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The raven

A calm midnight
While my soul was wandering
down the pages of a book
searching for some peace of mind
and almost asleep
I felt a faint sound
as if softly
without hitting too much
to not make noise
someone asks 'are you there?'
without hitting too much
 
In the urging cold
an ember was dying
getting lost in the blackness
of that firewood
unable as my reading
of making less harsh
my life without Lenore
who despite resting in peace
didn't make me calm
to be ever able
to see her nevermore
 
But the uncertain worry
by the noise of the door
scared me for whatever
was behind it
was it someone or not
the wood creaking
was bothering my heart
but I searched in my reasoning
for any explanation
maybe it's the wind
there must be nothing more
 
But the noise persisted
though only myself heard it
because I was crumbling in that
without thinking of anything else
then I went to open the door
but when it was opened
it didn't say anymore
than when a minute ago
didn't let me see anything
because the closed night
was shadow and nothing more
 
Impossible thoughts
in a shiver
I had now and I don't tell them
even if I were wordier
in the heat of the moment
because I said 'Lenore'
and in the voracious silence
of the night there was nothing more
than an repeating echo
as if it digested
that name once more
 
Calm and disenchanted
I was finishing
the issue when that noise
begins once more
disturbing the sadness
in the quietness of my room
the impatience makes me wild
without expecting anything more
I fully open the window
and raise the curtain
without knowing what's behind
 
And an extract of blackness
of the huge dark night
cut in the figure
of a big bird of prey
came in easily
raising its beak
with an arrogant gesture
and perched quietly
at the feet of the bed
and in that attitude
remained there like that
 
As in front of a bad joke
when I felt sad
my face has turned
into a sarcastic frown
before such appearance
and without expecting an answer
I said for the sake of it
'Hello, what's your name?'
and I remained frozen
when fiercely the raven
responded 'Nevermore'
 
I didn't remain surprised
by the lack of sense
I gave to that answer
because I wasn't expecting anything
from such a grotesque figure
but its lively expression
impressed me much more
though I said to myself
that maybe the raven learned the sound
from some regretful master
who repeated it too much
 
Staring at my visitor
that a moment ago
was not sticking
its dark face before my eyes
I said 'probably
like many other people
sooner or later
you will leave someday'
and the raven confidently
after a short impasse
said loudly 'Nevermore'
 
I thought, what a skill
has this guessing raven
to emit its caw
in the moment I want
to be assisted the most
if losing a beloved person
could ever be something
that brings you closer
to another aching soul
or its echo reduced
to the phrase nevermore
 
To the vanishing light
of the candle that barely
lightened the night
what was seen the most
was a shining eye
of that raven insisting
in fix its eyes on me
it stared and I stared
but I remained sitting
in the chair that Lenore
will use nevermore
 
And as if in loud voice
I had noticed the missing
that Lenore was doing to me
in excess night and day
and as if from me came
the aching thought
previously mentioned
that Lenore won't ever
be sitting there
the raven with its caw
said again 'Nevermore'
 
Keeping away from my mind
such unconductive issue
when I could be conscious
that maybe a miracle
from a magic incense burner
lit by messengers
of some heavenly power
a heavenly smell
was keeping me away from the torment
of thinking of Lenore
someone said 'nevermore'
 
It was that evil raven
and I asked if the words
it brought to its oral heritage
were coming from Satan
or if there was an armistice
which suspended the grief
of not being able to do
anything but talking about
the one who will never return
and being wary of myself hearing
quote the raven 'nevermore'
 
'You evil monster'
I exclaimed desperately
'Since you're so informed
let's see if you tell me
if God whose government
spans from heaven to hell
maybe wanted
to keep her in his Parnassus
and when I die, maybe
I can hold her once again'
and it said 'Nevermore'
 
'It's the time to be silent
and return to the streets
or to wherever you came from
you foul-mouthed bird'
I said decidedly
when I was freed from the sound
of its evil sentence
with imperative urgency
'I am sick of your presence
leave immediately'
and it said 'Nevermore'
 
And with the same stubbornness
there it remains yet
from its witch look
I am free nevermore
and the shadow that the candle
projects in my bed
is the blanket that my hand
tries to move in vain
or the stiff rigid swamp
from which dreaming or awake
I'll be released nevermore
 

PD

I spend days
being able to tell you
sweet words
but of
poetic denseness
to leave
direct proofs,
drawn passions
everywhere

E

Stephen was absorbed in the study.
Eduviges came in, furious.
-I am sick!- she exclaimed
Effectively she was spitting excrement
Stephen, confused, avoided to say anything.
She exhorted, angry:
-Listen! I'm experimenting stomach spasms from hell!-
-It's the asparagus- he said -It was evidently poisoned-
-Stupid! You were aware!
-You're wrong.
Eduviges burped noisily
-You are spreading manure in the ether
Stephen scanned the environment
He was fully greased in the scatological element.
-Stephen, send me the specialist in enterology
He had an erection.
-In this state you're extremely arousing- he explained
Eduviges expectorated in the coating.
-That, that!- he fired up
She ejected the esophagus
Immediately she expired
Then he...ejaculated.
 

The true history of dinosaurs

Many years ago, once upon a time there was a dinosaur.
Many years ago, once upon a time there was a dinosaur.
Many years ago, many years ago there was a dinosaur.
In the beginning, once upon a time, many years ago there was a dinosaur.
It was little and fat in the beginning many years ago.
Then it grew (it was little) and became thinner.
It had big feet, then it grew.
Once upon a time it had big feet and then it didn't have them anymore and became thinner.
Once, there was once, once upon a time, many years ago, many years ago, a dinosaur.
Was a dinosaur once upon a time, many years ago.
Many years ago, many years ago, a dinosaur.
Many years ago, many years ago, many years ago, many years ago, many years ago, many years ago, many years ago, many years ago, many years ago, many years ago, many years ago, many years ago, many years ago, many years ago, many years ago, a dinosaur and another and another and another and another and another and another and another and another and another and another and another and another.
Once upon other time there were many dinosaurs.
Other day there was another, and the same ones were there that day too
For a long time they lived many years ago
And then in the beginning, once upon a time, they left.
 

AAAHHH!

The mother of the monster was there, with the knife against the throat of her son, trying to think clearly. She tied his hands taking him by surprise while he was sleeping, and she didn't know if to kill him or to let him extend his miserable and damaging existence some years more, until the muscular tensions coming from his own deformity end up tearing him apart.
 
-AAAHHH!- she shouted, as to clear her mind from superfluous digressions.
 
