Gare d'Austerlitz

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Nine Stories

We know the sound of two hands clapping. But what is the sound of one hand clapping? A Zen Koan.

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Blood Meridian (extract)

The captain leaned back and folded his arms. What we are dealing with, he said, is a race of degenerates. A mongrel race, little better than niggers. And maybe no better. There is no government in Mexico. Hell, there's no God in Mexico. Never will be. We are dealing with people manifestly incapable of governing themselves. And do you know what happens with people who cannot govern themselves? That's right. Others come in to govern for them.

Captain White. Cormac McCarthy.

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The Virgin Suicides (extract)

Basically what we have here is a dreamer. Somebody out of touch with reality. When she jumped, she probably thought she'd fly.

Jeffrey Eugenides.

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A crack up at the race riots (extract 01)

My best friend Jordan used to put up stickers in phone boxes for prostitutes, as well as being a bike courier. He married my first love from high school but she died of cancer a little bit after they had their first child, a short brat with knotted hair. Harmony Korine.

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Post Office (extract 02)

After dinner or lunch or whatever it was with my crazy 12 hour night, I was no longer sure what was what. I said, Look baby, I’m sorry, but don’t you realize that this job is driving me crazy? Look, let’s give it up. Let’s just lay around and make love and take walks and talk a little. Let’s go to the zoo. Let’s look at animals. Let’s drive down and look at the ocean. It’s only 45 minutes. Let’s play games in the arcades. Let’s go to the races, the Art Museum, the boxing matches. Let’s have friends. Let’s laugh. This kind of life is like everybody else’s kind of life: it’s killing us. No Hank, we’ve got to show them, we’ve go to show them... It was the little small town Texas girl speaking. I gave it up. Charles Bukowski.

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Child Of God (extract 01)

I remember one thing he done one time. I was raised with him over in the tenth. I was ahead of him in school. He lost a softball down off the road that rolled down into this field about... it was way off down in a bunch of briers and stuff and he told this boy, this Finney boy, told him to go and get it. Finney boy was some bit younger’n him. Told him, said: Go get that softball. Finney boy wouldn’t do it. Lester walked up to him and said: You better go get that ball. Finney boy said he wasn’t about to do it and Lester told him one more time, said: You don’t get off down in there and get me that ball I’m going to bust you in the mouth. That Finney boy was scared but he faced up to him, told him he hadn’t thowed it off down in there. Well, we was standing there, the way you will. Ballard could of let it go. He seen the boy wasn’t goin to do what he ast him. He just stood there a minute and then he punched him in the face. Blood flew out of the Finney boy’s nose and he set down in the road. Just for a minute and then he got up. Somebody give him a kerchief and he put it to his nose. It was all swoll up and bleedin. The Finney boy just looked at Lester Ballard and went on up the road. I felt, I felt... I don’t know what it was. We just felt real bad. I never liked Lester Ballard from that day. I never liked him much before that. He never done nothin to me.

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Post Office (extract 01)

I walked back to my chair, finished my drink, had another. It’s over, she said. I’m not sleeping with you another night. All right. Keep your pussy. It’s not that great. Do you want to keep the house or do you want to move out? She asked. You keep the house. How about the dog? You keep the dog, I said. He is going to miss you. I’m glad somebody is going to miss me. I got up, walked to the car and I rented the first place saw with a sign. I moved in that night. I had just lost 3 women and a dog. Charles Bukowski

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The Color of Time

I slip up on her, hook her narrow neck, haul her to me, hold her for a moment, let her go. Maybe the right words were there all along. Complicity. Wonder. How pure we were then. Before Rimbaud, before Blake. Grace, love. Take care of us. Take care of us. Please.

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Moby Dick

There was a day, many days there was no Moby Dick and then all of the sudden, puff, it existed. And then it’ll exist forever. Everything needs to be made, and it needs to be made by someone.

- Maladies.

