27.10.09

Dos semanas en tres foticos

Estas dos semanas han pasado rápido.

La semana pasada fue Expociencia-Expotecnología. En un momento de paz fui a buscar algo de comer y me encontré con esta incoherencia promocional:

A comienzos de esta semana tuve la fortuna de montarme en un Transformer. El dueño explicaba que a él no le gustaron las películas, pero que la serie era "bien buena":


Finalmente, concocí al equipo de Interctiumedia. Uno de ellos ama el gore y no se si es el mismo vándalo que pintó esto pero me dio mucha risa, tal vez porque no entiendo cómo ha alguien le puede gustar:

Y entonces, de esta semana que se pasó rapidísimo me quedan estos tres buenos y sencillos recuerdos.

26.10.09

Auto censura

Hoy hace un día precioso. Entra mucho sol por la ventana y me deja ver muy poco de la pantalla del ordenador. Desde la última vez que escribí, enfermo de la gripa (y la mala ortografía y coherencia gracias a ella) ha pasado bastante tiempo, tanto como para no acordarme de la mitad de las cosas que ocurrieron en su transcurso. De cualquier manera hay que mencionar algunas, teniendo en cuenta que en poco quisiera desarrollarlas... pero todo depende del tiempo.

Manuela volvió a su ciudad de vida y estudio. Si bien es triste, ya parece que queda poco tiempo (menos de un año) para que esa ciudad también sea mía, al menos para vivir en ella.

Tuve la fortuna de conocer Quibdó e Istmina, en el departamento de Chocó. En poco quiero transcribir mis apuntes de viaje y colgar un par de fotos. Volví con el corazón encogido y con ese sentimiento de impotencia, ese que aparece cuando uno se da cuenta de que probablemente nada de lo que uno pueda hacer, hará ninguna diferencia.

En el lado triste de mi vida, vale la pena mencionar que desde el 28 de agosto de este año no hablo con mi papá. un mes antes dejé de hablar con mi madrastra y mi hermano. Todo parece indicar que es hora de dejar el tema ahí, de descansar del sufrimiento de tan exigente relación, cueste lo que cueste.

Por el lado positivo debo decir que volví a comprar mi antes hurtado Play Station 3. Mi cabeza vuelve a fluir luego del descanso que ese aparato me ofrece.

Ah y muy en contra de varias personas, me gradúe... soy Maestro en historia.

Y nada, todo esto es una pequeña muestra de que aun existo por estos lados y de que hay mucho que no recuerdo y mucho que quiero contar. Desafortunadamente me he encontrado en un período de auto censura (de esto hablaremos luego, claramente). No se si ese período ya termino o si estoy tratando de jugar con sus límites a ver si ocurre algo, si algo ocurre.

15.7.09

Gripa (no de porcina)

Llevo tres días de gripa. Pero es de la otra, de la que no aparece en las coticias, la menos famosa. Es esa gripa que lo llena a uno de mocos y lo hace sentirse como un trasero.

en estos días pasan muchas cosas, pero no hay tiempo aun de escribir. Por ahora me meto acá, con el consuelo de estar sacándelo tiempo a esto. Aunque es mentira.

6.7.09

WE'RE WOLVES: METAMORPHOSIS DRESSED IN BLACK

(Tomado de: Ulver)

Lecture given at the Norwegian Festival of Literature
Lillehammer, Norway
May 30 2009

Cornelius Jakhelln

I shall speak as a musician speaks of other musicians: with envy. I can think of no greater compliment from one follower of Apollo's art to another, than this short statement, voiced with difficulty and easily misunderstood: I envy you. And that is my statement to Ulver, on this day of their first concert: I do envy you.

I was there when your first album appeared in 1994. And I am here when you give your first concert fifteen years later, in 2009.

I'm a musical infidel. I freely admit it. Everybody knows everything, it seems, except me. I may make your blood freeze by insisting on my own ignorance; however, I listen to Ulver as an insider with a distance, possibly as a related outsider.

