The cigarretes in my pocket

I look outside, through the window display and hope I could take my lunch break before the sun comes down. Maybe I still can steal one sunshine or two from the day. I mentally trace my route to the tasteless pret-a-manger sandwiches, to the bench in the back of the street, to the cigarettes in my pocket. I never swallow the smoke, I’m not a nicotine addict. Cigarettes just taste good at night, surrounded by people, hiding behind a drink,. I can’t even stand the smell on the morning after, impregnating the sheets and the furniture, the skins post-sex, post-war, post-uncomfortable silence.

17 minutes and 45 seconds to the lunch break. I try to estimate my chances. Carnaby is starting to look red, the sun fading out the shapes of the street. It’s definitely colder .

Emma stops by the shop. It’s the second time today, she says she wants to borrow my Otis Redding album. “My shop needs some soul,” she says. “No soul in here neither,” I reply. She smiles.

Emma likes me. I knew it from the very first day. It has always been easy for me to attract girls’ attention, to find somebody to spend the night with. I wear the right jeans (vintage 501 Levis, always with a white v-neck t-shirt), I say the right things ( ‘The XX’ are the best new band on the face of the earth, the last Paul Auster book is crap, I just work in here to save money for my own ‘on the road’ trip around America.) I can do it: look thin enough, cool enough, smart enough. The problem is that sometimes I forget it. The faking. I forget to keep smiling to somebody’s anecdote, to nod when they talk about german post-punk bands, Murakami or Damien Hirst . And then they look closer and start discovering gestures, stares, words that don’t match this lie.

Ian enters the shop carrying a half-emptied bag of McDonalds’ fries. He’s five minutes late. “Your turn, mate,” he says. I grab my Barbour jacket, make a quick stop by ‘Pret’ and walk towards the bench in front of his shop, knowing he’ll still look perfect throw the steamed window. I look for the Marlboro’s in my pocket, happy to have something to hold that will stop my hands from shaking. It’s already dark outside.

The tallest man on earth

De repente llega un hombre muy bajito, de espiritu que rasga cielos dejandolos purpuras, doloridos. Llega un loco de ojos febriles, y empeza a rascarte las paredes del alma, aranhando mas alla de donde duelen las cosas, y cuando acaba el concierto tienes que sacudirte el abrigo, y te miras a los pies, y estan cubiertos de virutas de pintura, cascaras de canciones usadas, cenizas de fuegos ajenos.

Pasa muy pocas veces, de una manera muy extranha, que de repente unos ojos febriles encuentren unos ojos llorosos en la oscuridad de un publico anonimo. Hay acordes, hay desgarros en pocas (muy pocas) voces que te hacen creer de nuevo en la unica verdad inevitable. Una que te cincelaste en piedra, y guardaste entre las costillas y los pulmones anicotinados: que la musica es mas grande que el amor, que la vida, que las pretensiones de inmortalidad y que juntar dos letras para pintar un oleo de palabras inertes. Que consigue el unico milagro que cuenta: el salvarte, por un momento, de este cansancio inmenso. Y durante una cancion, solo una cancion, por una vez, se te humedecen los ojos y las entranhas, y miras hacia arriba, a la emocion incorruptible del hombre mas grande del mundo, y no estas solo.




(A mi hermano Anton, que no pudo estar, pero anda lidiando con sus propios gigantes con espiritu inquebrantable. Con alegria.)

My muchness

In the movie Jhonny Depp is the mad hatter, and he has in the eyes the sadness of whom had seen villages burned to ashes...
He's waiting for Alice, he believes in her.
Alice is in denial, repudiating her duties as a hero. She wants to be in control of her own dreams, she wants to escape her destiny.She's lost in wonderland.

The mad hatter says: You used to be much muchier before. Yes you were much more Alice the last time we met. You have lost your muchness

Well I did lost my muchness in this wonderland of red buses...I'll bring me back. Promised.