-AAAHHH!- shouted the monster, terrified before the pressure of the razor blade against his throat
 
-AAAHHH!- shouted the mother, trying to scare away the filicidal impulse. The temptation was strong, but she couldn't give in, without being completely sure that she was doing the right thing.
 
-AAAHHH!- shouted the monster, to scare his aggressor.
 
-AAAHHH!- she shouted, showing him that she wasn't easy to intimidate.
 
-AAAHHH!- he shouted, overwhelmed by the impotence. Four rolls of barbed wire were keeping his arms and legs fixed the ones with the others
 
-AAAHHH!- shouted the mother, wanting to fill herself with bravery to give the fatal stabbing.
 
-AAAHHH!-shouted the monster, trying to project his voice and bringing a vibrato, to appeal the musical sensitivity of the mother
 
-AAAHHH!- she shouted, wanting to silence him
 
-AAAHHH!- he shouted, sank in the desperation of not knowing what to do
 
-AAAHHH!- she shouted, to see if repeating what she said his son could understand better.
 
-AAAHHH!- he shouted, thinking that if shouting like this kept him safe until now, the best he could do was to keep shouting.
 
-AAAHHH!- she shouted, without any reason, and maybe because it was her turn
 
-AAAHHH!- he shouted, and that yell sounded as a menace that next time he would scream louder.
 
Ok, children, that's all for today. Tomorrow we will study the letter 'B'
 

Beefs and cuts

Martinez enters in a restaurant. He sits. He calls the waiter.
The waiter comes near him and asks -Sir?-
Martinez answers -I want to order a rib eye steak, but please I want it well cooked.
-All right, sir- says the waiter and leaves.
But Martinez calls him again and says -I don't care how much time takes, but at all costs I need the rib eye steak to be well cooked.
The waiter replies -Yes, sir.
Martinez waits. He keeps waiting. There's a swap of people in the other tables. Some leave without being replaced by others. Few people remain. The restaurant is darker. There's nobody left in the other tables. The waiter says goodbye to the restaurant owner who is behind the counter.
-See you tomorrow sir- says and leaves
Martinez gets up and goes to the counter.
-It's been eight hours I ordered a rib eye steak- says to the owner. -And I haven't been served yet.
The owner answers -It's not done yet. Could you come tomorrow early?
Martinez says -But sir, I need to eat today!
-Well- replies the owner. -Come with me. We'll dinner at my home.
They come out. They walk.
-Surely my wife prepared a delicious meal- says the owner.
-I hope so, I'm starving- says Martinez.
And the owner replies -Don't be desperate. I live on the other block.
They enter a building. They go upstairs. The owner opens the door of a flat and says -Come in.
The wife welcomes them.
The owner says -I present you one of our customers. Mr ehhh...
-Martinez- says Martinez
The wife shakes his hand saying -Pleased to meet you
The owner says -Mr Martinez will dine with us.
-OK, I'm going to set the table- says the wife.
The owner asks -What's for dinner?- and she says -Mistletoe souffle-
Martinez says -I don't like mistletoe souffle.
The wife answers -I'm sorry. It's the only thing we have.
-In this case, I'm leaving. Good night.- says Martinez.
-Wait- says the owner. -I owe you. What can I do?
Martinez thinks.
-I know- he says.
-What it is?- asks the owner.
Martinez gives him a punch that sounds sssssssssock. The owner falls.
The wife exclaims -Eh! What are you doing?.
Martinez replies with a slap in her cheek that sounds sssssssssack.
The owner from the floor takes a gun out from his pocket and shoots at Martinez with a shot that sounds blammmmmmmmm.
Martinez falls bathed in blood.
The wife asks -You hit him?
The owner answers -Indeed.
The woman gets up and asks -What are you going to do now?
The owner gets up too, he grabs the phone and dials a number.
-Hi Rodriguez- he says. -Listen, I need you to go to the restaurant for a moment. Yes, look, in the iron there's a rib eye steak that was going to be ready for tomorrow. Well, take it away and turn off the stove. The stake was cancelled.
 

Loosen up

The other day I went to the super market
Entering of course in the working time
That the authorities have placed
For the shopping of my age rank.
 
And in an attitude of wise watchfulness
For keeping myself from viral agents,
I was keeping the distance
With so many potential positives.
 
And when I was placing the packages
In the cart with my gloves,
A woman that I haven't seen before
With plumpy and seductive looks
 
Came closer to me and said
Or I thought I heard
'Loosen up that mask
Because I want to kiss you'
 
And her body language didn't leave
Any room for misinterpret
The intentions that she manifested
Against sanity and moral
 
So with civic consciousness,
I called the security guards
To take her to prison
For threatening the safety.
 
The guards were wearing masks
And while they took her to prison,
I could clearly hear that crazy woman
Repeating this song over and over.
 
'Loosen up that mask
Because I want to kiss you'
 

Panama Papers

There are some who say,
There are some who say
that all was typed
on high levels
of the United States,
where the highest power has its nest
and doesn't want any other alike.
But God wanted,
But God wanted
to give permission without warning
of releasing to the whole world
in a sudden like a trail of gunpowder.
 
The Panama Papers,
Panama Papers,
that among all the registers
they involve ministers,
representatives, councillors,
among many other state freaks,
teachers of the financial laws.
I don't exaggerate.
I don't exaggerate.
And though it doesn't surprise
that it shows the royalty
more than one head of state
or a secretary of a former, it's good to confirm
that besides of perpetuating
a system that in itself
legalizes the thief of the others work
they're bum rapping
the very regime.
 
Panama Papers,
Panama Papers.
With some off-shore company,
there are many kinds of it
with the tactic of the southern lawping
of screaming here and sending abroad
what was stolen from the worker.
Panama Papers,
Panama Papers.
But there are other wastelands
with tax havens
where the capitals go to make profits
without getting busted.
And that they will never be known
unless the big media
need to increase the rating
to make new companies
in not burnt out places like Panama.
 

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Salvation table

When I feel that the moral is unstable, that the ethics are critically threatened, I resort to a very powerful salvation table. It's something that always let me overcome.
 
I'll tell you in what consists: Harrison Ford.
 
But not the Harrison Ford of the first era, the one who appeared in hippies stuff or student revolts stuff. I have nothing against that of course, we all been through that era. But I'm neither talking about that Harrison Ford of Indiana Jones. I don't criticize it either, it's fine but as entertainment, not as a role model. I'm neither talking about the already old Harrison Ford who appears in movies of cowboys fighting against aliens, there he went to hell. I'm talking about the adult, mature Harrison Ford, who is solid in his certainty.
 
