Small Harvy Post

He found this postcard:

DEAR HARVY,

I let you this note.
Visit me as well at

www.plattum.blogspot.com


I am sure you will find who is me.

With Love,

G>A>C>H


And then he closed his book and wiped the tears.

No junto a ti.

Al fondo un cielo arrojado con unas nubes que se esbozan en el horizonte.
En el plano inferior un pueblo costero, con nombre y poblaciones y vidas y conciencias. El reflejo del sol en el atardecer se posaba sobre tu cara, ardiente. Observas y te imaginas historias de su población. Piensas en tu país, en tu familia, quieres compartirlo. Tu paz interna recién encontrada y un respiro cortado al clic de la cámara. Y en ella una llamada “Ven te quiero mostrar lo que estoy viviendo”. Yo sonrío. Y me enfundes una paz en la desesperación de no terminar mis estudios para el examen de mañana. Estoy enfrente de la computadora y hago regresiones junto con mi libro de econometria al lado. Solo trato imaginarte en la combi, en el trayecto, en el niño y su pelota, en ti una vez mas observando como puedes hacerlo quieto y silencioso. Me gustaría estar allí junto, observando y en silencio saber que los dos observamos lo mismo. Si ya me di cuenta. Si ya me di cuenta.

Pasticce dell'storia Due di Due de Andrea di Carlo.

A beautiful room. Italian minimalist style. An essence of incense. Half Light. There was he, writing a letter. Handwritten of course, it was so personal and so out of fashion, and so him. It was not too extensive. He had just bought this elegant-recycled, refined- paper at Camden Market. He is concluding it now. Actually he is just writing the postal address. 141-A Portobello Road. London, UK. WS346. This letter was to Carla, the beautiful girl that he had met at Pescara at the Mare Tirreno. Both of them (he and his friend) were invited to a Settimana Spiaggia by Lehman Brothers. He just knew there was something pointing at his head. He could remember that old gypsy who was introduced by her mother- reading the Tarot. Definitely she could be the one she was told about, naïve as herself, all alone, all herself and a look of uncertainty. This girl that had blue eyes, long straight hair, angel face, and inner security.
He was there, writing so excitedly that he didn’t realise that time was passing by. That he was writing his destiny-history, that his Johny Walker Blue Label in his Bavarian glass had just finished and he had to stand up to serve himself some more. He was waiting for him, his friend to come back from the Waitrose. They were going to have dinner with Astrid and Marlette, two brokers from the City that they had just met during a conference at Stockholm.

The beautiful department at the middle of Nottin Hill, had been bought after their two successful years. They decided it was a bohemian-posh place where they could afford a peaceful and tranquil life in Central London. They furnished and unfurnished it several times, they tried to sell it, to rent it, to loan it for a movie. This apartment was stunning, this apartment was witness of the laces tied up with his partner, friend. There he comes his friend, unlocks, and finds his friends’ fifth hampster at the door. He came so excited because he just found J Stone at Harrods. He had bought duck, sun dried tomatoes, small quails, and vegetables ready to roast with a minty sauce. He was just thinking he was just in time to finish it by nine. –Two hours-, he thought and thought . His mind as always a mistery of claps and grasps, and in his mind the song Spaccacuore from Bersani.

He saw him there, writing. He gave him a hug, a small slap at the back. He always knew his friend was over-charismatic. He knew it from the moment they were together at the Mexican Caribbean. Mon amie how was your day… Excellent just spoke with Jacob from M&S, we will sign tomorrow. Excellent. I’ll hurry up ‘cause these ladies have to be impressed with my Cordon Bleu’s abilities. Yeah sure, your crap skills. Very Funny.

