Starla Dear, I'm All Alone

They were already drunk. Their eyes looked like rat eyes: red, scary and dangerous. Their bodies looked like if they were vaporizing like nightmare fog. 

So I tried to convince my brother that I really was there for taking care of him, but I just wanted to see Starla, a beautiful friend of him. She was almost eight years younger than me, but she looked older. 

People talked about drugs and music. I found out Starla and walked to get close to her. Immediately, I started to hear my heart beating like a wild animal. I had met her at another party where we ended up kissing, and I guess I wanted to kiss her again.  

She was in the middle of a conversation and ignored me. I felt dumb and I tried to get involved in the conversation. Among those silly pretentious teenagers, she finally spoke to me and told me to take her out. I told her that I had just arrived to the party and she said "At least, take me to a more private place".

Then, we started to talk and continued drinking. 

I fall asleep and drunk somewhere in time and woke up feeling stupid in someone's bedroom. The bedroom seemed to belong to a woman 'cause it was painted in pink and the walls were full of photographs of Brad Pitt, Lorenzo Lamas and Jason Priestley. 

The bedroom also smelled like bubblegum, and I was starved and exhausted. Vaguely, I remembered someone was taking care of me as I wanted to threw up. I kinda wanted to think that my brother or my friend, had taken care of me. It would have been so embarrassing, if Starla had been the one who took care of me. 

Stopped thinking of it.

Starla walked in and sat in the bed. She looked at me, and she told me that we were about to have sex when I fall asleep. I remembered she was a little bit liar. She smiled and got closer to me and kissed my cheeks. Her scent reminded me of some things. While I was about to fell asleep, she started to touch my hair, my face and my hands. I fought to keep myself awake, as I thought of her eyes as made of honey dripping into my skin and as I thought of her hair dangling like a heavy medal trying to hypnotize me. 

Then she told me "It was the best thing that could have ever happened to me..."

I didn't understand why, but I realized everything when my brother told me later that he had a crush on Starla.

Starla

Let The Sun Beat Through The Clouds

It seemed to be another day, a simple Tuesday.

From the bed, I watched the clock located at the corner of the bedroom.

It was almost 11 o'clock. 

I had been the entire day feeling ill.

I was so sick for being in bed. 

I was tired and I had abdominal pain.

I was starved, but I couldn't eat.

(I felt so sick that I couldn't even eat an apple nor drink a glass of milk.) 

I felt I was electrified, hanging on a cross made of fire. 

I just wanted to sleep, but the pain was so destructive. 

All my nerves were too aware.

All my thoughts burned my mind.

I was febrile and I started to hallucinate.

I wasn't able to catch a single piece of a dream.

Suddenly, my ears bled with this song of R. E. M.

(I love you madly, just keep watch). 

As I was finally falling asleep, the telephone roared in the bedroom.

I woke up, abruptly. 

The bedroom became a time bomb and my heart was about to explode.

The bed was like a land mine and my body was gunpowder.

(I love you madly, just keep watch).

While the telephone roared, I felt some kind of energy irradiating my soul. 

Suddenly, I thought 

"It's not impossible to have a crush on the telephone..."

"Who's this?", I asked.

And then...

It was YOU.

YOU.

My lovely young idiot baby

(she used to say "Don't you call me adorable, 'cuz I feel that I am Thelma and that you're Garfield!") 

YOU.

YOU.

YOU.

My most terrible passion

(the very first time we kissed, she said "I'm a pretty good slut!")

YOU. 

YOU. 

YOU.

YOU.

YOU.

YOU.

I won't write your name.

(You don't even deserve so)

YOU appeared on the telephone.

Like old times. 

Your soft voice.

Like vanilla ice cream in the middle of the summer.

(I love you madly, just keep watch).

Your infantile voice. 

Like Tinker Bell scratching at the bottom of my heart. 

Your evil way of thinking.

Like a silly speech of an evil politician.

Your bitter way of thinking of me. 

Like a broken TV spitting suicidal messages to the audience.

Your awful way to be.

Like a frozen woman healing thru the cruelty.

(I love you madly, just keep watch).

YOU turned my memories into ashes.

Like that book of Petros Márkaris I gave to you.  

Like that live show of Kurt Cobain you gave to me. 

Like that old song I only play on guitar on sunny days.

Like that old blog I only post on every other day.

You started to tell me things about your boyfriend.

When you suffocated me, I started to ask you for one last chance.

"Well, I'll call you soon...", you sentenced and then hunged up the phone. 

