Cristales rotos
carretera negra
la sangre se abre paso
sobre mi brazo
el viento acuchilla
mi cuello vagabundo
Ángel redentor
ponte al volante
no podría soportar
irme sin volver a verte
ángel redentor
tu recuerdo es mi faro
si vuelvo a ver el día
quiero que sea a tu lado
A tu lado
a tu lado
Noche infinita
destino siempre lejano
sudores fríos
miedo al rojo
extrañas fuerzas
guían mis manos
Luna piadosa
indícame el camino
mi ángel redentor
no llegará a tiempo
luna piadosa
préstame tus ojos
si he de alzar el vuelo
quiero llegar hasta ti
Hasta ti
hasta ti
Ya llega la luz
Wednesday, 19 September 2018
Canción del canal
Encallado en este canal
mi camarote no deja entrar la luz
es mejor así, navegar en la sombra
hasta cerrar las heridas
Brisa otoñal anida en mi pecho
oigo la voz de los motores rugir
no sé adonde voy, aunque miro hacia delante
en busca de la luz perdida
Pasan los muelles
pasan las sombras
pasa este otoño
y mi barco vuelve al mar
mi camarote no deja entrar la luz
es mejor así, navegar en la sombra
hasta cerrar las heridas
Brisa otoñal anida en mi pecho
oigo la voz de los motores rugir
no sé adonde voy, aunque miro hacia delante
en busca de la luz perdida
Pasan los muelles
pasan las sombras
pasa este otoño
y mi barco vuelve al mar
Monday, 9 July 2018
Todo se derrite
Ya está aquí
llegó el verano
no estoy preparado
me refugio en mi cuartucho
sombra, agua y ventilador
no sirve de nada
Sale humo
de mi gato
creo que es el final
pongo hielo bajo mi culo
aparento normalidad
todo se derrite
Quiero viviendas en el norte
con iglús en el jardín
quiero ríos de cerveza fría
y una perenne brisa otoñal
quiero, quiero, quiero... Más privilegios
Ya está aquí
llegó el verano
ya está aquí
llegó el verano
huye mientras puedas
corre, es el final
llegó el verano
no estoy preparado
me refugio en mi cuartucho
sombra, agua y ventilador
no sirve de nada
Sale humo
de mi gato
creo que es el final
pongo hielo bajo mi culo
aparento normalidad
todo se derrite
Quiero viviendas en el norte
con iglús en el jardín
quiero ríos de cerveza fría
y una perenne brisa otoñal
quiero, quiero, quiero... Más privilegios
Ya está aquí
llegó el verano
ya está aquí
llegó el verano
huye mientras puedas
corre, es el final
Sunday, 24 June 2018
Últimos planes de un hipocondríaco
Si muriera mañana,
maldeciría a todos los santos;
destruiría aquello que detesto;
donaría mis últimas reservas de afecto;
haría lo que el miedo me impidió hacer;
volcaría mi vida en una canción
y cantaría a todo lo que he amado.
Si muriera mañana,
llegaría a un acuerdo conmigo y mis sombras.
maldeciría a todos los santos;
destruiría aquello que detesto;
donaría mis últimas reservas de afecto;
haría lo que el miedo me impidió hacer;
volcaría mi vida en una canción
y cantaría a todo lo que he amado.
Si muriera mañana,
llegaría a un acuerdo conmigo y mis sombras.
Favourites
I don't have a favourite place
I don't have a favourite film
I don't have a favourite song
I don't have a favourite book
but I do have a favourite nose
and I do have a favourite mouth
guess to whom do they belong...
I don't have a favourite parent
I don't have a favourite friend
but I do have a favourite smile
and I do have a favourite voice
guess to whom do they belong...
You are my favourite thing
you are my favourite thing
Journeys that matter
The last event in my life that turned my world upside-down was a trip that I did to Cuba. When you travel, it is easy to be astounded by new places and experiences, but some trips are way more meaningful than others. This one remains one of the most meaningful ones I have ever done.
Before I was able to materialize this adventure, I had been fascinated with Cuba for many years, ever since I discovered their traditional music, like “el Son cubano”, and the books of Pedro Juan Gutierrez, one of my favorite writers. I made the decision of going there after a period of acute emotional turmoil, when I reached a point that the only antidote that I could think of to all of that distress was a classic but effective one: doing a trip alone somewhere far away. The decision was not an easy one, as a trip like that would involve being trapped inside an airplane for plenty of hours, one of my biggest fears.
Somehow, I managed to remain calm for most of the voyage, due in big part to the endless collection of films that the aircraft provided. Once I landed in Havana, I could feel the radical change of environment almost immediately; there was a different energy in the atmosphere, one that injected me with a big rush of adrenaline that lasted for the rest of my stay there. The first two days were kind of a roller coaster ride, as, despite of being aware of the Cuban trickery, I ended up meeting a lot of people who tried to scam me in diverse and imaginative ways. Although I tried to impersonate their accent in order to be a less easy prey, they guessed my condition without much hesitation.
