Gott ist tot?

There are some kind of misunderstanding by Nietsche. God is not dead. God is killed. The bottom line is by whom and why he is killed. Of course the people who believed in church killed him, because they didn't believe in God and they knew that God talked too much. After the murder they pronounced their own message in the name of God. And they called themselves Christians. But the one thing is so clear. Jesus was not Christian, but just Christ. The merchants are selling just one merchandise, Jesus Christ. And we call them Christians. If you believe in Christ and God, please get out of the market named Church and look around the world and the people. What you are looking forward is there.

Я И МОЯ ТЕНЬ

Однажды моя тень меня попросила у меня кое-что, и я ей ответил так:

Моя тень: Не надо плакать.
Я: Я не плачу.
Моя тень: Кажется, что ты плачешь.
Я: Это только кажется.
Моя тень: Почему ты прячешь лицо?
Я: Я ничего не прячу.
Моя тень: Слёзы текут по щекам.
Я: Это пот течёт. Поэтому тебе кажется, что я плачу.


 
На следующий день я обратился к своей тени, и она мне ответила вот что:

Я: Не надо плакать.
Моя тень: Я не плачу.
Я: Кажется, что ты плачешь.
Моя тень: Это только кажется.
Я: Почему ты прячешь лицо?
Моя тень: Я ничего не прячу.
Я: Слёзы текут по сердцу.
Моя тень: Это кровь течёт. Поэтому тебе кажется, что я плачу.

 
С этого дня моя тень от меня ушла. Так вот всё у нас закончилось. После её ухода, я здесь её жду. А, может быть, она меня ждёт где-нибудь.

Я-дерево

Раньше я был деревом.
Ничего не говорил,
но наблюдал за всем вокруг.
Меня называли деревом,
потому что я не говорил ничего.
Теперь я больше не дерево.
Я говорю много,
и все люди смотрят на меня.
Меня называют книгой,
потому что я рассказываю обо всём.

a mi vida

La vida es una cosa única
De la que no tengo que hablar.
Puedo hablar cualquiera, pero no la vida.
Como la vida me detesta, no me gusta.
Sí ella me permite de hablar de ella,
Voy a decir, "tú eres un animal monstruoso.
¡Qué pena! Hay que vivir contigo hasta morir.
Pues la muerte es una opción para escaparte."

Sous le ciel d'Edimbourg

Sous le ciel d'Edimbourg je suis encore seul.
On vien ici pour chercher quelques armes qui peuvent tuer la solitude.
Je me demande si c'est bien pour soi-même, tuer sa solitude?
Quant à moi, j'étais jamais seul avec elle.
Sans elle je serai vachement seul.
Alors conclusion:Je serai seul sans ou avec ma solitude.
Quel paradoxe nous avons là!
Il faut éviter la vie.
Elle est monstrueuse.

Child in Time

In this song I didn' t know who are talking to whom. But now it's become clear after thinking of Faust and Mephistopheles. Am I Faust, or Mephistopheles? Or the Lord? And I understand too why they call themselves Deep Purple. Are you the Child or the blind man or one of the bullets or the rochochet? Me? I'd rather be the line.

Sweet Child in time you'll see the line
the line that's drawn between good and bad.
See the blind man he's shooting at the world,
the bullets flying and they're taking toll.

If you've been bad oh lord I bet you have,
and you've not been hit by flying lead.
You'd better close your eyes, bow your head.
Wait for the ricochet, yeah.

what the poet needs

People are hypnotized.
They think where we are is extremely important.
Dare I say, no, it is not!
Where we are is not the matter,
It is kind of simulacrum.
The only matter is what we are.
Then let me ask myself a question.
What am I?
Oh, I am scavenger!
The things people dumped are the matters to me.
Desperation, Grief, Absolute Loneliness, and what not.
I need them to be what I am.

The sorrow had the name

The sorrow I've shed,
that once was my skin,
had its own name.
It was your name, my dear.
Do you know? It was your name.
The same sorrow has dropped
into the frozen crystal pot.
Then it has turned into the compassion.
And I drank up a cup of that bitter liquid.

le dialogue des animaux

Le chat dit,
"pourquoi tu me regardes  comme ça?"
Le chien repond,
" je ne sais pas, mais tu me ressembles délicieux.
Est-ce que je peux te manger?"

La femme dit,
"pourquoi tu me regardes comme ça?"
L´homme repond,
"je ne sais pas, mais tu me ressembles charmante.
Est-ce que je peux te baiser?"

a soul rape

Yes, I was totally alone in that sombre room.
And the old angst waited there in the cavity of my body.
I knew the name!  the inquietude against the eternal solitude!
She crept all over my wounded soul,
as she was about to caress and to make love.
But I couldn´t do any thing.
I even could not move just a single finger.
She raped my lonesomeness just like that.
Now please get away, you old bitch!

La nausée

On n'a pas de temps à perdre.
On n'a que le temps de manger.
On mange le temps.
Et de temps en temps
on vomit ce qu'on a mangé.
La nausée me mange aussi
d´un coup, un seul coup.
Alors je me suis perdu
dans cette nausée.

bist du Gott?

charlo: ich bin kein Mensch.
schatten: denn was bist du?
charlo: ich bin Gott.
schatten: wie bitte?
charlo: ich bin Gott.
schatten: ah, schließlich wird er verrück. oh mein Gott! Verzeih ihm. Er weiß nicht was er tut. Verzeih ihm wenn du wirchlich Gott bist.