YOU

Well You Know I Nearly Broke Down And Cried

She was younger than me, and I met her in a garage punk concert. I was having a smoke when she appeared out of nowhere and asked me for a cigarette lighter. Her scent drove me wild. Her eyes gleamed like a crazy star in the darkness of El Foro Alicia. 

We started to talk a few minutes later, when I wanted to have another smoke and I was convinced that she had lost my cigarette lighter. She denied it, and I focused on her lips. They looked so fleshy. A silly question crossed my mind: What if I kiss her?

I told her that I found her pretty, and that she smelled like a strange plant. She asked what kind of plant, and I just said something like a water lily. She smiled. At the time, I was a little bit drunk. Do not know why, but I imagined that we could end up kissing. 

Silencios Incómodos were about to perform that night, and I told her that I knew their new album. They were releasing it that night and they will perform it that night. I really knew it, since my brother was friend of the guys of the band, but she thought I just wanted to impress her. She told me her favorite band was Black Sabbath, and started to whisper Iron Man in my ear.

We kissed as the band played Detrás De La Tormenta, my favorite song of the album. Her lips were soft and I thought she had and expertise in kissing. Maybe I was too drunk. 

Suddenly, her dad called her on the cell phone. He was waiting for her to take her home. She said "Good Bye" and gave me her cell phone number, in case I wanted to call her someday.  Never thought I would, but I did it a few days later. 

We went out several times. Each time I liked her more and more, but I also felt more and more guilty. It was really stupid, but I hated it to be older than her. She said she didn't care. Eventually, she got tired. 

I'm listening Abbey Road, even though I don't like The Beatles at all, and I can't stop thinking of her. I miss her a lot. 

Zeitgedächtnis

I always dream of this and I'm overbored  The dream has a strange force It pushes me to miss someone   And I shouldn't allow her to become part of my life 'Cause she has forgotten me  The days elapse slowly and the hours make me feel like if a rusty knife were cutting somewhere inside my brain    Women sometimes are really dangerous and aware of the damage they provoke us Specially when you care about one 'Cause it's funny to realize that those women you don't care about Wait for you and call you and do everything for you   Even for one single second!!!  That kind of things that stop you in the street while you're walking through awful faces and then you sigh    So deep and sad   And you ask yourself: 'Why couldn't we be together?' 'She's the only one I really want' And then the girl just fades out like a beautiful dream you woke up from this morning 

And well this repetitive dream consists of the same scene: At her home  There is a big wooden table  There are 6 or 7 guys around you  Everyone has taken a seat  No one looks at you  It seems you are invicible  And the sensation it's great  Then she seats close to you  Looks at you with a big smile and with some kind of happiness inside her eyes  Then she asks you: 'Would you like to come another day, honey?' And the fact it's that you feel completely happy  So numb at the same time But later  YOU wake up and the dream not only hasn´t vanished at all, but has burned into your brain, like a long-lasting reflex

Nevermind (What Was It Anyway)?

Sometimes I do think -and feel- that I do have a fantastic life And I would say, well, yes, it's just too fantastic that I am able to write about it  Even when writing it's really sacred to me And even when I use this blog to spit some words in a non-seriously way It's just that I love writing and I do understand where and when I'm gonna write seriously and not just for having fun like I do almost all the time 
2 weeks ago I was weak and sad  Because I believed on someone untrustable  For several months  But now I'm getting used to happiness Somehow it's funny  'Cause somewhere in time I read in the newspaper: 'Oh!!! Sagitarius Don't you get used to sadness You are able to get happy situations  It's up to you!!!' And, well, it was a sign  Like those signs refered by Billy Corgan inside the songs of Gish...  I guess...  Mmmmh... I'm kidding, of course

I disagree with philosophy But YEaH!!! Whatever, Nietszche wrote in someway or another: 'Signs are prefered by those wich are so uncertain about their lifes, that they need some kind of orientation'   What was all about signs? Oh, of course...

Everyday since she changed, I used to wake up at 6 a.m.   abruptly   from a terrific dream  and asked myself with painful beats of my heart: 'Are you slept now? Have you just awake? Are you goin' to school?  Are you taking a shower?'  And the point was that my thoughts were meaningless  With no direction at all  As Fiona Apple's song points out:

'What a wasted unconditional love!!!!

