Merry Christmas
Digging the city and spent whole nights Salvador. Her hair in a ponytail under his hat, his glasses pasta, pants loose, jacket to Dick Tracy, his crocodile skin boots. His gun inside his jacket. A cigarette in his mouth. So Salvador went unnoticed among many others like him nightly. Walking through the park, stopped a few minutes to look at the lake, was aware of the many couples who made love around him, and continued his journey. Came in the bohemian coffee, called a no milk, no sugar, sat and lit a cigarette. Damn vague, they will have nothing to do - was said also, as he watched the group of poets who always spending the night in the cafe. He grabbed a newspaper the previous day and on the cover: Manny "The Hook" Robaina strikes again. Hijuelagranputa said at the same time he hit the table where I was. He stood from his seat and kept the newspaper folded in his jacket, paid for the coffee and hurried out of it. He walked to the corner bar at the entrance greeted a fat man ordered two gin and tonic and sat in the loneliest corner of the entire bar. His eyes came directly to the TV. Newsflash: as we all know the darker mass murderer who has seen this city, the Cuban, Manny "The Hook" Robaina has escaped from prison and has already started with their vile routine: kidnapping and butchering them all equally, regardless of race, color, sex or religion. We are informed that this time is more violent, repeat, this time is more violent, more violent. And in news just received, Manny The Hook Robaina, has left a message written in blood on the wall of the house of his last victim. The message says: "Salvador, here I am" According to the superintendent of police, the Savior referred Manny The Hook Robaina, is nothing more and nothing less than the retired detective, Salvador De Jesus. As you may remember, he was responsible for the capture of the very Cuban. Keep you informed. Salvador fired another cigarette, took two gin and tonic water and left the bar. He called a taxi, the mansion Cuban, fast, fast. Within 45 minutes they had arrived, got a block from the mansion. Keep the change. Salvador detective took out his old motherboard of your portfolio, look for a moment, the guard and walk to the mansion. Knocks on the door Goodnight Salvador, El Gancho awaits you at the library. Follow me please. And the butler leads. Manny "The Hook" Robaina, is there, to the right of the classics, and to the left of the vanguard. Behind him a giant photo of Madonna, at his desk, a bottle of gin. Sit dear Savior, and tonic as usual? Salvador looks straight into my eyes and nods. They take their drinks. is to have you come to Salvador, but it might not make it. Take this envelope, take it home and analyze what's inside. Think of it as it is may not make it, and you know it. If you decide to return, if not, I suggest you run away. Salvador for the seat, keep the envelope and leaves the Cuban Mansion. Salvador is the bohemian coffee requests one, without sugar and milk. Get the envelope from his jacket. See what's inside. Sigh. Light a cigarette. finishes his coffee. Go to the corner bar. Calls for a gin and tonic. The end. Call the taxi. A Cuban Mansion please.
Party
decisive gold medal in the World Baseball Tournament.
The visiting team faces the local computer.
We are in the ninth.
The marker gives visitors the lead after three races for two.
Premises at bat.
Bases loaded, two outs. Time is
Peco Mendoza. Peco
know the game is in your hands, you can not waste this opportunity. Peco
knows he can give that ball. Peco
knows that all its future glory will depend on the moment. Peco
Mendoza trust him.
All local team fans trust him. Peco
was the best hitter in the tournament.
A hit a career boost, maybe two. Peco
Mendoza takes his bat and heads to the batting cage.
The crowd chanted his name.
The public is dying of excitement.
Peco looks at the audience, smiles with them. Second release
Peco Ball 2 closes his eyes for a moment. Third release
Strike One
Peco fits the helmet. Fourth release
Ball 3
A smile draws you in the face of Peco. Launch Quinto
Peco gives the ball.
The ball goes up, looks set to be homerun.
The ball comes out the foul area.
Strike Two
A Peco will lower fat drops of sweat on his forehead.
nervous. Look
the public still trust him. Peco
closes his eyes, invokes his virgin.
Time stops. Peco looks
public.
He realizes that he and his holy virgin, are the only blacks there.
Open your eyes.
rerun time.
Sigh. Sixth release
Peco is dropping the bat crosses the floor.
Three Strike Out
Eduardo Galeano and his A Book of Embraces.
The bus number 68 of the Public Transportation System Big City, is one of the most effective throughout the country. His first trip always leaves at 6 am, his last at 10:00 pm. People of all classes is approached from a junkie in search of a cure, workers finished out of the building, students, housewives, and to senior officials. Everyone talked to everyone, of all possible topics.
I took the number 68 every day on his way to college. Y les confieso, al principio me incomodaban las felices tertulias que se allí se daban. Así que me adentraba en alguno de los muchos libros que cargaba para entonces. Pero las conversaciones cada vez se tornaban mas interesantes, así que muy a mi pesar me uní a ellos. Hablaban de política internacional, hablaban de ciencia, discutían Cien años de soledad, intentaban encontrar la cura del sida, comentaban el último chisme. Si alguno tenía algún problema, se le daban sugerencias, se le buscaba la solución. Y otras veces hablaban de religión. Nadie gritaba, todos hablaban en armonía, todos sonreían.