He started cooking. Some jazz. A candle. A delight to cook. A beautiful kitchen, with every single instrument there had to be in a Cooks kitchen. Of course a Cordon Blue one. And he was thinking in the girl his friend had met, he knew that letter was for her. A small sigh, and a slow whisper: This is the time. He knew soon it would change. Almost five years could change. He was happy, some months still to enjoy a same type of life. Jazz at the Trouvadour in Kensington, others time at Camden, the Fat Duck, weekends at diverse European Capitals, Favourite Milan, Paris with the Aunt, Elegant Boston, Crazy Amsterdam, his city Barcelona, St Tropez…and so Hong Kong, Qatar, Miami, skiing at Alberta, Shanghai, Melbourne, the Safari at Botswana, the emergency at Liverpool John Lennon Airport, the dream of visiting Reikjavik at Iceland, Lamas at Peru, the experience at Siberia-including this beautiful girl he accidentally slept with, -that great cruise at Pascua, Oaxacan Mixtec cultures, the semi kidnapped at Palermo with handsome Fabo. Those nights out looking to find a different flirt for both of them. Ladies and Gentlemen, life had to smile as we had been good. Thank god. But the life had been thresholds and milestones…
And milestones, good ones… they were. It was time to be happy.
Astrid and Marlette got late. It was Lord major’s parade. They had some different excuses. They looked great. Conversations about Marlette’s uncle vineyard festival at Rioja, about his mom’s latest Argentinian soap opera, the house at Playa, the high taxes, the new method to avoid becoming old, the prime minister, the life as singles (Where he had a pause-maybe thinking on her), and all those sort of topics you have with trendy wealthy educated beautiful girls.

The girls took a city cab. Actually both of them had enjoyed the night. Good company. And then… with a small JW Blue bottle he said. Lets go and have a walk at Hyde Park. Four o’clock, it would sunrise, only shadows. Two guys walk around Kensington, South Kensington, Kensington Palace, and then Hyde Park. Silence, only a tickling of clocks, sirens so far. There I was serene, the best friend. We were enjoying it, we had it all. We started to accumulate dreams and stories. I enjoyed the silence and was lulling random songs, only mumbling around.

It was getting nippy. No words. We knew exactly what was happening. And he was scared. That guy, admired and envied by many more. We sat on a bench, and listened to the bitter morning. After a while, covered his face with his hand and layed his head on my lap. So I know. I said. Breaking the ice. I don’t. He said. It is time. I don’t know. And then? What else? So the future? It smiles. Shall I break it? No. Continue it. You know what you were looking for. All those conversations remember? I do. Solitude. A little. Thinking. As always. Who is who? Yourself. The Gipsy. Fuck her. Try it. I will. Silence. And if it is not? I will be happier, but it will. Go. And you? You know me. Time. Slender Time. Indeed. Don’t think. We remained there for two hours.

Next day I bloody did not work. I woke up and fixed spicy breakfast for two. It was another normal day, except that I felt a flavour of doldrums. Nothing serious. We were going to savour our last days living together. And so we did.

Yesterday I died

Yesterday when I died, you cried in my burial. But I didn’t see you in any part from above. You cried in my burial, I tell you. But then you went with her and then… and then I felt like a piece of trash. Our love was so strange.

Now tell me why is our song still there. The radio and waves are lost.
I can see you from above.

We are not angels that came from the sky. We are just normal people that have to die.

My dreamt became truth, that bloody Chinese airplane crashed and I had forecasted it, or maybe my premonitions. I don’t understand why did not I tell you my true feelings, I guess I was a coward.

But you were with her… and then I felt wordless, my hands trembled every time and my heart beat and beat.

Now my question is, did you cry for love?

Now I wanted to know… cause it is worth it to know how did I die, loved or not. But I did loving.


There was a time were I felt that connection, were I did know it existed…
Now… may be it wasn’t.

As I dissipated as a soul and went further and further away from my corpse, then I understood, that it did not matter, that I did my part and that I enjoyed that uncertainty. My family treasured me and that was enough. You were part of my family.

No it is not worth it… Shh

I’ll see you in some years here with me.

Yesterday, I died.

For beeing such a good boy.

Me muerdo un labio para recordar el sabor de la sangre.
Me como una lagrima para recordar el sabor de la tristeza que me produjiste.
Me veo al espejo para disfrutar el sollozo, y dibujo con tu oleo.

Te has estancado… es la pregunta… es la respuesta… es la incertidumbre.

Hace tres anos que hiciste lo mismo. Ahora conoces el tiempo, la cura, la matriz de todos los miedos.


Supuro salivad de aquellos momentos entorpecientes de emoción y trastorno. De que sirve si no se vive. Por que no hay coraje, ni enjundias ni ímpetu sin fulcro. Se balancea tanto, aquellos sentimientos . Cierro un cluster y abro otro.

Aprende… depura… aprende… depura… aprende…. Monotonicidad

Two jerk horses speak while biting. Let us puke.