Once I learned the basic surviving manual, I was able to relax and experience the place in its pure, wild essence. I avoided the touristy areas in both Havana and the surrounding areas that I visited, a choice that helped me get a wider perception of their culture. I met many locals that floored me with their unpretentious charm, vital vision of life and laid-back ways. Needless to say, the music shows that I attended blew my mind. The cream of the crop was that I got to meet the aforementioned writer. We were in the same flight back to Spain and chatted for quite a long while. Up to this day, surprisingly, we are still in touch.
This new atmosphere that I got to absorb made a transformation in my whole being; a huge burden lifted from me. As the cliché goes, I wasn’t the same person as when I left.
Before I was able to materialize this adventure, I had been fascinated with Cuba for many years, ever since I discovered their traditional music, like “el Son cubano”, and the books of Pedro Juan Gutierrez, one of my favorite writers. I made the decision of going there after a period of acute emotional turmoil, when I reached a point that the only antidote that I could think of to all of that distress was a classic but effective one: doing a trip alone somewhere far away. The decision was not an easy one, as a trip like that would involve being trapped inside an airplane for plenty of hours, one of my biggest fears.
Somehow, I managed to remain calm for most of the voyage, due in big part to the endless collection of films that the aircraft provided. Once I landed in Havana, I could feel the radical change of environment almost immediately; there was a different energy in the atmosphere, one that injected me with a big rush of adrenaline that lasted for the rest of my stay there. The first two days were kind of a roller coaster ride, as, despite of being aware of the Cuban trickery, I ended up meeting a lot of people who tried to scam me in diverse and imaginative ways. Although I tried to impersonate their accent in order to be a less easy prey, they guessed my condition without much hesitation.
Once I learned the basic surviving manual, I was able to relax and experience the place in its pure, wild essence. I avoided the touristy areas in both Havana and the surrounding areas that I visited, a choice that helped me get a wider perception of their culture. I met many locals that floored me with their unpretentious charm, vital vision of life and laid-back ways. Needless to say, the music shows that I attended blew my mind. The cream of the crop was that I got to meet the aforementioned writer. We were in the same flight back to Spain and chatted for quite a long while. Up to this day, surprisingly, we are still in touch.
This new atmosphere that I got to absorb made a transformation in my whole being; a huge burden lifted from me. As the cliché goes, I wasn’t the same person as when I left.
Description of a city
Few times in my life I have been so astounded with a place. It is actually hard to explain the reasons why I found it so enchanting. My senses were puzzled with all different kinds of stimulus, some strident, others delightful, but most of them new for me. I’m talking about Bucharest, the capital of Rumania, a city of vivid and bewildering colours.
The first thing that grabbed my attention was the architecture. It looked more like a film scenario than a real setting; the scenario of a pretty bizarre film. Palace-like houses were located side to side with humble little shacks, plenty of spectacular old mansions that were abandoned, byzantine institutional buildings in every neighborhood… The decadence of all of these singular constructions was haunting, it was so impressive and unpretentious at the same time, that I couldn’t but fall in love with the city. Nicolae Ceaușescu, the ruthless president of Rumania during most of the communist period, wanted to create a replica of Paris in Bucharest, and the fascinating thing is that he achieved it only in certain parts of the city, which are weirdly integrated within the less flamboyant ones. Not without reason, it is called the little Paris of the East.
A detail that I liked too is how unspoilt by tourism it is. Despite its growing popularity, it is safe to say that it retains a purity and authenticity which is quite rare in western European capitals. It is, though, spoiled by other factors, like noise and overpopulation. It is an utterly rowdy place, which some people find enervating. The same thing happens with the general decay and neglect of some areas. For me, both aspects were riveting!
There is a lot of culture in the streets too, whether it is concerts or theatre, plus a restless nightlife, so there isn’t much time to get bored there. The locals form a melting pot of features, having the country such a privileged location between the Mediterranean and the Germanic region. Therefore, you feel like you are in the middle of many cultures, all of them blended together into this cosmopolitan city, doubtlessly one of a kind.
The first thing that grabbed my attention was the architecture. It looked more like a film scenario than a real setting; the scenario of a pretty bizarre film. Palace-like houses were located side to side with humble little shacks, plenty of spectacular old mansions that were abandoned, byzantine institutional buildings in every neighborhood… The decadence of all of these singular constructions was haunting, it was so impressive and unpretentious at the same time, that I couldn’t but fall in love with the city. Nicolae Ceaușescu, the ruthless president of Rumania during most of the communist period, wanted to create a replica of Paris in Bucharest, and the fascinating thing is that he achieved it only in certain parts of the city, which are weirdly integrated within the less flamboyant ones. Not without reason, it is called the little Paris of the East.
A detail that I liked too is how unspoilt by tourism it is. Despite its growing popularity, it is safe to say that it retains a purity and authenticity which is quite rare in western European capitals. It is, though, spoiled by other factors, like noise and overpopulation. It is an utterly rowdy place, which some people find enervating. The same thing happens with the general decay and neglect of some areas. For me, both aspects were riveting!
There is a lot of culture in the streets too, whether it is concerts or theatre, plus a restless nightlife, so there isn’t much time to get bored there. The locals form a melting pot of features, having the country such a privileged location between the Mediterranean and the Germanic region. Therefore, you feel like you are in the middle of many cultures, all of them blended together into this cosmopolitan city, doubtlessly one of a kind.
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