor," is sometimes called violence. There is "interesting madness" and "disgusting madness." There are good and bad forms of violence. So, in's a loose term. Let it not be too much at the expense of others, and it's okay.


When I was a kid, they used to drill me. I had these big boils. You toughen up to physical pain. When I was in General Hospital they were drilling away, and a guy walked in, and he said, "I never saw anyone go under the needle that cool." That's not bravery -- if you get enough physical pain, you relent -- it's a process, an adjustment.

Mental pain can't be adjusted to. Keep me away from it.


What do psychiatric patients get? They get a bill.

I think the problem between the psychiatrist and the patient is that the psychiatrist goes by the book, while the patient arrives because of what life has done to him or her. And even though the book may have certain insights, the pages are always the same in the book, and, each patient is a little bit different. There are many more individual problems than pages. Get it? There are too many mad people to do it by saying, "dollars per hour, when this bell rings, you're finished." That alone will drive any near-mad person to madness. They've just started to open up and feel good, when the shrink says, "Nurse, make the next appointment," and they've lost track of the price, which is also abnormal. It's all too stinking worldly. The guy is out to take your ass. He's not out to cure you. He wants his money. When the bell rings, bring in the next "nut." Now the sensitive "nut" will realize when that bell rings, he's being fucked. There's no time limit to curing madness, and there's no bills for it either. Most psychiatrists I've seen look a little close to the edge themselves. But they're too comfortable...I think they're all too comfortable. I think a patient wants to see a little madness, not too much. Ahhhh! (bored) PSYCHIATRISTS ARE TOTALLY USELESS! Next question?


Faith is all right for those who have it. Just don't load it on me. I have more faith in my plumber than I do in the eternal being. Plumbers do a good job. They keep the shit flowing.


I've always been accused of being a cynic. I think cynicism is sour grapes. I think cynicism is a weakness. It's saying "everything is wrong! EVERYTHING IS WRONG!" You know? "This is not right! That is not right!" Cynicism is the weakness that keeps one from being able to adjust to what is occurring at the moment. Yes, cynicism is definiteiy a weakness, just as optimism is. "The sun is shining, the birds are singing -- so smile." That's bullshit too. The truth lies somewhere in between. What is, just is. So you're not ready to handle it...too bad.


There may not be a hell, but those who judge may create one. I think people are over-taught. They are over-taught everything. You have to find out by what happens to you, how you will react. I'll have to use a strange term here..."good." I don't know where it comes from, but I feel that there's an ultimate strain of goodness born in each of us. I don't believe in God, but I believe in this "goodness" like a tube running through our bodies. It can be nurtured. It's always magic, when on a freeway packed with traffic, a stranger makes room for you to change gives you hope.


It's almost like being caught in the corner. It's embarrassing. So, I don't always tell the total truth. I like to play around and jest a bit, so I do give out some misinformation just for the sake of entertainment and bullshit. So if you want to know about me, never read an interview. Ignore this one.

Interview magazine, September 1987

LI PO (701 d.C-762 d.C)

Drinking Alone

I take my wine jug out among the flowers
to drink alone, without friends.

I raise my cup to entice the moon.
That, and my shadow, makes us three.

But the moon doesn't drink,
and my shadow silently follows.

I will travel with moon and shadow,
happy to the end of spring.

When I sing, the moon dances.
When I dance, my shadow dances, too.

We share life's joys when sober.
Drunk, each goes a separate way.

Constant friends, although we wander,
we'll meet again in the Milky Way.

Waking From Drunkenness on a Spring Day

" LIFE in the World is but a big dream;
I will not spoil it by any labour or care."
So saying, I was drunk all the day,
Lying helpless at the porch in front of my door.
When I woke up, I blinked at the garden-lawn;
A lonely bird was singing amid the flowers.
I asked myself, had the day been Wet or fine?
The Spring wind was telling the mango-bird.
Moved by its song I soon began to sigh,
And as wine was there I filled my own cup.
Wildly singing I waited for the moon to rise;
When my song was over, all my senses had gone

Lazy Man's Song

I HAVE got patronage, but am too lazy to use it;
I have got land, but am too lazy to farm it.
My house leaks; I am too lazy to mend it.
My clothes are torn; I am too lazy to darn them.
I have got wine, but am too lazy to drink;
So it's just the same as if my cellar were empty.
I have got a harp, but am too lazy to play;
So it's just the same as if it had no strings.
My wife tells me there is no more bread in the house;
I want to bake, but am too lazy to grind.
My friends and relatives write me long letters;
I should like to read them, but they're such a bother to open.
I have always been told that Chi Shu-yeh
Passed his whole life in absolute idleness.
But he played the harp and sometimes transmuted metals,
So even he was not so lazy as I.

un libro tirado en la mesa o una persona leyendo donde sea (y una imagen random de shunga)

y quien es este mario benedetti?
un escritor
un escritor?
pero que escritor es ese?
mario benedetti
y de donde es el?
de uruguay
y que escribe? de que escribe?
de todo, sobre cualquier cosa


que lees?
que es?
es rayuela, una novela
de quien?
de cortazar
ah, he oido de el
y de que trata?
de unos carajos que viven en paris y luego ya no viven mas en paris algunos
ah, suena interesante


que pasa si el cafe me lo traen un poco demasiado amargo para mi gusto?
si el disco de duke ellington esta un poco rayado
si el taladrar de la construccion vecina hoy si me molesta
si no es demasiado con tom waits, nunca demasiado
que pasa si te cierran la puerta en la cara
que pasa si se rien de todo lo que tengas ese dia en el bolsillo.


a poem by leRoi Jones

Preface to a Twenty Volume Suicide Note

Lately, I've become accustomed to the way
The ground opens up and envelopes me
Each time I go out to walk the dog.
Or the broad edged silly music the wind
Makes when I run for a bus...

