Erik R.

Pinto imágenes con letras.

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Hay industrias enteras viviendo de que las mujeres sientan que están perdiendo valor minuto a minuto.

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Ellas se miran al espejo con mucha más frecuencia que ellos.

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Tesis sobre mis textos

He desarrollado un estilo de escritura muy numérico y casi métrico. No es cuadrado pero tiene bordes filosos. Bordes que intento suavizar todos los días, aunque sea un poco. Por supuesto que no es sencillo. Esa rigidez viene de una identidad heredada parecida a una roca. Una identidad que aprendió a explicar antes que sentir. Sigo descifrando cómo compartir el lado blando de mi lápiz. Y de ahí salió mi escritura. Un intento de prosa muy mecánica y metódica, parecido a mis palabras. Las palabras de un ingeniero. Un ingeniero que le juega al filósofo, un pensador que le juega al artista y un pianista que le juega al matemático. Algo chistoso es el comparativo que hago entre estas identidades que he adoptado con el tiempo, pues no son hijas de la misma madre y mucho menos se parecen, pero sin problema todas pueden caber en una misma persona.

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- Erik R.

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"Ella finge que no estoy ahí..."

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- Erik R.

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Tengo ganas de decepcionar a alguien.

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Ella no es para mí

Hoy no la vi cansada. Se veía firme. Volteé y vi su perfil. Todo en él se veía en su lugar. Ella miraba a lo lejos. Se acercó varias veces, o eso sentí. Se paraba junto a mí, caminaba frente a mí, aparecía otra vez cerca, y lo mejor que pude hacer fue mirar hacia enfrente. “Ella no es para mí” - Fue lo que me repetí en el camino de regreso.

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Torpe

La vi pasar y se veía cansada. Me dio curiosidad y le hablé. Pude decirle un simple “¿Cómo estás?”, pero se me salió algo más seco. “¿Qué traes?” - Solté, llevándome la mano a la frente. Ese día, era yo quien intentaba hablar con ella, pero me sentí más torpe de lo normal.

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“Why are you doing this?” random dialogue

Adam knocks the door at Coleen's.

Coleen opens the door.

Adam: (suplicates) Hey, I've been calling you. Please, talk to me!

Coleen stares at the opened gate. No sounds are emmited from her mouth.

Adam gets into her place one step at a time.

Adam: Why are you doing this? Is there any...

Adam shuts when he notices a man getting out from Coleen's bedroom over the window trying not to be discovered. Adam frowns slowly.

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– Everyday I consume around 50GB of information represented on stupid memes, Twitter multitopic "experts", video tutorials and all kind of politics bullshit from all over the world, and you know what?... At this point I know a SHIT how to use that to make money! – Adam replicated. – dude, could you lend me 5 bucks? –

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"I'm not leaving" dialogue - The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014)

M. Gustave waits for Madame D. to sit, then joins her;

at which point, she immediately leans across to him and says in a gravely serious, urgent whisper -

MADAME D: I’m not leaving.

M. GUSTAVE: (puzzled) Why not?

MADAME D: I’m frightened.

M. GUSTAVE: Of what?

MADAME D: I feel this may be the last time we ever see each other.

M. GUSTAVE: Why on earth would that be the case?

MADAME D: I can’t put it into words -- but I feel it.

M. GUSTAVE: Well, for goodness’ sake, there’s no

reason for you to leave us if -

MADAME D: Is there a priest in the hotel?

M. GUSTAVE: Of course, not.

MADAME D: There should be. I’ve always said so.

M. GUSTAVE: Well, I’ve always profoundly disagreed. The Grand Budapest is no place for clergy.

MADAME D: Come with me.

M. Gustave hesitates slightly. He gestures to the

tickets and speculates in disbelief -

M. GUSTAVE: To Lutz?

MADAME D: (desperately) Please.

M. GUSTAVE: (wildly frustrated) How can I? With this enormous rock-pile around my neck like an albatross.

(taking charge)

Tell me right now -- wholly, specifically, and without abbreviation - what’s troubling you?

(surprised)

Are you weeping?

Tears have begun to stream down Madame D’s cheeks. M.

