La ciudad que me asfixiaba

Si es de noche, escribo. Si escribo, fumo, Si fumo, reflexiono. Si reflexiono, sueño. Si sueño, vivo.

Continue reading

Advertisements

The fish girl

The fish girl liked to swim facing the sky through the water; the sky she saw throught the cold water was full of colorful changing shapes she was fascinated about.

She had heard that fished of the sky had soft feathered sails, but no matter how long she would stare at the sky, she hadn’t seen any of them. Day by day, she waited to see one of those beautiful fishes of the sky, with no result.

The fish girl liked to feel the contact of cold waves surrounding her body, making everything under her scales feel full of life and hope. Freezing bloodbumped her heart with scorching excitement and cold love. When she cried, cold drops of ice melted inside her acuatic environment. She was made of water.

One day, a warm current from the south bursted into the water of her world. She tried to swim faster to get rid of this anguishing embrance, but she could´t avoid being catched. While she was struggling with the last of her watery breath, the  last cold drops from her heart slided from her greenery eyes, and turned into steam.

The steam went up from the water, and from the earth, and followed its way up, up to the sky, where -together- they formed a cloud, a dense cloud that turned into something else, a fish of the sky, with brand new white feathered sails. And then, she knew she belonged to the air. She was made of air.

Doll

She wanted to create her own doll, and laid in front of her view all the pieces of clothes she had collected from her life so far. She took her time to choose carefully the shape for each piece, which limb would be and how they all will look together.

She sewed and sewed for the whole night. Her eyes burnt, and her fingers – pierced by the needle- were covered in blood, the same blood that stained the pieces of cloth.

The pain filled her eyes of tears that blended brightly with the blood. But even so she put together her doll, piece by piece, cloth by cloth, blood drop by blood drop…an excruciating ceremony she could´t stop performing.

Then, the night started retiring to sleep its sweet oblivion, and the sky yawned  displaying shades of light blue. She breathed, put the finishing touches and placed the doll in front of her.

And only then she realized there was something missing: a piece of cloth, the one that should have been in the place of the heart.

She looked at the hollow space of the blood covered heartless doll and saw, in horror, that the puppet was staring back at her with her eyes… those eyes just like hers.

Fleshless

One day, he realized he was tired of being invisible. Not having flesh can be quite an annoyance…He had always been dressed with dreams and infatuations. They were warm and cozy. But every night, when he undressed in front of the mirror, he just could see his own emptiness.

Cabeza de ratón, cola de león

Miró la calma geométrica de las grandes avenidas, y sintió que el espíritu dentro de su pecho se hacía grande, se elevaba…

Haciéndose un guiño a sí mismo, encendió un cigarrillo y cruzó el semáforo pensando en cómo quedaría esa imagen congelada en medio del discurso cinematográfico de su vida. Se vio a sí mismo reflejado en el escaparate de una de las carísimas tiendas que jalonaban ambas aceras de “la milla de oro”, como era conocida internacionalmente esa famosa avenida, y la imagen le deleitó, su rostro se asemejaba al de una figura del celuloide en blanco y negro, uno de los muchos fotogramas con que todo el mundo identificaba la orografía humana de la ciudad, rostros famosos que habían construido con su presencia el mito de una ciudad, titanes de la interpretación, un elenco de dioses entre los que él esperaba algún día encontrarse. Volvió a mirar hacia arriba, hacia el brillo de edificios reflejados unos en otros, haciéndose guiños de grandeza.

Visualizó su propia imagen como un grandioso edificio en medio de otros, que no alcanzaban tanta altura ni esplendor. Estaba en el sitio correcto, pensó, mientras la estela negra y amarilla de un taxi se convertía en un bocinazo y una serie de maldiciones en un idioma que no reconoció. Respiró el aire de la gran ciudad y dejó que le inundara hasta el fondo de sus pulmones. El trazado urbano en forma de cuadrícula lo fue llevando hasta una enorme extensión verde…”Así que este es el famoso parque”, pensó. En su iPod, música de jazz acompañaba su periplo urbano, otorgando a todo un poderoso tinte cinematográfico, una película en la que él era el protagonista absoluto, junto con Robert de Niro, Al Pacino, Marlon Brandon…Are you talking to me?

La idea le abrió el apetito, y entró en un garito de comida rápida. “A hot-dog, please, two bucks, right?”. El tipo de la barra lo miró con perplejidad. Salió del establecimiento, y no le importó que en el luminoso pusiera “Bar Manolo” ni que el hot dog en realidad fuera un “frankfurt”. Sí, estaba en Barcelona, pero algún día estaría en Nueva York.