Резултати претраге страна 13

The foreign debt

For lacking of pecuniary resources,
the foreign debt in Uruguay
will be paid, because there's no other option,
with the cultural heritage
 
Uruguay will pay with ,
with , with Brazilian yerba mate,
with and the one who flee,
with shippings of young blood.
 
Uruguay will pay with Agua Jane,1
with ,
and the 1815 Land Regulation, with Lena3
and with the Jugolín jingle.4
 
Uruguay will pay with the great doubt
of how was a real ,
with and the sack man,
with Jorge Curi5, with .
 
Uruguay will pay with the foreign debt
with the 'tá, with the vo and the 'tas ahí,6
and they will give it, as a receipt,
a pool table and Lee jeans.
 
Uruguay will pay with Super 8, with ,
with the CASMU7 and with ,
just like Argentina pays it with ,
with ,
with ,
with ,
.
 
Uruguay will pay with its folklore,
with the ,
and they will give it, as a receipt,
a rock and roll and Frank Pourcel LP.
 
Uruguay will pay with the foreign debt
that one day two or three people took on,
and four or five renew it daily
with documents written in english.
 
Uruguay will pay with ,
,
Pareja9,
.
 
Uruguay will pay with democracy,
with freedom of thought and speech,
and they will give it, as a receipt,
more misery, more hunger and repression.
 
Uruguay will pay with ,
with ,
,
and with Lysate Heart11.
 
Uruguay will pay with the foreign debt
with a briber, with four potato chips,
with an evil revision of the ,
with a Florencio award12 to the IMF.
 
It will pay, it will pay, it will pay, it will pay, it will pay with ,
with labels of Pulidor13 and with .
It will pay, it will pay, with Walter Bonfiglio14 and the trolleybuses poles
with interests, ,
with , with Radio Sarandí.
It will pay with Barrán17, it will pay with ,
and with that achieved to survive.
 

• 1. A brand of bleach
• 2. Serafín J. García: Poet and writer
• 3. Ruben Lena: Music composer and teacher. Known for writing many folklore songs, specially 'A Don Jose'
• 4. Del abuelo al chiquilin, todos toman Jugolín
  Es el jugo refrescante que a la sed le pone fin.
  Jugolín, sabor tan fresco que a la sed le pone fin.
  Jugolín refresca la vida. Jugolín refresca la vida.
  Jugolín refresca la vida. Jugolín refresca la vida.
  (From the grandfather to the kid, everybody drink Jugolín
  It's the refreshing juice that puts an end to thirst.
  Jugolín, fresh flavor that puts an end to thirst.
  Jugolín refreshes life. Jugolín refreshes life.
  Jugolín refreshes life. Jugolín refreshes life.)
• 5. Playwright
• 6. Popular expressions menaning: stop, hey and are you there
• 7. Assistance Center of the Medical Union of Uruguay
• 8. Uruguayan Federation of Housing for Mutual-Support Cooperatives
• 9. Miguel Ángel Pareja: Painter
• 10. A children novel written by Francisco Espinola
• 11. A medicine that was used by cancer patients
• 12. Uruguayan theater award
• 13. Brand of powder soap for washing pans
• 14. Bandoneo player who had a radio show in the 80s
• 15. A comedy TV show
• 16. Manuel Martínez Carril: Movie critic and film curator
• 17. José Pedro Barrán: Professor in history
• 18. Television announcers

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The case-hardener woman

That morning the sun didn't come up.
But Mrs Juana never found out.
 
Early in the morning she went to work.
Doing brush-strokes, doing case-hardening.
Machines, rings, metal noises.
Mechanics, crickets, screeching ritual.
 
Then at the exit, Juana in the crowd,
among the stampede, she ran to the door.
In the cold night over the concrete,
Juana was hiding in her jacket.
 
When she got home, her son was shivering.
'Son, what happens to you? Tell me please.'
'Mom, I'm cold, the sun didn't come up.'
'Come on son, if you are my sun.'
 
Without understanding, Juana kissed him.
And later tired, she went to sleep.
That morning the sun didn't come up.
But Mrs Juana never found out.
 

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The date

A man sitting alone on a table of a bar near a window that was open. A girl comes walking by the street. She passes next to the window and the man says... (something that it's written in this paper). Shee looks at him and asks him: 'Are you talking to me?'
He turns red and answers: 'Yes, but I apologize'
She says: 'Can I come in?'
He says yes, while he takes his hand to the jacket pocket and checks the limited content of his wallet.
She says 'Don't worry, I'm thinking of paying for what I use'.
The girl, seen from the street, opens the door of the bar. While she says 'hello', she moves away from the table the chair in which she will sit, for being able to do it. It's about the opposite chair to the man's in the table.
The man lights up nervously a cigarette and then he extends the box to the girl saying 'Sorry, I didn't offer you, do you smoke?'
She says: 'No.' And then she says: 'So... you like me?'
He replies: 'Yes, but I don't know, anyway...'
They lok at each other in silence. The man says: 'Don't be offended, but I wish to know if you sitted with me by reasons of work'.
The girl caresses him and says: 'No, stupid, I'm here because I fell in love with you'.
The faces of both come closer. They kiss. Then the girl says: 'Oh, I gotta go!'
He answers: 'Wait, when will we meet again?'
She says 'The sooner the better, I hope'.
He says: 'Well, we will meet at eight at Sarmiento and Abel Giménez'.
She answers: 'The time is fine for me, but I don't know which is Abel Giménez'.
He says 'It's the second street after Mulligan'
She says 'Mulligan? I don't know the street. Let's meet better at the bar of Uruguay and Trostky'.
'Uruguay and what?' he asks.
'And Trotsky' she answers, He asks: 'What's that street? What name had before?'
'I don't know, I always knew it as Trotsky' she says.
'And tell me, wouldn't it be fine at Sandokán and Paraguay?' he asks. And adds: 'I always stop there'.
'Look, I know Paraguay' she says, 'but not Sandokán'.
He answers: 'well, where do you want to meet?'
'Here' she says.
'Impossible' he replies, 'at that time this place is so packed in like sardines'.
'Well' she says, 'I'll give you my house address, I think it's the best'.
The man writes while the woman says: 'Reconquista and Florida'.
'Reconquista and Florida don't cross!' he says, lifting the veaw from the paper.
'You tell me that?' she says. 'I live there.'
He answers: 'I know perfectly that they don't cross, I worked all my life on that zone'.
'Well' she says, 'if you think they don't cross, then don't come'.
'Of course I won't go' he says. 'I don't like pranks'.
'You know?' she says. 'You're an imbecile, if I say that I live there is because I do live there.'
'Look, don't keep going with that because you won't fool me, you big idiot' he says.
'I never saw such a stupid guy' she replies, 'we could had a good time tonight in my house...'
'Yeah, yeah, go to hell' he says.
'You motherfucker' she says.
The man gets up irascible and spills everything on the table over the girls skirt yelling: 'Don't mess with my mother!'
Behind, the bar's waiter draws the attention of a police agent about what is going on. Boxing scene between the man and the girl. The polceman comes close yelling 'stop, stop'. Then he takes the two contenders to a police station.
Later the man is sleeping in a cell. A policeman opens the door saying: 'Wake up, Gómez '.
'Eh?' he says, sitting up.
The agent says: 'you may leave', and he leads him to a room where he delivers his personal goods. Gómez takes possession of them and says:
'I wish to make a question. Could you give me the address of the woman who came with me?'
'No sir!' answers upset the policeman, 'I forbid you to see that woman again. If you don't get along with her leave her alone and this is it, did you understand?'
'Yes' says Gómez.
 

