inBEsomDnio

...ai jiar de sicrets da llukip güen llutokinllueslip... 

eh, tútútú, sshh... qué cantas... tan temprano? 

quéhoré? bah, cancioncita al insomnio... populachera... en versiones de niñatos de hoy, modernos y trágicos... que ni saben bailar. 

qué jodienda... no dormiste bien, otra vez? 

nunca duermo, ni bien ni mal. y sabes... "ya casi es hora de que empiece a dedicarte mi insomnio," como diría Benedetti... 

el del sur? corazón coraza? a quién dijo eso? 

asumusa hizo sumisiva sumiso... daun tu de saun ov ei jarbit...

ay, tútútú, que es muy temprano... acento uruguayo y todo... 

pos sí, llollollo. tá, "...porque la noche está de ojos abiertos... porque has venido a recoger tu imagen... y eres mejor que todas tus imágenes..." 

ay, tútútú, qué torturaaaa... y desde cuándo te gusta Benedetti? 

no, no me gusta... es que uno lee esas cosas lamiendo chupa-chups y se quedan, haciendo fila en la memoria como opaca fe de erratas... polvito de lo rebelde romántico sesentero, que tanto daño ha hecho... y lo que siguió... open llur jart an de truz cams aut...

pliis, no cantes más... 

no te gusta de mi voz su cadencia musical? 
oye? 
oye? bah... duérmete... si total... 
llu tel mi da llu lovmi an ai jiarit in da nait... güen llutokinllueslip... 

aPelo

ALL 

HEALING

 IS 

ESSENTIALLY 

A 

RELEASE 

FROM 

FEAR
;
however
...
a 
quincunx
...

says my hoRRoscope, quincunXándomela

EclipsE

 a mi padre le encantaba esta canción interpretada por Vallejo, su cantante preferido y hoy que como siempre tanta falta me hace, se la dedico... una hermosa composición de la prima lejana del gran Ernesto, Margarita Lecuona, autora también de "Tabú", "Por eso no debes", "Babalú"... entre otros clásicos cubanos... en el primer video la misma Margarita interpreta Eclipse... y en el artículo del enlace, una excelente recopilación de su contribución musical a Cuba, la Fermosa

ssHH

Let me remind you fuckers who I am @medium

What the fuck is your problem, America?? 

I’m Hillary goddamn Clinton. I’m a political prodigy, have been since I was 16. I have an insane network of powerful friends. I’m willing to spend the next eight years catching shit on all sides, all so I can fix this fucking country for you. 
And all you little bitches need to do is get off your asses one goddamn day in November. 

“Oh but what about your eeeemaaaaillls???” Shut the fuck up. Seriously, shut the fuck up and listen for one fucking second...

lecUOna

nightReading

BadChildrenBooks @uFunK
gotta have some good ol' night reading for insomnia in these f*kup times...

Lhasa

 hermosa canción de Lhasa, con fondo cubano...esa Cuba harapienta y hecha mierda que a tantos atrae... miseria linda, dicen nostálgicos a medida que se montan en el avión... ay, que no cambie... no, no les duele esa isla de mierda, la Fermosa

theDarkSide

well, it's done... when-pigs-fly is here.

what we-the-people with a somewhat educated mind thought could never happen in the U S of A... yeah, 'Merica, for you folks below the Dixie... belt, plumber-crack, line... whatever. But don't you ever say never, not here, for lookit-lookit, 'tis the middle of a darn hot July--with four loooong months until November--and we are stuck in this circus of inept loud clowns and stupid masses suddenly noticing that the orange elephant in the room is shitting red turds all over us.

Hell yeah, I am truly disappointed, can you tell? I thought those crazy-ass Repus were going to have fun and coup-coop the combover rooster, a la Turkey, rumbling dirty in Cleveland to nominate anyone else, who cared whom. But this? this cowardly laying down and go ahead, quick, insert-the-anal-Trump, deep? Nope, not ready, not I. 

Oh, and the nation's press, the so-called heroes of freedom of... aha, liberal/conservative/wacko unethical merchants of the virtual dictionaries, all of them should be shamed down to their sweaty balls about this mess that they helped create. Today, a massive cloud of gassy flagellation of mea-culpas should be on every front page, asking for forgiveness from we-the-people instead of continuing with the loud headlines about the vinyl-coated plagiaristic, gaudy, lying, teethy family... one step away from being a Real nightmare... for US all. Yes, I want accountability, please, for the haha joke is over and the joker is one election away from becoming the Chief... the fool on the hill, governing us, and of course, the world. This sick world in revolt, tired, worn, beat... oh yeah, this world... that hates the US of A, butOFcourse, and with more reason, now.

