17 de abril de 2012
Crosses
Don't you know that I'll be around to guide you
Through your weakest moments to leave them behind you
Returning nightmares only shadows
We'll cast some light and you'll be alright for now
Crosses all over, heavy on your shoulders
The sirens inside you waiting to step forward
Disturbing silence darkens your sight
We'll cast some light and you'll be alright for now
Crosses all over the boulevard
The streets outside your window overflooded
People staring they know you've been broken
Repeatedly reminded by the looks on their faces
Ignore them tonight and you'll be alright
We'll cast some light and you'll be alright
.
16 de abril de 2012
12 de abril de 2012
1 de abril de 2012
16 de marzo de 2012
The beast
The morning I saw your face again,
I was made into a beast.
Am I free now, am I at peace?
Is that the ground below me, or your feet?
I was made into a beast.
Am I free now, am I at peace?
Is that the ground below me, or your feet?
.
14 de noviembre de 2011
22 de mayo de 2011
4 de mayo de 2011
28 de abril de 2011
26 de abril de 2011
8 de abril de 2011
C/Lorenzo San Nicolás
Eres una persona normal, con tendencia a respetar a tus vecinos y rechazar la violencia.
Vas andando por Vitalaza, giras a la izquierda, luego a la derecha y BAM!
Entras en la dimensión locura, C/Lorenzo San Nicolás.
Continúas caminando por esa dimensión y te encuentras a un coche a las 05:30 de la madrugada tocando el claxon durante 15 minutos intermitentemente.
Lo saludas por la ventanilla y sigues tu camino.
A diez metros te encuentras en el segundo piso de uno de los portales a una pareja peleándose, tirando platos y gritando. Esto debe ser el cielo.
Son las 18:00 hs de la tarde.
Sigues caminando, son las 02:00 de la madrugada y una discoteca improvisada te atrapa. La música al máximo, gente gritando y cantando por encima de la música. La fiesta durará al menos dos horas más.
Ya vas llegando al final, cuando desde el cuarto piso un hombre con voz de habérselo fumado todo en esta vida no para de cantar/gritar con la palabra puta en cada frase.
Te imaginas cogiendo una metralleta y, en nombre del silencio, acabar con todos.
Sin remodimientos. La tortura se ha cruzado por tu mente, pero no te ves capaz.
Sigues andando y BAM! Sales de la dimensión locura.
Te preguntas, horrorizada, qué estabas pensando.
5 de abril de 2011
José González & The Göteborg String Theory
Una preciosidad de concierto.
Hice lo que pude con mi móvil, pero acabo de encontrar alguna joyita en youtube.
Aquí
Enjoy
28 de marzo de 2011
His name was Perry
He had a learning difficulty
His father was a very mean man
His father burned his skin
His father sent him to his death
He was ten years old
He was ten years old
He was ten years old
Her name was Naomi
Beautiful round face, so ashamed
Told me how to please a man
After school in the back of a bus
She was doing it every day
She was eleven years old
She was eleven years old
She was eleven years old
Her name was Sheryl
Black hair, like an electric space
She would pretty paint my face
She was a very good friend
Her father would come to her in the night
She was twelve years old
She was twelve years old
She was twelve years old
His name was Donovan
He was a very good friend
The cards were stacked against him
He was selling cocaine
The last time I saw him
He was thirteen years old
He was thirteen years old
He was thirteen years old
His name was Charles
He said he was in love with me
We were both fourteen
Then I had to move away
Then he began to smoke crack
Then he had to sell ass
I don't know where he is
I don't know where they are
He had a learning difficulty
His father was a very mean man
His father burned his skin
His father sent him to his death
He was ten years old
He was ten years old
He was ten years old
Her name was Naomi
Beautiful round face, so ashamed
Told me how to please a man
After school in the back of a bus
She was doing it every day
She was eleven years old
She was eleven years old
She was eleven years old
Her name was Sheryl
Black hair, like an electric space
She would pretty paint my face
She was a very good friend
Her father would come to her in the night
She was twelve years old
She was twelve years old
She was twelve years old
His name was Donovan
He was a very good friend
The cards were stacked against him
He was selling cocaine
The last time I saw him
He was thirteen years old
He was thirteen years old
He was thirteen years old
His name was Charles
He said he was in love with me
We were both fourteen
Then I had to move away
Then he began to smoke crack
Then he had to sell ass
I don't know where he is
I don't know where they are
La pausa en la historia de Sheryl corta el aliento. Pequeños detalles que la hacen grande.
Cat power o voces de las que no me canso.
names
19 de marzo de 2011
Fui de la clase de hombres que ríen por no llorar,
que pasan de puntillas
y acaban tropezando
de los que callan y fuman
hasta el final
de los que atropellan gestos
y no preguntan para no perder
de los que mano en pecho,
vuelven a prometer la misma mierda
nudo mediante y mirada al suelo
7 de marzo de 2011
22 de febrero de 2011
9 de febrero de 2011
26 de enero de 2011
14 de enero de 2011
5 de enero de 2011
Esta regresión no es sana
Las autoridades municipales de Beebe (Arkansas) investigan la muerte de más de mil turpiales de ala roja (Agelaius phoeniceus) que han caído del cielo en esa localidad desde la noche del viernes.
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