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The rabble

At the courthouse door,
The friends, the relatives
All equally dressed,
Very happy and toothlessly smiley
Were waiting for the newlyweds.
 
The bride very late
Has arrived and for a long while.
Maybe to boast
About her cheap pink shoes,
She moved among the people.
 
The broom wasn't appearing
And mistrusting looks
Were exchanging the aunts
Of the brida and the sisters in law,
Combed with occasional curls.
 
Time kept passing
And the bride suddenly
Saw coming something horrorful.
Something that before the decen people
Would make her come off badly.
 
When it became obvious
That the wedding wouldn't happen
The least indulgents
With gossips and empty rumours
Were explaining the happening.
 
For consolating the bride
I think they were insulting,
The traitor of her wishes
For deceitful and hypocrital
How ugly to leave this girl so bad.
 
But for the inside the attendees
Were pondering unsatisfied,
That she prematurely
Had called him to his house.
Well done, let him pay the consequences.
 
Suddenly came to the courthouse
Some terrible news.
The broom had killed himself,
There's a wake instead of party.
Orchestra, let's change the repertoire.
 
The boy had died
On the way to the wedding
Very close to the harbor
In a very violent car crash.
I'm sorry, said the clerk to the bride.
 
It was an original wake.
There was a lot of pastry.
The bride cried for the wedding,
His father cried for the waste.
What a night, what a play to give up.
 
But the rabble doesn't forgive
And among condolences and wine,
Somebody mentioned the zone
Where the boy had died.
Damn, the novice went to train.
 
Other said that the deceased
Having regrets,
Had came speeding to the harbor
To fade away.
I think, that this was his thought.
 

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The good news

Leticio was living for ten years with his wife, who he loved with the same intensity as the first day, or maybe even more, and with his mother in law, who he hated also with the same intensity as he was hating her for all these years, or maybe even more. The only reason why he didn't eject her from the house, or didn't take a more drastic measure, like boiling her in oil or throwing her from the balcony when the garbage truck passed, was the love he felt for his wife, who found unavoidable the duty of housing her poor sick mother. Besides, as the marriage, despite wishing it with zeal, hasn't achieved to have children, the wife, who didn't work, dedicated all her time to take care of her mother.
 
But one day the things showd signs of changing radically. Leticio arrived home, after an arduous day of work, and his wife welcomed him saying that she had to give him some news, good ones and bad ones.
—I'll start with the bad news —­she said—Leticio: mom died this afternoon.
Leticio ran to the bedroom of the old woman and saw that, indeed, she was stiff. Then he rant to play a hard rock album and started to dance frantically, yelling:
—Awesome! If these are the bad news, I can't imagine the good ones!
—The good news —said his wife— is that I will be mom.
Leticio jumped of joy again. It's been ten years he was wishing to have a child to cheer up the home, and now, without the mother in law annoying the whole day, that home would become a real paradise.
 
Well, next day, after the burial of his mother in law, Leticio went to work, and when he went out, before returning home, he went to buy baby clothes, to lift the mood of his wife who must have been heartbroken by the death of her mother. But when he arived home and went to the bedroom, where he thought that he would find his wife, he found out that the one awaiting was the old woman, his mother in law. And she was alive. He screamed horrified, and then the old woman said:
-Leticio, what happens? It's me, don't you recognize me? I'm your wife. I told you, don't you remember? I told you that I would be mom, and I didn't thought that it would happen too soon, but yes, it happened, Leticio, I am mom!
 

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The bicycle

Where are you going so hurried, where are you going
with that car that spits so much garbage.
Where are you going so furious, where are you going
making so much noise you will make people crazy
This morning I'll take the bicycle and that's it.
 
The bicycle will survive a long time
when there are no more cars on Earth
The spokes of its wheels will light up
the floor without crossing with the sun rays.
The bicycle, the bicycle and of course the pump.
 
This morning I'll have a good time
because I'm gonna ride the bicycle.
This morning I'll have a good time
I'm gonna ride the bicycle and have a ride.
 
Bike riding, bike riding not only is
to try to postergate the commitments forever.
Don't leave me hanging don't keep talking
I won't let myself be passed by.
Come tomorrow, there will be croquets and bikes.
 
Where are you going so hurried, where are you going
with that car that spits so much garbage.
Where are you going so furious, where are you going
making so much noise you will make people crazy
This morning I'll take the bicycle and that's it.
 
This morning I'll have a good time
because I'm gonna ride the bicycle.
This morning I'll have a good time
I'm gonna ride the bicycle and have a ride.
 

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Serenade into the evening breeze

In the distance, a bell tones with each step
of the beautiful and sad day that walks away.
In an hesitant flight, a leaf
whirls and falls down on the path.
 
I sing my serenade into the evening breeze,
into the wind that will pass over my country
so that my desire escapes toward you,
stronger than sleep and oblivion.
 
How many summers and winters
had I to spend away from your arms!
Maybe, in your fickle heart, my heart
has become nothing but a stranger!
 
I sing my serenade into the evening breeze,
into the wind that will dance over your house...
Sometimes, a lurking memory is impervious
to the passing of time and seasons!
 
But if you don't listen to it,
if your heart beats with a different hope1
may the wind carry you away forever
along with my sorrow and regrets!
 
I sing my serenade into the evening breeze,
I sing alone and joyless into the wind.
Although its tune is light as a dawn ballad2
its lyrics are made of sorrow and resentment!
 
Tomorrow, I'll set off for the most beautiful crusade
Tomorrow, I'll set off toward bright days
Tomorrow, I'll go and sing my serenade
softly, in the arms of my love!
Softly, in the arms of my love!
 

• 1. the inversion is a bit over the top in French, in my opinion
• 2. that would rather be a dawn serenade, but repeating 'serenade' would be awkward

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Jonathan Harker

Jonathan Harker,
Jonathan Harker
said goodbye to his Mina,
of his boss in the office,
and he came out from the mist
of London on the way to the East,
where his new customer was living.
Jonathan Harker,
Jonathan Harker,
they sent him from London
to Transilvania, where
he had to make a deal with the Count Dracula.
 
It happens that the Count,
It happens that the Count
had already got accredited
eveery blood of the county
and behind a new market
he wanted to establish himself in the continent,
and he chose England to bite into.
Jonathan Harker,
Jonathan Harker,
made the process easier
and so the count, in a ship
went, plowing through the brave sea,
to set up the dominance of his shadowy poer,
thing that he achieved to do
not only with a patient
of the mental illness hospital,
but also with the pretty Mina,
Jonathan's girlfriend.
 
