Life vest under your seat

Aeropuerto, piana de cola del planeta,
suenan en tu dentadura ciudades, cifras, apellidos,
y tus espesos ropajes de hierro amortiguado
retardan mi paso bajo tus horcas,
mi larga sombra ante tus lacios flecos eléctricos.
Patio de ojo insomne
que proteje la red de besos y disfraces del mundo,
consúmeme de un sorbo
como la estrella que apura la noche con una cañita
(aunque esto es, lo sé, una idea desesperada e innoble),
porque la envoltura de mi vida
oculta bajo sus pliegues el temblor de su instinto gelatinoso.
Mas como no me ves, no saludas mi llegada
cual un embajador de las obstinadas neblinas del mar,
y permanezco entonces en mitad de la escalinata
meditabundo frente a la gran montaña que ascenderé,
suspendido del hilo de seda del presentimiento,
mientras el velamen de tu música nuetra, vidriosa, giratoria,
arriba se abre como un blanco nido vacío.
Aeropuerto, antesala del concierto,
escucho el himno que debo entonar mientras tomo
mi corazón en la mano,
mientras te abandono envuelto en mi membrana de inmortal.

SSB

Airport, grand piano of the world,
your dentures rattle out cities, figures, surnames,
and your heavy garments cut from buffed iron
make my trek beneath your gallows slow,
my shadow long before your limp electric arrows.
Insomniac eye patio
protecting this global web of kisses and costumes,
consume me in one gulp
like the star that throws back the night with a whiskey
(although I know this is a base and desperate thought),
because the plastic sheath around my life
hides, beneath its folds, a tremulous, gelatinous instinct.
And since you don’t see me, you don’t acknowledge my arrival,
an emperor of obstinate sea fog,
I stand motionless in the middle of the staircase
brooding before the great mountain I will climb,
suspended from the silk thread of premonition,
while the sails of your neutral, glassy, gyrating music
open above me like an empty white nest.
Airport, lobby of the concert hall,
I hear the hymn I must sing as I take
my heart in my hand,
as I abandon you wrapped in my immortal membrane.

oak armed ghost

1. carry the night inside you during the day.
2. your hand knows the untimely past that doesn't fit in your memory.
3. tip the picture at a southward angle and you'll see a beautiful young squire. or south by southeast to see what's in your hand.

ten of cups

1. how long will an ant swim in honey before drowning?
2. i made eye contact with the ghost of myself past
3. el río nazas contiene especies, comunidades y ecosistemas únicos, producto del aislamiento experimentado por ser un río de desierto
4. what's the difference between a time box and a time machine?
5. whistle low and i'll hear you
6. el pariente del propietario se acoda en la mesa, bigotudo, y lamenta carecer de pasado turbio
7. tela tan delgada, tan delgada y horizontal
8. lo que duele y lo que duele porque ya no quema
9. ¿sólo porque por eso existen los cuerpos humanos? ¿sólo por eso existen los cuerpos humanos?
10. ni que fuera río de miel

Detrás del espejo hubo una ranura en la que se metían las hojas de afeitar

Un día descubrí que el espejo de mi baño era una puerta que se abría a una alcoba con tres estantes. En medio de la pared hubo una ranura en la que, hace tiempo atrás, se metían hojas de afeitar. Esta característica de diseño se ha ido caducando de acuerdo con las nuevas tecnologías del aseo personal. Ahora afeitarse no resulta tan peligroso para los niños y los basureros.

Imaginar las antiguas hojas de los antiguos habitantes de mi departamento, que yacían oxidadas en las profundidades del espejo, me producía un anhelo particular. Me inquietaba no verlas. Pensaba a veces en excavarlas para comprobar su existencia. Quería tenerlas en la mano, hacerlas mías. Pero yo no había venido a quebrar el tiempo.

Entonces, hice lo más lógico: puse palabras detrás del espejo, secretos que siguen ahí donde ya no vivo más, entre conjeturadas hojas de afeitar. O a veces, nada más colocaba un dedo sobre la abertura, como si así pudiera besar al misterio.

los ojos verdes de nina

bye bye blackbird by julie london

todos los posibles objetos del verbo asumir

1. que por memoria corporal, que por haber sido estatua
2. detrás del espejo hubo una ranura en la que se metían las hojas de afeitar
3. se les tuercen las caras y por un breve momento, mientras resuena el golpe, creo ver revelarse en la superficie de su piel el pasado jamás pronunciado
4. habrá que entrar en confianza con el aparato
5. es por miedo que sientes la obligación de coincidir con la teoría
6. hasta que

though i only touched it gently

cardo o ceniza de chabuca granda

unsteady

lilac wine by jeff buckley

please tell me sugar

why was i born? by kenny burrell and john coltrane

reescribo un trabajo sobre las posibilidades del odio mientras los gritos de los manifestantes se escuchan por mi ventana, overpowering the danzón