What the art was and what the art is

A statue which walked down from the pedestal to go in the middle of the people will be the one that I used to be. The statue has the figure, but not the soul. From now on the work I'll do is making the figure of the soul. I call it the art.

Why I kill the sun

Oh, bloody day! Oh the sun! 
You've been dried too many years. 
Now you're dying of the thirsty, 
you bloody sun. 
I'll revenge myself on you.

l'art et l'enthousiame

Quelqu'un qui veut tous savoir : Que est-ce que ça veut dire l'enthousiasme? Je ne comprends pas pourquoi l'art enthousiasme beaucoup de gens. Tu peux me l'expliquer?


Quelqu'un qui veut répondre à tous: Ben, alors... l'enthousiasme est frère de la souffrance. C'est très simple. C'est pour ça ils sont contre l'art. C'est une chose triste aussi.

the stage

On the stage we can do whatever we want.
On the stage we do what they don't want.
That's why I love the stage.
That's where I live.

Out of the stage we can't do whatever we want.
Out of the stage we do what they want.
I call it the hell.
That's where the hell I live.

la bougie

Moi : Des ombres silencieuses commencent à marcher sur mon dos. Ça me fait peur. c'est pourquoi j'éteins ma propre lumière. Toi, souffle ta bougie.
Toi : Ah! tu veux dire ma bougie?
Moi : Oui, ta bougie. Ça me fait aussi mal. S'il te plaît.
Toi : Non, je le refuserai, je garderai ma bougie justqu'à la mort. C'est ma propre bougie, n'est ce pas? La peur, c'est pas à moi. C'est à toi. J'aime la peur. Ah! merde! que ce-que tu fais! arrête! la voilà! tu a éteint ma bougie finalement. Alors, tu es content? On n'a pas peur. Mais, à cause de cela, on ne peut plus voir.

little bird talks, but...

She: Hi, I'm She. What's yours?
LB:(silent)
She: (to He) What's her name?
He: We don't know yet. But we gonna figure it out soon. We asked her what we can call her. But she haven't said anything yet. No, I mean, she didn't pronounced any syllable yet. But like I said, don't worry. We gonna figure it out. Just time is the matter. Or maybe we can give her very good and resonable name. Do you have any idea?
She: (laughs) Well, how about ah... Little Bird.
He: That's not bad. Little Bird is O.K. Look, she's so tiny, and her hairs are like canary feathers. That suits her. Little Bird.
She: Hey, Little Bird, from now on your name is Little Bird. Are you happy now?
LB: Ja, aber ich spreche kein Englisch. Ich spreche blöd Deutsch. jetzt seid ihr froh? Ihr dumme Englischsprecher.

Der Kleine Vogel

Der kleine Vogel hat nichts gesagt.
Er hat nur geschluchzt und hat kleine Träne fallen gelassen.

world and i

I thought the world was crazy.
But now I know the world is totally insane.

no way out

I wanted to run away. That was all I wanted. But people blocked on my way. And they urged me to be in the world. "Why?" asked I. They didn't give me the good answer. All they gave me was un coup de poing with some pieces of words. "There is no way out for the escaper!" Ah... am I?

I have to lie

god: I don't know why you always lie. What's the matter with you, son?

charlo: I think everything was born to speak, but I was born to be spoken. That's why I have to lie. You created every creature but me. Don't ask me why.

Why is the life sad?

The life is sad. You know why? Because the life has the end. I mean, the life has the eternal mate. THE DEATH. The life can bring the death, but the death brings nothing. That's why the life has the sadness and the life weeps every single minute until the death comes. Now you know why the life is sad.

A Letter From Javi and Georg Heym

When we get a letter from a friend, we must be happy. But with this letter can you be happy? I'd better be melancholie than happy. Javi is a good friend. Let's look what he wrote.

Hi! I've been skimming through your blogsite... ha, ha! Mach dir Keine Sorgen! Ich werde nicht dir auf Englisch schreiben. Ich glaube ich habe dir einmal gesagt dass die Sprache mit der zwei Menschen erstmals sprechen, soll die Einzige sein... Was gibt's Neues?

 

Deine Rückkehr war nicht so schlecht wie du gedacht hast? Ich hoffe nicht. Auf Jeden Fall, ich habe gerade dein Blog gelesen und ich habe diesen Text "Tears in Earth" gelesen und es hat mich sehr betrübt. Dann habe ich mich entschieden dir zu schreiben. Ich erinnere mich an alle die Zeit die wir vergehen haben... In meinem Leben hat "nichts" verändert. Jetzt lese ich mehr und ich habe viele unglaubliche Schriftsteller gefunden, aber mein äußeres Leben hat viel verschlechtert. Das Leben in der Schule ist nicht wie ich gedacht habe. Es ist viel schlimmer. Die Meiste der Schüler möchten nur Spaß haben und es ist sehr schwer ihnen beizubringen. Die Einbildung ist furchtbar....