As a peripheral member of the same music scene in which Ulver started their journey, that of Norwegian Black Metal (avantgarde or not), I share much of the same aesthetics and references as the wolves.

You know everything about this band. I have nothing to teach you.

Still, let me quote Didrik Søderlind's press release for Ulver's last album Shadows of the Sun, as he succinctly sums up the band's evolution:

"For even though it might be hard to believe it when you listen to the soft-spoken new album, Ulver were once a seminal black metal band. They even have the name (Ulver translates as "Wolves") and a trilogy of folklore-inspired metal to prove it.

But even in a scene that sent shockwaves around the world, Ulver were outsiders. While other black metallers were "slaves to the one with horns", Ulver were inspired by Thomas Kingo, a 17th century composer of psalms.

As the band matured, their influences became even more eclectic. Techno auteurs Autechre rubbed shoulders with visionary mystic William Blake. Ulver have released acoustic folk albums and instrumental techno records, raw metal and industrial soundscapes, and they have composed music for films."

Also, I asked Ulver member Jørn H. Sværen a few questions that came to me, such as "Who does what in the band?"; "How does the music come about?"; "Are you the ideologist of the band?"; "How long have you been working with Kris?"; "Do you see any deeper connection between your publishing houses England and H Press, and Ulver?" This is what he answered:

"It has been a conscious decision on our part, not dwelling on who's doing what in Ulver. It has resulted in quite a few speculations, that I'm playing drums for example, I can't play a note. But that is of less importance, Ulver is a state of mind in my view. I am not the ideologist in the group, if I were to pin it down then let's say Tore is the engineer, I am the puritan and Kris is the visionary. I met Kris in the late eighties or early nineties, I don't remember. Only that it was in a line outside a concert in Oslo, I think it must have been Morbid Angel. We hooked up and became friends, Kris is one of my closest now. I don't see H Press and England as connected with Ulver, but it all stems from the same source if you will. The books from England for example, they could be said to touch on the same truths that make up the core of Shadows, I think in both the lyrics and the music. The great and grand clichés. Kris and I write the lyrics together, and they naturally show the signs of our dispositions."

I have organised my lecture as a trip through the album Blood Inside, incidentally my favourite in the Ulver discography. More than pure analysis of the music, the talk will give you an insight into my personal Ulver phenomenology. I am

DRESSED IN BLACK

You shall know them by metamorphosis; "like hell we are, all dressed in black," they say.

These playful words remain unsaid: "We're wolves, were wolves, werewolves."

You shall know them by grandeur, percussive heartbeats insisting that time is alive in music; "Monumental or something?" they say

You shall know them by strings transposed and transported into the digital domain, plucking away on your nervous system, singing songs of death and subsequent rebirth: "We dug our own graves a long time ago".

Let me be a snotty, coke-snorting journalist for a second: "Dressed in Black" sounds like the Coldplay of black metal ... I am tempted to label it (tongue-in-cheek) Grand Nocturnal Pop, possibly Grand Rock of the Night ... with a piano passage at 6.20 mins that sounds a bit like a quote out of the Georges Bizet's opera Carmen?

Using music as a soundtrack to your own life is a worthy quality test: With "Dressed in Black" droning in my ears I run my normal route, mirroring much of Berlin, or European culture, modernity or even civilisation – I am no stranger to big words, and definitely find them appropriate here – I envy Ulver their musical expression, because its melancholy mirrors the greyness of my former GDR neighbourhood, my passing the bunker where Adolf Hitler shot himself on April 30th in 1945, then further on past the Holocaust memorial, an ominous mass of concrete blocks resembling anonymous graves, then head-on into the lush alleyways of Tiergarten, chasing the setting sun westwards. The low bpm of the music calms my pulse, sort of, and the ringing choirs and echoes beautifully capture the moment.

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD

You shall know them by ambition, by their scoring the resurgence of the Tower and the descent of God: "Blood of the God word, spoken in tongues ... That we may see the end of the Babel Tower," they say, voicing desires so far unspoken ... "Fucking heaven to kingdom come".