Jonathan Harker,
Jonathan Harker,
without dyeing much in red
his face with the anger
he went for the eye's blood
to see doctor Van Helsing, the expert
in sorting out this kind of injustices.
Abraham Van Helsing,
Abraham Van Helsing,
like the story emphasizes,
without making a fuss,
nailed the stake on Count Dracula.
But Van Helsing,
checked that Mina was,
also, contaminated,
and without a second thought,
healso did to her the favour
of setting her soul free and then
he also nailed her.
 

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Interference

It's some kind of silenced sigh.
An orphan swirl of leaves with which to dance.
It's an emptyness full of its vacuity.
It's a stopped flame, a fire in captivity.
It's a breath that lost its source, it's breathing
and was left stuck in an air duct.
It's a voice that no longer has forces to sound.
A blow that can't find surfaces to mist.
It's an impulse that has no substance to impulse.
It's some kind of silence without stillness.
A movement that doesn't have speed nor slowness.
It's a dialogue without lines to pronounce.
It's an S without an ear inviting it to sigh
It's a melody that lost its notes
and these are the ones left by the pain of that others
that were left suspended forever.
It's an interference in the beat of my heart.
 

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Indian Patoruzú

[Here we go!]
 
Indian Patoruzú,
typical, fertile indian,
wild, natural,
ancient like the land,
earthly is your song.
 
[Second!]
 
Indian Patoruzú,
typical, fertile indian,
wild, natural,
your essence is the fondness
that tradition gives you.
 
[Bueno!]
 
Indian Patoruzú,
runs to his hellhole,
so see if are ready
his empanadas of la Chacha.
So see if are ready
his empanadas of la Chacha.
 
[Huija!]
 
Becasue it's the indian Patoruzú,
archetypical, rough,
native, colloquial,
is the ground of the homeland
the land of his region.
 
[Isidoro!]
 
Indian Patoruzú,
autochthonous, pure indian,
simple, essential,
the blood of your race is,
your brave nature.
 
[Trumpet!]
 
Indian Patoruzú,
with Upa, the brave brother,
through the south hemisphere
they go hand in hand.
Through the south hemisphere
they go hand in hand.
 
[Ahijuna!]
 
This is the Indian Patoruzú,
rustic, plain indian,
concious, farmer,
worthy peasant
of a lineage in extinction.
 
[Sabrocito!]
 
Indian Patoruzú,
integer, frank indian,
brave, fundamental,
my guitar only sings
your untamed demeanor.
 
[Azuquita!]
 
Indian Patoruzú,
the land was who wanted
that you have an account
in the best swiss bank.
That you have an account
in the best swiss bank.
 

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Imagine son

When your childhood fades, when your body grows,
when by talking incorrectly, you feel yourself cheeky,
when you're becoming independent, when you're working,
when for not being well dressed you feel yourself inhibited...
Imagine son, imagine...
 
When you admire the pockets of the others, when you feel yourself less,
when they abuse you one day, when they use you,
when you get excited one day, when you're getting married,
when in some brothel you waste your money...
Imagine son, imagine...
 
When a tango gets printed in your lips, when you're without a dime,
when for not having for a coat, you dream with a robbery,
when the tobacco wrinkles your voice, when you get thin,
when in the bed with a Mafalda she turns her back...
Imagine son, imagine...
 
When you earn the extra pay, when you're carried away,
when you make extra hours in the night, to buy a car,
when you're tired of fighting, when you're wore out,
when your dreams fall apart and your arms ache...
Imagine son, imagine...
 
When your look gets damped, when something in you dies,
when you sink in the glasses and cry your failures,
when someday you're remembering, when you're meditating,
when one day you say to your son 'Imagine son'
Imagine son, imagine...
Imagine son, imagine...
 

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Bill

I always was an unfortunate. I always was an unfortunate.
And I never stopped worrying for being it to the limit
in the measure of my modest possibilities.
At least since I had acknowledged the Artigas' saying
according to which “the most unfortunate will be the most privileged.”
 
I never wanted to celebrate any joke.
I never wanted to celebrate any joke.
I knew that he who laughs last, laughs best.
And all my life I saved energies for this laughter to become,
at the end of the time, the most powerful and strident
that nobody could ever hear, or even imagine.
 
I always was in misery and I never stopped giving up
I never stopped giving up to that,
knowing that You had disposed that fate for me.
I never stopped going through the impulsiveness
of the employers to who, for just crusts of bread,
I worked day and night for fifty years.
 
Until my skin dried up. Until my skin dried up,
and my sweat glands wore out,
after an uninterrupted production through that half century.
I never believed I had the right to aspire
to a more prosperous existance on earth. Never. Never.
 
I always let myself be robbed. I let myself be hitted.
I let myself be cheated.
I let myself be humilliated. I let myself be swindled, insulted, slandered.
And I always drowned any hint of anger
that could grow in me, with the invocation
of Your well known promise about a heavenly reward.
 
And I always carried a thorough record.
And I always carried a thorough recordof all I've been through.
And as You are all-knowing, You will see that there isn't
in this paper I give to You, any episode
that I haven't lived painfully.
Check the bill many times You wish. My Lord.
 

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Happy ending

This is a story with a happy ending
it's the story of my country
all begins when democracy
was no longer funny for reasons that you will find
detailed in some specialized manual
in not stopping of saying some things.
 
This is a story with a happy ending
I don't know why you laugh
it's true that when democracy
was interrupted, the police kidnapped people and tortured
by mutual agreement with the army they tortured
and kill, among other things.
 
But this is a story with a happy ending
is not that I add varnish
because democracy returned after
and then the army and the police understood that it was wrong
all that they were doing and they said that from now on
they wouldn't do those things.
 

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Strangers in the day

Strangers in the day,
of course there are.
In the past who would say,
that there had to have them in such quantity,
quantity, quantity, quantity.
 
Strangers in the day,
how strange, I don't know what are they.
If phantasmagorias,
if some plot
of a devilish imagination.
 
Strangers in the day.
Strangers up to date too (too, too),
bad dream of insomnia,
guards for the dream sleeps you standing.
sleeps you with a kick.
 
Strangers in the day
swarm in the firmament.
Let alone in the night.
Sinatra said it and he was right.
and he was, he was right.
 
Strangers of today,
I want to meet them.
The stories of my aunt
aren't enough and from other relativves
I didn't listen all that I wish to know.
 
Strangers in your house,
you were drinking the coffee.
You thought 'what's going on?'
It can't be! But it is.
You didn't eat your marseillan bread.
 
Strangers in the afternoon,
strangers in the evening.
Never come out late.
I prefer to avoid of having to fear
of having, of having to fear.
 
Strangers in the day.
Stars that come to the south sky.
And full of joy,
share their gusts of smoke and light
of smoke and remote light.
 