But let's be positive. I want to be intelligent about it; however,    SIGUE / CONTINUES

mondaYstatUS

 ...submerge; dry later

photographer unknown, found in web

WriteORsendCaSSeTTE

From the 1985 personals of the On Our Backs magazine
  as seen on instagram @h_e_r_s_t_o_r_y

(more ads under tag #onourbackspersonalads)

I must confess that I was not into the OOB mag when it first came out, a zillion years ago. Just never been into so-called "visual explicit erotica." I prefer the natural narrative that literary sex unveils by way of expectation. But in RETROspect, OOB now seems pretty bombastically funny, and the other day, when I saw this clip of an ad from the personal pages of that raunchy lesbopublication from the 80s... I laughed, a lot. Esto no tiene desperdicio, alabadus. It is a must share, I said. So I did. 

I sent it via text to my friend, el americano, and he had a virtual laughing fit: LOLx100 appeared on the screen. Then he texted back: "If you won't answer her, I will... with detailed line drawings of various of your toys, or better yet, I'll send her that old ad you once placed in the WCT, remember?" Well, not really but... zap, it all came back... I was a fast moving target then with a PO Box (that is what they were good for, illicit sex messages and dirty magazines), so out of a dare I placed such ad in Chicago in early 1990, I think, right after returning from NYC via a few long months in Miami, where I had also practiced my ad writing skills, having already posted a couple of ads in some Miami rag of the era. Ah, the murky memories...  SIGUE

Nice

Jacques-Henri Lartigue: "Promenade des Anglais, Nice" (1925)

florDEausencia

no sé por qué, o tal vez sí... pero me ha dado por recoger viejas, y a veces viejos, en las paradas de autobús, o si los veo caminando lentos con bolsas detengo el coche y les hago gestos para que se monten. me miran de reojo desconfiados. algunas se niegan, temerosas. otras sonríen agradecidas, arrugas y ojitos débiles, dientes opacos y pelo recogido, me regalan un suspiro... ohDEARlord! las miro y devuelvo la sonrisa, abierta pero huidiza. y por qué hago esto, a ver. y por qué no. las viejas, como los perros, me huelen salvavidas sin serlo, yo insignificante heroína de ajenas catástrofes nuevas. torpe chófer de la indignidad de la viejitud, el horror de  no poder correr, volar, liberarse de tal peso...  SIGUE

seeTHingTensionsFORthEmotionalVoyeur

Detente, tú. No te acerques. túYtúYtú. Evalúa la distancia cabal, tú. No me mires más, tú. Que tantos ojos me desgastan. 

Bah. ¿Cuántos? 

Cuatro. Ocho. Cinco. Gatas tuertas con gafas de sol. A diario se deslizan. Sin maullar. Viejas. Cuelgan de las lámparas. A media luz. Ronronean y se quiebra el silencio, a intervalos.

Artríticas y cegatas gatas dolientes.  ¿Me puedo reír, de ti?

Siempre lo has hecho. No me importa. Mira, cómo me miran.  

Bah. Y qué quieren.

Nada. Me observan cruda y vieja. Les gusta el enjambre sinuoso de estos ojos al despertar y verlas. El respingo, la sorpresa. Ver cómo me deterioro. Las capas que caen, todo lo roto añicos en el piso.

Qué gatas de mierda. Y tú, para qué te exhibes, tú tan de cristal trasparente. Tú y tus ojos caídos, prohibidos al sueño. Tú tan preocupada por nada. Ven.

Necesito luz. Voy. Abrázame, yo. Que no me vean.

Bah, si no saben verte. Nunca supieron. Eres inmensa para tan poca vista. Tútútú...         SIGUE

kunfú

 

Kung Fu Motion Visualization from Tobias Gremmler on Vimeo

talkin'LoudANDsayin'Nothin'

 

Like a dull knife just ain't cuttin' We're just talkin' a lot and sayin' nothing Just sayin' nothing, just sayin' nothing You can't tell me how to run my life down You can't tell me how to keep my business sound You can't tell me what I'm doin' wrong When you keep jivin' and keep on singin' that same old funny song You can't tell me which way to go 'Cause I'm three times seven and then some more You can't tell me, hey 

Like a dull knife that just ain't cuttin' We're just talkin' a lot and sayin' nothing Just sayin' nothing, what, sayin' nothing Don't tell me how to do my thing When you can't, can't do your own Don't tell me how to feed my boy When, when you know I'm grown You can't use me like a woman when she throw away her dress And you can't tell me how to use my mess You're like a dull old knife that just ain't cuttin' You're just talkin' a lot and sayin' nothing Just sayin' nothing, and sayin' nothing 

Shape up your bag, don't worry about mine My thing is together and doin' fine Good luck to you, just allow that I'm wrong Just keep on singin' that same old funny song Then just keep singin' that same old funny song... 

I got ya, I want ya, I musta, I gotta Isn't anxious and dust to dust I musta, I keep on a, I'm feeling a I need ya, I say I will The point is too darn clear I said I need ya, you're only, you're only I said, you're only, you're only, you're only 

You can't tell me how to run my life down And you can't tell me how to keep my business sound And you can't tell me what I'm doing wrong When you keep dialing and sing that same old funny song Like a dull knife that just can't cut Just talkin' a lot and sayin' nothing Just sayin' nothing, just sayin' nothing...