Things have come to that.

And now, each night I count the stars.
And each night I get the same number.
And when they will not come to be counted,
I count the holes they leave.

Nobody sings anymore.

And then last night I tiptoed up
To my daughter's room and heard her
Talking to someone, and when I opened
The door, there was no one there...
Only she on her knees, peeking into

Her own clasped hands

somewhere, someday, somehow, dice tom waits.

me siento un preso con internet
que hace un preso con internet?
escribe un blog, asi de simple
y que es un blog? (aqui viene otra vez)
es un lugar donde poner cosas que de otra manera no van a ninguna parte
lo que esta aqui no va alla, pero tampoco mas alla, ni un poco mas alla
ya cuento con una categoria
cuando son las 5 am y estoy rayando
y de vaina me da la mano para escribir
que no la cabeza que anda siempre a toda mecha
y digo, ah pero ya se lo que es esto, blog entry
se acaba el cuento, listo.

ninguna de las grandes olas que me asaltan
puede durar demasiado
se me enchumba el cerebro
y le huyo a todo lo que no me entra directo por las venas
un pensamiento sin forma
como una piedra o un tumor
se revuelca en mi cabeza como en una tumba
y solo se me ocurre dormir
o diluir en cerveza
diluir en cerveza
somewhere, someday, somehow, dice tom waits.


Song For Baby-O, Unborn

by Diane DiPrima

when you break thru
you'll find
a poet here
not quite what one would choose.

I won't promise
you'll never go hungry
or that you won't be sad
on this gutted

but I can show you
enough to love
to break your heart

Tuesday, September 26, 2006

un poquitin mas de adan y eva de mark twain y ya prometo que no mas


ADAN.- Dondequiera que ella estaba, estaba el Paraíso.

De: EL DIARIO DE ADAN Y EVA, por Mark Twain

Lunes al mediodía.- Si existe algo sobre el planeta que no despierte su interés, yo no lo tengo en mi lista. A mí me son indiferentes determinados animales, y en eso me diferencio de ella. Ella no hace diferencias, se aficiona a todos, los toma a todos por alhajas y todo animal nuevo encuentra en ella buena acogida.
Cuando el potente brontosauro se nos metió dando zancadas en el campo, ella lo miró como una adquisición, y yo lo consideré una calamidad; éste es un ejemplo de la desarmonía que impera en nuestra manera de ver las cosas. Ella pretendía domesticarlo, y yo quise regalarle nuestra casa y largarnos a otra parte. A ella le pareció que se le podría domesticar con el trato cariñoso y que constituiría un juguete; yo dije que un juguete de veintidós pies de estatura y de ochenta y cuatro pies de largo no era lo más indicado para que anduviese entre nosotros, porque aún con las mejores intenciones y sin propósito de causar daño, podría echarse encima de nuestra casa y deshacerla, porque basta con mirarle a los ojos para convencerse de que era un distraído.
Pues, con todo eso, ella tomó a pechos el conservar semejante monstruo, y no pudo renunciar al mismo. Pensó que podríamos iniciar con él la instalación de una granja lechera y se empeño en que le ayudase yo a ordeñarlo. Me negué; era demasiado peligroso. El sexo estaba equivocado, y, en cualquier caso, tampoco teníamos una escalera. Quiso después cabalgar en aquel animal y contemplar el paisaje. Apoyaba en el suelo unos treinta o cuarenta pies de cola, y a ella se le antojó que resultaría cosa fácil el encaramarse por ella, pero estaba en un error; cuando llegó a la parte empinada se encontró con que era demasiado lustrosa, y se vini debajo de manera que se habría lastimado de no haber estado yo allí.
¿Le bastó eso para convencerse? No. A ella no la convencen sino las pruebas; las teorías no puestas a prueba no entran en su negocio, y se niega a admitirlas. Reconozco que la suya es la manera justa, y que me atrae, y que experimento su influencia; opino que acabaría adoptando esa misma norma si permaneciese más tiempo con ella. Pues bien: aún le quedaba una teoría a propósito de este coloso, a saber: que si nosotros lográbamos domesticarlo y que se amigase con nosotros, nos sería posible colocarlo a través del río y emplearlo como puente. Resultó que -al menos por lo que se refería a ella-
el animal estaba suficientemente domesticado; de modo, pues, que puso en práctica su teoría, pero le falló; cuantas veces consiguió situarlo de manera conveniente a través del río y volvió ella a tierra para cruzar aquel por encima del animal, éste se salió del agua y se volvió para seguirla, lo mismo que una montaña mimada. Igual que los demás animales. Porque todos hacen lo mismo.

clap hands

peleando con la memoria
o contra la memoria?

no idea

uno comienza con jueguitos
y si sigues asi
jugando solo
te empiezas a creer
surgen los amigos y enemigos imaginarios
y todos aplaudimos juntos
y ya pronto empieza a no haber mas que eso
delirios pequeños y grandes

titeres en los dedos
correteando por tus dominios
hubert cumberdale!

hasta qué punto
estamos engañados
por nosotros mismos.

clap hands
clap hands
clap hands
dice tom waits.

ahora hay que dejar unos pedacitos de polly jean tirados aqui:

And I fantasize
Of our leaving
Like some modern-day
Gypsy landslide
Like some modern-day
Bonnie and clyde