Like for example in 'Clear and Present Danger' where he's a CIA agent and another agent wants to involve him in secret operations that walk over the constitution and democracy, and wants to justify himself saying that he sees everything in black and white. And Harrison Ford answers him that it's not about black and white, it's about 'right and wrong' like he says.
 
He already did that role in 'Patriot Games' and there he was fighting against terrorism. But well, some might think that he was doing it to keep his income or to protect his family which was being threatened by the terrorists. But no, it wasn't only for that. And he shows it in 'Clear and Present Danger' because there the bad guys were part of the very government. That means that his values were beyond protecting a public employment. Even if his superiors request him, he can't commit a crime.
 
Like in 'The Fugitive' where he has to scape because they accused him of a crime he didn't commit. Because he is incapable of commiting a crime. It's incredible that the other characters during the whole length of the movie don't understand that he didn't do it. He was innocent.
 
Like in 'Presumed Innocent'. Someone had killed his lover and... well, I won't say that it's ok that he had a lover, but I won't get in to judge him either, right? Without knowing the problems that could be in the intimacy of his marriage, Maybe what he did was a mistake, maybe having a lover wasn't the best solution.
 
All right. He's not perfect, he's a human being that can be wrong, but he's not a murderer even if at a certain moment the suspicions fall on him. I don't agree with that part of the script of the movie.
 
Of course. It's based on a novel by Scott Turow, and maybe when Scott Turow wrote it he didn't know that Harrison Ford was going to be on the film adaptation. But when he accepted the role, they should have changed that part. Anyway, you know something? I'm glad they didn't do it. Because that way they gave Harrison Ford the chance of proving that he didn't do it.
 
Like in that other movie 'Regarding Henry'. There he was a lawyer who never had time to be with his family, and he also had a lover. But in a certain moment he has an accident and loses his memory. And there you find out that all those things weren't part of his escence, they were acquired things, they were part of the alienation of the contemporary man. Because when he loses the memory, he recovers his original pureness, he becomes the Rousseau's noble savage.
 
And then is when he's recovering himself, he's rebuilding himself, he buys a puppy, he becomes a family man, like in 'Air Force One'. There he is the president but he doesn't neglect his family. Because it's not incompatible a job of such high responsability with the dedication to the home, the monitoring of the children. When I say monitoring I'm not talking about espionage, I'm talking about getting interested about what they do, to be there to advice them when they need it.
 
And in that movie he goes way beyond that, right? Becasue he saves them, he faces the terrorists who kidnapped the plane. He's a hero. Because he doesn't need the CIA, he doesn't need the National Security Agency. He himself is the one who takes back the control of the presidential plane. The safety of his family cannot rely on third parties.
 
Like in 'Frantic' where his wife dissapears and he's the one who has to go out searching for her. It's not enough with reporting to the police. It's a thriller, but be careful, it's a Roman Polanski movie, it's higher art. And Roman Polanski is not an idiot. He didn't pick Chuck Norris for that role. He didn't pick Jean Claude Van Damme. He picked Harrison Ford.
 
And I in my modest scale, I do the same. When I feel that I'm going to drown in the generalized crisis of values that surround us, I choose Harrison Ford and that way I recover the direction.
 

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Harmless insanity with dangerous inversion

It could be that a certain kind of insanity
could give its patients the taste of the adventure,
of convincing themselves that the pictures of people
are that very people, a bit different, passed through the lens.
If a woman who is far in Europe returned,
to put before the picture the dinner plate with the soup.
It could be, it could be
but it would be a harmless insanity
if there is, if there is, if there is.
Or a more dangerous variant,
moving to the field, moving to the field of sculpture,
a more dangerous variant in this genre of insanity,
would be to believe that statues
that statues are people, are humans
and begging, and begging to Luis Alberto 1
to not go walking over you. 2
This variant in turn has a variant,
in other words, a specially dangerous inversion.
It's the opposite of what I said.
Not believing that statues are people
but believing that there are people who are statues.
Believing that Artigas3 is made of bronze and honor him like that.
Unless, unless this is not completely an insanity
and that there's something of all that here.
Look if the guy is locked inside his statue
and he can't get out, and he can't, and he can't, and he can't.
 

• 1. Luis Alberto de Herrera
• 2. His statue shows him walking
• 3. José Gervasio Artigas

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Zamba of the desynchronized

If I were a trobadour
like the ones who drink and invite
the roads of the lord
or of who scratches his back.
 
I'd wander over there
broadcasting all day long
what whill come from you
in a melody shape.
 
All that I say yesterday
I already said it tomorrow
I'll love you since always
and I loved you still.
 
Though I'm not a trobadour
like the ones who wandered before
through the blooming road
of not signaled lands.
 
A historian will say
that those things never happened
but I feel the freshness
of a coming past.
 
And I remember that I'll say
what they said tomorrow
I'll love you since always
and I loved you still.
 

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Slacker

I'm an imbecile, I'm half moron
I'm null, I'm a retarded
I never overcame the fool age
I have wood on the head
I don't know if you can see
the idiot face or the crappy look
though I'm also a clumsy
and if I get tired someday I turrn into a goon.
 
Slacker, Slacker
 
I'm a clodhopper, a stupid, a silly
I don't even know where I'm standing
I don't figure out anything
I'm dumb and dumber, I'm a dazed
I have an ice cream crushed in my forehead
I have detergent in my mind
I'm half dopey, and three quarters goofy
I'm stubborn, I'm an asshole
 
Slacker, Slacker
 
I'm a dimwit, I'm a dope
I'm jackass and a crackpot
I'm a slacker I'm a high rank imbecile
I'm half douchebag, a good-for-nothing
I'm a berk, I'm a simpleton
a sleepyhead who never wakes up
I'm a danger, I'm an useless
I'm half dull, I'm like a
heaven punishment, a true scourge
I'm a mess, I'm a pain
I'm way worse than a zero at the left
I'm a plague, I'm a fucking imbecile
 
Slacker, Slacker
 

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I can't live without my Movicom

Every monday morning
I get up, I put on the suit
and the tie. And though I can forget
the rest, there's one thing
I don't forget, when you see me
if you look. There's an object
that I can't stop carrying,
because I'm a social being above all.
It's impossible to have a life
that isn't sealed by the communication.
That's why I always come out with my Movicom.
That's why I always come out with my Movicom.
With my Movicom, With my Movicom,
com com com com com com com com.
 