And that sentence has many meanings I will not count: Fucking heaven to kingdom come.

"For The Love of God" invites you into a Sigur Rós-like soundscape with droning bass sounds and eerie, child-like choirs ... and the insisting percussion on vintage-sounding skins makes me think of black big band-music from the 1970s ...

As "For the Love of God" enters my ears, I feel like a witness to the beauty of Spring in Berlin. I witness the world in passing, an experience of ephemeral beauty. The perception of beauty belongs to the traveler as much as to the sedentary. I long for

CHRISTMAS

You shall know them by perpetually being born, as an instance of God in Nature: "What is has neither come nor gone, but error moves," they say ... "Today we have changed eternities and what is past no novelty improves."

By the third song of Blood Inside, it is clear to me – as the last mind on the planet – that there is nothing left of the 1993-era Ulver. The orchestral dark rock herein belongs to a wholly other paradigm than that of black metal. The band's evolution from black metal to grand nocturnal pop can be understood thus: the grandeur of the former genre is also found within the latter. Grandeur: Vocal harmonies in several layers, string arrangments, huge percussion etc.

"Blind knowledge is working at useless ground, and crazy faith is living the dream of its liturgy," they say.

How can I speak of music when I ought to speak of God? Perhaps it is so, that by speaking of music one also speaks of God. The Christmas lyric is a poem by the Portugese poet Fernando Pessoa.

Let me quote the 27th proverb from The Marriage of Heaven and Hell by William Blake: "The roaring of lions, the howling of wolves, the raging of the stormy sea, and the destructive sword, are portions of eternity, too great for the eye of man."

I run. Through the veil of green leaves I see the Berliner Philharmonie where Richard Strauss, Gustav Mahler, Edvard Grieg and Johannes Brahms conducted their works. Wilhelm Furtwängler took over the leadership in 1923; Herbert von Karajan lead the orchestra from 1955 to 1989. I cannot stand the thought of living in a city devoid of an orchestra. However, I do have an orchestra ringing in my ears; they perform the track called

BLINDED BY BLOOD

You shall know them by words spoken from the past to the future, a lullaby from a father to his son: "You are from the heart of it all ... the light from the love of the night," they sing ... and tears appear in my eyes with these words: "Crying from the inside - the fear ... my little one ... From the Earth It all ends"

The song begins with the mild chiming of bells, then a Moby-like sample of a resounding, black voice singing gospel, then Dead Can Dance-atmospheres ... haunting and resolutely beautiful. Grand rock. Black Grand Piano – "piano" in its Italian sense, meaning also "quiet", "tranquil".

Run again, along, entlang der Tiergartenstrasse; when crossing the Hofjägerallee I look at the Siegessäule, that proud monument designed in 1864, after the Preussian victory over Denmark the same year. By the inauguration of the Victory Column on September 2nd 1873, Prussia had also defeated Austria in the Austro-Prussian War (1866) and France in the Franco-Prussian War (1870–71). We look at the Victory Column with the eyes of convinced pacifists.

Do you hear the drums and cries of ancient war?

IT IS NOT SOUND

You shall know them by slowliness, by the precise and deliberate exertion of violence upon your ears and the emotions induced by dark music. "For the record, No one will understand What it is all about," they say ...

Granted. Granted. Grand Nocturnal Pop. Grand Rock of the Night.

"The dead name ... Backwards ... Amen"

"Animals! Werewolves, once among the most influential of the black metal family, now stray, strange birds," their press release reads. "ULVER is 33 years and counting backwards. They have the whole future behind them."

You shall know them by pretending to be the inversion of Jesus, Christ, the Saviour: "It just happened a long time ago ... 33 years ... Again and again and again ... What is it all about ... It is a promise of a lifetime ... Never recorded".