And I draw a line
To your heart today
To your heart from mine
A line to keep us safe

comenzar con "and"

buenos dias a todos
a nadie

y sobretodo a

Monday, September 25, 2006

Valentina, comic por Guido Crepax

Analyze this

arte erótico japonés
that's right e-r-ó-t-i-c-o



hubo una vez

Brooke Shields, MUY jovencita.

para rememorar,


Do you remember the time when I found a human tooth down on Delancey?
Hey, remember that time we decided to kiss anywhere except the mouth?
Hey, remember that time when my favorite colors were pink and green?
Hey, remember that month when I only ate boxes of tangerines?
So cheap and juicy

Hey, remember that time when I would only read Shakespeare?
Hey, remember that other time when I would only read the backs of cereal boxes?
Hey, remember that time I tried to save a pigeon with a broken wing?
A street cat got him by morning and I had to bury pieces of his body in my building’s playground
I thought I was going to be sick

Hey, remember that time when I would only smoke Parliaments?
Hey, remember that time when I would only smoke Marlboros?
Hey, remember that time when I would only smoke Camels?
Hey, remember that time when I was broke? I didn’t care I just bummed from my friends

Hey, remember that time when you od’ed?
Hey, remember that other time when you od’ed for the second time?
Well in the waiting room while waiting for news of you
I hallucinated I could read your mind
and I was on a lot of shit too but what I saw, man, I tell you it was freaky…

Sunday, September 24, 2006

blind as a bat

parece que me gusta meat loaf
me gusta bastante pues
parece que tiene nuevo single
de hecho ya lo oi pero no se por que digo parece
bueno tambien se que me gusta meat loaf y sigo diciendo parece
parece que no estoy muy seguro de nada
meat loaf tiene varios singles de 2006
pero no disco
asi que no entiendo
tambien me gusta john lee hooker
y eso todo el mundo lo sabe
incluso quienes no tienen idea de quien fue john lee hooker

algunos verán
es decir nadie
una bandita donde dice notable
y los mas perspicaces miraran mas
pero en fin
vean lo que vean
vean o no vean
agradecemos profundamente a who?
por haberse tomado la molestia
que dios lo guarde.

oh, se me olvidaba
la palabra de hoy es FRENETICA

es una maravillosa palabra
y pensandolo bien
la otra palabra de hoy es

la inventó mi mamá y nadie me probará lo contrario.
pero es mi palabra, mia, me pertenece.
yo se las presto, nadies, pero es mia.

conocen a nora?
en yahoo encontré esta estupidez
no me tomé la molestia de revisar demasiado el sitio
pero me encantó jugar con nora
mirenla por favor
y descubran sus fantasias mas oscuras

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

naked girls with sunglasses

tengo una prima
que tiene puras amigas
que son todas putas
naked girls with sunglasses
no bras, no panties, no bras, no panties
just sunglasses
to hide my nothiness
when im down.

ninguna de las amigas putas de mi prima imaginaria
se llama billie holiday
ni la lupe

productos notables

en matematicas hay algo llamado productos notables
no me acuerdo que carajo era
pero era
y en blogger
hay algo llamado blogs notables
me hago una idea de que es eso
pero jamas he visitado uno
aunque si me pregunto
quien coño decide cual blog es notables

ataque de celos?
no lo creo
pero si es

who wants love dice billie holiday
los criticos lo llaman ironia
pero en el mal uso
usos y costumbres
lo que es es lo que es lo que manda
lo que ves es lo que es
y lo que no ves

es una doctrina
que queres que te diga
dice un tipo de otro lado que pasa por la sala de mi casa
y los criticos se vuelven locos
se les paran los pelos
y tambien otras cosas
que no necesariamente el corazon
de mi mas reciente lectura del caballero de la triste figura
me quedan
del manco

ni que me suba en zancos
o me encarame en un banco

la facilidad de la r i m a
siempre nos anima
las asperezas lima
y siempre alguien las estima
o no querida prima

yo se que no tiene sentido
porque si tiene sentido
tiene inicio y final
y entonces tengo que darle a publicar
y me quedo solito
con billie holiday
pero no nos tocamos
ni nos comunicamos
ella me informa pero no me comunica
es unilateral
y de verdad si billie se dirigiera a mi y dijera mi nombre ultrasecreto
me daria mas miedo que si el mismisimo enano me halara las patas

no solo libre
sino facil asociacion
no es asi?

la academia de los notables


yo queria hablar
de un pueblo entero que teme
a unos bichos gigantes
y bipedos
que manipulan el cielo
lo hacen bajo a su antojo
ponen el cielo un poquitin mas abajo que sus cabezas
entonces alborotan los elementos flotantes
con sus cabezotas como lunas feas
y hacen nevar donde hay calor
entonces la nieve es como esa nieve chimba de las peliculas
que es un polvito y se te mete en la nariz
y mas nunca se te borra del pelo
y esos muñecos de nieve de yeso
que ni siquiera en el siglo ventiuno
ni un jamaiquino se lo cree
el pueblito empieza a morir
nieve toxica
y gritan al cielo
a sus dioses de muchisimos miembros
incluyendo los viriles
y los dioses no los oyen
porque los cabezones de arriba
bajaron el cielo
pero a los dioses los dejaron encaramados en un pico
haciendo equilibrio como cabras
pero ninguno de esos dioses es cabra
porque eso es en otra religion
que en esta las cabras son demonios
pero no es esa religion famosa que disgusta de las brujas y los maricones
(marico rima con pico e irene con pene
ay que rico,
no lo crees, nene?)
entonces los de abajo insultan a los bipedos
y le dicen "ey tu bestia opaca"
porque no les pueden ver los organos
pero gritan es de desesperacion
que ni el mas valiente caballero andante
les sopla ni una uña a los bipedos,
que se hace
los de abajo solo confian
en la inmortalidad de su especie
se engañan como zorras abajo
antes las uvas arriba
y dicen "no creo en el individuo"
y mueren porque la nieve falsa se les mete en las vias respiratorias
y las paredes de estas se ensanchan
y el aire cada vez pasa de manera mas dificil
hasta que ya no pasa
pero los transparentes
se suben por las paredes como pueden
que antes podian de cualquier manera
pero ahora no
y se suben se suben mas arriba de los cielos
pero no tan arriba como los dioses cabra
que ya se fueron para otro lado
porque un dios sin fieles no es nada
y eso es lo que los fieles no saben
pero los fieles si sospechan
que un dios no quiere tanto el respeto
como el miedo
solo que los fieles no se lo quieren decir a si mismos
pero si dicen
que alguien bueno
es temeroso de dios
entonces es un tonto gelatinoso chico, te lo dije, se acabo.