Gustave produces a dazzling pink handkerchief and dries

her eyes. The old woman takes a deep breath.

MADAME D: Let us pray.

Madame D. closes her eyes, lowers her chin, and crosses

herself. M. Gustave reluctantly follows suit. Silence.

Madame D. snaps one eye back open suddenly -

MADAME D: Well?

M. GUSTAVE: (surpirsed) You want me to do it?

MADAME D: (with authority) If you don’t mind.

M. GUSTAVE: (instantly) Dear heavenly Father, please, protect our cherished guest as she travels through snow and sleet and under shadow of darkness. Guide her in the night to her final destination. Indeed, whatever luxury she may require, be it small or more extravagant, please, do grant --

MADAME D: That’s not a proper prayer.

M. GUSTAVE: Give me your hand.

Madame D. does so. M. Gustave firmly clasps it. He says

in an affectionate, reassuring, patronizing voice -

M. GUSTAVE: You’ve nothing to fear. You’re always anxious before you travel. I admit you appear to be suffering a more acute attack on this occasion, but, truly and honestly --

(suddenly taken aback)

Dear God. What’ve you done to your fingernails?

Madame D. wears an understated, pale-pink polish. She

stiffens.

MADAME D: I beg your pardon?

M. GUSTAVE: This diabolical varnish. The color’s completely wrong.

MADAME D: (slightly uncertain) Really? You don’t like it?

M. GUSTAVE: It’s not that I don’t like it. I’m physically repulsed.

(checks his watch again)

Time to go!

[thefatdarling-deactivated201902]

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"Like a Virgin"

Mr. Brown: Let me tell you what 'Like a Virgin' is about. It's all about a girl who digs a guy with a big dick. The entire song. It's a metaphor for big dicks.

Mr. Blonde: No, no. It's about a girl who is very vulnerable. She's been fucked over a few times. Then she meets some guy who's really sensitive...

Mr. Brown: Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa... Time out Greenbay. Tell that fucking bullshit to the tourists.

Joe: Toby... Who the fuck is Toby? Toby...

Mr. Brown: 'Like a Virgin' is not about this sensitive girl who meets a nice fella. That's what "True Blue" is about, now, granted, no argument about that.

Mr. Orange: Which one is 'True Blue'?

Nice Guy Eddie: 'True Blue' was a big ass hit for Madonna. I don't even follow this Tops In Pops shit, and I've at least heard of "True Blue".

Mr. Orange: Look, asshole, I didn't say I ain't heard of it. All I asked was how does it go? Excuse me for not being the world's biggest Madonna fan.

Mr. Blonde: Personally, I can do without her.

Mr. Blue: I like her early stuff. You know, 'Lucky Star', 'Borderline' - but once she got into her 'Papa Don't Preach' phase, I don't know, I tuned out.

Mr. Brown: Hey, you guys are making me lose my... train of thought here. I was saying something, what was it?

Joe: Oh, Toby was this Chinese girl, what was her last name?

Mr. White: What's that?

Joe: I found this old address book in a jacket I ain't worn in a coon's age. What was that name?

Mr. Brown: What the fuck was I talking about?

Mr. Pink: You said 'True Blue' was about a nice girl, a sensitive girl who meets a nice guy, and that 'Like a Virgin' was a metaphor for big dicks.

Mr. Brown: Lemme tell you what 'Like a Virgin' is about. It's all about this cooze who's a regular fuck machine, I'm talking morning, day, night, afternoon, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick.

Mr. Blue: How many dicks is that?

Mr. White: A lot.

Mr. Brown: Then one day she meets this John Holmes motherfucker and it's like, whoa baby, I mean this cat is like Charles Bronson in the 'Great Escape', he's digging tunnels. Now, she's gettin' the serious dick action and she's feeling something she ain't felt since forever. Pain. Pain.

Joe: Chew? Toby Chew?

Mr. Brown: It hurts her. It shouldn't hurt her, you know, her pussy should be Bubble Yum by now, but when this cat fucks her it hurts. It hurts just like it did the first time. You see the pain is reminding a fuck machine what it once was like to be a virgin. Hence, 'Like a Virgin'.