Galeano
guided the number 68. All trips he made them.
He had arrived from Montevideo and some 30 years ago with the intention of returning sometime. But the love he had taken to this new land was so great that he vowed not to ever leave. Galeano was white skin and blue eyes. The little hair that remained was once black was now ashen. He was short, chubby and needed a cane to walk. It was the most wonderful person you could ever know. She was an angel, some said. His eyes were full of peace, almost maternal love. Just looking at anyone is a smile in the mouth.
Galeano had gotten the job as a driver of the No. 68, by a friend who recommended it. By all accounts, this friend was going through a deep depression. He spent hours given to alcohol. But Galeano met and do not know how, was removed from the alcohol. Since then, their lives changed forever.
Unfortunately, this is not the story of Galeano. Nor is the history of the number 68 itself. It is the story of love that filled the bus. Although clear, Galeano and bus, this story could not tell.
We were all on the bus, this time there was talk of family love. Some spoke of their children, other parents and others simply wept at the memory of a family member. Galeano was one of those who wept. All silent to the cries of the angel. Cried the memory of their children for more than 20 years since I saw them. He told us his story, how his ex-wife snatched when they divorced. Now living in Montevideo or so they thought.
All Galenao comforted, we took the tears from the heart.
We passed the airport, Galeano we looked in the mirror. We began to applaud, to mourn with him. Galeano stopped the bus, walked to the back door saying goodbye to each one of us. Before lowering of the 68 said "See you soon friends, here I leave my heart" and walked away slowly.
is a nice sentence
the instant before,
is like a wear
a necessity rather than a desire ...
- Soda Stereo, American Blind
watches her walk, footsteps devours them one by one. I would like to have those legs wrapped in them. Her skirts sway to the beat of a tango, the intensity of his gaze. Want to remove, pull them a bit. He closes his eyes, stroking the penis above her pants and forms an image on head. Imagine what's under those skirts. Licks. It is the taste. And her blouse. So delicate, so it would find it impossible to not have it. He closes his eyes again, and it covers the torso with his tongue. He imagines it over her, making hers, making her. Moans of pleasure, hidden, without being heard. He wants, she goes crazy. Can not wait for it to grow. So from Monday to Friday, at three, pull up to school. He jerks imagining that girl of seven years riding in the car with him.
Astrid was a poet. When I read, seduced women and men. When reading the time stopped. When I read there was nothing, but she and her poetry. When I read, I was not looking, I wanted to focus on his poetry. After reading, I asked people who had thought his poetry, did not reply. It was then realized that people did not come to hear his poetry. They came to examine his mouth, his lips.
Kelvin decided to stop writing. The world does not deserve my poetry, "repeated endlessly. He went to a remote village in Africa, there may rest of ignorance and incompetence that surrounded him. Seven days I arrived, was crushed to death by the tread of an elephant. Kelvin never imagined that elephants were bigger than him.
usually walk barefoot through the neighborhood at noon. Xavier lives on the beach. Xavier thinks that the sand at midday is like fire. Xavier likes to feel his feet burning in the sand and flies, he says. Xavier thinks that poetry is fire ...
this is the third in a series of little stories I do on friends, colleagues or known. All are written in approximately 10 minutes, and all are written in the Multidisciplinary seminar José Emilio González of the UPR / Rio Piedras. Be made recognizable as JEG Series. All comments, actions or thoughts that have the characters listed here do not represent the true feelings of the person.
The Scream (1893) Edvard Munch When Reuben came to the shop where he purchased fresh and frozen all his life, he found path offer: When you buy two dollars or more on candy, we give you The Alchemist of Cohelo. Reuben ran away and vowed never to step on that horrible place.
checkmate Sergio shouted at full power, in the Kentucky Plaza las Americas. In one hand she held a hip chick, and the other, the laborer who had given him victory.
I have wanted to slit your throat
with what I write,
using the worst adjectives ...
Today
wanted to write a poem liquid
the
put the heat and simmer,
you start
anyone read it.
that in time
evaporate and condense.
That
clouds become,
huge
gigantic
as a hurricane.
And it rains, it rains
my poetry
that all wet.
have floods,
break my word
disrupt everything that has
front. That
become waves. That
become
a sea and a tsunami is formed from it.
to end all.
That kills everyone.
Or, and this
hope will not happen.
That when
have contact
with cold (you cold),
freeze
FOREVER.
By Dr. Hannibal Lecter.
it's passion,
lies in tasting the inside.
A pit from east to west
in thy womb,
may not be
of
all convincing.
A tear
from south to north
your chest
may not be
not pleasant.
But if we
the two, at once, perpendicular
can then be
we're satisfied.
Some people swear
lies in the court;
that there is nothing more beautiful than
in tear.
But habemos others.