ay miedito
uno de verdad como que se petrifica cuando oye o lee "se acabo"
pero ve uno que si puede seguir
como el contradictorio o arrogante de van helsing
que piensa que el llega mas alla que otros
y es puro invento
y ahi es donde inventan los que escriben la historia
es cejudo de van helsing

diviertome con aquellos
y dije diviertome no dije nada a sus madres
diviertome con aquellos que se imaginan
a van helsing como un carajo con barba de lija
y de quince kilometros de largo la pija.

now they call it swing
dice billie holiday
se habra preguntado:
como lo van a llamar mañana?

por favor no me vayas a responder billie
por mas que te quiero

el van helsing moderno
esta sentado en la pc
buscando en wikipedia
como matar cucarachas malditas
que no se pueden fumigar tan facil
y que chupan
la semilla de la vida
de las semillas de la pereza
del macho seudo sapiens
y no encuentra nada
porque dice "this article is a stud"
o algo asi que dice la wiki
y no digamos la uncyclo
y vanhi como le dicen de cariño
se ladilla
y se pone en un chat a decir
muestrame las teticas
en ingles con acento holandes si acaso
el pana van helsing...

y la chica no le para bolas
y pone la webcam
pero le empieza a enseñar los peluches
y los sostenes sucios
y luego le dice voy a poner cara sexy
y saca la bembita asi asi
y van helsing se alborota
pero no demasiado.

entonces van helsing
tira la webcam al piso
y dice ay se corto la comunicacion
no se que paso
se desconfiguro
y se pone a ver el space
de una antigua compañera de la escuela de medicina
una brasilera que estudio en amsterdam
y la mato un jack el destripador de segunda
y nadie se entero
y como nadie se entero
no paso
asi que siguio viva
y van helsing se mete en su space
aunque no la soporta
pero la metio en el msn porque supo que se habia operado las tetas
asi que se mete en su space y la mira haciendo piruetas congeladas
y dice peor es nada.

y van helsing llena como 60 gigas de fotos asi
que en verdad no le hacen ni cosquillas
y que mas nunca volvera a ver.

pobre van helsing
si nos ponemos a pensar
el penso que si mataba al viejo feo de nariz puntiaguda
y lo pulverizaba
estaba hecho
y se iba a ir a la playa
e iba a poner todas las fotos en su space
pero resulta que ni siquiera el toco nunca al viejo vlad
y los otros dos jovencitos con apenas unas canitas sexy
se llevaron todo el credito
y dejaron al pobrecito cabeza de algodon de niñera y madrina
tu crees que es posible que se le haga eso al doctor abraham van helsing?
no hay derecho
tu has visto?
es que estos tiempos de decadencia
la gente ya no respeta ni a su madre
y eso que madre solo hay una.

yo me he quedado sorprendido
cuando veo que ahora hasta las mujeres toman cerveza
y no una ni dos, sino hasta tres
y tan tranquilas asi
en frente de todo el mundo
y los niños andan diciendo que fulanita es su novia y la besan
es una cosa que da lastima
lo que da es lastima por esas pobres criaturas.

por eso es que yo digo
antes uno tenia que meterse en el mar
cubierto con ropas
de la cabeza a los pies
y si
uno pesaba mucho
y hacia aquel calor
pero por lo menos la gente respetaba
y los domingos se ponian bien elegantes y se iban a su iglesia
ahora no
la gente quiere ir hasta en zandalias para la iglesia
como si el nazareno andara por ahi como un mamarracho
es que la palabra de dios
les entra por un oido
y les sale por el otro
o por quien sabe donde.

bueno ustedes me perdonaran por ese desdoblamiento
bah, quien coño me va a poder perdonar o tener que perdonar
quien coño va a haber llegado hasta aqui?
quien coño va a haber llegado hasta "quien coño decide cual blog es notables"

entonces yo puedo decir aqui
que tu mama es una puta
no no la de el
la tuya
si si tu
aja, tu mismo, tu mismo, si
la puta esa que te pario
si si

epa epa
este blog no se puede leer antes de las 12 de la noche
bueno vamos a darle publicar.

Tuesday, September 19, 2006


"People don't turn down money. That's what separates us from the animals."
-Jerry Seinfeld-

", please, a little respect, for I am Costanza, Lord of the Idiots."
-George Costanza-


CH: -¿Quejeso que tienes allí?
E: Agua.
CH: Agua... ¿A qué temperatura está el agua?
E: (decidido) Normal.
CH: Normal...