Again and again I run. At the Spreeufer I see young girls pique-niquing with white wine; I see old people parading their Nordic Walking poles, and when crossing the Corneliusbrücke, the bridge over the Spree, something marvelously curious: Llamas. They are animals I can only describe as noble, alert and stoic; while this description rings of 19th-century anthropomorphism, I challenge you: Bring Ulver next time you are in Tiergarten and go see those wonderful animals in the Zoologischer Garten. Every time I pass them I feel that we share some sort of existential community. The music of Ulver – now in my ears – seems to encompass the animal realm as much as the architecture of the GDR, the Third Reich or the blooming trees of Tiergarten. For once, tell me

THE TRUTH

You shall know them by their vocal lies in the ruthless pursuit of musical truth, by their attempt at creating confusion: "It is the two," they sing, "They turn the pages of the same book ... It means nothing to them ... The pages turned by the one ... Is turned back by the other."

Ladies and gentlemen: IT IS THE TRUTH. The topic for this year's festival. Do you dare to speak the truth, and nothing but the truth?

They are not Ulver. They are David Irving.

IN THE HIGH COURT OF JUSTICE QUEEN'S BENCH. Before:
The Hon. Mr. Justice Gray

B E T W E E N: DAVID JOHN CADWELL IRVING Claimant

-and-

PENGUIN BOOKS LIMITED, 1st Defendant

DEBORAH E. LIPSTADT DIVISION, 2nd Defendant

XIII. Findings on Justification. Excerpt: The charges which I have found to be substantially true include the charges that Irving has for his own ideological reasons persistently and deliberately misrepresented and manipulated historical evidence; that for the same reasons he has portrayed Hitler in an unwarrantedly favourable light, principally in relation to his attitude towards and responsibility for the treatment of the Jews; that he is an active Holocaust denier; that he is anti-semitic and racist and that he associates with right wing extremists who promote neo-Nazism.

They are not David Irving. They are Woody Allen.

(Two Woody quotes)
a. "On the plus side, death is one of the few things that can be done just as easily as lying down."

b. "More than any other time in history, mankind faces a crossroads. One path leads to despair and utter hopelessness. The other, to total extinction. Let us pray we have the wisdom to choose correctly."

You shall know them by their claim to that which once was known as True Norwegian Black Metal: "They know it by heart ... By the nothing inside it ..."

The song is a fine mess of insisting percussion and strings, choirs, trumpet samples and melancholy synth lines. Kris' layered vocals are mixed with funny cartoonish effects. It is the truth, curious and comical.

I continue my run past the llamas in Berlin and end up, mysteriously, on the shores of Norway, among the wooden houses of Haugesund. The salty seaside air awakens my brain, as I pass decaying Jugendstil villas, wharves, cross two huge bridges before ending up at the column dedicated to Harald Hårfagre ("Harald Fairhair", who after victory in the Battle of Hafrsfjord in the year 872 unified Norway into one kingdom.) From that magnificent viewpoint, standing on the Viking king's burial mound, next to the stone column placed on top of it, I look out on the North Sea, admiring the grey sheets of sea and sky merging in the horizon. I am all alone. I am with Ulver. Then two visitors. I talk to a black couple of engineers from North Carolina, who just moved to Haugesund to work in the oil industry. They seem to take pleasure in this bit of Viking sightseeing. An ambulance with wailing sirens pass. We are

IN THE RED

You shall know them by their travels into new domains of sounds and sense: "Out of nature ... Something bloody ... A body," they sing, with echoing strings mirroring the cold emptiness of hospital corridors. "Hospital doors open," they sing, "a great white".

The dire hospital song terminates in a jazz tune, with trumpets, clarinets and vibraphone engaging in merry big band battle. I would have loved to play this music to the young man you will see soon in a certain YouTube video clip ...

"Hey, dude ... are you stuck in 1993, or what? This is the music you will be playing in 2009, NOT the unholy Satanic fistfucking black metal (or whatever else it is) you believe that you will be playing in the future ..."

The future is now. I'm lovin' it.