la tenaz infiltración de nuestras experiencias cotidianas y del pasado que transportamos secretamente en nosotros

the sheer will to project ideal histories backward and forward

C Am F C F
C Dm7 E7 Am C7 F
Bb9-5 Am Am7 F#m7-5 B7 Em7 A7 Dm7 G7
C Am F C F C
Dm7 E7 Am Am7 F#m7-5 F7 C
F C F C
Am Dm G7 C C

you say purgatory i say paradise

i am a cinematographer by will oldham

que levante la mano quien los tenga negros

1. isabel la católica
2. un paraguas gris
3. el bongo drum lo inventaron los blancos
4. el zapato derecho es el menos roto
5. la cafetería de los baños señoriales
6. el encomendado de dios
7. es donde comenzó
8. es donde de veras comenzó
9. una mesita con tres sillas
10. una ventana que da a la calle
11. sobre el nivel de la calle
12. encomendar

you sure don't have to stall

page 205 of Absolute Beginners by Colin MacInnes

having out at Chiswick, and although she sounded raving to me over the blower, she said she'd be right along. I even, as well, thought of trying Suze and Henley at the Cookham place and in the London showrooms, but I skipped it. Of course I tried Wiz, but only got the dialling tone - not even Wiz's woman.

But even with the cats who dug it best, the great difficulty I had was in getting over what was happening: I mean, the scale of it, how serious,and that this was supposed to be the British Isles. Because even though most of them had heard something of it by now, there seemed to be a sort of conspiracy in the air to pretend what was happening in Napoli, wasn't happening: or, if it was, it somehow didn't signify at all.

I shot off after this up to my penthouse, to wash off the mud and blood, and have a lay down for a moment, and a bite. And while I was doing to, there was a little knock, and in on me walked the Fabulous Hoplite. He was looking a bit diminuendo, and smiled rather nervously, and was wearing a beach-gown and his Sardinian slippers.

'My!' he said. 'What times we live in!'

'Sit down, beautiful. You can say that again.'

'You've been bruised, child,' he said, trying to grope my tribal scars.

'Hands off the model, Hop,' I told him. 'How have things been with you?'

The Hoplite got up, spun round so that the beach-gown did a Royal Ballet thing, and sat down again and said, 'Oh, no complaints...But I don't like all this.'

'Who does?'

'Somebody must,' he said, 'or it wouldn't happen.'

'Clever boy. You been out at all?'

He let the gown fall open to reveal his pectorals. 'Once was enough,' he said. 'A glimpse, and I was in again.'

'Wise child.'

I suppose you've been out fighting battles!' His eyes gleamed.

'The battles fought me.'

seven of cups

1. smell of blood
2. golden ball of yarn
3. mentholated ointment
4. shapeless hands
5. oil coated puddle
6. matress spring
7. peppermint water

i pray the lord my train will come

every night when the sun goes down by mark hanson

six of swords

1. the sword tied around my neck
2. forget
3. one arm recklessly amputated
4. the prayer of a believer
5. the prayer of a non believer
6. only believers pray

nearly a month since my last haircut

tracks of my tears by smokey robinson and the miracles

and plenty of vitamin c

i think it's going to rain today

sometimes i live in the country

irene goodnight by leadbelly

nine of wands

I met Lady Justice on a highway overpass. My car had broken down and she was on the lam. She planted her feet wide, ready for action. Her robe was transparent and her body sublime. I rocked back and forth on my heels, to let her know I meant no harm.

“Please,” I said, “Take off your blindfold. I know who you are; I want to see you with your eyes uncovered.” “This isn’t a blindfold,” she said, “It’s a bandage, sometimes a disguise.” The cars drove past underneath us. I told her my story. She said, “I don’t grant wishes.”

Lady Justice cannot love mortals. She sees through walls and can work complicated equations without a single machine. When I stopped trying to woo her, she held out her hand. Into it I cried several human tears. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a green glass marble. “Plant this,” she said, “at your next stop, and wait for forgiveness to grow.”

get it, girl

fried fish with hot sauce, onion, cornbread, sweet tea, collards, yellow squash, black eyed peas, chocolate pie, pepper sauce

un fósforo a la mandíbula

the bread and the knife

all the things you are by charlie parker

oh my gringolandia, i abstain from invoking the lord

sometimes i feel like a motherless child

sometimes i feel like a motherless child

prayer

in terms of narrative structure, labyrinths twist and turn without leading anywhere, without resolution. they have their symbolic monstrous macho hidden in some corner, all desirous.

according to the catholic fanatics who burned patterns into my high school's lawn, labyrinths offer the possibility of throwing off one's burdens and beginning again. one follows ritual zigzags in a stationary journey until reaching the center, where one's longing is offered up to god. the journey to the outside is lighter then.

this possibility depends on faith. to put one's foot in the path of scorched grass borders is to declare a belief. what is it? how to say it?

domingo de ramos