-Cadena del Martes 19 de Septiembre 2006-

Monday, September 18, 2006

on the wrong side of the bed

waking up on the wrong side of the bed
but, wait, my bed has just one side
ok, en realidad no
pero los dos lados son como las caras de la moneda
para despertarme en el wrong side of the bed
tendría que amanecer bajo la cama
en contra de las leyes de la gravedad
como spiderman
despertaria y miraria el piso
como si fuera el techo pero cerquita de mis narices
olería y respiraría el polvo
las cucarachas caminarian por mi nariz
papeles viejos, juguetes, alguna botella de cerveza secreta,
un cartón de pizza aceitoso que planeo usar como soporte
para una obra maestra jamás realizada
todo eso parecera pegado con pegaloca en el techo-piso
eso seria levantarse del lado equivocado de la cama
y seria cagante
pero memorable.

so. isn´t the "wrong" side of the bed
the "best" side of the bed?
that "wild" side where we are invited to take a walk?
take a nap in the wild side
wrong side
best side
out side.

if i wake up outside the bed.
then i am an outsider.

tu turu turu tuturu tu turu turu tuturu tu turu turu tuturutu (8)

I love thora
by the way.

get close, bitches
no. not you thora.
i mean yes, get close thora,
but the bitches are others.
no one in particular.

perdonenme todo el inglish
all attacks are welcome, bitches.
yes, bitches.

Sunday, September 17, 2006


Byron decía de los celos: "Y prueban la verdad pura de lo que más aborrecía."

Saturday, September 16, 2006



"Sospecho que un autor debe intervenir lo menos posible en la elaboración de su obra. Deba tratar de ser un amanuense del Espíritu o de la Musa (ambas palabras son sinónimas), no de sus opiniones, que son lo más superficial que hay en él. Así lo entendió Rudyard Kipling, el más ilustre de los escritores comprometidos. A un escritor -nos dijo- le está dado inventar una fábula, pero no la moralidad de esa fábula."


Fría y tormentosa la noche que zarpé de Montevideo.
Al doblar el Cerro,
tiré desde la cubierta más alta
una moneda que brilló y se anegó en las aguas barrosas,
una cosa de luz que arrebataron el tiempo y la tiniebla.
Tuve la sensación de haber cometido un acto irrevocable,
de agregar a la historia del planeta
dos series incesantes, paralelas, quizá infinitas:
mi destino, hecho de zozobra, de amor y de vanas vicisitudes,
y el de aquel disco de metal
que las aguas darían al blando abismo
o a los remotos mares que aún roen
despojos del sajón y del viking.
A cada instante de mi sueño o de mi vigilia
corresponde otro de la ciega moneda.
A veces he sentido remordimiento
y otras, envidia,
de ti que estás, como nosotros, en el tiempo y su laberinto
y que no lo sabes.

Jorge Luis Borges.

Friday, September 15, 2006


A man walks out of his apartment
it is raining
he's got no umbrella
he starts running beneath the awnings trying to save his suit
tryin to dryin to tryin to dry but no good

When he gets to the crowded subway platform he takes off both of his shoes
He steps right into somebody's fat loogie
and everyone who sees him says "ewwww"
everyone who sees him says "ewwww"

But he doesn't care cause last night he got a visit from the Ghost of Corporate Future
The Ghost said take off both your shoes whatever chances you get
especially when they're wet
he also said

Imagine you go away on a business trip one day
and when you come back home
your children have grown
and you never made your wife moan

And people make you nervous
You'd think the world was ending
and everybody's features
have somehow started blending
and everything is plastic
and everyone's sarcastic
and all your food is frozen
it needs to be defrosted
You'd think the world was ending
you'd think the world was ending
You'd think the world was ending right now

Well maybe you should just drink a lot less coffee
and never ever watch the 10 o'clock news
Maybe you should kiss someone nice or lick a rock or both
maybe you should cut your own hair cause that can be so funny
it doesn't cost any money and it always grows back
hair grows even after you're dead

People are just people
They shouldn't make you nervous
The world is everlasting
It's coming and it's going
if you don't toss your plastic
the streets won't be so plastic
and if you kiss somebody
then both of you'll get practice

The world is everlasting
put dirtballs in your pockets
put dirtball's in your pockets
and take off both your shoes
cause people are just people
people are just people
people are just people like you

people are just people
people are just people
people are just people like you

The world is everlasting
it's coming and it's going
the world is everlasting
it's coming and it's going
it's coming and it's going


hace un día
necesitaba ansiosamente más regina, más regina
tengo infinita regina
tengo que andar con cuidado porque se me derrama y mi mamá me pega
si fuera aquella canción de las palmaditas y mesu mesu mesuboalacamamimamamepega...
pero no.
it's ok, tengo regina para llorar y reir bastante, justo ahora en crappy friday.
thanks god its friday.
yeah right.
en este momento me gustaría estar donde los chinos de dos ambientes donde fui con who? una vez y habían viejos que comían canilla y tomaban wisky y hablaban de política y yo le decía a who? que hablar de políticas todo el día era de idiotas y terminamos hablando de política y todo era hopeless y 1984 de george orwell, bonito año para nacer.

amo a alguien que no susurra mucho, pero cuando susurra es hermosa.