 

Ich überlebe und ich denke viel an diesen Satz Rilke geschrieben hat: "Überstehen ist alles"  Ich vermisse alles und alle die Leute die nicht hier sind egal ob sie nicht Körperlich oder psychologisch sind.

 

Erzähl mir was Neues in deinem Leben passiert. Besucht Liebe dich wieder? Guckst du viele Theater in Korea oder Korea ist beschäftigt dich anzustarren? Wer guckt wen?

Ein Beispiel dieser Neue Wunderbaren Schriftsteller ist Georg Heym. Hier schreibe ich ein Gedicht von ihm für dich. Ich hoffe du wirdst das mögen.

 

.Georg Heym: Der Gott der Stadt

 

Auf einem Häuserblock sitzt er breit. .

Die Winde lagern schwarz um seine Stirn.

Er schaut voll Wut, wo fern in Einsamkeit

Die letzten Häuser in das Land verirrn.

Vom Abend glänzt der rote Bauch dem Baal,

Die großen Städte knien um ihn her.

Der Kirchenglocken ungeheure Zahl

Wogt auf zu ihm aus schwarzer Türme Meer.

Wie Korybanten-Tanz dröhnt die Musik

Der Millionen durch die Straßen laut.

Der Schlote Rauch, die Wolken der Fabrik

Ziehn auf zu ihm, wie Duft von Weihrauch blaut.

Das Wetter schwelt in seinen Augenbrauen.

Der dunkle Abend wird in Nacht betäubt.

Die Stürme flattern, die wie Geier schauen

Von seinem Haupthaar, das im Zorne sträubt.

Er streckt ins Dunkel seine Fleischerfaust.

Er schüttelt sie. Ein Meer von Feuer jagt

Durch eine Straße. Und der Glutqualm braust
Und frißt sie auf, bis spät der Morgen tagt.

Anyway he has also a sad heart. That's sure! Javi, thank you for your consolation.

François, Janus und Kaktus

Ich mag Essen, besonders Abendessen. Wir, mein Herrchen François, sein Sohn Janus und Ich Kaktus, eseen zusammen. Mein Herrchen François ist ein schlechter Koch. Trotzdem versucht er wie immer im Haus zu kochen. Scheiße! Das ganze Jahr habe ich das von François verkochte Essen genommen. Das ist auch meine Schuld! Mea culpa! Janus ist pingelig. Er isst nicht was er nicht mag. Er hat mir die Reste gegeben. Wie immer! Ich habe alles ohne Beschwerde gegessen, weil ich ein Menschen-Freund bin. Aber nicht mehr! Das ist genug! Ich kann nicht mehr François Gerichte essen. Heute rebelliere ich! Ich trete meinen Napf! Ich zeige den stinke Zeh! Janus! François! Ich bin auch nur Hund! Ich brauche die Hundheit! Viva Kaktus!

the bible

About the bible we talk a lot but here is a very short comment.

Der achtzehnjährige Bertolt Brecht notiert in seinem Tagebuch: "Ich lese die Bibel, sie ist unvergleichlich schön, stark, aber ein böses Buch." Und zehn Jahre später antwortet Brecht, kurz nach dem Sensationserfolg der Dreigroschen Oper, auf die Frage: "Welches Buch hat Ihnen in Ihrem Leben den größten Eindruck gemacht?" ganz lakonisch: "Sie werden lachen: die Bibel"

Warum reisen die Leute?

Weißt du? Das Leben ist manchmal komisch. Komisch ist das Leben. Aber der Tod ist nicht komisch. Die Verwüstung ist ein anderer Name des Todes. Manchmal ist die Absurdität übler als die Verwüstung. Dann ist das Leben traurig. Mein Leben ist traurig. Dein Leben ist traurig. Unser Leben ist traurig. Euer Leben ist traurig. Sein Leben ist traurig. Ihr Leben ist traurig. Die Welt ist allerdings nicht traurig. Deswegen reisen sie ab!

mystic eyes

Finally you've come to me... but it's too late. We have just one month. What can we do within a month... then forget about every formal shit. Be honest each other! Just say "I loved you at the first moment." I've seen your eyes. I know those eyes. Your lips didn't tell anything, but your eyes were already talking to me something invisible, something unspeakable. I don't know what they call it. But I saw it in your eyes. Your eyes were faster than your heart. You have those eyes in which the sea waves ups and downs. Ups till the heaven, downs till the deep bottom of the sea. They are a couple, the sky and the sea! Cause they have the same color. They try to be each other. Like the sky wants to be the sea. The sea wants to be the sky. That explains everything. They are like a married couple. Without one, they can not be there. Then your eyes tell me some mysterious story betweem the sky and the sea.

think like a tree

People work. But I think. That's kind of difference. That difference makes me out of this world. You work. But I think like a tree. Dead or alive, it does not matter, just like a tree. Or burn yourself like a candle, just like a candle. Or like two candles...burn yourself like candles...

Being lonely

When you are lonely tell 'em that you are not lonely. Then you have two cases. Being lonely. And being lier. 

When you tell 'em you are lonely. Then you have two cases. Being lonely. And being loser. Which one do you want to be?  Anyway you are lonely. 