Hello Milk Boyhello bloody flavour sounds rather unappealing to be honest Thats the point oh really? surprise surprise i hadn't thought of that thank you for your clear explanation and understanding still selling money? yeah still selling Mexican products? or serving food ? yes my dear, we are british, not mere common north americans i actually do neither of both but good try it proves an effort of the mind Sometimes you have to lower the level, as you may or may have not noticed oh but my dear chap, i always have to lower my level, but then again no need to discuss such trivial matters tell me how much money you make by...selling more money?Enough to buy more things, so others make more money. You see... now I am proud.proud of owning material are we? i guess such things are necessary when having a bloody mouth Proud of owning MORE than others. Things that are ALWAYS necessary and that give you confidence, otherwise we will be smashed. The BloodyMouth is just the counterpart that comes as an aditament, sometimes necessary to remember that you feel, after buying. so if you do not own you will be smashed by..? because as i recall, owning leads to be smashed by greed, similarly reflected by your greed for flesh Indeed my friend. Smashed by the inner self, and other inner selves.Owning makes u happy. The sense of property gives you power, yes and it reflects your greed for flesh.so because you seemingly are disposesed both emotionally and physically, you feel this drive of buying material posessions with the foolish hope of attaining a higher state and trying to prove yourself worthy of something both to yourself and to other? can you really be smashed by the other inner selves if you needn'tknow them? do you not need to know yourself first of all?Maybe I should buy myself.... maybe I'm fooling others. Maybe i justplay their game, maybe im just a material posession of somebody else.Maybe you dont realise about it. Maybe I had beed smashed. Maybe I a ma Financial Economist and i live in my lies. I am nothing and i won'tbe, I'm worth a damn, but I sell money for those who don't have the correct currency, for those "those" and those "those"you are in doubt about yourself and about your destiny. Think wisely on what you think you are and what you think you want to do. Maybe Im just playing, and thats life. Maybe we are just having a mental masturbation with phony funnyideas.... these conversations with you include the circle were sometimes we puke, and where sometimes
The life is thresholds and milestones.

La luz es rosa en London Bridge

Que me das que te doy la carta. A que si te llevas un susto, a que comienzas a escrutar respuestas. A que no te das cuenta de ello. A que no te atreves. A que ahora si quieres ser feliz. Y a que no puedes.

Me sente en la silla morada.... al umbral de la luz.
A la orilla del Tamesis, a observar la luna y St Pauls.
Eran las 3 AM. Y bien la ciudad no dormia.

¿Platicaba acaso con el fantasma o con la imagen ideal?
Y ya lo habia esbosado el momento, compartir, envejecer.
Y asi platicaba con el fantasma y con o con la imagen ideal.

No, sino que me desperté y estaba en un barranco. Solo y sentadito. En verdad es que no había nada y solo había sonado y me había viajado en mi cuaderno borrador. No escrutinaba nada en realidad y solo escurrió una gota de sangre que tampoco en realidad me recordaba nada mas que a la virgen de Fatima.

Así continué mientras observaba sangre y el vapor de agua que salía de boca al respirar. Fumaba. Eran las 4 AM. No leíste la carta . A que sí. A que si no hubieras venido. A que ya no siento nada pues hace mucho frío. A que sí me importa mañana. A que ya estoy acostumbrado y a que a tí no te mueve nada. Fumo más.

Y yo que había corrido desde París en mi prófuga distancia. Y tu no te apareciste. No leíste la carta. No te culpo. Esperaré aquí y a que no sabes lo que te hubiera dicho. No te culpo. Son las 4 AM. El tiempo no pasó.

La luz en rosa en London Bridge. Tu no viniste.

Gelatto dolce. La ri la ra.

Dopo di avere incrocciato la strada, avevo parlato con il Signor Pecorini.
Ma la lunga resistenza nella testa, non poteva dirmi quello que volevo.

E dopo ho urlato, là per strada "Sarebbe bellisimo se restase con loro!"
Mi sono andato via mentre correndo piangevo e piangevo di felicità, ero sordo.

Con una baguetta nel braccio, ed una botiglia di vino chianti. Cantavo... ero libero per la prima volta. E così su strada, tutta bianca, ma con la luce de la notte sorridevo e ballavo. Arriverò da me, pensavo mentre scrutavo quella canzone unica que nona cantava quando piccolo.