If by the street you ever
see me walking, and you think
that maybe I'm talking all alone,
look that I'm not, that suddenly
I'm talking by Movicom.
So beware, don't disturb me.
Though it might call your attention,
the conversation isn't your issue.
Every call is expensive,
I can't spoil myself
with any interruption.
Because my Movicom bill will go up-
And I can't live without my Movicom.
Without my Movicom, without my Movicom
com com com com com com com com.
 
Formerly, all the people
if they wanted to communicate
in the distance, it was a matter
of yelling. And then came
that invention of Graham Bell.
But today all that
as for me, it no longer runs.
I was left behind like the dinosaurs.
Because nowdays,
the simple fact of talking on the phone
implies a load of agreements,
if you're not doing it through a Movicom,
assembled in China, Korea or Japan,
or with the inscription Made in Hong Kong
Hong Kong Hong Kong Hong Kong Hong Kong.
 
There ends my dear listeners
this small discourse.
For more details, I'll give you the number
that you must dial to find me,
as long as you have the warning
of being brief in your calls
and not abusing of my availability.
To harvest the conversation.
So far this month
I had to sell my stereo
and pawn my water heater.
And all that to keep my Movicom.
Nobody will take off my Movicom.
Borombombom, borombombom,
always with me my Movicom.
 

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Werner

Werner was an ignorant, immoral, morbid, sordid, liar, ugly, naughty, dirty, abominable, perverted, late, luxurious, stubborn, lazy, selfish, academic, messy, unskilled, hateable, mean, shy, idle, schemer, concieted, lewd, careless, gross, culture vulture, greedy, libertine, haughty, traitor, flirty, arrogant, proud, presumptuous, unwise, night bird, outlaw, vain, obnoxious, too full of himself, clumsy, mistrustful, cheater, swindler, malicious, tasteless, irascible, fatuous, obstinate, vicious, scornful, filthy, abstruse, rake, cruel, gossiper, vulgar, heartless, rude, misterious, boastful, balky, wicked, shameless, tightfisted, hoggish, vague, informal, picky, intractable, smug, malicious, suspicious, spoiled, stupid, nosy, swank, useless, senile, impolite, flighty, loud-mouthed, dreadful, pig-headed, unloyal, immature, despicable, ill-mannered, gullible, incompetent, insolent, betrayer, unsteady, annoying, moron, rustic, brazen, distrusting, unsociable, hostile, hurried, troublemaker, unfamous, butt kisser and foul-mouthed.
 
You're lucky, daughter, that you didn't marry him.
 

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Vertigo

When I see you,
I don't know which is the north,
I don't know which is the south,
I don't know where is the east,
and I can't distinguish the west.
 
And is because of that,
that I go anywhere
far from your love, my dear.
And then you have to come to rescue me
from the arms of any other woman.
 
Don't put that chain over me.
Don't put that chain over me.
I promise I'll orient myself,
when I'm able to look at you,
without suffering that vertigo that makes me fall in love
with any living substance
walking under the sun.
 
When I see you,
I don't know if I come or go,
I don't know if I already came.
I can't know either which is the way,
nor how to walk it nor to return.
 
Everything mixes up.
I don't know which is wiht you,
I don't know which is with who,
nor if there's something I shold know abour someone,
or if all the world is just for you.
 
When I see you, I don't know which is.
 

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Paper dreams

I dream that my bird is a hummingbird
but with fangs like a boar.
And its chant sounds like a siren
through San José and Yi.
 
I dreamed that the whole world was a mistake
and we had to pass liquid paper on it
I also dream with newspaperss printed in brown paper
to pack them better.
 
The little children who go to the kindergarden dream
that one is Sylvester and the other is Tweety.
 
The day before yesterday I dreamed I was studying english
in a book all written in japanese.
And tomorrow I'll dream I study pig latin
but backwards.
 
When in this neverland
they hear voices asking 'Is the wolf there?'
Another voice answers 'I'm not but if you miss me
you'll see me soon.'
 
The little children who go to the kindergarden dream
that one plays the bow and the other the violin.
 
And tomorrow I dream that you are yesterday,
and your grandfather is yet to be born,
though your two grandchildren bring you to the kindergarden
a Menier alfajor.
 
The autumn comes, all is of paper.
The notebooks have laurel leaves,
and their springs are curls of your black hair
dyed in pastel.
 
The little children who go to the kindergarden dream
that one is the beginning and the other is the end.
 

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All with sponsors

He got up. Alondra.
He got dressed. Calvin Klein.
He brushed. Colgate.
He took breakfast. Nestlé.
 
He got up to date. Hitachi.
He hurried. Tissot.
He shaved. Gillette.
Whistling. Polygram.
 
He worked. IBM.
He wrote. Sylvapen.
He corrected. Liquid Paper.
Couching. Lucky Strike.
 
Then he ate. McDonalds.
And got relief. Yastá.
He harmed himself. 100 Pipers.
He concealed. Chiclets.
 
He entertained. Atari.
And gained knowledge. Paidós.
He got amazed. George Lucas.
He debated. Foucalt.
 
He fell in love. Los Panchos.
He got better. Ginseng.
He perfumed. Rabanne.
And he came. Playboy.
 
He lubricated. Texaco.
Paying. Master Card.
He rubberized. Pirelli.
And he died. Peugeot.
 

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All for me

So many workers working,
giving up their lives
without ever seeing the light.
So many children begging,
or that one who's selling
in some bus.
So many families who can't
make the ends meet and prepare
their emigration plan.
Thousands of workers who work
to an unbearable beat
......and it's all for me.
 
So much misery, so much
lack of life jumping
at my sight everywhere.
So many families begging
to God because they can't
pay the rent.
So much disgrace for the poor,
who when he gets the paycheck
he can't redeem
all the bills I placed,
because what he produces
.......is all for me.
Is all for me.
Is all for me.
 
All for me.
 
So much poverty suffered
by the people who think
the want to live better.
So many increases in the prices.
Life is a trapeze
for the worker.
So much wealth produced
that never in his life
his producer will see,
because it goes to my profit
and the law gives me the right
..........to use it for myself.
 
So much packed garbage
of safe sell
by the publicity.
So many ways of disturbing
at the expense of the crude
popular innocence.
The gods who listen to my prayer
send me the outcasts
of our society
for Manos a la Obra
make a work
........just for me.
Just for me.
Just for me.
 

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Your world and mine

Your world and mine are different. Try to understand.
If it was possible to overcome the distance
I'd be running to get your love.
Your world and mine are different. You don't speak spanish.
Because you live on Mars. I live on the Earth
and we feel differently the sunbeams.
There's no water in your ground to quench my thirst.
If you want to bring, I'll be always at your mercy.
And if you come to see me in my hometown,
the science will lock you in crystal cells.
And they'll study you, and they'll stuff you,
and they'll reduce our love to yesterday memories.
 