Strangers in the day.
And I'm not amazed that I,
don't know if I'd miss
the times in which everybody thought
they knew each other and take this, what do you say about him?
 
Strangers in the family.
It could happen to anybody.
The parents already said
that some strangers are sometimes
better than a relative.
 
Strangers at the park,
by the way, they're not shoeless (they're not, they're not),
you should be careful,
if you think of crossing.
If you think of crossing over there.
 
Lacking yearnings.
Strangers move around me
dressed in hope,
dancing the dance of their comptroller.
Dancing to the beat of the drum.
 
1
 
Strangers in the day.
There are, there are/Strangers in the day
there are everywhere./I want you to tell me.
The day is so stange./Strangers in the day and the night.
Say what day./Look at the night, the evening, the noon.
Strangers in the day.
No. Tell me if it's the afternoon./Tell me if it's night or day.
The day that is the day./How late that is the day. The day that didn't die.
That day that wasn't a day/No, yes.
would be a strange noon/Strangers in the noon.
stuck in the day's noon.
That today day./That day from now on
Ahead will be the day ahead./Ahead, good day.
No because is still today./Strangers go through the day today.
Still today. Still today./Still go throught the day.
Strangers in the day.
Strangers in the day.
Strangers in.
Strangers in.
Strangers in.
 

• 1. The following part is sung with intermingled voices. The slash separates the lyrics that are sung simoultaneously. Leo sings the lyrics at the left, and Jorge th lyrics at the right

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Stars

There were five brothers who said I want to go to the stars
and the parents said to them that they will maybe go as long as first
they finish their homework
 
The first didn't want any of that, just the stars
and he saw them very big when the father (pay attention)
gave him a good beating and kicked him out to the street
 
The second went to Hollywood to work as a waiter
in a bar where always were eating many of the greatest movie stars
like Linda Blair and Charles Bronson
 
The third became a sheriff and they placed him
a shining star on the lapel of his classic jacket and with time
he forgot about the stars and the planets
 
The fourth of the brothers studied to be an architect
and thanks to three bottles he achieved to be elected in the tender
for a project of a five stars hotel.
 
The littlest, the fifth was different, he couldn't, he didn't want,
he didn't know to live with false stars and today he just sended
a postcard from the Orion's Belt
 
There were five brothers who said I want to go to the stars
 

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Chameleon Lens

arinomama no shinjitsu nado daremo mite iya shinai
iro wo kae tari yugame tari kamereon renzu mitai ni
 
Don't you ever wanna imagine? The world isn't one you see
ringo no aka wa kimi ni donna fuu ni miete iru?
Don't you ever wanna imagine? Not the way you dream
kimi no ai wa What color?
 
semete onaji sora wo miretara to kimi no kata wo hikiyosete wa mitemo
soko ni wa futatsu no tsuki ga narabu wo tagai wo shiranai mama
Black or White futago no tsuki ga
Love or Not mujou ni hikaru
 
shinku no bara mo wain mo iro wo nakushi naiteru no?
kimi ga iru kono sekai wa konna ni azayaka na no ni
 
Don't you ever wanna imagine? No one knows your feeling
detarame na haishoku de tsukutta sutendo gurasu
Don't you ever wanna imagine? Your days break down forever
kimi no asu wa What color?
 
fukitsu na koe de karasu ga naita are wa boku ga kimi no sora ni hanashita
aoi tori na no kamo shirenai ne utsukushii hane datta
A blue bird has turned into a crow
I lost my beautiful feathers
 
wakariaou to sureba suru hodo naze bokutachi wa kizutsukeatte shimau?
itami ga tatta hitotsu dake no tsuujiaeru mono wakachiaeru mono ka na
 
semete onaji sora wo miretara to kimi no kata wo hikiyosete wa mitemo
soko ni wa futatsu no tsuki ga narabu wo tagai wo shiranai mama
Black or White gesshoku no yoru
Love or Not machitsuzukeru
 

The internal action food processor

I bought a new food processsor. I already had one, but this one is better, because it's of internal action. You have to place it in the stomach. Bah! if you're a doctor and you have some skill you can place it yourself. The good thing about this processor is that you can stop cooking. Instead of preparing the foods, you eat straight up the ingredents. For example, you eat a pack of flour, then a butter bar, you eat half big spoon of baking powder, half glass of milk, a pack of cocoa powder and it feels like you're eating a chocolate cake.
 
At first you don't realize, but when the food reaches the stomach you understand it with full clarity.
 
Of course, you have to put on teeth in the stomach entrance, to be able to chew what is getting inside. That's a bit expensive, but it makes up for what you save in gas and electricity when you stop cooking. As soon as I can, I will do it. The doctor says that swallowing without chewing is not good. He's right, and the opposite is neither recomandable. But, placing a throat in the stomach would cost me an eye of the face, is it's not good for be, becuase I'm gonna need that eye there, close to the stomach, to see what I'm swallowing. That's why, instead of placing inside of me a synthetic throat, I'm going to transfer my stomach to my own throat. This also requires that, they sew my head over the shoulder blades, and that is a lot of stitches. About the aesthetic part, I'm not so worried. Some will say, 'that dude doesn't have a neck', or some will say, 'look, there goes a man with one single eye'.
 
But too bad for them. The ones who see me with an X ray device will realize that it isn't true: I keep all my organs, only that they're arranged in a more functional way.
 
With time, I'm thinking of making more improvements in my organism.
 
For examle, it's a shame that the brain is placed in a very exposed place like the head. I'm thinking of placing it near the stomach, for it to be more protected and also, it will control more efficiently my digestive process because it will be so near. These processes need a good supervision, at least during the first months after being modificated.
 
Besides, it's good that all the organs and the most important functions should be placed in the same zone. Yes, I will do it. It's like a strategic withdrawal of myself inside myself.
 
Some will say that I'm going to reduce myself, because some parts like the head, will remain as an ornament, being able to later become stunted and then to detach and fall like dry leaves, but all that is indifferent to me.
 
I'm not thinking of reducing myself: I'm thinking of compressing myself. I know that in my most intimate heart of hearts I'm irreductible, and any place is good for me to settle down. And if things work better that way, I'll laugh out loud about what people will think, even when that people won't har my laugh, because they will sound more precisely on the oesophagus sector and outskirts. But I don't wish to extend myself more in the description of my modifications program. It's long and besides is too wide and... I just wanted, for now, to recommend the purchase of the internal action food processor.
 

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The twin

1st panel: Even before knowing the meaning of the word hate, I unconditionally hated Franz, my twin brother.
The scene shows two breastfed babies fighting over the mother breast.
 
2nd panel: When finally I became familiar with reading, the dictionary gave me an adequate denomination for my feelings.
The scene shows the narrator with his index finger pointing at the word Hate, in the middle of a page. At certain distance is seen the shape of Franz, identical to the narrator. Both are scholars.
 
