España limita

「P. ¿Por qué lo eliminan entonces?

R. Por motivos políticos, lo tengo absolutamente claro. Pero soy uno más, lo han hecho con muchos compañeros, recientemente al presentador del programa de cultura El ojo critico, de Radio Nacional.

P. ¿Qué opina de estos ceses?

R. Que está habiendo una limpia. Está pasando y lo saben hasta los votantes del PP.

P. Flores se lo negó.

R. Me dijo, cuando yo ni siquiera se lo había preguntado, "que sepas que esto no es por motivos políticos". Cuando das más explicaciones de las que te piden… Excusatio non petita accusatio manifesta.」

*Le témoin. Gilbert Garcin, 2002.

*Le départ. Gilbert Garcin, 2002.

*Entrevista a Javier Gallego para El País. Carmen Pérez-Lanzac, 31.08.12. [texto completo aquí, di no aquí]

Una tara radical

*Alarma. José-Miguel Ullán, 1976.

*Mad Men. Mattheu Weiner, 2010.

Me cago en Dior

「Lowell's shoulders had a slump, his modest stomach was pushed forward a hint, his chin was dropped to his chest as he stood at the microphone, pondering for a moment. One did not achieve the languid grandeurs of that slouch in one generation ―the grandsons of the first sons had best go through the best eating clubs at Harvard before anyone in the family could try for such elegant note. It was now apparent to Mailer that Lowell would move instinct, ability, and certainly by choice, in the direction most opposite from himself.

(...) "We can't hear you" they shouted, "speak louder."

Lowell was annoyed. "I'll below," he said, "but it won't do any good." His firmness, his distaste for the occasion, communicated some subtle but impressive sense if his superiority. Audiences are moved by many cues but the most satisfactory of them is probably the voice of their abdomen. There are speakers who give a sense of security to the abdomen, and they always elicit the warmest kind os applause. Mailer was not this sort of speaker; Lowell was. The hand of applause which followed this remark was fortifying. Lowell now proceeded to read some poetry.」

「Ligeramente encorvado, con la discreta panza echada ligeramente hacia adelante y la barbilla pegada al pecho, Lowell se quedó un instante ante el micrófono, reflexionando. No era posible lograr la lánguida nobleza de aquel porte indolente y laxo en una sola generación: era preciso que los nietos de los primogénitos hubieran pasado por las mesas de los mejores clubs gastronómicos de Harvard para que alguien de la familia pudiera aspirar a tales cotas de elegancia. A Mailer le resultaba ahora obvio que Lowell se condciría siempre ―por instinto, por aptitud, y ciertamente por elección― del modo más opuesto al suyo propio.

(...) ―¡No le oímos! ―gritaban―. ¡Hable más alto!

Lowell estaba irritado.

―Gritaré a voz en cuello ―dijo―. Pero no servirá de nada.

Su firmeza, su desagrado por el evento en que estaba participando, irradiaban un sutil aunque abrumador efluvio de superioridad. Hay un sinfín de indicaciones y estímulos que mueven a cualquier público, pero el más útil y preciso es quizá la voz de sus tripas. Hay oradores que despiertan una sensación de seguridad en las tripas, y ellos son siempre quienes arrancan los más cálidos aplausos. Mailer no era de esta clase de oradores. Lowell sí. La ovación con que fueron acogidas sus últimas palabras resultaba alentadora. Lowell procedió entonces a leer fragmentos de su obra poética.」

*NYC, Robert Lowell. Henri Cartier-Bresson, 1960.

*The Armies of the Night [trad. Jesús Zulaika]. Norman Mailer, 1968.

Ganar significa que no estás flirteando

「Now I am quietly waiting for
the catastrophe of my personality
to seem beautiful again,
and interesting, and modern.」

「Ahora espero tranquilamente

que la catástrofe de mi personalidad

parezca de nuevo hermosa,

interesante, moderna. 」

*Frank O'Hara. Harry Dedl, 1958. Copyright 2008 The New York Times Company.

*En Mayakovsky. Frank O'Hara, 1957.

El fascismo de los sueños

「「I’m really sorry Steven but your bicycle’s been stolen. I was watching it for you ‘til you came back in the fall. I guess I didn’t do such a good job after all. I was feeling really sorry Steven and I spent all morning grieving and everybody’s saying that you’ll take the news gracefully. Somehow I don’t think I’ll get it that easily. I meant her no harm when I left her unlocked outside the Orange Street Food Farm. I was just running in, didn’t think I’d be that long. I came out, she was gone and all that was there was some bored old dog leashed up to the place where your bicycle had been. Guess we’ll never see poor Madeleine again. Let this be consolation, Steven, that all the while you were in England I treated her with care and respect and gave her lots of love and I was usually pretty good ’bout locking her up. Where has she gone? Well, I bet she’s on the bottom of a Frenchtown pond rudely abused on some hescher’s joyride. So I wrote you this song In the hope that you’d forgive me even though it was wrong being so careless with a thing so great and taking your poor Madeleine away, away.」

*Crisis, what crisis? Supertramp, 1975.

*Apology song. The decemberists, 2003.

Momentos utópicos de clase media alta

「In Timbuktu I once saw an Arab boy who could play a flute with his ass, and the fairies told me he was really an individual in bed. He could play a tune up and down the organ hitting the most erogenously sensitive spots, which are different on everyone, of course. Every lover had his special theme song which was perfect for him and rose to his climax. The boy was a great artista when it came to improvising new combines and special climaxes, some of them notes in the unknown, ti-up of seeming discords that would suddenly break through each other and crash together with a stunning, hot sweet impact.」

「Una vez, en Timboctú, vi a un chico árabe que tocaba la flauta con el culo, y los maricas me dijeron que en la cama era algo único. Te tocaba una canción subiendo y bajando por el órgano, apretando en los puntos erógenos, distintos en cada persona, claro está. Cada amante tenía su propia canción ideal para llegar al orgasmo. El chico era un artista a la hora de improvisar nuevas combinaciones y orgasmos especiales, algunas eran notas en lo desconocido, arpegios de apariencia discordante que estallaban súbitamente y se entrechocaban con impactos deslumbrantes, ardientes, dulces.」

*Naked lunch [trad. ugdm]. William S. Burroughs, 1959.

*Naked lunch. David Cronenberg, 1991.

Euro Disney, Eurovegas, mejor lejos

*Oklahoma City. Travis Simon. 2009.

*Seattle. ugdm, 2012.

El profano interesado

「One of the things that people don't realize about Dad's kind of music is, when you replace a C-sharp with a gunshot, it has to be a C-sharp gunshot or it sounds awful.」

「Una de las cosas que la gente no comprende del tipo de música de papá es que cuando sustituyes un Do sostenido por un disparo, debe ser un disparo en Do sostenido o suena fatal.」

*Time Contestants Marianne Baba (left), Lois Conway and Ruth Swenson, chiropractor-judged beauty contest. Wallace Kirkland, 1956.

*Spike Jones Junior.