Your world and mine are different. You shouldn't insist.
I have no hopes to get in the NASA
and I'm scared of riding a space shuttle.
Don't keep saying that there's life on Mars. You're the exception.
The rest are rocks, absolute desert
and expired volcanoes like our passion.
You can offer little oxygen.
Your atmosphere is poor. You should know it.
And thre's not a damn fleur de lis
that can improve the air of your country.
There's no living space in your native ground,
for the foundations of our matrimony bed.
 
Your sky and mine are different even by the color.
Yours is pink. Mine is blue.
Because you're the girl, I'm the boy.
Your body and mine are different by their constitution.
You can't touch me and I can't hold you.
Chemistry won't accept our union.
You world doesn't have clouds for dreaming
nor oceans where we can sail.
Only argon winds. Illusionless world.
You don't understand because the creator didn't give you a heart.
 
Your world and mine are different. If you come to my house,
some neighbours by seeing your shape,
will believe that is Spielberg who came to film.
Your body and mine aren't consistent. We will never be three.
And if I'm wrong and someday you give birth
to a son, his name will be Alien 10.
The boy won't learn anything in school.
He will eat all his schoolmates
in a flash. And he'll eat us too.
So forget me dear, this love will never have support.
 

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Superman

It's true that I learnt to defend myself in life
That if somebody ever goes against my stuff
If a burglar, if a thief puts my house in his aim
The little that God gave me, as long as it is possible
I'll safeguard it with the greatest efforts
that's the truth, but it's not enough with that
I can't believe myself more than what I am
I'm a wild, normall, common, limited, insufficient man...
 
Superman! Don't forget about me!
Superman! Don't forget about me!
Superman! What am I without you?
Remember me! I want to be always like this!
At your protection! Superman!
 
By knowing that you're here, I always sleep calm
and I can live in peace, without worrying about anything
If someday I want to take a walk at night
I can do it indeed thanks to you. Thank you!
Thank you! My only great fear, what really scares me
is the fact of thinking that you weren't there years ago
and if you leave someday, the things that could happen
Tell me that you'll stay! That you'll keep protecting us...
 
Superman! We depend on you!
Superman! We depend on you!
Superman! Give us faith! Help us!
Always defend us! We give it all for you!
God's messenger! Superman!
 
If you don't show up one day, then who would take care
of the things of my boss, who thanks to him I work
If you don't show up one day so much wealth in the world
instead of belonging to their legitimate owners
would be a prey of some unprincipled bandit
like the one who for getting bald and ugly
had to wage war on his fellow men,
How far can reach, Superman, the baldness?
 
Superman! Give me your protection!
Superman! Give me your protection!
Superman! When you're in action!
From my couch! Full of admiration!
I sing this song to you! Superman!
 

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A song written by an imbecile

A rainy afternoon, and in the living room,
a truco hand. And on the radio, my dear
a song written by an imbecile.
 
A friend talk, an old tablecloth,
a homemade cake, a tea cup,
And on the radio, my dear, a song written by an imbecile.
 
An apple pie, newspaper supplements,
a blind beat. And on the radio, my dear
a song written by an imbecile.
 
A rainy afternoon. We can't get out.
We remain at home sitting to listen
on the radio, my dear, a song written by an imbecile.
 
A boring afternoon. Too much making love.
Listening the transistor radio which plays my dear
a song written by an imbecile.
 

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Serenade

I will sing to you with this guitar that my grandfather
used to win the heart of who with time
would become his actual wife.
 
A serenade full of important passions
inspired in poems of the books
that you gave me to read when we met.
 
And I stand here like a moveless picketer
to dedicate you my song until you go out to the balcony
and listen to the message of my heart.
 
I know that my guitar and the strength of my singing
will ovecome the 19 floors that there are to the place
that your flat occupies in this monoblock.
 
You will listen to me. I have many things to say to you
and I chose this way of the serenade
because it looks more enjoyable than sending an email.
 
And besides, you leave them unreplied many times
maybe you don't even read them and you erase them
without suspecting they could give you a reason
 
to live in a different way
to the one you knew. Because by my side
you'd know once and for all what love is.
 
Come to the balcony. Lean on a little and you'll see
that when you listen what I have prepared
to sing to you, you won't resist it.
 
I'm here, at the foot of your building
practicing vocalizations for when you decide
to pay me attention, you understand my feelings
 
and for listening closer what finally
your heart will discover as the purest truth
you'll feel the impulse of coming to me.
 
Because it's so. When one glimpses the happiness
that was hidden, one can't contain oneself
of going the soonest as possible beside that being
 
who put light in what before was in the shadows
without passing by the gloom that in a single flash
cleared so much clarity from the dark.
 
And by listening this serenade that I'll sing to you
I'm sure that you won't hold yourself
and you'll jump from the balcony.
 
I wait for you here. I will catch you with my guitar.
Its strings are elastic and is very fine
the wood used to carve the tuning fork.
 
You can jump. I see that you took my advice,
you're coming to my arms, my dear, you're reach...Oh!
 

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Santa Bernardina del Monte

In order to save electric energy, the authorities of Santa Bernardina del Monte decreed that at twelve AM of the day twenty five to set the clocks back one hour, therefore showing the eleven PM of the day twenty four. That way the people who had to get up at seven AM on the day twenty five wouldn't have to turn on any light, because in fact it would be eight AM and the sun would be already on full activity.
When the time came -twelve AM of the day twenty five- the people of Santa Bernardina del Monte, dutiful like they were, set their clocks back one hour. Were then -or were again- eleven PM of the day twenty four. One hour later, the clocks would show again the twelve AM of the day twenty five. The people of Santa Bernardina del Monte, dutiful like they were, set their clocks back one hour. Were then again eleven PM of the day twenty four. One hour later, the clocks would show again the twelve AM of the day twenty five.
- What do I do, mom? -asked a young boy-. Should I set the clock back?
- Of course, son: we must be respectful with the decrees of the authority -replied the mother.
All the inhabitants of Santa Bernardina del Monte behaved in coherency with that precept. But an hour later the clocks would show again the twelve AM of the day twenty five. Again, the peaceful inhabitants of Santa Bernardina del Monte set their clocks back one hour. They started then to wait the passing of the sixty minutes remaining to set the clocks back again. But some were sleepy and went to sleep, not without leaving established shifts beforehand in such way that there was always someone awake at the time of setting the clock back.
On the next morning were still eleven PM of the day twenty four. One hour later were twelve AM of the day twenty five, and immediatelly after were eleven PM of the day twenty four again. The offices and the businesses were at nine hours from opening. One hour later were at eight, but in less time that a rooster needs to sing -end effectively many were doing it- they were at nine hours again.
The inhabitants of Santa Bernardina del Monte, of keeping themselves in that state, they would have perished of starvation. However very different was the cause of their death. Three days after the time change, an officer of the central government, who was passing by the town, understood the attitude of the natives like a general strike for indefinite time, and reported it to his superiors. Little after, ten thousand soldiers went with helicopters and tanks to Santa Bernardina, annihilating the insurgents. The clocks of the town, then, were left divided between two categories: the ones that damaged bythe bullets, were stuck in a time between the eleven PM and the twelve AM, and the ones that kept working freely, being capable of reaching beyond the twelve AM with nobody grabbing them by the hands to set them back. Anyway, some hours after, they by themselves were showing the eleven PM again, like if they felt nostalgia for their well-behaved owners, may them rest in peace.
 