"tra la ra li ra la
il orso viene già
e presto si verrà
tra la ra li ra la"

Si vedeva le lucce sempre accese, lì lontano lontano.
3 Strada delle Estelle... Bella unica notte, con mia amica la Luna, alla quale aveva chiesto l'amore de Venus e Marte.

" Ma que bello uccello....
diceva quello orso
che pare un amorso
tra la ra li ra la"

Solamente pensavo se loro penserano a me. Ma non era importante.
Squadra con il fiuma Mavisso. Ecco, casa da lei.
La lucce è spenta, quindi sapeva che lei restava vicino il fuoco, con un livro Fausto, in tedesco chiaro. Tra la ra li ra la.

Quando aprì la porta, lucce dei diversi colori mi hanno sorpreso una volta di più. Già mi ricordavo di come fù quella volta. Amnesia amniotica.
Quando rimanevo con coloro era un po' stranno... ma sempre era felice. E per questo mi sono seduto nella tavola a mangiare il mio pane con il vino, insieme a lei. Tra la ra li la ra. Senza parole, sempre in silenzo, perche sapevo che il momento era migliore cossì nelle lucce. Sapeva che ritornavo della guerra e che a me piaceva mettere il pane insieme con il vino finchè si faceva una mescola che mi ricordeva sua compagnia, e più adosso che stavo vicino a lei. Gli chiamavo "Chianpa" (Dil chianti ed il pane). Chiapna qua, e quianpa lì. Ma solo lo mangiava con lei.

Mi ha pasato un piato d'argento dovè ho visto il destino. Sorrì e ha possato il dite nella bocca.
Il tempo era stanco. E da me " Il orso non dorme più, tra la ra li la ra".

Quando sono uscito ero proprio io. Continuavo il camino à la montagna dell'umbrale. La notte era stata meravigliosa dove avevo conosciuto segretti tantim luogui tanti e diversi silenzi. Felicità. E cossì cantavo:

Tutti tutti gli orseti
giocavano con la neve
tra la ra li ra la
miele miele con la neve
giacchio d'Antonio sarà.

A pastiche: You breath and then I breath. For a second. We live both together and learn from it.

Breath for a second, feel relieved for ten seconds, wait for the air to circulate in the body and spirit, and then plunge back into the depths of your mind…

Now get lost.

For a second.

This bloody moon is making me feel drowned. This is the last night I will suffer for all.

Everything is going too fast, I could bet your attention in an elementary way to get your hands forever.

Someone please help me, I don’t know what to do anymore, where to go. My head just spins incessantly I want to throw up. I can’t bear thinking, breathing, living. Only some things make me happy for a while, some people can entertain me. But what can I do when nothing else passions me?

That’s why I haven’t understood. Look at me the way I am. Swear me that you are a small kid. It’s not impossible to love truly.

I need to fine myself in all this mess that surrounds me. But however much time I spend alone I just can’t seem to focus on my problems or my emotions. It all turns around her, and I hate her for having caught me so low. Had it just been a simple break up, things would have been much easier to digest. Might it be that reality kills you?

That’s why I haven’ thought, but I have been loved.
Or haven’t I?
Never.


I want to fly, but then again, who doesn’t? I’d like to prove myself to some girl that I can fully trust, someone with whom I can cry and laugh freely without contain, but who? Will I ever again?

Of course and energy will force you to ask what is the end of the moon like?
This is so real.
Injuring yourself like this would let you learn now that we stay together.

I’d love to touch, to feel her close to me. This girl that would be someone right now. Not the right one, but just someone. Warmth, something I miss so much and eager to rediscover as soon as possible.
Wake up in the morning, next to each other. Fool around, spend a day strolling around the world, losing and finding each other again.



Isn’t it what I am doing now? Following around. Waiting what ? To die?

A free love. The more time separate, the more emotion in the next moment together. Where is she? I wish she was on the next corner, I’d run to her. No, I’d fly to her, passing by some flower shop, get a rose.

She knows the way I loved her.

Too cliché maybe? Then, a daisy? A tulip? How about just a kiss? A playful kiss, not just a Hollywood one. A fool around one, a young kiss, fresh as her scent, futile a her look in those deep eyes, her sunny face.


This song was for two, and for more other twos, in me.
I am too far now.

My angryness a cause de Lloyds.