acabo de dibujar una webcam en paint
tenía además el siguiente título: el mundo de mentiritas
luego borré todo porque me parecía que no tenía ni pies ni cabeza
que estúpido y coñoemadre
los árboles no tienen pies ni cabeza
y nadie anda por ahí borrándolos
los cortan, los queman, los arrancan de raíz, los soplan, se los comen, se los follan, se cuelgan de ellos, los arañan, los tatúan, los marcan con coranzocitos, le guindan columpios, le hacen colmenas, le hacen casas del árbol, los ahogan, les arrancan fruticas, se les encaraman y espían a las niñas en sostén o en cualquier estado de desnudez más o menos emocionante, pero nadie anda por ahí borrándolos.
todo esto no es más que ejercicio, soy como una niña en licra corriendo por los vecindarios más bonitos y con vigilancia las 24 horas.
o soy como una de esas señoras que andan con una liga en la cabeza y un palo batiéndolo por los aires.
soy como un gordo que vi en la televisión y que se comía 100 jalapeños. la noche anterior para practicar se comía dos kilos y medio de uva. yo sí me anoto en eso de comerme dos kilos y medio de uva. verde. sin semilla.
lo ví hoy, mientras estaba anclado. hoy estuve anclado bastante rato.
ví como china esto, china aquello, oriente esto, occidente esto, y quién va a conquistar al mundo. en national geografic, discovery, history, se habla mucho de conquistar al mundo. pinky y cerebro es un documental.
ya que todos estamos tan interesados en quién o qué soy:
soy un muñequito de cuerda.
soy un trompo.
soy un gurrufío.
soy woody en toy story, pero ni por el coño soy buzz lightyear.
no tengo nada en contra de buzz, sólo no soy él, no me voy a engañar.

recomiendo a mis invidentes:

yo no sé por qué sigo escribiendo en esta..............

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

más del nuevo arte arrechísimo

habla conmigo viejo perro blanco

soy necio, histérico y gritón.
y hoy estoy de buenas.

(escoga usted su mentira)

i came here for a reason
i forgot

tiempo presion
y aeropuertos

calamaro says

peter pan effect

im too much for a person
im a monster
gag me with a spoon



recuerdo haberte amado asi dormida, dijo spinetta y yo tambien


no son cute?


Are you lonesome tonight,
Do you miss me tonight?
Are you sorry we drifted apart?
Does your memory stray to a brighter sunny day
When i kissed you and called you sweetheart?
Do the chairs in your parlor seem empty and bare?
Do you gaze at your doorstep and picture me there?
Is your heart filled with pain, shall i come back again?
Tell me dear, are you lonesome tonight?

I wonder if you're lonesome tonight
You know someone said that the world's a stage
And each must play a part.
Fate had me playing in love you as my sweet heart.
Act one was when we met, i loved you at first glance

You read your line so cleverly and never missed a cue
Then came act two, you seemed to change and you acted strange
And why i'll never know.
Honey, you lied when you said you loved me
And i had no cause to doubt you.
But i'd rather go on hearing your lies
Than go on living without you.
Now the stage is bare and i'm standing there
With emptiness all around
And if you won't come back to me
Then make them bring the curtain down.

Is your heart filled with pain, shall i come back again?
Tell me dear, are you lonesome tonight?

Monday, September 11, 2006

declarations of faith

My name is Aleksander and I live in Athens, Greece. My mission is to find amateur girls willing to do anything I tell them and that usually involves deep throat blowjobs, huge sticky facials and of course all kinds of watersports!


a pesar de todo lo worldwide que es el o la worldwide web
un worldwidewebshaman es necesario

a pesar de que ya casi todo el mundo conoce lo que es un goldenshower o lluvia de oro
y no estamos hablando precisamente de la mitologia griega
o mas bien
pocos en determinado contexto biopsicosexualgeohistoricopoliticoculturalreligiosonacional
saben o aceptan saber
que en en internet hay cosas como esta:

en el suelo un espejo
sobre el dos señoritas de cuerpo bonito y carita adorable con gesto adorable
de cuclillas ass to ass sobre el espejo
desnuditas ellas
mean alternativamente
la imagen es:
cuatro goldenshowers como fuentes en una plaza luminosa se encuentran
en un punto medio
desafiando las leyes de la fisica y de la moral occidental cristiana.

me paso hoy: estoy abriendo una botella de jugo de naranja fake
me cuesta una bola
logro quitar el aro de seguridad
luego logro quitar la tapa
confiado volteo la botella sobre el vaso ( a mess is always welcome)
y no sale nada
miro de nuevo: un fucking sello
digo: maldita sea occidente.

-PHARREL: can i have it like that?
-GWEN: youve got it like that.

gag me with a spoon

gag me with a spoon

the sometimes-sexy girl

not-so-ramdom phrases

-lip my stockings
-lip my stockings
-you want me to what?
-lip my stockings
-lip your stockings?, lip them?, what?
-lip my stockings
-rip your stockings? oh, you want me to rip your stockings? ok.

version mas gallo pelon del asunto pero gueno.
someone, the one who understands the game will understand the game.
yeah, you, spelling girl.
no, im not talking about tori spelling.

solo la experta en L.I.T.
en fin.

an experiment on negative space.
an experiment on negative space.
an experiment on negative space.
negative space on literature.
negative space on writing.
version unopuntocero.

what kind of commentary do you want?
an explicit one?

y asi es como quienes nos iluminan son los ciegos.

mayúsculas y negritas on me.
down on me.
take on me.

COMING UP NEXT: TREAT ME LIKE A FOOL. with a little help from my friend elvis.

happy and real


"Mientras acaricias el FALO, haz deslizar tus labios por el glande y bésalo suavemente. Pasa tu lengua por la piel muy fina del glande (es una de las pieles más agradables de besar, ya que es una de las más delicadas del cuerpo, junto con la de los párpados)o también dé golpecitos en el lugar al que llega el canal y en el prepucio."

mayúsculas y negritas on me.