... On someone who doesn't believe in the stars'

I was numb and powerless from january to may  What an asshole!!!  I wrote her several letters  I was extremely sincere and patient  I really loved her  Even though she didn't fix me at all  I even liked the fact that she was just like she was  Completely opposite to me  

Like Kurt Cobain sang:

'Opposites attract'

She's not used to read a single book, for example  Not even for a year!!!  She loves to dance and to drink that kind of drinks I hate so much  -not related to kloster or guiness or jw and so on- And I'm afraid she was also too simple for me  But well you can't decide about it   You are just what you are and it doesn't matter when you feel attracted to someone  Love it's not a thing that you pick up  It's just like a ding dong knocking at your door  -whenever that door it's located-

And for several days I was like a zombie...  

But one friday I saw and I felt and I smelled and I had a crush  And I opened my eyes, unexpectedly!!! 

An unknown gorgeous lady emerged from nowhere  With diabolic kittie green eyes Enigmatic as The Sweet Hereafter  Young as the tales of Holloway Horns... The way it has happened The words that have been spelled out The facts that have been working out  The sensation of her lips so warm and soft  Like a burning-freezing touch...

It's awesome!!!  And I'm scared of feeling so happy  But I stopped making questions and I'm able to freely let it flow  Happiness it's, well, strange to me  But the best fit!!!

The Way Things Are

The nights were awful and too dark, to see you. The days were terrible and too hot, to touch you. Your mouth was too quiet, to kiss you. Your hair was too fragile, to caress. But I was really in love with you. All I miss right now is the scent of your love. Once you wanted to give it to me, and I rejected it.

There were some really good things. The intense smell of your lips. The huge landscape of your neckline. The beauty of your hair dangling between my hands. The mystery inside your feisty honey eyes when I looked at you. Despite I was really in love with you, I couldn't stop thinking that you were younger than me. 

I hope to resign myself soon. I can't stop listening Fiona Apple. 

A Single Word

It´s not a matter of time, but quality  The kind of book that you would buy, just because it has an unusual title  The kind of friend that always be there for you whenever you need not to be disturbed -like a young couple of pigeons, at their very first romantic night after the weddings' vows- The kind of song that you have figured it out in dreams -more specifically, in nightmares- The kind of musician that's able to smash you up a guitar in the head -no matter how difficult is it to find out that guitar- The kind of guys that arrive early at the arena to buy tickets and watch the show from a short distance from the stage -in a musical event of heavy metal- The kind of food that you would swallow just in case that you haven't eaten for a while  The kind of audience that it's no longer interested in whatever you are saying   It's not a matter of time, but quality  (and I still feel guilty somehow) The kind of woman that calls you up in the phone just when she feels devastated The kind of life that is coloured by a pale sky, and supported by stressing earth The kind of feeling that you hate to feel

Un ' Estate Italiana

Gus was my friend. He was older than me. 
I was on the last year of elementary school and he was in junior high. 
Everyday, after school, we used to hang out.
Basically we just rode our bikes here and there. 

Sometimes we even played soccer. 
There was some sort of soccer fever in our neighborhood. 

One day, we rode our bikes as usual, but Gus asked me to follow him to another neighborhood. 

It was July. 

A few hours earlier, Italy and Argentina had played at Stadio San Paolo, in Naples. On the previous years, Diego Armando Maradona had managed to get Naples soccer team' to win important tournaments in Europe.

He was an idol and had a lot of fans.
Some journalists believed that Italian fans would support Argentina, due to the devotion that some of them professed to Maradona. 

Nonetheless, tifosi supported their national team and booed and insulted the South Americans from the beginning of the match. 

Maradona had been the best player of the previous World Cup in Mexico 1986, but he was injured and his national team was a disaster and depended on his geniality. 

On the round of 16, in Turin, against the powerful Brazilian team -one of the favorites to win Italia 1990 World Cup- Diego appeared out of nowhere and dribbled almost the entire rivals midfielders' and then gave a pass to Paul Caniggia, leaving him alone in front of Claudio Taffarel. 

Caniggia took advantage of his position and scored the only goal of the match.  

On the round of 8, in Florence, Diego had failed a penalty kick against Yugoslavia, but Argentina -with an astonishing performance of Goicoechea- had made up to the semifinals.

In the beginning of the championship, Gus supported Brazilians, but he was so impressed by the geniality of Diego, that he supported Argentina on that semifinal match in Naples. 

We couldn't believe that Argentina had defeated Italy. 

Though Toto Schillaci scored first, PaulCaniggia tied the game and scored the first goal that Walter Zenga received in the entire tournament.  