3rd panel: Following studies of grammar, gave me the possibility of articulating the expression of my feelings in complete syntactic units.
The scene shows the narrator saying to his brother 'I hate you'.
 
4th panel: The happiness of my first love experiences, couldn't achieve to eclipse the innate loathing living in me.
The scene shows the narrator embracing his grilfriend in the bench of a plaza. She asks him 'What are you thinking, darling, that you're so quiet?' He answers 'I think a little about the love I have for you, but more than anything, I think of the hate I have for Franz'
 
5th panel: The day Franz married, I had the first chance of exposing my dark affections to the public.
The scene shows Franz's wedding. The priest asks 'Does somebody have something to object to this matrimonial union?'. The narrator replies 'Yes, me. I consider the groom as absolutely rejectable.'
 
6th panel: When I got married, the priest had the papers a bit mixed, and when he adressed to me, he did it calling me Franz. The incident was later very lamented by the irreverent clerygman.
The scene shows the narrator with his bride, slapping the priest and telling him 'What similarity with Franz did you see? Retard'
 
7th panel: I had to reject many chances of employment for not wanting to fill the inscription forms on those parts in which they required a list of close relatives.
The scene shows the narrator provocating the forced ingesion of a crumpled form by mouth to the office worker who attends him.
 
8th panel: My piano professor had to regret of proposing me the performance of Liszt and Schubert pieces, and soothe my anger with a Chopin and Schumann apologia.
The scene shows the narrator strangling the piano professor exclaiming 'What do you want me to play, you dumb horse?' On the floor is seen a score headed with the name of Franz Schubert.
 
9th panel: I found necessary to run away quickly from a bookstore on a certain time in which, while looking distractedly over the content of an offer table, I outrageously vomited over a volume of Kafka.
The scene shows the narrator running upstreet, while the bookstore owner from the door of his business, yells at him 'Come and clean this, you existencialist swine'
 
10th panel: My unmeasurable hatred multiplied by 10, when I discovered that while I was occupying my free time in seducing Farnz's wife, my despicable wife was leaving to make love precisely with him.
The scene shows the narrator laying in bed with his lover in a motel room. While from the adjacent room is heard a voice saying 'Oh Franz'
 
11th panel: A foul-smelling feeling started to darken every moment of my life, since, after having divorced both Franz and me, and having lost both our jobs for poor references crossed and processed from ourselves to our respective bosses in inverse correspondance, we have been forced to occupy again the same bedroom at our parents house.
The scene shows both twins in their respective beds, with pronouncedly warlike faces.
 
12th panel: The night I decided to annihilate Franz once and for all, I discovered that I didn't invent the powder.
The scene shows the twins in their beds, revealing each one from their respective sheets, their respective guns.
 
13th panel: Today however, I'm being treated by a psychologist who tries to convince me that my very name is Franz, and that I never had a twin brother.
The scene shows Franz.
 

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Corleone

Ah-ah-ah-ah
Ah-ah-ah-ah
 
Write a text
But everyone says, 'Take your time!'
I can not stop
Because to stop, I'm far too far
Success is a whore
She showed her face
It's about her, it's about me
I shared every song with her
Fuck on Wikipedia
Do you want to know who I am
Brother, come over
Tell stories from Funfhaus
As if it were Compton
Daddy works on the building to study
I want to be a doctor
Rapha plays guitar
At some point he will be a pop star, no
 
My way is Corleone
Left, right politics, I see nothing
Go straight into the light
My way is Corleone
Imagine a bastard in front of me
I still have a gun that shoots
My way is Corleone
Interest in nothing
Always on to the light, ah-ah
Do not be afraid of the war
No, as God loves me
My way is Corleone
 
I'm Napolitano
The blood of the vendetta flows in me
Old hatred in my chest
But I try to change
Shit often happens when you're young
But good, you get older
Was it really worth it?
You only think when you have a bullet in your heart
Man, fuck on Wikipedia
Do you want to know who I am
 
Brother, then listen to my songs
You can do it if you want
Man, I'm giving it a chance
Lazy hater do nothing
And eat burgers with fries
Others say they love you
Earlier these words were special
 
My way is Corleone
Left, right politics, I see nothing
Go straight into the light
My way is Corleone
Imagine a bastard in front of me
I still have a gun that shoots
My way is Corleone
Interest in nothing
Always on to the light, ah-ah
Do not be afraid of the war
No, as God loves me
My way is Corleone
 
Left, right politics, I see nothing
Go straight into the light
My way is Corleone
Imagine a bastard in front of me
I still have a gun that shoots
My way is Corleone
Interest in nothing
Always on to the light, ah-ah
Do not be afraid of the war
No, as God loves me
 
My way is Corleone
Left, right politics, I see nothing
Go straight into the light
My way is Corleone
Imagine a bastard in front of me
I still have a gun that shoots
My way is Corleone
Interest in nothing
Always on to the light, ah-ah
Do not be afraid of the war
No, as God loves me
My way is Corleone
 

The cigar end collector

I'm a cigar end collector,
I collect the cigar ends thrown by the smokers who don't want anymore.
I'm a cigar end collector,
and I also collect the smoke of what people blew.
I collector rubbish, I collector rubbish,
I collector rubbish, I collector rubbish
 
I'm a cigar end collector,
I collect words after that smokers talked them
and breaking filters
I'm rescuing those things that people didn't blow,
but remained there, without fading like those that they blew
and that I'm gathering with the rest too.
 
I'm a cigar end collector,
but fortunately I am only from an intellectual point of view
I'm a cigar end collector,
in a figurated sense, I don't get hands nor feet dirty
Only the thought, only the thought
Only the thought, only the thought
 
I collect the left-overs,
after somebody thought about something that maybe forgot later.
I'm a cigar end collector,
I smoke the neurons that died and can't think,
I gather the ideas, that remained silenced by lack of voice,
of words or by the censorship of who thought about them.
 
I'm a cigar end collector,
I make songs with leftovers of used chords that are no longer useful.
I'm a cigar end collector,
and those songs that I write with the others ends
Are a good business, are a good business
Are a good business, are a good business
 
Because I register them
to my name and they can't say it's plagiarism for just a beat.
I'm a cigar end collector,
and to whoever blows this song I'll ask you please
if you don't mind, you keep the cigar end for me and so tomorrow it could be
that collecting it with another will outcome in a new song.
 

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The asshole

I sell streetcars, I sell mailboxes,
I announce squirrels and I give mice.
I have a good deal on Paso Carrasco,
I kidnapp the cats and sell steaks.
I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole.
 
I sell illusions and whoever pays me
I leave him alone and rambling.
I sell advices, I rent trust,
Mrs, I sell a Lufthansa plane to you.
I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole.
 
I sell obelisks for beautiful towers,
I announce seafood and I serve slugs.
I sell garbage for good cakes,
I announce culture and I give papers.
I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole.
 
I sell well disguised versicles,
I dress them as verses and they're well placed.
I sell sermons in a thesis suit,
I announce songs and I give cathequesis.
I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole.
 