I am sweat and its 3 oclock in the morning. Nothing to do. Final exams start in two days and I just went dancing and had some jack daniels with cokes.
It is the beginning of a new era of the same. When I woke up this morning I did not think it was going to finish this way.

It was a normal day, although a bit disappointed as I felt betrayed (now confused) by a person whom which I consider now one of my best friends in Essex. I guess he did not noticed. But, nothing serious. I guess.

And then…

One complete day, trying to solve three bloody micro exercises.

Some jokes about holding a cardboard where written “Do you want to be my friend?” It sounds mean, its not, if you take it with philosophy. Take it as you will.

The happy plant. Some time with Bob and Tom at the lake. Some sun. Sunny essex. Bloddy sun that does not let us study.

I wish I could escape.
Its only two more weeks.

Perfect time. A chat with Carmen, relief... relief...

And then some more. Cooking for her, the blonde girl. No problems. Sharing with people, no problems. And spending time with some people who I don’t consider really my friends (Not all) just bearing in mind that I would never see them again after one year.

I guess I have not watered my trees or I have not done the correct.
I need to call my gardener. I do not how to seed a friend, a job.

Everything is in my head.
Everything.

And then. Tired. Go back to study. Two more hours. Interrupted. No job. No bloody job. It's not your day.

I decided then to go to the Underground. I did, with another friend.
After saying I like you, there was nobody.

Some dances, some music. Some silences.
Some nothing.

Driving drunk to my house.
Thinking about everything,
Writing it,

Phone call from Matt..

Three o’clock
Its too late.







I guess I really should have one cardboard: Looking for a new life.

On pense que tout le monde pense la meme chose, quelques fois, bien si les gens pensent. Thoughts for a blog. by Daniel Abarca

Encore une journée écroulée un moment sauve, un autre perdu. En cet instant je me demande que deviens-je, qu’attends-je ? ce fut une journée agréable, mais a la fois sans grande productivité, sans grand intérêt. Mais encore, comment savoir quand est-ce qu’on a réussi a obtenir le plus possible de chaque minute, chaque seconde qui glisse entre nos mains. Le temps est si fragile, si pur et limpide. Il ne peut être possédé, contenu ni arrêté. Cette abstraction qui détermine tous les moments qui nous définissent et nous forment, les secondes qui nous permettent des comprendre, les minutes qui nous laissent écouter, les heures qui nous font réfléchir, les jours qui nous permettent de vivre, les mois qui nous font de grandir, les années qui nous poussent a mûrir.
Le temps est immuable et puissant a la fois. Il ne peut pas être compris, il sert de chagrin pour la plupart, de temps meilleurs ou de moments de peine, de malheur. Comment pet on concevoir une autorité si énorme sous un seul nom ? tic tac font les horloges. Dali avait bien raison, le temps, inconsistant, inconstant, intenable. Chaque moment de bonheur devrait s’arrête et chaque instant de chagrin devrait être oublie aussi rapidement possible, disent les plus naïfs.Mais alors, comment saurions-nous quels représenteraient le bien et le mal si nous n’avons vécu rien d’autre ? yin yang, l’équilibre des émotions permet la stabilité de l’esprit humain.même les plus résistants se retrouvent parmi les faibles quand il s’agit des sentiments les plus forts, tel l’amour et la tristesse. Les deux vont de pair dit-on. Sans doute. Et alors ? serait-il si mauvais que les deux aillent ensembles ? peut on rester éternellement sur une île de joie et amour, sans donner d’importance au monde qui nous entoure ? ne serait-ce pas une des décisions les plus dangereuses ? la temptation d’autres et de nouveautes compte comme une des sources pour l’amour. Si nous n’aurions aucun intérêt pour les autres, comment pourrions nous contraster ce que nous ressentons a l’instant si nous ne connaissons rien d’autre ? l’homme vivra t-il donc toujours dans l’incertitude de ses propres émotions ? peut être bien, ne s’agit-il pas la d’un détail de la vie ? la vie serait un bel ennui si on possédait l’assurance de tout savoir puisqu’il n’y aurait plus de nouvelles frontières a dépasser.