We arrived to a fancy neighborhood. 
We stopped in front of an old house. 
He knocked the door and a bearded guy opened it for us. 

The living room was a disaster. 
It was full of drunk people and it smelled so bad. 

There were 10 guys or so, around a table.
They were older than us and the air was so filthy.  
They were dumbfounded.

Then she appeared. 

Her name was Toby. 

She was a gorgeous woman. 

Though she was clearly stoned, she could barely walk and her eyes couldn't stay quiet, she told us the price of the stash. 

Even though it seemed a very expensive deal, Gus agreed and Toby had no problems to fix and to sold us a joint.

We left the house and rode our bikes to his house. 
His dad had died when he was a child and his mom worked at a furniture store all day long. 

He turned on the TV and lighted the join. 

He smoked desperately. Later he coughed.

As the penetrating aroma of the burned grass flooded the living room, a sports' TV program was about to commence. 

The opening song was this song. 

Whenever I smell the penetrating aroma of the burned grass, for a second I think of Gus and Diego Maradona. 

tribunero.com

[Un ' Estate Italiana-Gianna Nannini & Edoardo Bennato]

We Love In Vain, Narcissistic And So Shallow

I hate some egocentric people. Some of them behave as if they were closer to be a God than to be a human. The worst part is that they think you should please them all the time.  

I met once a guy of this kind, in a literature workshop. We were involved in an underground magazine, and we all wanted to publish our writings on it. We were talking about deadlines to send our work to the editor of the magazine, so he could manage the writings in order to publish, monthly, as much as possible of our work. We were almost 20 young writers. Some of us wrote tales, poems or literature essays. We were as enthusiastic as a young writer can be. Another part of the writers, were horribly narcissistic, like this teenager. None of us would receive any penny for the writings, it was all about fun, but he immediately asked for money, because he considered that his poems were at the level of Rimbauds'. 

He also complained about the deadlines, because he considered himself an authentic artist, and so he was not able to work under pressure. He said that his inspiration was so fragile and so fickle. I just found him boring, arrogant and stupid. He couldn't even distinguish Ezra Pound from Edgar Allan Poe.

I just hate this kind of guys. Sadly, many musicians I know behave like that, too. I have this terrible idea of playing in a garage punk band. I have looked for drummers and bass players, because I play guitar and I just like power trios, even though I want to have a band like Sonic Youth. 

At the beginning, when I find out some guys to play with, they tend to be enthusiastic. Nevertheless, gradually they simply expect me to forget them, or to pay them to play with me. They skip rehearsals and never answer my messages nor my calls. They make me feel like an amnesiac old dude or a retarded booze addict. Obviously, it's not their duty to like my songs, but  I'd really appreciate if they told me that they don't want to be part of my band.

via GIPHY

Normally, I try to avoid this kind of guys, but, sooner or later, I have to tolerate them. Like this egocentric PhD student I'm going to write about. It was my first time in the biggest annual meeting for Neurosciences, and I had to share a room with him. As soon as we arrived to Chicago, we looked for the Hilton that was assigned to us. We walked  late at night thru the cold alleys and streets around Michigan Avenue. Suddenly, several homeless stopped me and asked me for money. Even though he had been before in situations like that, and so he knew how to deal with homeless, he didn't warn me about them. I was so scared. Thought homeless were about to assault me, or to shot me, or to slash me, for nothing. 

When I looked for him, he just had disappeared. I had to walk faster, running away from the homeless, and finally, scared to hell and exhausted, I found him at the Hilton. He was in the lobby, in complete iddleness, playing with his smartphone. With some sort of a sarcastic tune, he said: "Homeless are so annoying!"

In the room, he choose the best for him. He occupied the bathroom for hours and put his bags and things all over the room. I just could put my stuff in the small bed that he generously gave me. I had nausea, and I was starving, so I didn't want to discuss about his behavior. The worst of all, was that even though he said that he had quit smoking, he started to ask me for cigarettes. When the cigarettes went out, he said to me: "We have to make an effort to not smoke a lot and to save some money to buy another pack of cigarettes". What a jerk off!

At the annual meeting, he just wanted to seduce women. Of course, he failed all the time. He was not interested in science at all, he just wanted to look like a neuroscientist. 

Now, he has a better job than he deserves, and a better health than me. I quit smoking 18 months ago, and he just keeps stealing cigarettes from anyone. Hope he is not playing in a garage punk band nor that he is finished a novel before I do.