Äpfel und Schlange

Dieser Garten, in dem wir, meine Frau und ich, uns verloren haben! Wenn ich daran denke, ärgere ich mich über die Dummheit meiner Frau. Damals hatten wir keine Probleme. Um Essen, um Sex, um Kleidung hatten wir keine Sorge. Wir konnten mit den Tieren sprechen. Jeden Tag kamen sie zu uns, um zu bitten, "Bitte, essen Sie uns! Wir werden gern Ihres Mittagessen. Bitte! Bitte!" Manchmal hatten wir keinen Hunger, dann musste ich absagen, "Verzeihung, ich bin satt. Ich habe schon deine Schwester, Piggy-Piggy, die leckere Sau, gegessen. Du kannst bis morgen Morgen warten. Sei geduldig, bitte! Mein liebes Schwein!" Ah! Die gute alte Zeit! Verdammter Dummkopf! Eva! Die gerissene Schlange! Sie wollte meine Frau anlocken. Die Schlange hatte nämlich keine Gattin. Meine Vertraute sagte ab, weil sie seinen mächtier Gatter hatte. Sie wollte uns bescheißen. Mit dem verbotenen Obst! Deshalb hasse ich Äpfel. Ich esse keine Äpfel, sondern viele Schlangen. Ich möchte nach damals zurückgehen, wo ich keine Schlange aß, sondern Äpfel.

Heimat

Was bedeutet die Heimat? Für mich? Sie bedeutet die Angst. Als ich Kind war, wollte ich nach Hause nicht kommen. Wenn stand ich auf, fand ich allerdings, dass ich wie immer zu Hause war. Deswegen hatte ich Herzschmerzen.  Heute stehe ich auf und finde, dass ich noch immer zu Hause bin.  Der Kummer besucht mich wieder.  Dann schreit das Herz "Oh, nein!"

auf ein Floß

Hier bin ich allein seit 20 Minuten. Ich habe geglaubt, "Es würde viel Spaß auf ein Floß." Aber ich hatte nicht Recht. Was ich sehen kann ist bloß Wasser, Wasser, und Wasser. Manchmal höre ich schrechliche Geräusche von meinem Floß. Vielleicht ist es ein gefährliches Zeichen. Es ist ein Moment in dem ich meinen eigenen Tod rieche.

la fiebre

Tú me preguntas sí yo tengo fiebre. Pues sí, yo la tengo, Pero, esta fiebre no es la que tú tienes.

Es la fiebre de chamán. Ella puede incendiar todo lo que cabe en el pensamiento, aun cuando te quedes dos segundos cerca de ella,, aun cuando la toques un segundo. En este lugar donde nada queda, excepto las cenizas de tu pensamiento, un pequeño herrero nace. Y el va a crear lo que tu querías, con el fuego moribundo.

Después, en tu pensamiento habrá solo una creacíon única, ¨yo¨.

Sí, tengo fiebre. Esta fiebre va a darte una nueva vida. Yo estaré en ti, y tú en mí.

Pero, ¡cuidado con mi fiebre!

los ojos

Es extraño que no puedo pensar nada cuando estoy contigo. Tal vez es a causa de tus ojos. Dentro de ellas hay alguna cosa indescriptible. Son como el mar negro y senso que lleno de esqueletos de corales.

Una vez ahogado allí, nadie ni nada puede moverse jámas. Capturado, él sólo espera el tiempo de morir. Pero, yo quiero quedarme en tu alma, como un pequeño pez de colores en un acuario, que nade hacia tus brazos, mirado por tus ojos.

¡Ah! ¡entiendo! ¡No hay otro camino! Ahora, espero morir en tus ojos, no en tus brazos.

un pájaro que no tiene patas

Un día ella me preguntó sí yo conocí la avestruz que no puede volar. Yo le respondí, ¨¡No! no la conozco, por el contrario, yo conozco un pájaro que no tiene patas. Este pájaro tiene alas transparntes y gigantescas que pesan sólo una pluma. El nacío y vive sobre el viento. Nadie lo puede ver. El no puede aterrizar nunca, excepto una vez en su vida porque no tiene patas. Es cuando el muere. Esta vez, el ha sido visto por la gente. La gente empienza a patear con crueldad sobre su cadáver. Por eso, yo quiero ser un páraro sin patas. ¿Entiendes?

el alquimista

Soy alquimista quien cambia la agoná en la poesía.

Y el tiempo es un asesino de tu alma perdida.

Por eso, para no ser el esclavo martirizado del tiempo, como el poeta loco, debes estar borracho, sin parar, de vino, de poesía o de virtud, como tu quieras. 

un fantasma loco

¡Mira! Hay un fantasma perdido en el mundo real. El no sabe qué alma tiene o a qué persona debe querer. Por eso un día el víno a mi hogar a preguntarme quién es él. Pero yo, ni siquiera sé quien soy yo, como puedo respo...