From the Haraldshaugen monument I run further, as in an Olympic commercial from 1994, to the small Norwegian town of Lillehammer, located in Oppland with 25070 inhabitants counted in 2004. Although I, in theory at least, ought to be listening to the song "In the Red", all of a sudden I find myself speeding through the forest listening to Ulvers primitive black metal album from 1996, Nattens Madrigal, while running upwards along the waterfall called Himmelriksfossen. It is a splendid, sunny day in the end of May. Spring has finally come to Norway, and nature celebrates Winter's departure with a huge party of singing birds, budding trees and blooming flowers. As I make my way up the forest path, the noise of the waterfall merges with the blazing "Of Wolf and Fear", so that I can hardly distinguish the one from the other. I become aware of the deep similarities between those two sound sources, one a product of nature and the other a product of culture; The True Norwegian Black Metal can be compared to a waterfall, falling freely and unrestrained, out of necessity. The riffs are always played with open strings and at blazing speed, the drums a violent million litres of water coming at you blindly. The screams may be likened to the water of Himmelriksfossen crashing down on the stones below. The movement of TNBM shares its necessity with the waterfall; both are unavoidable forces behaving according to the law of gravity. Do not quote me on this.

On top of the waterfall. It now seems that I am out of breath and out of music. Hence, I will pause Blood Inside for now and parade the trivia machine instead, by recounting the number of names by which I know the chief wolf. In the first Ulver album, I knew him as Garm. In my unhappy days in Oslo (Ulver's Themes from William Blake's The Marriage of Heaven & Hell era), he went by the name Kris around town. By the release of Metamorphosis EP, I think it was, he started appearing as Trickster G. When he was kind of enough to lay down vocals for the Solefald track "Loki Trickster God", his email address was Storeulv, ("Big Wolf") and the sender name Christophorus. In Blood Inside and Shadows of the Sun his name is Kristoffer G. Rygg. Thus, His Holiness is known under a fine panoply of aliases.

In this piece of seemingly irrelevant trivia, I find a property essential to the Ulver identity: playfulness, the joy of appearing under different names and masks.

What is tried is not true, but trite.

However, contrast this with the following statement made by Kris to Norweigan newspaper Morgenbladet in 2008, after the release of Shadows of the Sun (my translation):

"There are many things about the music business that we are uncomfortable with. You have to play theatre, kind of, wear a mask and act in special ways in order to get media attention. We are not very skilled at this. Wearing some kind of public persona (or personality) is so unnatural, I cannot relate to it. In that respect, none of us in Ulver should have been musicians. We should have done something completely different. We are good only in one segment of doing music, namely doing music as such."

The last line ought to be quoted in Norwegian, as it translates only difficultly: "For det er bare ett segment av det å drive med musikk som vi gjør bra, og det er musikk i egenskap av musikk."

20.5.09

Re-Adecuar-Se

Y bueno, Manuela llegó por fin. Cuatro meses sin vernos. Las cosas se arreglan de nuevo, se acomodan los espacios y se pone buena cara. Todo anda en proceso de transición, de reacomodación y sin embargo, me hace muy feliz. Su llegada trajo consigo diversas materialidades. Hace mucho no me daban tantos y tan variados regalos.

El trabajo ha estado insoportable, de jornada extensísimas. Se hace buena cara y se evitan las peleas. Hablo de la tristeza de mi alma y cosas así, inexistentes.

Mi temperamento de adicto volvió a ganar y abrí una cuenta en Twitter: @AljuriA. Ese micro-blog es la locura... la información vuela en verdad y me encanta y me interesa mucho. Pero no todo es bueno en ella: pero ahora no es momento de hablar de esas cosas.

Hace rato no escribía y sigo sin el tiempo para hacerlo, sobre todo si cada vez tengo más lugares donde escribir pendejadas... porque sí.

Termino. Estoy tratando de recuperar una breve pero muy gratificante amistad bloggera. A todos, les recomiendo leer a Hoffen. A mí personalmente me encanta y hace rato no me perdía así en las letras de alguien. Saludos a ella también.