I sell watermelons, I sell plums,
dentistry and toothaches.
I sell tricks to get rich
and also the Paco and Pico feats
I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole.
 
I sell someday, I promise promises,
I declare joys and pllug sadness.
I sell future, I sell piggy banks,
I sell kangaroos at Villa García.
I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole.
 
I live by the fraud, I'm dishonest,
it doesn't matter, the thing is to move along.
I sell whoever if they pay a dollar,
for two I sell myself and that's why
I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole.
 
I sell work to the unemployed,
and in turn I take off their earned wage.
I say that I sing the people verses
and if I can I make a deal with the dictatorship
I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole.
 
I say that I rhyme all the stanzas
and sometimes I slip cheating words.
I sell words intead of the things,
words that mean those things.
I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole.
 
Instead of fan palms I give you artichokes,
I preach peace and make missils.
I sell war and buy science,
I preach peace but I instil impatience.
I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole.
 
I sell very pretty mirrors, sirs,
I also have mythis of all colors,
like who proclaims that he never prays
and recits the Trotsky program on the table.
I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole.
 
I sell lies in camel trains,
I start the war and say they were.
I sell chickens with golden eggs,
you turn the corner and are bull horns.
I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole, (he's a fucker)
 
I sell civils to the militars,
and napalm and misils to the civilists.
I give epauletts to the dictators,
and then I sell bags to their banks.
I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole.
 
I offer beauty, I sell surgery
and I leave your face worse than mine.
(I'm very asshole, I'm a little asshole,
I'm very asshole, you're a motherfucker.)
I'm an asshole because I say I am
despite of not being it and therefore I am,
I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole,
I'm an asshole, I'm an asshole.
 

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The fakir

My grandmother told me
that there are guys in India
who can lay
over vertical nails
with the sharp end on top,
fakirs of the back
and besides there are other guys
who can walk
without problem over lots
of burning coals,
fakirs of the feet
 
I guess there are many
fakirs of other things,
I guess that there are
general fakirs
and a full body fakir,
a full body fakir,
you know that exists,
a guy in some lands
who maybe, maybe, maybe,
they leave him on the floor,
even if he doesn't care.
 
The guy I'm talking about
is no other but myself,
I myself am a fakir
but I'm different because
I'm a fakir of the mind,
fakir of the mind,
fakir, fakir of the soul,
I am since the moment
that is possible that next to me
they mess with the people
and I don't feel anything,
 
they can beat a guy,
they can electrocute him,
they can interrupt
everytime his normal
breathing or anything,
that I don't feel a thing,
I don't give three damns,
I can pretend
that it's a lie, that it's a lie
that that guy is on a trip
or that he doesn't exist,
 
maybe some people
will ask me how could I
ever achieved
to display such virtue,
such abilities,
you can believe me or not,
I say however
that I never followed
any special course
I didn't go to any training,
it must be since birth.
 

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The stringer

While the pelican was fishing
while the bee was doing honey,
while the ant was carrying construction materials...
What was going on?
 
The sparrow was singing.
 
While the castor was doing dikes,
while the ox was plowing,
while the ovenbird was making its nest...
What was going on?
 
The sparrow was singing.
 
While the dog was watching,
while the cobra was dancing,
while the bacillus was synthesizing toxins...
What was going on? The sparrow was singing?
 
No. The pelican was fishing.
 
But while the marmot was sleeping
while the weed was growing,
while the spider was weaving...
What was happening? The sparrow was singing? The pelican was fishing?
 
No. The ant was singing and the mosquito was plowing.
 
And while the chicken was incubating,
while the cobra was cashing,
while the bacillus was staggering...
What was going on? The castor was doing dikes?
 
No sir.
 
The ovenbird was making its nest?
 
No. Neither.
 
So.. what was all about?
 
It was about that while the dog was scratching,
while the turkey was hiccupping,
while the cat was crouching,
while the chimp was chatting...
A CNN stringer
(who up to this point was always serious and efficient)
was taking note of everything
and was getting ready to tell it to Patricia Janiot,
that on any moment was going to call him
for him to pass his report
before two hundred millions of viewers.
 

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The manager

He's a manager.
He has people who obey him.
He puts the penalties.
He has people who loathe him.
 
He gives four screams
and the factory shivers.
He sets the jobs.
He has people who suffers them.
 
He looks for who serve.
To more than one he ordered the sacking.
He says to his boss
'I don't want guys like that one'
 
The day they fail him,
he gets desperated and crazy.
He yells at them 'What is this,
a workshop or a kermesse?'
 
He's an employee too.
When he remembers it he gets sad.
He's a subordinate.
He has people who hinder him.
 
He's a manager.
A manager until he gets better.
He's a manager.
and the look is on his side.
 
He works willingly.
How good if the chief knew it.
He dreams to become a boss.
He asks his wife to pray.
 
He who always fought
for the production to come out well,
he of many wealth
thinks that some belongs to him.
 
He's a manager.
A manager though he doesn't look like it.
He serves to be a boss
If the chief could recognize it.
 
He asks to his mirror,
he begs it, to confess him
the destiny, the luck,
the future that he deserves.
 
The mirror says
that if it was who choses,
it would put him
in front for him to direct.
 
He's a manager.
He has people who obey him.
He puts the penalties.
He has people who loathe him.
 
He gives four screams
and the factory shivers.
The boss gives one
and he gets red, of shame.
 