Pues yo le he dicho: ¨No trates de buscar tu identidad. Sólo recuerda que eres un ser humano o un fantasma que antes era un ser humano. Esto es algo importante. si esto es difícil para ti, ven, acercate a mi alma. Estoy siempre preparado para compartir mi agoina contigo. ¡Ven conmigo!

tears in earth

when you have the tear-drops in your eyes that do not want to touch the damned soil, what can you do? In my case, i held  'em back in my deep and brocken heart. i don't know why i did that, but i just did. that makes me always sad. yes i knew that my damned heart couldn't hold 'em. those liquid also lost their place. now they are running all over my vein, keep blaming what i did. oh hell! sometimes we should drop our tears, or they will kill you. just drop 'em. i think that's what you can and what you'd better do. don't worry about the fucking earth. let them be free, i mean, all the holy fucking way, let them be free and be wet the earth. maybe in couple o' years, oh no maybe in several decades, the children will touch the same old earth, in this time not damned but blessed earth. i mean, by your own tears...

Rissiges Herz

Sie: Bist du traurig?

Er: Ich?

Sie: Ja, du!

Er: Ich bin traurig. Das Leben ist traurig. Wie immer bin ich traurig. Heute ist keine Ausnahme. Ja, heute bin ich auch traurig. Es ist egal ob ich hier bleibe oder nicht. Traurig! In meinem ganzen Leben hat die Traurigkeit an mir geklebt. Mein ganze Leben, siehst du? Es war und ist wie das.

Sie: Also... ich verstehe jetzt... Du bist traurig, wahnsinnig traurig... Aber du weinst nicht.

Er: Doch, ich weine. Aber nicht meine Augen, sondern mein Herz weint. Kannst du mein Herz anschauen? Nein, du kannst es nicht machen. Dein Herz war mal gefroren, und jetzt ist geschmolzen. Deswegen hat dein Herz viele Risse. Du sollst dein eigenes Herz versorgen, nicht meins. 

Sie: ...

Zapata und Charlo

The revolution wants Blood. But the capitalism wants more Blood. Especially corrupt Captailism!

"Es mejor morir de pie

que vivir de rodillas"

- E. Zapata

"Es mejor joder de rodillas

que de pie"

-Charlo

Dylan Thomas und Charlo

Ich weiß nicht was zum Teufel der Unterschied zwieschen Dylan Thomas und Ich ist.

I am a Welshman

I am a drunkard

I am a lover of the human race,

especially woman

-Dylan Thomas

Here comes Charlo

I am a Korean

I am a drunkard

I am a lover of the human race,

especially woman

- Charlo

Kabale und Liebe

When a man speaks too much, that means he wants to have a sex. What the hell! He wants to fuck! That's so simple. That's what Schiller said. 

Ferdinand: Du bist meine Luise. Wer sagt dir, dass du noch etwas sein solltest. Wärest du ganz nur Liebe für mich, du hättest keie Zeit für solche Gedanken. Wenn ich bei dir bin, zerschmilzt meine Vernunft in einen Blick - in einen Traum von dir, wenn ich weg bin, und du hast noch eine Klug - heit neben deiner Liebe? - Jeder Augenblick, den du an deinen Kummer verlierst, ist mir und unsere Liebe gestohlen.

Luise: Du willst mich einschläfern, Ferdinand...

ghost

Once i mentioned about the ghost idea of Eugene O'Neill. But his idea was origined to Ibsen's. Why were they so haunted? Maybe for them the ghosts were better than the human beings. And I totally agree with them. The ghost doesn't kill the men, because they are afraid that the human beings come to their world. Only the mankind kills the mankind.

"...I am half inclined to think we are all ghosts, Mr. Manders. It is not only what we have inherited from our fathers and mothers that exists again in us, but all sorts of old dead ideas and all kinds of old dead beliefs and things of that kind. They are not actually alive in us; but there they are dormant, all the same, and we can never be rid of them. Whenever I take up a newspaper and read it, I fancy I see ghosts creeping between the lines. There must be ghosts all over the world. They must be as countless as the grains of the sands, it seems to me. And we are so miserably afraid of the light, all of us."  - Henrik Ibsen, ghost 

Mother O´Mine

When I was young, I liked this poem. And I recited, recited more than thousand times, remembering that I had  my own mother too. When I was grown up, I stopped reciting it. But once again I remembered that I'd liked the poem, when I lost my mother. That moment, I didn't know what I had to do for her. Then I just read it for her.

If I were hanged on the highest hill,

Mother o´mine, O mother o´mine!

I know whose love would follow me still,

Mother o´mine, O mother o´mine!

If I were drowned in the deepest sea,

Mother o´mine, O mother o´mine!

I know whose tears would come down to me,

Mother o´mine, O mother o´mine!

If I were damned of body and soul,

I know whose prayer would make me whole,

Mother o´mine, O mother o´mine!

- Rudyard Kipling

on the day, no in the night when i lost the one whom i loved, but to whom i've never pronounced "i love you" 

EL PAÍS EXÓTICO

ella: ¿Porqué buscas siempre el país exótico?

el: Para ti, es tu sueño.

ella: En mis ojos, eres una persona exótica. Entonces, es inutil que quieres navegar a otra tierra. Lo que necesitas es abrir tus ojos y tu corazón. ¡Hay un país exótico!

I AM BLUE

A: Am I blue?

B: I don't have blue eyes.

A: I don't have blue eyes either.

B: Are you then blue?