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Y ahora subo las escaleras, salgo a la terraza y siento el aire seco de la madrugada. Que limpia mi cara del entresueño producido por el alcohol y la hora tardía. Un murciélago zigzagea por encima de la cabeza de mis amigos, como si los inspeccionase inquieto desde lo alto. Y vuelve a desaparecer, entre las sombras. Es de noche en Madrid, y en mi terraza estamos bebidos. En ese momento que tanto me gusta, en que la gente discute sin mucho tino. En el que todos están más alegres o más tristes de lo que se permiten a diario. Sin llegar a ser violentos ni romper a llorar, ni a cantar. La invención del amor. José Ovejero

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 “Todos los imbéciles de la burguesía que pronuncian las palabras inmoralidad, moralidad en el arte y demás tonterías me recuerdan a Louise Villedieu, una puta de a cinco francos, que una vez me acompañó al Louvre donde ella nunca había estado y empezó a sonrojarse y a taparse la cara. Tirándome a cada momento de la manga, me preguntaba ante las esculturas y cuadros inmortales cómo podían exhibirse públicamente semejantes indecencias.”

Charles Baudelaire.

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Considero que el responsable de mi fracaso matrimonial, ha sido el dependiente de la tienda de muebles. Porque no nos avisó de nada.

La primera vez que entramos allí nos vió discutir largamente sobre si eran más adecuadas dos camas gemelas o una grande para nuestro dormitorio. Y el tipo, ni siquiera opinó.

Tampoco nos ayudó a decidir entre el sillón de masage que me gustaba a mi, y el diván francés que quería ella.

Tiempo después, el dichoso dependiente, ni pestañeó al pedirme el recibo de la cuna que yo trataba de devolver. Espero no tener que hacer un recado parecido jamás.

Ahora no puedo dormir.

Sigo pensando en la mesita de noche que ha elegido mi mujer para darle un aire nuevo a nuestro cuarto. Se ha empeñado en adquirir el único modelo que tenía cerradura en los cajones.

A él, al vendedor, le ha parecido muy buena idea.

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You look so weird and you're so far from home But you don't really miss your mother Don't look so scared I'm no mad-brained bear But it's no hanging matter It's no capital crime Oh, yeah Woo! The Rolling Stones.

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¿Eres una mujer plena? De las repuestas con opción múltiple, Luisa eligió de la uno, la "b". Prefiero estar despierta a estar dormida o soñando.

De la cuatro la "c". Valora el tiempo más que al poder o al dinero. De la siete la "a". Piensa en el ahora más que en el ayer o el mañana.

Acumuló dieciséis puntos. La revista la calificó como una mujer que vive temerosa de reclamar su libertad. Luisa no estuvo de acuerdo.

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Si no me amas, te mataré. Si no me amas, haré que me ames. Si no me amas, esperaré que me ames. Si no me amas, yo te amaré.

Alejandro Jodorowsky.

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El único pecado imperdonable, es no vivir, entregarse a una muerte anticipada, mientras la sangre corre todavía por tus venas, porque vivir no es sólo estar en la vida, vivir es participar en la fiesta, actuar, ser protagonista, elegir un papel e interpretarlo con autenticidad y convencimiento, vivir es ser y conocer, saber por propia experiencia que es el amor, a qué saben los besos, qué se siente cuando se llega al éxtasis, a la cumbre del placer, qué se pierde cuando un amor se olvida, vivir es saber por propia experiencia, que es la pasión, y que se siente cuando nos atrapa, que se siente cuando un amigo nos pone la mano el el hombro, cuando llega el momento de una despedida, cuando tropezamos y tenemos que levantarnos y volver a la lucha, vivir es estar vivo y parecerlo, saltar cada mañana de la cama como si todo fuera nuevo, como si fuera el primer día, aprovechar cada momento como si fuera el último, porque el instante que se va no vuelve, no dejes que nadie te niegue tu derecho a vivir, mientras el cuerpo aguante; exprime la vida!

Jesús Quintero.

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Hay días que parecen bodegones cubistas: todo tiene joroba o se parte en mitades desiguales, todo está lleno de ángulos, todo cae revuelto como torre de naipes derrumbándose, o revuelto se escapa como mazo de globos dispersándose, todo es en blanco y negro, en ocre y gris, todo es plano, replano, todo se despedaza-

Y sin embargo, en su conjunto algo liga los elementos, los interrelaciona, el desconcierto cobra un sentido nuevo y el efecto final acaba siendo armónico-

aunque sólo se ve, apagada la luz, desde la cama. Jesús Munárriz.