Tout retourne sur nous-même, nous correspond et a la fois nous est si étrange, si lointain, hors de notre portée. Faut il qu nous songions véritable a quoi faire de nos journées. Faut il les planifier pour en tirer le plus d’avantage possible ? en regardant par la fenêtre, je soupire en songeant a ces journées qui raccourcissent, rendent le temps invisible dans l’obscurité des nuits prématurées. Accélérons le pas pour parvenir a notre destination plus rapidement. Mais une fois la, sommes nous vraiment plus heureux ? ne sont pas les instants de solitude et de réflexion aussi, si ce n’est pas plus, précieux pour l’âme de l’homme ?
Quel plaisir d’accomplir le plus de tâches possible si ce n’est pas dans le but d’ensuite y songer, de philosopher sur ce que nous avons accompli pendant la journée.

Moi aussi. G.A.C.H.

Phony Poetry

I am on tonight.

I most do nothing
And believe in the circular time
I should believe
That I am in constant pain
No more happiness, I wanted to be free
My heart is lonely now and I want to share it.
I wish I could hold you one more time.

My moment stops.
Have you realized about when I
Gazed at you, stared at you.
And have the time to hold
you for one more time.

We were playing bubbles
We didn’t care, we did care
well, I suppose we had
Hope you don’t change
in a bad manner of course I
want you to remain, stay.

I am on tonight.
No fighting.

count and count the damages. v.2005

Close your eyes and tell me if you lived these moments with me.

IntenSity
Running along the Danube while it snows in Budapest.
Walking around the cathedral plaza after having two mojitos. Splash. It snows.

InTenSITY
The maid of the mist, crossing from Niagara Falls to Buffalo and admire the power of nature at the Waterfalls.

intensiTY
A small trip to the Mexican caribbean, I worked there. I had a big big chat with one friend older than me around a big amount of tonics.

INtenSIty
A friend in one hand and a bottle of Cotes du Rhones in the other one, while listening to Feist in his little French apartment, say Lyon.

INtensitY
Tepoztlan Mexico.I climbed a mountain with my best friends, and then climbed a pyramid and realised the value of friendship.

inteNSIty
Driving a green Trans Am from Vaughan to Toronto to see my friends girlfriend and going clubbing in DownTown. Only VIP

INteNsitY
Barry Barry Barry I used to take my bike to go around the golf fields after fixing breakfast for my aunts every morning. Ontario.

IntEnsiTy
I made two new friends in Rome, while eating pig in Ariccia and getting pissed with honey wine. Bob and Giulio.

intensity
A guy ran away with my camera in Dublin, after having dinner at Temple bar with Jenni and Deidre

e-ntensIty
I pop in with Shani at Musee d’Orsay. We were watching Van Gohs and then had cup of tea at Cluny. We'll visit Georgetown, Washington.

INTENsity
Four days of pool, and wine, and sangria at Madrid with my best friends. Nice time!

InteNsitY
Largest City in the World.
I dropped three tears at a Chinese restaurant in my city after knowing the health status of grandma. I don’t want to lose her.

InteNSITY
Let me walk at the Pier. I love sunny Brighton with a coke and baguette, staring at the horizon. UK

INTENSITy
I had the first conversation about my topic with a friend, for the first time I was being realistic and frank. U of Essex

interintensity
He was dancing at Mezzanote in Acapulco, I was dancing as well, they were looking at us.

Intensitivity
Dancing? Shall we dance salsa next to Cambridge Train Station? Or eat some sushi? Right Sophia and Rittesh

Beat Beat Beat like Bethoven he (Bob) says. Beat beat beat live goes by.
Next year, more damages.

Errata to Some new Histoires

Let’s face Walpurgis and its consequences. There is nothing more I could ask. That’s a joke as it would be a decision, my decision.
In my place the elfs, nymphs and tlalocs danced and twirled like no one.

That same summer I decided to sacrifice the black July and lived my passions in a milk glass. Mr. Loffman ran away as soon as he saw me next to the lake, that made me go straight to Robert, but I was astonished to find out that he had gone away for three weeks. I cried.

Some new HISTOIRES from other lives.

I used to come here when I was just a child. And I played here and there, going from this side to the other as a happy bunny, exploring the world, jumping enthusiastically. And my friend Robert was there, dressed with short trousers, ready to go to Sunday mass with Bishop Curberthson. Bishop always came after service to have minced pies and tea, while we played next to the lake.

So, he left and went who knows where, and left me without friends, games or sage. Since then I don’t play, I just write and read under my favourite tree, my beautiful oak that covers me with its old and rusty and wrinkled arm leafs. My happiness went by, and my contentious eagerness disappeared in a period of no more than three weeks.

