miércoles, 26 de marzo de 2008


I never wished to save people from a fire.
I never wished to appear naked in a calendar.
I never wished to be a hero.
I never wished to be a fireman.
I first read Fahrenheit 451, by Ray Bradbury, when I was thirteen-year-old. So being a fireman meant to be an enemy of books, an enemy of knowledge, an enemy of mankind.
Anyway, I never liked that warning on the wall:
"Uso exclusivo bomberos"

miércoles, 19 de marzo de 2008


At the beginning of the nineteenth century, there was a Spanish general of Irish origin who was executed by firing squad not because of his surname. Quite the opposite, he was a very active and liberal career soldier. In fact, he defended the Spanish Constitution of 1812.
But if you don't know his biography you will think he was an idle person. According to a Spanish saying, "Cría fama y échate a dormir". The English translation would be: "Give a dog a bad name". A friend of mine who lives quite near to Reina Sofía Museum, said to me last night he felt a bit lazy when started walking by General Lacy street on his way home.
The funny thing is that Lacy is not a corruption of the word Lazy. So actually that general was very transparent, as his deeds and literal surname show. This is why I like go walking by that street at sunset. Then I feel light as a feather.

domingo, 9 de marzo de 2008


One week ago, my six-year-old niece Carmela gave me a bunch of little mushrooms she had come across in the park. Carmela's mother, my beloved sister Pilar, said immediately those mushrooms were fairies. So I could make a wish. Of course, I did... Last new moon, the clear skies of love left its doors wide open.

*Dibujo de Carmela.

jueves, 6 de marzo de 2008


You are not Peter Pan anymore. You are in Madrid now. You have to be "logical, responsible, practical" (SUPERTRAMP).
However, I get back to Kansas every time I open the first page of In Cold Blood, by Truman Capote, and read:
"The village of Holcomb stands on the high wheat plains of western Kansas, a lonesome area that other Kansans call 'out there'".
So "get back to where you once belong" (The Beatles)

Literature is always 'out there' whispering in your ears:
"I wonder if I shall fall right through the earth! How funny it'll seem to come out among the people that walk with their heads downwards" (Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, by Lewis Carroll)
"It is the fairy language. You ordinary children can never hear it, but if you were to hear it you would know that you had heard it once before" (Peter Pan, by J.M.Barrie)
"Si tu aimes une fleur qui se trouve dans un étoile, c'est doux, la nuit, de regarder le ciel" (Le Petit Prince, by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.
"I'am seventeen and I'm crazy" (Clarisse to Guy Montag in Farenheit 451, by Ray Bradbury).
"He never stopped talking, and what was awful was, he never said anything you wanted to hear in the first place" (The Catcher in the Rye, by J.D. Salinger).
I believe in Literature even more than in Billy Wilder. So I will always live in Kansas.

*You are not in Kansas anymore es una popular expresión de El Mago de Oz que viene a significar algo así como: "Vamos, crece, madura, ya no eres un crío".

miércoles, 5 de marzo de 2008


I had been working for that travel agency since the early 2000's and I felt really bored of my job. Besides, it was in the middle of the busy season of tourism. Totally disgusting, but one day S. came out of the blue.
S. was young blood, fresh air and all this kind of stereotyped shit. Nineteen years old and nineteen years younger than me. At the time, my last girlfriend and I had just split up and I felt a little hopeless. So it was very easy to fall in love with that newcomer workmate. S. was not only young but pretty, a really cute angel with brand-new wings. Unfortunately, she was always talking about her handsome boyfriend, their trips to the mountain on the weekends making barbacues and stuff like that.
S. used to come to my desk to take the stamp of the agency once or twice an hour. I was the person in charge of keeping the stamp in good fit. To top, I had to go after the stamp when my workmates forgot to give it back to me. This sort of repetitive deeds forges our daily and sad reality, but we are always hoping a miracle, a sexual miracle at least. But miracles are for believers and I only believed in Billy Wilder (as Fernando Trueba said Oscar in hand).
However, the miracle began to crystalise when S. changed the pace of her visits to my desk. Now she came four or five times an hour. At first, I thought she was mocking me. But one week later I noticed she watched me much more than the usual.
One night I had a dream. I could see S. naked in the toilets of the office. Se was laid on the cold floor, pointing at me with a sensual finger. Her long painted nail was a scorpion's tail inviting me to go for a dip.
I got undressed and one minute later fell down upon her. I could notice her tiny and tender breast below me. Suddenly I realised that my lips had stamped kisses of ink on her whole body. Then I knew she would always be mine.
Next morning, S. didn't go to work. At the end of the day, someone called to the office and said that S. was dead. She had been found in her apartment totally naked. My company's name was stamped all over her body.

lunes, 3 de marzo de 2008


Everyday I make a short walk before starting to write. I am embarked on a fantasy novel. I have already finished two out of three parts of it. Apart from the novel, there are a lot of things nagging in my mind: money, love... It's always the same story. Fortunately, I saw this morning a writing on a wall: "Acepta". That's true. I am fighting for my dreams. I am a richman who don't have anything. That's all.

domingo, 2 de marzo de 2008


It was on a sunny sunday afternoon of March. I was in a park close to my apartment reading The Times as I do every sunday since I discovered it is more useful to learn English than to read Shakespeare's works. So I was reading Alice Miles' article when I realized that a cock pigeon tried fucking a nice dove. As a backdrop, there was a gang of tramps fighting for a bottle of plonk*.
I felt a mix of happiness and bitterness. On one hand, the weather was marvelous, but on the other, a strong feeling of hopelessness began to dominate my mind. At the time, I was fed up with living alone. I had lived alone for two years and I couldn't stand it anymore. Then, I cried to myself, "Is there anybody out there?".
Suddenly, I was the defeated cock pigeon or, maybe, I was the tramp fighting for a burning sip of plonk. The nice dove flew away into the sky.

*Vino peleón. Me gusta porque refuerza la idea de lucha.