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Romance of the orchestra and the tail pipe

The orchestra was going on a bus. They were taking the concert the had done in the city A, to offer it in the city B. Some days after they would pick it up to bring it to the city C. The woman who played depending on the cases the third clarinet, bass clarinet, or nothing, had took her head through the window and she was enjoying the wind, wich changed the hair setting. There wasn't wind, in fact, but the motion of the bus at certain speed pretended it to be. That bus had no windows that could be opened, but the clarinetist had used the red hammer that was in the middle for emergency cases and she had broken the glass and she was leaning out her head through there. She was fed up of her work. Like most of her orchestra fellows, she hated music and her biggest wish was to be able to quit that job and not devote herself to anything. The glass breaking and the fact of leaning out her hear through the window, was a symbolic mean that she had found to express her wish of leaving everything. A bassoonist who was sitting by her side leaned out his head too for the glass breaking had left enough space. But while the clarinetist was looking up to the sky, the bassoonist was looking down. He was also fed up of the orchestra and of having to study difficult passages without knowing to read music completely. Because honestly, he was only familiarized with certain usual combinations of figures. But when he came upon different sequences, he was only playing some approximation. And he played them with low volume, trying to hide behind the sound of the other instruments. But when it was a passage with nothing behind where to hide, he was feeling like giving up. And as his temperament was more self destructive than the clarinetist, he was looking down, expressing his symbolic wish of dying under the wheels of the bus. 'What are you looking at?' asked the clarinetist, anxious before the chance that he had found a scape. 'Nothing, nothing' he said, hiding his suicidal fantasy. 'What's that?' she asked, pointing at something appearing in some part of the edge of the bodywork. 'I don't know, it looks like a tail pipe' he said. 'A tail pipe, it's my chance to scape' she thought. And she jumped entirely through the window trying to reach the pipe. The bassoonist saw how she was successful in her business, being sucked by the pipe and dissapearing in its interior. Despite the noise of the engine and the wind, the bassoonist could hear some seconds later some kind of clarineted burp, which was the chosen form by the pipe for expressing its satisfaction by the ingestion made. Some of the other musicians went closer to poke around and the news was spreaded to the rest of the bus. With great jubilee, all the sections of the orchestra went going through the tail pipe. But the bassoonist didn't take courage to jump. He didn't know if that tail pipe would lead to happiness or to a sudden death. But his temperament was more like for a gradual death. He went to sit next to the driver and looking at the clouds coming together in the horizon, he said 'Crazy weather, isn't it?'
 

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Recitalis Interruptus

The recital was about to begin.
The attendant was placing the tips in his pockets.
The lights of the hall went off
and from the stage went on.
The audience applauded.
Alex Estragón made his appearence and saluted the audience
with a graceful bow.
Then he sat at the piano and began
with the 2nd prelude of Bach's Well-Tempered Clavier.
It was the first piece appearing in the leaflet
but the spectators haven't gathered
at the hall by the repertoire but for
the hight hierarchy of the player
and his international prestige.
While he was playing, it started to seem for Estragón
that there was some kind of murmur among the audience,
and didn't understand what was going on.
He imagined that maybe they sold
more tickets than what the hall capacity allowed
because he thought he heard protests.
He also thought that maybe the air conditioning was broken
and that the disturbance was for that.
He tried to focus in the music and not pay attention.
But when he began with Chopin's Heroic Polonaise,
which had more silences between some chords,
he could hear clearly that a spectator
was shouting form the stalls: 'Hey. My niece plays that.'
The pianist ignored the comment and continued,
but an old woman said: 'Yeah. My granddaughter too.
At first I didn't recognized it, but she plays this piece.'
'And how does she plays it?' Asked the one in the next seat.
'Way better than this man.' she said.
'She plays it more paused, calmer.'
'Yeah, this man is histeric' said many.
'Besides anybody can play this' said another.
'Yeah. I have the CD' said a guy.
'If I knew he would play this, I wouldn't come.
I'd stay quiet at home,
listening the CD and watching TV.'
Estragón, nervous and embarrassed, went out of scene
and asked his manager what the fuck was going on.
'Well Alex' answered the saddened manager.
'You're gonna have to change the rubric.
People don't want covers.'
 

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Return to normality

Finally it passed, it ended, the terrible terror.
The ferocius nightmare that fortunately is almost gone.
It let us wake up under a sun of new faith.
 
Finally it's broken, it's defeated, it's dead, it's over.
Or it's about to be over. It's known that it will be over.
Many people came out, it's back here.
 
Why it happened, I don't know. Some say it was
the triumph of reason, or the strength of the population.
The thing is that we meet again with a tradition.
 
Of peace, well-living, of voting from time to time
and enjoying your days without anybody saying
what is allowed to listen, see or write.
 
Finally cleared, died down this rain of horror,
downpours of authority, 'Documents, sir, where are?'
'Don't take me. I have them at home right there.'
 
I know. You'll say, 'more is needed, some things are left behind.
There are some troubles standing' But we see advances daily.
A commitee is working next home.
 
Maybe we could have in some time that they give
a solution to that issue of the old unemployment
for everyone to become part of the nation.
 
There if it's also given, by the tought struggle
or a subimperial gift, the greatest total freedom,
we could stick to the national anthem.
 
And yes. we have to hear over there that living is hard.
That the wages aren't enough neither to feed a child.
It always happened like that more or less.
 
If else, go ask the old men at the bar
if here in the fifties, the real income was high.
If the union life was just a decoration.
 