My winter collapsed when my father left. It was just aunty Mary, mom and grandpa. What a scrumptious combination leaving me here with all those! He has the fault. Those teas and smiles just disappeared, suddenly. A non-paradise place became my house. Then is when I decided to disappear and look for Robert. For he understood me, he was just more than my friend.

I wish Spring would come now, so I could play with those nymphs that covered my jiggles and tickles. There is nothing more I could ask.
IT FEELS SO GOOD AS MY IMMUNITY FOR PAIN INCREASES

Italian Sigues

Es de notte. Y entró y ahí están. Tutti tutti. Y mi mente vuela y descubro aquella pasión latina. Suenan las doce y no he dormido. He caído y sólo veo de abajo a arriba. Tengo hambre pero ya está todo cerrado. Tortellini. Y no es ciudad de la Toscana o Liguria o Benetto, sino de Vikingos. A dormir.
Guarda… shhh il tipo non vedi? Shhh scusati.
Tengo hambre y no puedo dormir, quiero imaginarme a la Roma, a la Finlandia acariciando los momentos donde hablas con tu acento. Desnudarte con la mirada, comerte a secretos. Pazzesca. No te puedo contar, no te enteras aun. Despierta por favor y sal aunque ya es de noche.
Calla y calla. Me siento vacio, solo con tus ches y ches me tornas. Me tornas, te lo digo.

Aprendemos de pastiches y un abrazo

Y él, y él se encontraba en un pub, QAF era su nombre, recién lo habia descubierto en High Street. No se encontraba, se había dormido. Un brazo sobre el otro y luego la cabeza encima de la mesa. Y soñaba. Afuera el tráfico, el castillo, los borrachos, el mundo. Y entonces soñó del agua caribeña de tus ojos, la playa, la tranquilidad que infundía el agua, la seguridad, la incertidumbre del peligro y la belleza. Y el panorama cambió. Él se yacía en su cama, con un teléfono en la mano casi dormido y dos lágrimas recién nacidas. Eran las 2 de la mañana, había sido triste y doloroso. Y durmió, y en su sueño rescató la esperanza en el barco de Venus. Cuando él y él se veían a los ojos y se desnudaban el alma en una complicidad secreta sin saber la fuerza, ni su magnitud acaso su dirección un tanto incierta. Y soñó también el mar, era el mismo lugar donde se encontraba en su sueño realidad. Ahora se mecía él; y él en su balance sólo lo contemplaba. Esperaba, esperaba sin saber qué esperar. Allí yacía él, pero despertó.
Eran las 6:00 en Greenwich. Pagó y se encaminó al castillo, Castle Park. Y frente al lago suspiró y pensó. Quizas un abrazo de él. El discman traía una antología creada por él de Cullum y Bublé. Lapiz y papel y una postal del Wivenhoe Park Hotel y escribió.

Ti voglio bene.

Y repasó con su lápiz B2 una y otra vez y sólo pensaba. Posiblemente no pensaba en nada, sólo sabía que hay un lago atrás y un castillo adelante, y que el lago hacia él era inmenso. Pero lo podría cruzar. Sólo si se lo proponía, si en verdad lo consideraba, y así podría llegar al cuadro de Constable. Y así siguió soñando y soñando, y en el sueño lo encontró. Estaba allí en Wivenhoe y lo vió y se acercó a él.
Mientras caminaba a verlo. Él sólo veía su reflejo en el lago. Una niñez que compartió con pocos, un amuleto del futuro, un augurio a lo inesperado, un corazón ardiente que revivió como Fénix. Él se acercaba y sólo borró los deseos de correr y decirle todo, contarse la vida, saberla del otro. ¿En qué estaba pensando él? No lo sabía. Y así …
Así…
Él escuchó mencionar tu nombre. Era uno de esos momentos, para él frecuentes, en que simplemente oía las cosas, y la realidad fluía como si empujaras plastilina líquida a través de un popote; espesa. Pensó en lo inconexa que era tal evocación en aquel cafecillo. Si, aquel nombre, el nombre, finalmente poco más que un vago título, y pensó en todo lo que una simple secuencia de caracteres podía englobar. Nuevamente se dejó arrastrar en la candente corriente de magma que de alguna forma lo hacía fluir. Pensó en todo lo que hicimos, en las tardes de trabajos, aún en nuestra infancia, en lo tiempos en que la vida era poco más que mamar y en que todo era simple y tal vez un poco más divertidos. Se fue a los tiempos en que había futuro, porque tres años eran tanto más que una eternidad. Pensó en los trabajos, en nuestro voluntario enclaustramiento. Pensó también en ti, en lo frágil, en lo simple, en lo infantil que siempre fuiste. [Pensó también en lo impresionante que era como se mantenía caliente su café en esos vasitos] De pronto se percató de lo que había escuchado apenas, y entendió, que finalmente nunca lo dejarás de sorprender. Te vio entonces, mientras tres años fluían como un torrente de agua crispida, clara y acelerada, entendió sobre la amistad y sus secretos, sobre venirse a encontrar a viejos amigos de otros cosmos a un simple café de ciudad. Pensó sobre los que son amigos desde hace siglos. Pensó sobre las coincidencias y sobre lo mucho que te quiere. Te abrazó. Te susurró algo al oído y al fin entendiste.