Sunday, September 10, 2006

ME CAGO EN TODO - de andrés calamaro.

hoy sí que me cago en todo
nada me puede importar
porque me quedé tan solo que ya no existen los demás
no tengo ni donde caerme
nadie va a venir a verme
todos prefieren cualquier cosa
pero lejos de mí
los potros están echando espuma
pluma mental animal
estamos tan lejos de todo
me quiero poner a cantar

hoy me cago en todo
pero me cago en todo con amor
si nadie me cuida y estoy solo
me queda poca grasa en el motor

me cago en todo
pero me cago en todo con amor
nada me importa más que lo que hay en la mesa
y podría ser peor


me cago en todo
pero me cago en todo con amor
si nadie me cuida y estoy solo

que finita es la frontera
entre la agustia y la felicidad
todo volverá a ser como era
en algún momento y lugar

me cago en todo
pero me cago en todo con amor
nadie me cuida y estoy solo
dónde mierda está el amor

me cago en todo

esta vida no es para mí

termino mal si sigo así

merecería algo mucho mejor

somos la aristocracia

de la desgracia

me cago en todo.

LO QUE NO EXISTE MÁS - de andrés calamaro

Acabo de despertarme y me pasa algo extraño
me pasa que me olvidé de todo
como si por empezar el año
no existiera nada que yo conocí
y me digo tengo suerte compañero
se lo va a agradecer el corazón
sí, hoy podría empezar de nuevo
aprovechando la amnesia que me aqueja
ya no habrá malas noticias solo buenas
ni una queja, ni un recuerdo
algo así como haber cumplido una condena
algo así como una oportunidad

Voy a tratar de vivir sin pasado
sin un clavo oxidado que tengo siempre clavado
voy a probar este vino del olvido
para embriagarme con él el resto de mi vida

Para vivir hacen falta muchas cosas
pero sobra lo que no existe más.

Acabo de despertarme y me pasa algo extraño
me pasa que me olvidé de todo.

NO TE BANCASTE - de andrés calamaro

NO me gusta perder cuando juego
digo la verdad cuando miento
esto iba en serio pero vos no te animaste

te fascina tener un problema
te creiste tu cara de nena
pudiste ser una reina y no te bancaste

no pasa nada sin los gritos de mamá
tuviste miedo que te empezara a gustar

pudiste ser una reina y no te bancaste

no te animaste a ser mujer, sos un bebé
no te animaste a ser mujer, sos un bebé

tuviste miedo que te empezara a gustar
y no te bancaste

Saturday, September 09, 2006

AN IMPROVISED ODE TO NIETZSCHE - by Jim Morrison, september 1968.

Jim sentado al piano, y se lanzó esta:

He wrapped his arms
around his horse's neck
and kissed him everywhere

"I love my horse."

A crowd gathered,
his landlord appeared
and took Fiedrich
back up to his rooms
on the second floor
where he began
to play the piano madly
and sing madly, like:


I´m crucified and inspected and
resurrected, and whoa!
and if you don't believe that
I´ll give you my latest
philanthropic sonata."

And the landlord's family was amazed.
So they sent for his friend, Auerbach,
and he got there in three days by coach,
and they took Fiedrich to the asylum.
And his mother joined him,
and for the next 15 years,
they cried, and cried,
and laughed,
and looked at the sun,
and everyone.


ele a de i ele ele a
ele ele a
santeria wow-
santeria for dummies-
santeria for mommies-
santeria for the people
power to the people
bread and circus to the people
all the lonely people
where do they all belong
all the lonely people
where do they all come from
visceras en reversa
altamente inflamable
pero comestible
creible o increible?
desordené átomos tuyos para hacerte aparecer.
aqui voy aqui estoy ordenando y desordenando atomos
y tu nada que apareces.
tú nada que apareces.
tu nada que aparece.
toma una decision frente al retrato de un fetiche
innumerables fetiches, thats right.
la imaginacion al servicio de tu fetiche
desenmascara tu fetiche
la imaginacion al servicio de tu fetiche
una industria tambien, a partir de.

la espera de que unos se vayan
otros se queden
otros lleguen
para quedarse.

la espera.

la fantasia de que te quedes
de que no te vayas mas
la terquedad, la obstinacion
en tampoco
irme yo.

relacionar lo irrelacionable.
bienaventurados sean los que.

the book
The Book
con mayusculus

the book always a great source
yes, that book

que se yo biblia significa libro
carateca: un lugar donde hay muchas caras.

vamos a pasar por la carateca para ver que cara (me) pongo hoy:

"he took a face from the ancient gallery* and walked down the hallway"

(*una antigua carateca, thats right)

mayusculus musculus beats the minusculus musculus


hublur cun lu u pusutuumpu duvurtudu
uquul quu su cusu cun tu mumu us tu pupu

imposible siquiera escribir con la u
sin poner carita usu
carita de besito
carita de que te creiste que besito
y nada de eso, papá.

viene un pequeño niñito
version undercover de mi
y ese si
que se monta en las ramas mas altas de los arboles
ese si se asoma y se mete por las ventanas
ese si te hala por la cabellera
te saca los ojos con dos cucharas soperas

the silly power of rhymes
we're still animals and we`ll forever be.

con suerte
por suerte
some of us

you would say im a dreamer
but im not the only one

im not one at all

porque la mayoria de las veces
no me creo nada

no quiero ser el jovencito iluso
si el niño tonto
pero no iluso
you know what i mean?
who is you?
si, who IS, no me equivoque mofos.