That way will rule again here in Uruguay,
what was always the normal. You might say it's not the ideal,
but we must safeguard what is traditional.
 
To ask, to achieve the supression of the expensive soap
of the state of exception, and recover the nature
of citizens not subjected to dissapearing.
 
For a natural Uruguay, where the rich will be
always rich, and the poor over there, if he ever pretends to reach
equal rights, will bring the state of exception.
 
Which, in the end, like when it's carnival,
and the murga is about to leave, it says goodbye and also,
that someday it promise to return, and rule.
 
But today, just think, that it leaves, that is almost not here.
the ferocius nightmare that fortunately is almost gone.
Though you know nobody died of almost.
 
Finally. Finally. What?
 

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I wanna see you die of natural death

-It's been a long time we know each other, we need to talk,
you look calm but I can't bear this
-Tell me what's your pain, what's your problem I'll support you,
inside certain limits I'm willing, I want to help you
-The problem is complex I don't know how to start
-Well you just did it now you need to know how to continue
-Exactly I don't know how to start that continuation
-That's easy because you have the lyrics of this song with you
-What I'll say to you is a bit incoherent
-Say it anyway
-I will say it
-I'm listening
-Well let me talk
-I let you and you don't talk
-You always cut me
-It's not intentional
-But you must silence
-I can't because of a musical reason
.Well then I'll change the music and you must listen,
what I wanted to say and that now I'll sing to you.
 
I don't wanna see you anymore, I don't wanna see you anymore, I don't wanna see you anymore,
I wanna see you again, I wanna see you again, I wanna see you again,
I don't wanna hear you, I don't wanna hear you, I don't wanna hear you,
I just want you to talk and hear the things that you'll never say,
don't say no to me, don't say no to me, don't say no to me,
always say yes to me, always say yes to me, always say yes to me,
don't say yes to me, don't say yes to me, don't say yes to me,
always say to me that you don't want me to say no to you.
 
-Indeed is a bit incoherent your baloney I didn't understand,
I wish to know in what part of the drag you involve me,
don't come with things of past times that won't return,
which by the way in their time didn't went farther from the hallway
-Your romance with Juan, your romance with Juan, your romance with Juan,
I won't tolerate it, I won't tolerate it, I won't tolerate it,
I wanna see you with Juan, I wanna see you with Juan, I wanna see you with Juan
-And I think that you should have a meeting with the psychiatrist
you cheated me with another I saw she wasn't the same girl of yesterday
-It was just a fling, I swear it won't happen again
-I don't believe you traitor!
-Believe me dear, I recognize my mistake
-It's useless, don't count on me, I hate you, you're the worst.
 
-I can't love you, you're my sister
-How do you know it?
if you weren't there when that happened between mom and those three men.
-Don't disclose her private life, nobody must know it.
-Quite the opposite dear, that private life feeds us
-I wanna see you privately
-You're my brother
-I am for real,
but here on the theater the things aren't like in the real life
-Don't pretend to do it here on the stage?
-Why you don't want?
-It's better at home in the back that nobody sees us
-That's not possible what will Radiolandia say about me
-I don't know because I have an exclusive deal with Para Ti
-There's danger, we must take care
-I know, I always did
but now I won't because I'll leave you
-Leave me, why?
-Our love is over
-I assure it isn't
-I repeat it is
-There's no need to repeat
-Yes because you're that way
-I am that for you
-You're nothing to me
-Don't say baloney
-You're the baloney
-And you're the salami
-Shut up idiot, silence is healthy
 
-I don't wanna lose you but if we fight I will win
-I don't wanna fight, I wanna see you die of natural death
-I don't want you to suffer like the horses, I'm gonna kill you
-I'm gona crush you, you'll live in the blueprint of our city
-If you weren't my sister I'd pull your hair
-You're not able
-Yes, I am
-No you're not, come on
-Yes, I am, come here and see
-We shouldn't fight, think that the show must go on
-It's true, we still have some shows to share.
-So I propose that we make a peace treaty right now
-I paid my fee of arguing for today, I don't want more
-Ok, et's rest
-Let's make peace
-I remember mom
-She always said that we don't fight
-That's true,
but on the snack time you always placed a toad in my bread
-But you strangled my best doll
-It attacked me
 
-You know it's a lie!
-Mom believed me
-You were the oldest
-That has nothing to do
-It had but it's over,
because mom is gone and she was who priviledged you always,
now we're not children and it's our work, our profession
it's fine to who knows to catch the favours of their producer.
 

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Answers to a young poet

I don't know if you know that your head is failing,
don't come telling me that thing that you're a poet.
Because I never saw you on any library,
even though I checked the files by authors,
besides of consulting with very good professors.
But it's useless, you're not neither on the restroom walls,
it means that what you write is a swindle.
 
I don't want to say to not write pretty things,
and if you like to write you don't need to give up.
But man, please, overcome that nonsense
of picturing yourself like a Moratín a Neruda, or a Darío.
If you don't go much farther from being a good scholar of mine.
To be a poet is something more than supply your thoughts,
to be a poet is that when you die they make monuments of you.
 
The true poets, when they come to life,
they bring instead of a bread, a statue built,
in the memory of the great work that is expected of them.
When you came here you didn't bring any hint
that could show that your hair is bronze.
You have no base, your pens are stolen,
and what you write will never worth anything.
 
So get out of here, take your manuscripts.
Don't disturb me, get out or I'll scream.
I have things to take care, I can't pay you attention.
This is an editorial, not a joke field.
And you're not a writer, but a simple shameless.
And what you scribble in agoraphobia nights
you can show it to your girlfriend on sundays.
 