Dovresti imparare da lei, ed come non, cossì arriverò (Senza accenti nel testo)

Vengo da Londra, ho partito di Waterloo per andare a Parigi. C’e il 18 luglio. Dovró arrivare nella Gare du Nord finalemente.. e si, dopo di parlare con lei, ho letto tanti paroli di Plantagenetti e Normandi.
Non posso, non ho avuto la possibilitá... ho faccio come un dormente. Lei a siniestra.
E cuando sono svegliato, lei rimaneva la vicina, carina, con questa liberta e come quale serena, con i sui occhi fermati che potevano lasciare un spetaccolo de bleu e rosso. Lei sei svegliata ed ha detto “Casso, che questa siesta ere necesaria. Un po d’aire e dopo a la stessa attivitá de serenitá.

“Mesdames et mesieurs, nous sommes arrivés a Paris” Questo era tutto, Paris, la citta cosmopolita chi arde con il fuoco dal inferno nel centro de la luce delle sole. E la i fiumi. I fiumi da gente. Il divertimento era salire dal RER ed arrivare all’hotele quasi dormito e chiuso con il mondo. C’erano le sei, la, quella seratina. Ardente da festa, da festa musicale e con quella masturbazione teatrale.

¿Será o no? Para nosotros.

Camino con miedo por Villa du Clos de Malevart. Vivo allí. Y así conozco sus calles con miedo y no sólo eso St. Michel, Cluny, Madeleine y allí.
Y es que se trata del desencanto de la que amé, que ahora se desmorona, que no permite la ayuda de quien alguna vez pudo crecer. Tarareo mientras la gente se cae a mi alrededr, se agarra del primero y blasfemo del segundo. Para ellos, la ayuda les ayuda, si no es como viven, para nosotros es la ayuda su contrario.
Por ahora guardo silencio, para que no escape lo óptimo que podría ser este lugar. Na, na, na y así es que sigue la canción.
Discúlpame Francia, pero has perdido una forma de ser. Disculpa pero ya no eres mi favorita. Adieu.

Don't you worry, I still love you.

The extension of my domain expands as my world collapses in three tears, as my body shakes, I think about those days and then I enter with certain uncertitude. There I get the world of depression. It is just for today, as I had my drug. The Argentinian one.
Wellcome down to the new lane, of the pictures that don’t allow you to see each pixel. I introduce you to my companion which is sporadically in there. Silence (3 seconds). What makes you different from me, as you extend your wings for me in your far deep eyes. I do believe in myself. What do you know if it is important to look at your transparent soul? It is. There I believe I have been a saint, with immaculate thoughts that converge in each of your movements, which may not be in order. There is the contradiction. Bitter, bitter as I drug myself. Welcome… you have just arrived. I will teach you how to be a sinner, with desires that will target to persuade you into good luck tasks.
I will be free, but as I convince you to cash me up, please don’t bother me. You made me feel sad and poor and dirty and inhuman. No!! Never underestimate me and my powers cause I would have taught you how to denounce a girl under a boat, a sin in heaven, a necessity of a saint, the soccer of my mind. I knew how to play. My veins run with exhasperation as I, me, myself and his friend run trough the mountain with desperation, which causes me a armoring desperation and inhalation. I made a fool of you, and then I breathe. Deep.