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The duo

We're a duo.
Yes. We're a duo.
We're a duo.
We are two.
Yes. And we make a duo.
We're two who make a duo.
It's an instrumental and vocal duo.
Yes. It's a dual duo.
We're a dual duo.
We sing and play equally.
For us tt's all equal.
Anyway.
In my particular case, I make up the duo.
I happily make up the duo too.
We both make up the duo.
Yes. We make it up in a duo.
Yes. Our duo makes up a duo.
If we were a trio...
We two?
Yes. If we two were a trio, I myself would be the duo and between the two we would be a trio.
If we were a quartet, I myself would be a trio who with him we would complete the quartet.
But we're not a quartet.
No.
We're a trio.
No. Neither.
Right. We're a duo.
Yes.
Our repertory is dual.
Yes. Is ambiguous.
Yes. We play and sing.
Yes, but I'm talking about our repertory.
Yes. To the things that we sing.
Of course.
Yes. They're of four types.
We sing my songs.
Yes. And also my songs.
Yes. We also sing his songs.
And we play his songs.
We have four types of songs.
Yes. Some are better than others.
Yes. And there are better.
Yes. And there others that are even better.
Generally, my songs are better than his songs.
Yes. Mine too.
Sometimes is hard to choose the repertory.
Yes. Sometimes is hard to tell him that his songs are rubbish.
But the dialogue isn't closed between ourselves. Sometimes I criticize a song.
Sometimes I say to him that we can't sing the song that he wrote.
Sometimes I say to him that he must ditch the song that he wrote.
Yes. But I don't tell him where.
No.
I can't reject them all.
About ONE song, I can say it doesn't worth.
Yes. But I can't say to him that none worths.
Yes. I have to leave him at least one.
Yes. Because we're a duo.
We work on team.
Yes. In a duet.
Is that we're a duet.
Of course. My songs are for duet.
I can't sing all alone.
I wish to sing only my songs.
Yes. But in duet.
Of course. If they're for duet.
But I can't say that we don't play any of his songs.
No. Because after all, we're a team.
Yes. A duo.
I try to fight each of his songs separatedly, but I never say that he can't compose.
Yes. I criticize every song of his, like if by mistake it came out bad.
Yes. But it isn't a mistake.
Is that he can't write.
Yes. But I can't tell it to him.
No, because we're a duo.
The public always applauds more when we sing my songs.
When we play his songs, the public applauds only for obligation.
I wish that when we sing his songs, the public doesn't applaud.
Yes. So he finds out that he has to stop composing.
Yes. That way, he would come and say 'Look, from now on man, we will only play your songs.'
Yes. Only my songs.
My songs.
Yes. my songs.
If we were a quartet, I would propose that he leaves and that we make up a trio.
If we were a trio, I would propose that he leaves. And the other too.
Yes. But we're a duo.
Yes. If we were a trio, the other and him could conspire to reject my songs by majority.
Yes. That's why we are a duo.
Yes. It's a matter of strategy.
It's a shame that our publicity is based in the name of the duo.
Yes. If my name had propaganda, even if it was as a member of the duo, one day I could go off as a soloist.
Yes. I'm getting ready for that.
For being soloist.
Yes. I'm taking classes.
Yes.
Yes, but for now, I'm still with the duo.
Yes. When I become known, I'll be soloist and I'll have my own group.
Yes. I'm gonna have a group to sing only my songs.
Yes. And not even the dogs will hear him.
Nobody will want to make a group with him.
Of course. He doesn't know anything.
He doesn't know to compose.
He'll never learn.
He lives thanks to me, thanks to the duo.
One day I will kill him.
Nobody will care, I'll finish him.
Nobody will find out.
He neither because he doesn't know anything. He doesn't even know to compose.
He doesn't even know that he doesn't know to compose.
He knows to sing a little, but he's not going anywhere with that.
For now he's safe thanks to the duo.
Yes. But one day I will leave it. I will leave the duo.
Yes. But not for now.
I must wait for the occasion to be given.
The right moment.
I'm gonna wait until the force correlation is on my side.
Yes.
Meanwhile, I'm making contacts to see if I can record a solo album.
Yes. An album by only me.
Without him.
Alone.
They haven't answered me yet.
I need publicity.
I appear in the photograph of the duo.
Yes. Me too.
For now I have to make use of that.
Yes. I have to stay in the duo.
It's not so bad.
I think that for a little longer I can bear it.
He doesn't know to compose but he's not a bad person.
He's an incompetent but he's not mean.
He's a poor imbecile.
But he's good. We get along.
Yes. We sing in duet.
We're friends after all.
Yes. We need each other.
Yes. We're a duo.
An instrumental and vocal duo.
Yes. A musical duo.
Yes. A perfectly normal duo.
Yes. Luckily we get along.
It's the main thing.
Sometimes we have our little disagreements but it's natural.
When one works on team, it's the most normal.
Yes. Now we have to rehearse.
Yes, let's work.
Yes. Let's rehearse.
Yes.
 

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Love City

L.O.V.E
Scandal Pop Saucebox
Rise up, please don’t stop
No charms, a danger zone
L.O.V.E Love City
Scandal Pop Saucebox
Rise up, please don’t stop
No charms, a danger zone
L.O.V.E Love City
 
You keep stealing glances (Hey)
Why are you staring? I’m getting annoyed, boy
You’re smiling and I know it’s not your first time
Tell me it’s not
 
Stop it, your sugar coated mouth (Oh, No)
Don’t be ridiculous, oops oops (your lie)
Stop it, don’t come (Sorry)
Who do you think you are? Dash dash (Love City)
 
I’ll confidently walk
And drive you crazy
My tightly shut, chic red lips
L.O.V.E
Don’t expect anything
You’re so unbelievable
I’m not interested, pretty boy
Welcome to Love City
Chu Chu Chu
Pa Pa Pa
La La La Stop it boy
You’re just cute, Love City
 
Scandal Pop Saucebox
Rise up, please don’t stop
No charms, a danger zone
L.O.V.E Love City
 
What do you think you’re doing?
You have no tact, I’m so tired of you
Your dirty lips that only lie
Please shut it, stop it boy
 
Stupid, sugar coated mouth (Oh, No)
Don’t be ridiculous, Oops Oops (Your lie)
Stupid, stop being so obvious (Sorry)
Who do you think you are? Dash dash (Love City)
 
I’ll confidently walk
And drive you crazy
My tightly shut, chic red lips
L.O.V.E
Don’t expect anything
You’re so unbelievable
I’m not interested, pretty boy
Welcome to Love City
Chu Chu Chu
Pa Pa Pa
La La La Stop it boy
You’re just cute, Love City
 
Scandal Pop Saucebox
Rise up, please don’t stop
No charms, a danger zone
L.O.V.E Love City
Give it a rest, I can see right through you
Foolish Boy, you’re so pathetic
You’re awkwarding laughing, you’ve missed it
Another level, can you handle it?
 
You’re just cute
You’re just cute
You’re just cute (Love City)
 
I’ll confidently walk
And drive you crazy
My tightly shut, chic red lips
L.O.V.E
Don’t expect anything
You’re so unbelievable
I’m not interested, pretty boy
Welcome to Love City
Chu Chu Chu
Pa Pa Pa
La La La Stop it boy
You’re just cute, Love City
 
L.O.V.E
 

I say your name to the wind

I say your name to the wind...
And the wind fills my eyes with dirt.
I say your name to the river...
And the river passes by.
I say your name then,
to a box full of eggs.
I say your name then,
to a semaphore.
I say your name anyway, to many things.
But none of theese actions represent for me,
any significant advantage and all that seems dumb for me.
So instead of keep saying your name,
I go from door to door with a suitcase,
selling encyclopedias, and I become a millionaire,
and then I die...
Like everybody.
 

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The low

When I left the workplace on monday,
I wondered, where do I go? what do I do?
And as I was just with the payment
of two months ago that came delayed,
I said 'I'll go to the cinema', because if not,
The low, the low, I'd have the low.
The low, the low, I'd have the low. The low.
 
When the screen light died
and was reborn the real size
of the real world that was beside me.
Oh! I'm surrounded. I'm cornered.
I thought and thought of the green places
of the film. I was having a trip.
I was thinking, making believe. Because if not,
The low, the low, I'd have the low.
The low, the low, I'd have the low. The low.
 
I came upon while reaching the bus stop
with a guy who was a childhood friend.
'How do you do? How you're going?'
and we were walking, we're hanging on.
And the talking is over. Because if not,
The low, the low, I'd have the low.
The low, the low, I'd have the low. The low.
 