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Psychoanalist

Before singing the last song, I want to tell some things of a little more personal nature. I'm psychoanalist. It's a profession that I achieved once. And well. Sometimes I like to disclose a little the intimacy of my patients. At least when I consider that this could be useful to other people that allow us to learn from the other's mistakes and anyway, to grow like human beings, right? And well, I have this patient, she's called Teresita, it's been some time that she comes to me and it seems that she broke up with his boyfriend, which it makes me feel glad because that boy wasn't the right one for her. I don't say it myself, her parents were sying it too. And it's not that I was jealous because of course, in the role I carry out doesn't correspond to me that kind of feelings, right? Though I have to confess that in that level I did some progress because the last sessions I had with her we've been doing them grabbing our hands. And I think that I can make even more progress, In fact I could have made progress faster, What happens is that, well, I must take care of listening to what she says too, to work on that. I can't be thinking of the other thing all the time, right? Besides sometimes I'm wondering if I really need to make too much progress but...no, I think I need. I will do it because so many years of analysis that I did, gotta have some use for me, or not? By the way she likes it. At least for now she hasn't protested at all. I don't know if she believes that the technique is like this, or if it's by transference that she projects me things of another person that she likes or she liked, right? that I'm not really the one she likes. But well, it has to start with something. So, let's see how this keeps going, how it develops. The most important is that she keeps going, I'm insisting too much to her lately, I'm telling her that she can't interrupt, that she has to... I understand that it's getting hard because I can't charge her the same I charged her last year, right? but, no no no, but she has to make an effort because it's very important. As much for her as for me. Because I don't want to hide what I feel, I don't believe in that neutrality that the psychoanalists believed before they could hold, right? because looking at you with a poker face is not being neutral. And let's suppose that they put a nothing face, but in fact there's no such thing as a nothing face. It could be a face of not wanting to express anything, but anyway the things come to the light, because the psychoanalists aren't graduated from the Hollywood's Actors Studio to be able to perform so well. They're very naive if they believe that they don't show anything. I show it all. I show it all to Teresita and for me it has to be that way. If they want it they could fire me from the psychoanalists association, but I won't give up my principles and I won't give up what I pursue of my patients either because well, I live from that. Although there are many who are owing me more than a month. That's a problem because the more they owe me, the crazier they get and they need to see me more. So the debt is increasing. To many I had to send them the thugs to be able to charge them. But anyway, sometimes some pressure is good. About us, the technical term we use is 'shock therapy' and has a clear cost, because you have to hire specialized staff, That cost is included in the patient bill, if they don't want to cover it, we apply the therapy again to them and at the end they end up paying twice. That's why I always insist to them, I harp on them. I make them remember, I tell them 'don't delay, don't delay the payments.' But there's no point. There are some who don't understand, right? their neurosis obstructs them completely their sense of responsability, right? Even there are some who develop some kind of subject blocking. They can't talk about what they owe me. It's like a taboo. They can talk about sex for three hours suddenly, they have no limits. You gotta cut them, you gotta remind them that their time was over, but the money subject inhibits them completely. That's why we gotta work too much to be able to break that defensive shield and it isn't easy, I mean. There are some who for getting a dime from them, it's really not enough neither with beating them up. You have to resort to other measures like for example... to kidnap the mother or the father. There when you touch the Oedipus, the begin to reach. Fortunately for myself I have a commisary who supports me in this. Because when the reports of kidnappings come, he leaves them squeezed in a box because, he understands about psychology, he knows what a therapy is and how much it costs. And, well, with the percentage it costs more but what can we do. We gotta work on team to do the things in the right way. The time of individualism is over, it's gone. We gotta learn to share what one has, because if we don't learn from that, this country doesn't get any better.
 

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How embarrassing

He was a very minor poet.
He thought he was valuable
but like a professor
said to him, his poem didn't worth even
the time that a proof-reader would take to read it.
 
He was a boastful poet.
Despite of being sentimental,
instead of the heart
his most accomplished poem only reached to the pancreas
or luckily a little upper, to the sternum.
 
He was a disastrous poet.
My grandmother in her free time
wrote better than him.
 
He wasn't an ordinary poet
because the comparision
between his work with a million
of the most mediocre works of his time,
would make him look bad or leave him grounded in a corner.
 
He was an inept, a retard.
His poetry wasn't such
because it was all bad.
He couldn't stick a word and if the horses pardon me
he wrote in the style like an untamed.
 
He was a terrible,
stupid, philistine, propagandist,
copycat, sappy and dumb poet.
 
When they pushed the button
and came the chain reaction
that a neutron expanded
all over the planet, there wan't left any poem
of the greatest writers of the civilization.
 
Our poet died,
and look what happened:
his poetry was safe.
And it was the only thing that from our culture
have rescued the aliens when they visited the region.
 
And in libraries of distant galaxies,
the only thing that is from us is his work.
 

My translations are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. It doesn't apply to the translations with a source.

The black sheeps can have gray hair

Help me doctor, if you can please.
I'm getting saner, I'm getting worse everyday.
Now everything around is like a big sleepiness.
Help me to get out of this shock, this horror.
My greatest fear, my greatest danger
is that my life becomes a Knorr Suiza broth cube.
 
I can't believe the things I did yesterday.
First I went to the workplace that has me very irritated.
Then I went eating. And later when I came
home, I watched TV wth my wife.
Doctor, I feel sick. It's anti natural.
Little by little I'm becoming like the normal people.
I sense a brutal vertical falling.
I don't know if it's a stomach problem.
I don't know if it's temporary, if the process is gradual.
I don't know if I have cure not if it will create habit.
 
Doctor, what can I do? I don't want to suffer
this disease that crushes me and wants me to become
a knitting needle, and wants to make me
follow the weave in a crochet that I want to break.
I don't know what happened to me. Explain me doctor.
I was a black sheep and now look at my color.
I look like a power sugar alfajor, or better
a puddle of that thing called liquid paper.
And if there's a stain in my weak illusion
it's only by the effect of the carbon paper.
 
Help me doctor, if you can please.
I'm getting saner, I'm getting worse everyday.
Now everything around is like a big sleepiness.
I feel myself driven by a sewer pipe.
And what is worse, the place is tempting.
So please, help me.
No. Don't. I don't care. I'm fine like this.
I pay the consultation and well,
I'll come another day on any case. Bye.
 

My translations are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. It doesn't apply to the translations with a source.

Problem

If we start of from the sure base
that to the monday always follows the tuesday
and that after the wednesday gives twenty four hours
including all the minutes, the seconds
and the quarters one after another,
and bearing in mind that theorem that holds,
that after the thursday comes the friday,
and that days ago the wednesday yielded to the thursday,
and that the saturday isn't anything
but an evil continuation of the friday
that sometimes ends in sunday,
transforming suddenly into monday,
then in tuesday, wednesday, thursday,
friday, saturday, sunday and monday,
tuesday, wednesday, thursday and friday,
and after in saturday and sunday
without ever skipping any monday,
nor a tuesday, wednesday, and maybe
stretching the thursday to a friday,
the saturday yearning for a sunday
destroyed by a sure monday,
invincible and hard like a tuesday,
like an unyielding wednesday
buried under a robust thursday
dead at the foot of a friday morning
that at night an expected saturday replaced,
but for few hours,
until the sunday became monday,
the one that became tuesday,
tuesday to wednesday, thursday and friday,
then saturday, sunday and monday,
if we start of from the sure base,
of what color is death?
 

My translations are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. It doesn't apply to the translations with a source.