A: Sorry I don't get it.

B: I feel so sad for you don't understand what I have. But I'm blue.

Harry the Nobody

My name is Nobody. But they call me not-remember-Harry. It is not the ordinary Harry.

Harry, the one cursed by his own spell. But the Harry is not me. He's my cousin. Yes! My cousin who still lives in my damned shadow.

la melancolía

Tuve un amigo. Este amigo pudo beber conmigo quando lo queria yo. Pero tengo que llamarle para verlo y para beber con el. Ahora no sé donde esta el, sin embargo puedo sentir que quiere estar en mi mundo. El sentimiento que quiere compartir con alguien.

¡La melancolía!

TENGO TREINTA Y OCHO AÑOS

Hoy, yo tengo treinta y ocho años. Quiero que alguien lo sepa bien. Claro, sé que esto no es importante. 

Pero, yo tengo treinta y ochos años. Quiero que tú lo sepas bien, porque piensas que esto no es imporante y porque insistes en que lo ignore.

Ahora, yo tengo treinta y ocho años. No son treinta y ocho años ordinarios. Sin ti, serán treinta y ocho años solitarios. Contigo, serán treinta y ocho años benditos.

Por eso, quiero que sepas bien que hoy yo cumplo treinta y ocho años.

EL MAR DE MUERTE

Esta mañana, no, exactamente no mañana, cuando el sol iba a mostrar su cuerpo frío, yo sentía, no yo escuché una voz que susurraba a mi oído izquierda, "veeeeeeen, veeeeeeen, veeeee.."

Y yo fui a la colina pequeña enfrente de mi casa que había ido nunca.

Se tardaría veinte minutos en perder la respiración. Finalmente yo ví a la cima de la colina. El aire estaba fresco, tal vez, gracias a los arboles, yo pienso.

Pero, cuando llegaba la cima, yo encontre el otro mundo. ¡La ciudad de los muertos! Las tumbas eran demasiadas para calcular. Había los aparamientos para ellos y las casas para ellos también. Era commo un mar de muerte. Y, yo, con el sol que ya mostraba su cuerpo, estaba nadando en este mar...

A PHÈDRE

Perfide! Traîtresse! Monstre!

Quoi que l'on t'appelle,

Tu es une femme attirante

A cause de la malice.

Ton amour à l'orgueilleux beau-fils,

Ton humeur aux ennémies,

Tout me plaît, comme j'aperçois

Mon destin dans le tien.

Viens à côté de moi pour que

Je te sauve l'âme perdue.

Je te bâtirai les autels

Comme tu lui as fait.

Viens dans ma chambre où

Les chandelles ténèbreuses frissonnent.

Viens au foyer qui fut jadis gelé

Par ton épouvantable crime.

Là nous dégèlerons nos fatalités

Et nous réchaufferons nos désirs

Qui ne sont plus interdits.

Par les poètes tyranniques je bien connais

Que tu n'est qu'un fantôme sans os,

Il te faut, toutefois, connaître

Que je ne suis qu'un esprit sans pays.

Si tu viens sur-le-champ à moi,

Je t'aimerai et te caresserai.

Je t'aime de tout mon coeur

Car j'aime tout ce que l'on hait.

THANK YOU MY BEST BUDDY

    I woke up to a peculiar sound and looked around. But I couldn't find anything strange in my studio. Everything was like what it was: an audio set turned off; a computer, colored black by darkness, in which a cursor waiting to be typed by any soul was blinking dimly; and a digital clock showing 4:00 a.m.  I opened the window, and cold raindrops struck me in the face. Taking a breath, I thought it was a nightmare, and I recalled the accident of Reeve.

     Reeve, who had dreamed to come to this darn Paris in order to study design, kept his position as my rival and companion during my wandering youth. Writing this story, I'm reckoning about what could be the best way not to be blamed and to show mea culpa. If I had to write this at the very time, I couldn't do it because of shame and guilt.

     It was a summer day in 1988 when Reeve introduced me to Eudita, his girl friend, who studied with him in the design school that he considered as the first step to his future. She was the unforgettable type once you see her and surely was the person who had the most attentions in the huge wedding party for my friend, even she was just a bride-maiden. But soon, I forgot about her. Although she had invincible beauty that made other women jealous, she was merely my best friend's girlfriend. I didn't have any feelings against her. As a matter of fact, I was as busy as a spider spinning desires at that time because I had just entered a trading company and could fulfill my dreadful dream-Don't be curious about what my dream was. It is not what I'm going to talk about.  It is all about my buddy. I was just a dealer (now I don't know what I dealt was: that might be some articles or some souls).

     It was six months later when I saw her again. One day, Reeve called and asked me to go to the cafe Malentendu where they, Reeve and Eudita, were supposed to meet. According to his excuse, all of a sudden, he had to go on a business trip, so he tried to contract her in order to cancel the date, but he couldn't get in touch with her. What a boy friend !  I accepted his request because of friendship or brotherhood, even though I was reluctant to go there. Don't get me wrong. I wasn't interested in what she looked or what charm she had.  Any spell-bound didn't work to me. I was totally against those magic-words, or was a misogynist. Please remember I was one of the busiest people in the world creating my mythical dreams.