cuando estoy l a d i l l a d o
pierdo la dignidad
y eso no está necesariamente mal.

eme a ele
e eme e a e ele e
e e eme e e a e e e ele e e
e e e eme e e a e e e a e e e
e te ce e te e ere a

who understands the game?
maybe YOU again
and who are you?

yo apuesto a que eres tu
quiero que seas tu
espero que seas tu
e ese pe e ere o cu u e ese e a ese te u
de e ele e te ere e a ene de o
ele ene o eme be ere e
de e
ce a te hache
y la hache es muda
mudita mudita ella
desnudita maybe
em ei wai bi i

naked lady
naked angel
naked cutie
naked blonde
naked teen
naked child
naked body
human body
human nature
human behaviour
human misconduct
fetish fetish
foot fetish
leather fetish
lace fetish
leg fetish

la entrada mas incoherente de la tarde
mas incoherente del dia
mas abierta mas cerrada
no one understand
until they understand

entrada bastante spanglish
auto explicativa
y muy deletreada ella.

oracion ligeramente escuchada,
respuesta en forma de "azotador hardcore de palmera"
en el mismo instante larguisimo en que escribi this.

Thursday, September 07, 2006

de los usos y las gratificaciones


Wednesday, September 06, 2006


Tuesday, September 05, 2006

and it's contagious

im not ashamed of the nature of my sources.

lo fantástico se te aproxima de muy diversas maneras.
yo no comprendí nunca una pintura barata colgada en mi sala hasta que steve irwin, crocodile hunter, murió ayer o antier. la montaña verde chillón es en realidad un adorable cocodrilito con todos sus dientes, pero a crocodile hunter vino a matarlo una mantarraya, aguja envenenada destino el corazón. la puya le abrió el pecho y le ensartó el corazón. el corazón es un músculo, es una válvula, un órgano.esdrújulas. es como un gran tomate pelado y con mucho líquido. y uno lo aprieta y lo exprime y lo explota. im sorry for you, crocodile hunter. y hay otras muchas manifestaciones fantásticas right here, right now. un sonido de madera hueca que se acerca, se aleja, se acerca más, se aleja otro poco, se acerca aun más, y es evidente que eventualmente llega a la habitación y abre la puerta entornada con un suave empujón. y entra El Coco que no es más que eso, un coco, que avanza en círculos, rodando. se detiene El Coco y me mira con su rostro estático. me habla con voz de madera hueca. ni siquiera intenta asustarme. hoy en dia san nicolás/santa claus va y se hace un enema al lado de uno (right next to) y uno sigue sin creer que existe.

Monday, September 04, 2006

PATRON SAINT - by regina spektor

She's the kind of girl who'll smash herself down in the night
She's the kind of girl who'll fracture her mind till it's light
She'll break her own heart and you know she'll break your heart too
So darling, let go of her hand

She's been skipping days, spilling her drinks in the sink
and you know, she's never coming home--never coming home again
but when when when she open her eyes eyes eyes
beyond the chipping paint through the windowpane
lies lies lies
her patron saint, broken and lame
and absolutely insane for learning that true love exists
so darling, let go of her hand
you'll be to blame for playing this game

and learning that true love exists

AQUARIUS - by regina spektor

dear someone listening in the shadows
I only talk to you sometimes
and though I ask for help in riddles
it is clearer in my mind
clearer in my mind

born of a sign that carries vessels
but in a month that's cold as ice
I know I question things too quickly
but I have never questioned if I've loved

dear someone watching from the shadows
I'm clenching water in my fists
the drops, they slip right through my fingers
but there's water on my lips
water on my lips

born of a sign that carries vessels
but in a month that brings just ice
I know I question things too quickly
but I've never wondered if I've loved

dear someone watching from the shadows
you've seen me lose all the water from my hands
I'm not a skillful water carrier
but the raindrops keep falling on my head
falling on my head

born of a sign that carries water
but in a month that brings just ice
I'm not a skillful water carrier
but I've learned to carry love
learned to carry love...

Sunday, September 03, 2006

BRAILLE - by regina spektor

after all I'm still a jerk playing with matches
it's just that he's not around to play along
I'm still an ass hole playing with matches
Blowing out my wishes blowing out my dreams
Just sitting here and trying to decypher what's written in Braille upon my skin...

Saturday, September 02, 2006

REGINASAURUS - by regina spektor

if I was a dinosaur
I'd be a reginasurus
and if I knew a million english words
I'd publish my own spektor's thesaurus
if I was born in the merry month of may
then I would be a taurus
and if I had some extra time on my hands, then I'd
surely join a chorus

if I was a philosophy
I'd be registentionalism
and if people spoke using quotes of me
they'd say reginaisms
if I was a religion, then my church
would surely have a schism
there'd be regewish and registian and regislam and reguddist and regatheist
but they'd still be friends

if I was a great big city
I'd be reginapolis
no one would be sickly or achey
in my thriving metropolis
unless of course they came down with bad case of
a heartache and a headache and a sunburn and a little bit of
acute gastritis

but if I was a dinosaur
I'd be a reginasaurus
if I was a dinosaur
I'd be a reginasurus
and if I knew a million english words
I'd have my own spektor's thesaurus
if I was born in the merry month of may
then I would be a taurus
and if I had some extra time on my hands, then I'd
surely join a chorus

THE FLOWERS - by regina spektor

The flowers you gave me are rotting and still I refuse to throw them away
some of the bulbs never opened quite fully
they might so I'm waiting and staying awake
Things I have loved I'm allowed to keep
I'll never know if I go to sleep