Somebody That I Used To Know

. 27 de enero de 2015
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Somebody That I Used To Know


Now and then I think of when we were together
Like when you said you felt so happy you could die
Told myself that you were right for me
But felt so lonely in your company
But that was love and it's an ache I still remember

You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness
Like resignation to the end
Always the end
So when we found that we could not make sense
Well you said that we would still be friends
But I'll admit that I was glad that it was over

But you didn't have to cut me off
Make out like it never happened
And that we were nothing
And I don't even need your love
But you treat me like a stranger
And that feels so rough
You didn't have to stoop so low
Have your friends collect your records
And then change your number
I guess that I don't need that though
Now you're just somebody that I used to know

Now and then I think of all the times you screwed me over
But had me believing it was always something that I'd done
And I don't wanna live that way
Reading into every word you say
You said that you could let it go 
And I wouldn't catch you hung up on somebody that you used to know...

But you didn't have to cut me off
Make out like it never happened
And that we were nothing
And I don't even need your love
But you treat me like a stranger
And that feels so rough
You didn't have to stoop so low
Have your friends collect your records
And then change your number
I guess that I don't need that though
Now you're just somebody that I used to know

I used to know
That I used to know

Somebody...

(...)

Fact V

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Cuídate de que no falten:

un libro de Bukowski,

la canela, 

un whisky malo, 

las cucarachas voladoras.


Porque las poesías pueden ser todo, menos cómodas.

(... Hay poesías que solo existen en las húmedas y oscuras noches de verano ...)

Feels like sugar

. 11 de enero de 2015
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Hjaltalin - Feels like sugar 


Peaceful mind, with invisible scars, scars that won't heal. 

Dead alive, butterflies in my eye. 

Howling hearts, quiet enemies.

Right or wrong, gravity holds, it holds me down. 


Is it a sin I can not stop, or is it a dream that I can not drop? 


Completing life with limited time, limited breathing time. 

Chains of tranquillity, and simplicity choke, they're choking me. 


Is it a sin I can not stop, or is it a dream that I can not drop? 

I guess it's wrong, yes it's wrong. 

It's so wrong, yes it's wrong. 


And it feels like sugar, but tastes like rain. 

And it's just like living, but without the pain. 

When it tastes like sugar, but feels like rain, 

then soon you'll discover it's all the same. 


Drifting in the sea of salty thoughts. 

Secret little lies tied up in knots. 

It's all wrong, nothing's wrong. 

Like a thundercloud in a clear blue sky. 

Fighting wishful thoughts without knowing why. 

It's alright, nothing's right. 



Completed life has unlimited time, unlimited breathing time. 

Stuck in serenity and simplicity it chokes, it's choking me. 


Is it a sin I can not stop, or is it a dream that I can not drop? 

I guess it's wrong, yes it's wrong. 

It's so wrong, yes it's wrong. 

Nothing's wrong! 


And it feels like sugar, but tastes like rain. 

And it's just like living, but without the pain. 

When it tastes like sugar, but feels like rain, 

then soon you'll discover it's all the same.

(...)

Stars are made of blues

. 10 de enero de 2015
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Sometimes I'm like loving these nights alone.

But I wonder if you could come this far some day.

Leaving prejudice and sorrow in a broken tear.


It has been a while since the last time,

And I feel the silence striking on me.

I have been left in this place all by myself.


All the doctors smile at the clinic of love.

Sing and dance.

I just don't know if I want to keep this one away.


The leaves are whispering our names,

At the forest of whispering trees.

Make a star shine over mi eyes tonight,

And I will know you are still fighting with the ghosts of your Arctic bears.


And I will make an effort  to keep on loving these nights alone,

At the city in which everyone keep singing,

Come on, move on.


(... Del 18 de enero de 2007 - 08:10 am ...)

Capítulo I

. 9 de enero de 2015
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Esa enorme intriga de no saber el destino de nuestros pensamientos. ¿Dónde nos llevarán las imágenes que se arremolinan frente a nuestros ojos? A veces dulces, a veces terroríficas imágenes de la fantasía de nuestras vidas. ¿Resultarán reales alguna vez? ¿Vendrán como esclavos de nuestro destino a acurrucarse firmemente en nuestro presente? La noche oscura se adueña de todas ellas, las reales y las ficticias, enmascarándonos, enmascarándose y borrándose de nuevo para volver a lo que son. Incertidumbre. Miedo. Dolor. Angustias y deseos. El sol cae ardiendo sobre la ciudad que todo lo alberga. Todo menos la certeza del cambio. Eso queda en nuestra fuerza de voluntad.

Julia se despierta sobresaltada. El reloj sobre su mesa brilla como el fuego, son las 3:09 y falta para el amanecer. El sudor la cubre por completo. A tientas baja de la cama y se dirige a la ducha. Cuando la frescura del agua la despierta, se da cuenta que aún lleva su ropa interior. Apolla su frente contra los azulejos, dejando escapar un llanto que la sobrepasa. Toda la tristeza de su pecho la empuja desde adentro. Tiembla tanto que no puede mantenerse en pie. El agua la calma, pero no es suficiente esta vez. El llanto es cada vez mas fuerte. Todo su ser estalla en angustia.

Cuando suena el despertador, Julia sabe que hace sólo unos instantes estaba despierta, peleándo con su tristeza. Sus ojos aún le dolían de tanto llorar. Ni siquiera hace el intento de levantarse, sabe que no tiene las fuerzas. Apaga el reloj y la consume el sueño.

Su vida se escapa, se desgasta, se corroe atrapada en la celda que sus propios monstruos han construído. Perdida dentro de su propio frasco, sin la fuerza de romper esa cárcel que sólo existe porque ella así lo quiso. Ya todos los que la rodean han dejado de insitirle. Nadie puede obligarla a tener fe en si misma.

Por ello, esa mañana, la muchacha aplicada, pulcra y amable, se quiebra. Despierta en medio de sus propios gritos, golpeándose la cara con fuerza, zamarreándose con tanta fuerza que hasta las sábanas comienzan a lastimarla. 

Los gritos se oían en todo el edificio. Eran desgarradores. Un vecino logró entrar tirando la puerta abajo. La encontró en el piso, junto a la cama, con cortes y magulladuras por las que brotaba la sangre a borbotones. La abrazó, mientras otra vecina llamaba una ambulancia. Ella entre sollozos alcanzó a decir: "Esto no es lo que soñé. Vos nos sos lo que soñé" y se desmayó.

(...)

Those Dancing Days - Run Run

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0 comentarios


(... 21 de septiembre ...)