     When I got there, she hadn't arrived yet. Waiting for her, I ordered a cup of cappuccino. Even after I finished my cappuccino she didn't show up, then I got the second cappuccino. I was a little bit furious about their attitude and about their stealing my precious time. "These ignorant designers! They don't know how to design! They need a lesson! Ah! There she is!" Finally she showed up with a pair of tight blue jeans and a white T-shirt which gives her breasts cupful lines remarking her naive cupidity. Delivering his apology, I quelled her amazement of seeing me in his place.

        "I'm sorry for being late. If I knew you would be here, I should be in time," in foreign manner she apologized.

        "No, it's all right. I spent a great time with my friars," I retorted.

        "Pardon me?" she asked.

        "Oh! I mean the cappuccino. I already drank two cups. 'Cause I love its flavor and taste, but the best part of it is the color. Do you know where the word cappuccino came from. That's Capuchins. They are Franciscan friars. Thanks to the color of their garment, we named it cappuccino. But I like call it my friar. It is the happiest time for me to kiss it slightly and have it in the mouth and in the gut," I continued, "Then I had it twice. You know, it's better than foutre."

        She burst out laughing and said sorry again. I laughed too plainly. Anyway I carried out my duty successfully. She suggested to go to a movie, they were supposed to see "Basic Instinct". During the film, I thought that she had an air of Sharon Stone.    

        That very moment was the beginning of all following events between us. I don't know why I felt such a strange sense of jealousy at that moment. What a tangled web we weave!

     The devil that slept in mind woke up and whispered, when she asked me something which I can't remember now, : "Listen, buddy. Look at her beauty, the darken hair, the dreamy eyes like mourning stars, the milky skin, and these lustful lips!  What a charmer! That's exactly your type. And she is interested in you.  Let's take her."

     But my conscience dissented, "Don't do that! She is the only girl that your best friend loves. You can't do that to him." I seemed to be reminded of our good friendship, but I couldn't refuse the sweet lure of the devil.

     "What's the matter?  What are you afraid of?  Reeve? Forget him," the devil urged, "He is not on your side. Let's think of me. I've always been with you. If you want to kidnap her blind conscience, I'll help you. I am your only best friend in the world."

     With his assistance, I began to influence her slyly. I tried to prove how I was superior to him in such a cunning way which nobody could figure out. My web was too complicated and delicate for her to escape. I did what I could! Of course, I knew she couldn't extricate herself from this type of web by her attitude during our conversation. In every way, the web was greater and more successful than I had expected. She was like an weary insect that has no strength to struggle with a spider web.

     Since that strange date, I had some occasions to meet them because she had solicited Reeve for my presence. By the way, it didn't matter to me. I could taste my confidence and act stuck up whenever I met them. Also, I often witnessed the scenes when she complained to him comparing him to me and all the rest that, in fact, was useless. Their behavior satisfied me, a hypocrite who had an obsession about him. But, I didn't stop. Pretending to be his best friend, I constructed a labyrinth that they couldn't exit. They couldn't flee but instead ended their love as two little lambs come to the wolf in sheep's clothing.

     Although they seemed to have fallen in love for a time, I knew that there would be a crack in that puppy-love because I believed in the consequences of my trap. In fact, women like her have a desire to possess things which they don't have but which someone, who they know, has. Then there I was. I had a Master Degree of that kind of game. I was using this. I paid for most entertainment and dinners, and showed my prowess whenever I joined them on their dates. Of course, my stupid friend welcomed me; he believed I was his best buddy, so that's why I paid for them. He never knew how much I enjoyed my game.

     By the way, she grew more disappointed with him for not having the spending power that I had, unless I was present. At last, she decided to be realistic and asked him to separate. But he didn't catch the point. He tried to make her happy in other ways and at times begged. At first, all his efforts seemed to be successful, but too late.

     To solve the problem, they needed me and dropped by to see me respectively. Although they were in trouble, their situation was not bad for me. If you've ever been in this situation, you could understand my feeling. If you never had any experience like this, let's imagine that someone, whom you know well or even don't know, asks for your help. Maybe your heart will be full of self-satisfaction and confidence caused by the competence to change someone's mind.

     No matter what they expected from me, it was certain that I ridiculed their demeanor. In spite of this cruel thought, I pretended to be a good adviser and friend. Do you think they could be happy again with this hypocrite's help? They didn't have a chance.

     For a time, they seemed to have gotten over their affair, but the way which they were going didn't distress me. Everything was going the way I had planed except for the unexpected last scene.

     Have you ever devised a plan like the one above? I bet you think of me as a wicked bastard.  Maybe you are right. But please don't think that all I thought about was raining on their parade. As I told you before, I was working like a busy bee at that time to achieve my ambition. That is, I didn't only concentrate on setting the trap for them. The cruel planner of this trap was not me, but the devil that hid under my skin and these pitiful companies' ineptness for self-realization. I don't mean that I want to exonerate myself from any blame. All I had done was to provide a little personal assistance to activate the devil's plan. They should knew that there is no free lunches.

     After a year of being their affair counselor without charge, the fateful day arrived. While preparing a seminar that would be held the following week, my phone rang loudly. I picked it up, and heard Reeve's voice.