Doctor,
habemos others
think that cutting
is only the beginning.
Last Sunday may well have been a normal Sunday, but it was not. I would not say it was strange, it was rather different. Gilberto did not want to start going to church, he vowed never again set foot in that place. Carla, his wife, surprised by the decision of her husband said.
- God will not have done anything.
- Noej He - he answered.
Carla, confused or perhaps annoying, do not know, took his young son by one arm and left. Gilberto was left alone at home.
did none of the tasks that were pending on Sunday, or for that Sunday, or cut the grass, and bathed the dog, let alone fixed the faucet. He did nothing. Spent the whole morning in his underwear, lying in bed, alternating between the Food Chanel, the Cartoon Network, and a movie which repeated for the umpteenth time for local television. I was hot, had all the home fans turned on, all over it.
At about 10 o'clock in the morning she was hungry, or describe what as "a satanic hunger" , but declined to go cook something better waiting for his wife back. Hours passed, Carla did not come.
- Damn, that Mass ends at noon, there will be hell metio Aonda Carla. - Gilberto said sulky, walking to the kitchen, going to heat some Chef Boyardee, but he could not bear hunger.
ate and ate like a savage each of the balls, torn with his tusks, crushing it with his teeth, then, swallowing. Pasta, sucked one by one, leaving them without skin, without sauce, as if they are raw, in this case pulp alive. Over, his mouth smeared in orange that looked like a vampire just finished dinner. He walked slowly to the sink and washed his mouth.
went to his bed, lit TV, wrestling. Hours passed and did not notice, her hair very tip to remember it was supposed that his wife had come home. Fighting ended, looked at the clock,
- Aonda will have got it, look what time it is.
decided to call the phone, but it happened so many times it happens to us men, not knowing the number of cellular memory of his wife. Lamenting sought phone book, but neither he looked at his cell phone, but it was, he never called her there. A little stunned and sat in a bad mood in bed, fell asleep so much concern.
not know how many hours went by, when Gilbert woke up. His wife has not arrived, he was drenched in sweat. Stood on the bed, got into the shower and took a cold bath. Heard the electric gate that opened. Carla arrived, that thought. He ran to meet her in a towel.
-Carla, mi amol, "Aonda been?
-At home mom.
- Pol do not call me?
- No, I was upset.
- pol I was very worried you.
- (sigh) Gilberto, I owe you an apology for this morning.
She loved him or at least I thought at his age do not have much experience in matters of love. He also loved her, but their way, or at least that was what it implied. Their relationship was a secret, it was assumed that the pastor's daughter have a boyfriend, much less that it was older. He was 25 and she 16, she appeared in more and much less. They met by chance on the Internet, she was at My Space, had it on Facebook and both were in the Messenger. How beautiful it is when two people are connected to many hundreds of thousands of millions of profiles.
She was so in love, until there were nights that he forgot to pray. The poor was so crazy, so crazy about him. And so began the lies to his parents, invented trip to Juanita's house, collective prayers Carmencita house, trips to the cinema with Laura and vigils against the new code of civil order to be able to see everything, to have him in her arms. So were about 5 months, wrapped in the delicious aroma of love. She
so excited, so happy, I wanted to tell everyone what love was, but this was impossible, in view of all the pastor's daughter was untouchable, was a porcelain doll locked in an intercourse of glass. She hated to think whether it.
But one night while praying began to feel different, I felt something moving inside her. Was she pregnant or was gas?
Months went by and her belly was growing bit by bit, nobody noticed, or shepherd, neither her mother nor her beloved boyfriend, only her and God. She was plump therefore not noticeable. But one day when he allegedly went to school, she met him. Full of courage told him about her pregnancy. He answered, go fuck pal.
Since then, his life turns gray, I was alone, only her and God. I could not say anything to her parents, would die of shame and pain. So I had to fight this battle alone.
nine months passed and nobody noticed, the pastor's daughter was the same as always fat princess in the eyes of all. But she knew what to do, God revealed, she listened. How can anyone knowing of her pregnancy? With God's help everything is possible. Now she had to follow the divine plan that God had drawn. She delivered
alone in her room, a Sunday mass. Was the computer on and off light. There was nobody in the house. That Sunday was alone, dis that studying for an examination of pre-algebra postmodernist. That Sunday I cried a lot, that Sunday swear much at the man I love. Bid, bid a lot, cried, cried, cried harder, she asked God forces and pushed back ... you can hear the cries of the baby, heard the birds singing, the wind was heard knocking on the window and even voice heard of God himself laughing out loud. And those laughs were becoming stronger, and the cry of a newborn is intensified, and the laughter continued, more and more, and tears .... Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr, you hear a blender, absolute silence, the peacefulness of it. (Sigh)
Now you should try this little game
Just close your eyes forget your name
Forget the world, forget the people
And we'll erect a different steeple.
This little game is fun to do.
Just close your eyes, no way to lose.
And I'm right there, I'm going too.
Release control, we're breaking through.