26.4.09

Ir sin venir

Listo. Calderón se fue. Me parte. Ayer la despedida fue dura. Muchos recuerdos, muchas cosas por decir y repetir y por las cuales sonreir. 

Todo se dijo. Hice una lista de las cosas que más me harán falta de él en mi otro blog.

De nuevo. El que se queda es el que sufre. Quien se queda es quien se jode la vida. Chao Dieguito.

21.4.09

"I found my lover on the radio. She sang me songs from a long time ago".

La semana pasada conseguimos realizar el segundo lanzamiento del proyecto en el que trabajo. Las cosas salieron bien, muy en contra de todos los pronósticos y las posibilidades. Luego del evento, respirar profundo.

Dos links al respecto:
El Tiempo
El Espectador

Luego del evento, presenté los adelantos de la tesis. Fue exitoso el evento. El violentólogo mayor quedó feliz y bueno, lo veré el día de mi sustentación a ver si mantiene la cara después de leerme.

De cualquier forma son victorias personales. Pequeñas victorias persoanles. Luego de eso vino un fin de semana que marcó el comienzo de la despedida de Caldetronx. Ese fin de semana busqué el día y la noche y sus colores, como esperando que el uno o la otra me dieran una calma que nunca llegó y que se agravará la próxima semana cuando él parta a Los Aires.


El día


La noche

11.4.09

Rencor y desgano

Anoche fue una de esas noches, en las que se habla de más. No por odio, ni porque se crea que el acto del habla cambiará en algo las cosas. Muy por el contrario, se habla porque es pedido y se hace hasta el punto del arrepentimiento, de pensar que mejor, no se debió pedirlo.

Las palabras claves de la conversación fueron:
No.
Ser.
Odio.
Él.
Egocentrismo.
Ego.
Referente.
Yo.
Gente.
Conducta.
Maltrato.

El orgullo es que no se derramó ninguna lágrima. El orgullo es levantarse hoy y sentir rencor y desgano, sabiendo que no se hará nada al respecto porque la vida misma no es modificable, así creamos ilusamente lo contrario. Muy en contra de lo que todos conocen... se hace uno frío y distante y le importan las cosas muy poco, ero me quedo con mi imagen: juguemos a eso, ahora.


Me llaman del extranjero y continúa la conversación de la noche anterior, sostenida en ese momento con alguien más. Se repiten temas y se dejan de lado prontamente porque nadie quiere arruinar unas vacaciones que envidia. Ahora escucho Heavens, el split de Matt Skiba, Porcupine Tree y Andrew Bird (Noble Beast). Ahora espero se haga de noche para entregarme de nuevo a la rutina.

10.4.09

S-Alma

Sólo por decirlo y corroborar el "desajuste" social: Salma Hayek no es tan churra, ni tan buena actriz.

Listo. Canción recuperada:

Porcupine Tree - "Blackest Eyes"

A mother sings a lullaby to a child
Sometime in the future the boy goes wild
And all his nerves are feeling some kind of energy

A walk in the woods and I will try
Something under the trees that made you cry
It's so erotic when your make up runs

I got wiring loose inside my head
I got books that I never ever read
I got secrets in my garden shed
I got a scar where all my urges bled
I got people underneath my bed
I got a place where all my dreams are dead
Swim with me into your blackest eyes

A few minutes with me inside my van
Should be so beautiful if we can
I'm feeling something taking over me

2.4.09

Ya estando trasteado

En el rollo del trasteo y las conversaciones con lejanos, me acordé de esta canción.

Weakerthans. "Everything must go"

Garage Sale. Saturday. I need to pay
my heart's outstanding bills.
A cracked-up compass and a pocket watch, some plastic daffodils.
The cutlery and coffee cups I stole
from all-night restaurants, a sense of wonder (only slightly used),
a year or two to haunt you in the dark.

For a phone call from far away
with a "Hi, how are you today"
and a sign recovery comes to the broken ones.