     "Gene?  Do me a favor?" he said gloomily, "Write this down, 7 2 1 2 3 1 0 ......."

     I asked suspiciously, "What for? What's this?  What do you want?"

     He replied, "It's her phone number."

     "Whose?" I inquired vehemently.

     "Eudita's phone number. Please tell her how much I loved her, if you ever see her," he muttered, "Now good-bye..."

     All of a sudden, I had a foreboding, and immediately shouted, "What? Where are you?  Hey! Boy!"

     There, however, was only the echo of my voice on the receiver. He had already hung up. I called his office to learn what was going on, but the information I got from a chilly voice secretary  was that he was on vacation, even though it wasn't vacation season. Then, I did everything I could to find him out, but I lost all the trace of him. Ah, he got away from my hunting net!

     Soon, however, I who sought the bubble reputation and was a member of the modern hypocrite club got my way. Soon I forgot about him and focused on the task for the seminar, much more urgent than his missing, considering his behavior as the rambling of a fool.

     Two days later, I could contact him. Of course, reluctantly. He called me up again. "Hello, M&M," I picked up the phone, but no answer. I asked again and finally heard a voice on the other end.

     "Oh! What's wrong with you? You out of mind?  Where are you now? Why did you take a vacation?  Are you crazy?  Give you a penny for your thoughts. Let me know where you are," I spat some words without stopping. But he began to sob, and told me that she was going to shack up with an another guy that I knew. Then he pleased me to come out and console his weary heart.

     There he goes again. It's was a good chance for me full of selfishness to prove I was superior to him. But I couldn't respond to his begging for comfort from me, because I was behind in my work that would allow me to get a promotion later.

     I told him to go to  le cheval de bois, a bar we went to regularly, and  wait for me.  The next thing I did was to call Dion, a friend of mine and his, and tell Dion the whole story.  I asked ( no it's better to say "I commanded") him to go to le cheval de bois and be with him until I got there. Dion accepted my request, so I could finish my work without any obstacles.

     When I arrived at the bar, I didn't have any opportunity to be proud because Reeve was already too drunk to talk. Instead, I heard about what he had done for two days via Dion's emotionless chattering mouth.

     According to Dion's account, the Poor Reeve, he went to his hometown  river two days before, in order to commit suicide after calling me. However, facing the hopeless color of water, he had second thoughts as follows : "Why should I kill myself?  Why am I on earth?  What about my parents and sisters, and my kid brother? If I did this silly thing, where would they leave? Let's think about this.  What is the most valuable thing in the world? Even though I made this decision, why is it hard for me? Let's try again. There is no reason I should give up my life."  So he stopped by her office with a bouquet of roses as soon as he arrived in the town where his whole memories about her was still living vividly. But what awaited him was deliberate cruelty. She told him that she was going to shack up with someone else and asked him to forget about her in order to kick him out definitively. Her strategy was so great that his wandering soul was knocked breathless. And then he asked me to help.

     After listening to Dion's story, I found out what I should do for him. And I decided to take him to my apartment and made a quick departure. On the way home, I thought that he was really foolish and dangerous. Although we had been friends for about ten years, I never realized how stupid he was. So, to really help him, I made up my mind to tell him how to live in this harsh world, what he should do in this hell, and how many charming women were waiting for us in this world. She is not only fish in the sea. With the purpose of giving a lesson to this childish friend, I reinforced my conscience.   

         When I was ready to tell the truth, we were home, and he was still drunk. I had confidence that I could turn around his mind when he woke up the next morning. So imagining his grinning face covered with foolishness which I would face as the first thing in the next morning, I threw his drunken body into my double size bed and hit the sack by him.

     I was awakened by a strange sound and looked around. But everything seemed normal. Everything was all right, and the clock indicated 4:00 a.m.  I opened the window and took a breath, listening to the gloomy sound of the raindrops striking against the pale blue colored window pane. Taking a breath again, I thought I had had a nightmare.

     I mumbled " Nightmare......."

     At that moment, I remembered the presence of Reeve, and turned my eyes to the bed. I was stunned. He was not there. I called out his name, but I didn't get any response.  With a dismal feeling of foreboding, I tried to open the bathroom door, but it was closed. I knocked and yell his name, but there was no reply and I had to open it with the key slept for a long time in my closet. I laughed as soon as I opened the door because he was leaning against the wall and sleeping in such a queer position. What a fool!

     I shouted, "Wake up! Let's go back to bed! Come on!"

     After I moved closer to him to take him, I saw that an exuberantly colorful necktie, which Eudita presented for his twenty-seventh birthday, linked his pale and long neck to a glittering shower pipe on the wall. To avoid the sinful panorama I drove my bloody eyes on the right side, then found a note on the toilet on which were written the words : "Thank you, my best buddy."

     Now , many years have passed, and I am in Paris where he had desired to come. I don't know why I've chosen this city to stay. But I guess it is not my will, but another of the devil's plans.

     I'm sorry, but let me stop here because I can't hold back my tears anymore. I'd like to finish this story by saying " Forgive me, my buddy, even though it was an unforgivable thing, Let there be no hard feelings......."  and it is time to have another cappuccino.