When I got home (and it's a saying
because in fact, it's more a niche),
I turned on the TV and if I didn't do it,
I would see it coming to me
the great dark stain, depression,
The low, the low, I call it the low.
The low, the low, I call it the low. The low.
 
A while after, tired and saturated,
I disconnected the junk devil
and I grabbed my old guitar.
I want a song to come out of my soul.
A song that says what I feel.
My suffering turned into a thought.
A song that transmits desolation.
The song of the low, the low of the song.
The song of the low, the low of the song. The low.
 
I tried and tried with notes, with chords.
I developed words, phrases, verses.
But it was all very lazy and dispersed.
It was a babble, more than sad, ugly.
So I threw the guitar because if not,
The low, the low, I'd be attacked by the low.
The low, the low, I'd be swalloed by the low. The low.
 
And this song that now I'm singing
I maybe better finish it.
Because I feel burning in my head
the thick smoke of this great sadness.
Sticky, heavy, oversweet, static and viscous sadness.
The pale, boys. The pale.
The low, the low, I call it the low.
The low, the low, here comes the low.
The low, the low, here buries me the low.
The low, the low, it looks like a coffin.
 

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Sleep foal

The song I'll sing
is a simple lullaby
because it's not for a baby,
it's just for a foal.
 
Because the foals
like the children
have the right
that we express to them
our feelings.
 
Sleep foal because
I spend the night awake
and I'll bring you tomorrow
sixteen kilos of oats.
 
Because the foals
like the children
have the right
to be feeded
the best as possible.
 
I give you a sawdust,
sweet grass without thistles
for your mane to grow
until covering your eyes.
 
Because the foals
like the children
have the right
to not let be seen
the unpleasent.
 
When you grow more
I'll put you blinders,
with then you'll avoid
to get in the other's business.
 
Because the foals
like the children
have the right
to be educated
properly.
 
A good bit and a muzzle
will complete your etiquette,
when you become ruder:
you'll pull from my cart!
 
Because the foals
like the children
have the right
to be offered
a certain future.
 
Sleep foal because
the night is dark and cold,
sleep foal because
I ordered to do horseshoes.
 
Because the foals
like the children
have the right
to have someone
to take care of them.
 

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The pally

I'm looking for new friendships.
The ones I had, got lost.
I have no friends left
neither in inland nor in Montevideo.
Who is suitable for the job?
 
I'm looking for new friendships.
The ones I had, I don't have anymore.
They went over, they expired,
they had expiring date.
God strike me if I lie.
 
We can be good friends
while it lasts, while we're winded.
Then we will go, you on one side,
me on other and move right along.
Life is long and awful.
 
I'm looking for new friendships.
The ones I had, wasted away.
The time wanted that the shortages
of the two parties prevail.
So, over and out.
 
Who wants it? I have vacancy.
It's very urgent. Life requests
to share what one lives
or the old thread gets rotten.
I look for who doesn't know me.
 
I go by the bars looking for friends.
The pally. The pally.
With the friends I had before,
it all went to waste, it all went to waste,
it all went to waste elbow to elbow.
 

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Careful with the words

I went out for a walk and I entered in some kind of... I don't know how to call it. It wasn't a bar, neither a pub, nor an alehouse, nor a cafe, I don't know how to call it... maybe a tavern. And well, and approaching not to the counter but to the table, I didn't order a scottish but a whisky and I didn't order it on the rocks but with ice. And I remember that without getting close a girl, or I mean a woman, reduced the distance that kept her apart from me and not in the ear but to the ear, she said, or I mean she whispered 'I'm not for sale, but in turn of a certain ammount, not of gold but of its equivalent in money, you could obtain a good service not of myself, but of my body. I'm not asking you to answer but I wish to have a response from you.' 'Well you won't have it, but anyway I will answer. I know that it wouldn't cost me anything, but how much should I pay you?' I said, not in an onstentation mode but for satisfying, not her curiosity but her request. 'Not in this situation, nor in these particular circumstances. But in the present case -she said- you wouldn't have to pay me anything, though of course, it wouldn't be free.' My answer wasn't the following but anyway I said 'I'm not interested then. However I accept. Not with pleasure but willingly.' 'I can't say that I'm happy, though I feel happy' she said, not grabbing me by an arm but by the other arm. And without giving a single step nor going by foot, we didn't leave, but we moved walking until finding, not a hotel nor a motel nor a hostel, but an inn to which of course we never reached. However, without crossing the door we entered, and the manager without directing the word he said to us 'I have nothing to regret but... I'm sorry. There are no chambers available. But I can give you a room.' 'Don't tell us where it is, but indicate us how to get there.' requested, not my partner but the woman who was not with me but by my side. The guy didn't give use any indication but he showed us, not where the room was but in which place. And we didn't stay but we remained there, not all night long but until the next morning, not making love but... well, I hope you understood how is the technique of this.
 

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Alternating current

I don't know why you left nor why
after a shot time you felt like coming back
I don't know why I don't know why
you took that sad decision
of leaving me and which was the reason
of your return and what happened
 
that the next day you left again
you didn't give me time to say
to ask you if that time
you would come back like the previous time
nor if you were leaving looking for love
and if it was like that I suppose that
 
you didn't find it and that's why
you returned but when I held you
and asked you what were your plans
you answered me very like that
with excuses and you almost left
but that time I didn't let you
 
because I held you strong by an arm
but it was useless when I went to sleep
I felt the door and it was you
who were taking off without saying goodbye
maybe it was the best for both
but it was so bad for me
 
that's why I was happy when I saw you
coming back but I didn't understand
why immediately you say
that your intention is still to leave
and without delay you pass to commit
your announcement and you leave me there
 
without a hope about you
but with the surprise that like that
how I saw you parting I also
saw you returning and I heard you well
that you said you would never leave me again
for later to stray
 
from your oath because mercilessly
you left to some corner of the city
that I guess you didn't like
because if else I don't understand what you had
for turning around and ask me forgiveness
but immediately, goddamn!
 
you abandoned me and since that time
you left and came back more than ten
or twenty times is that now
I lost the math and the speed
of your continuous coming and going
is getting higher every time
 
as soon as you left by the elevator
the door opens and you're again
there I don't know if you return
it's impossible to guess what are you doing
if you're leaving or at the same time
youre coming you're not here
 
neither there you come as you go
your face no longer stands out
in the corridor is barely seen
a long stripe of the color
of your dress you're like a cyclone
an aimless hurricane
 
an even faster light beam
nbody can see you you're nothing
but a weak sensation
a subtle, fleeting coloring
on the floor tiles of that corridor
and the manager went up here
 
bringing the bucket with the dryer
I say maam leave it please
and she answers no sir
I need to clean the corridor
and I explain that she'll wipe you
if she passes the mop over there
 
but she thinks I went crazy
she doesn't know at all of what I've seen
and a blow of water with soap
takes you fully with the illusion
of finding out one day in which wagon
travels the secret of your heart.
 

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