A wage-slave forty-hour work week (weighs
a thousand kilograms, so bend your knees)
comes with a free fake smile for all your dumb demands,
the cordless razor that my father bought when I turned 17,
a puke-green sofa
and the outline to a complicated dream of dignity.

For a laugh too loud and too long
For a place where awkward belongs
And a sign recovery comes to the broken ones.
To the broken ones.
To the broken ones.
For the broken ones.
Or best offer.

27.3.09

Ella salía

Esta semana se realizaron unas marchas en contra de la penalización de la dosis personal. Me adhiero a los tantos escritos virtuales que comparan la propuesta restrictiva y hospitalaria con la situación de diferentes países autoritaristas. Añado: es una pena que la "moral" sea la que nos esté perjudicando de esa manera, la "moral goda" de este pueblo y su alteza presidencial.

Por otro lado, he estado escribiendo, motivado por una serie de encuentros. Siento que o van a llevar a nada, pero hace poco pensé en una imagen recurrente: una mujer que sale del cuarto mientras el hombre, fingiendo indiferencia, canta. Algo como: Ella salía de la casa. Mientras tanto, él cantaba entre bocanadas: "I've got some bad ideas involving you and me (…) You took me hostage and made your demands. I couldn't meet them so you cut off my fingers, one by one. O algo así."

Pegando el párrafo anterior. Esa canción es de alkaline Trio, que recientemente que h estado contaminado. Cualquier disco de esa banda tiene algo que me gusta. También he estado escuchando Bright Eyes y recuperé unos discos viejos viejos, de The Get Up Kids. Altamente recomendado el "Guilt Show".

Pero siento que divago... ha de ser el hambre y un poco el cansancio. Sí, esa hambre y no, no ese cansancio.

23.3.09

Trasteo V.2.0

Me trasteo de nuevo. Empaco cajas y encuentro millones de cosas que no quería volver a ver: sus fotos en blanco y negro... en especial una con los ojos cerrados, debajo de un inmenso campo de girasoles que no parecen serlo; se toma la cintura de los bolsillos de los pantalones y sufre, adolescente, cercana a la edad en que la conocí y me enamoré de ella. También hay un billete de mil pesos, mágico, que escapó de nuestras manos dos veces y volvió para demostrarnos que, como lo dice la nota que lo acompaña, "sí podemos". Y no, no pudimos.

Encontré las tres fotos que sobrevivieron mi odio contra la fotografía: un espiral de escaleras mirado desde abajo. Un cenicero mal iluminado. Una orilla de un charco, que gracias a la mala revelada parece la orilla del mar, done timidamente asoman su cabeza dos árboles de la ciudad, del barrio en el que viví tantos años.

También hay fotos de mi viejo, que serán entregadas en el momento oportuno, como para esquivar un regalo de cumpleaños o de navidad.

Pero no todo son fotos. Algún día fui un estudiante aplicado y enamorado de mi carrera. En papel amarillo (extrañamente, sin ser tan viejo) hay un trabajo que tiene como título la siguiente frase: "¿Dios floa? Dios atugue, Paba, Chuta, Espíritu Santo, persona mica, Dios atuge", que quiere decir: "¿Cuántos Dios hay? Un solo Dios hay, Padre, Hijo, Espíritu Santo, tres personas y un solo Dios", en lengua mosca. Me invadió la nostalgia ver esos papeles, recuerdo de un futuro que era prometedor... y estoy aquí, jodido entre el cine, los ánimos de la gente y el adiós del autoestima académico.

Y así, papeles y papeles que se desintegrarán para nunca, nunca volver a pensar en ellos, ni en lo que significarán después de hoy, que comencé a empacar para irme de nuevo.

Pero también hay cosas que fue bueno encontrar... sobre ellas callo, porque seguirán ahí, iluminadas por la mucha luz del nuevo apartamento.

6.2.09

Frase del año

Si la frase del 2008 fue "el que no los hace, los ve hacer", la del 2009 es "así es el fútbol".

Por si es el caso: ambas, tienen poco que ver con el deporte.