Thursday, August 25, 2005

Poesia in Italiano

Mi piacerebbe essere un vecchio seduto su una panchina.
Guardare la gente che passa, guardare l'umanità.
dal ometto che cammina con spalle curve, testa china,
alle ragazze in mini gonna fuori dall'università.

Mi piacerebbe saper mettere su tela la realtà,
disegnare la gente, dipingere i loro pensieri.
Con una matita trascrivere la quotidianità
di questa vita tra il domani e il ieri.

Mi piacerebbe essere una cantante sul palco.
Guardare la gente che ascolta, perdermi nei loro occhi.
Animarli con note che piombano dall'alto come un falco,
cullarli con toni dolci, pieni di fiabe e balocchi.

Mi piacerebbe far piangere la gente con la mia voce,
che quando canto io tutti stanno ad ascoltar.
Partirei piano per poi accelerare sempre più' veloce,
Poi vedendoli stanchi, canterei una ninna nanna per farli addormentar.

Mi piacerebbe prendere il posta della Morte.
Vagar per il mondo portando in dono l'oblio.
portar le anime nella mia cupa corte.
fargli capire che l'unico premio sono Io.

Solo cosi potrei forse cominciare a capirvi.
finalmente comprendere la ragione dell'umanità.
Solo cosi potrei forse finalmente dirviche alla fine la gente vive per semplice vanità

Opening paragraphs of another novel

The rays of sun languidly drift down through the hazy clouds and fall upon the exposed surfaces of Times Square like a blanket of dust gently settling after a commotion. These rays no longer carry the menace of strangling heat. No longer do they strike with untold hate the panting bodies of businessmen wrapped in a stifling cocoon of gray and blue. Yet, even now, as October turns into November, they do not totally forget their memories of scorched earth and sweating flesh. They strike the ground languidly and bounce off seemingly disinterested in the whole affair.The large Sony made screen, which towers over the square keeps showing images of the first Chinese space mission over and over again. An incessant set of images; the rocket blasting away, red communist flags proudly fluttering and a beaming president chase themselves on and off the screen. There is no sound. The cheering masses on screen seemingly muted by the power of broadcast.. The real masses, bored by this endless repetition, pass by unperturbed without even glancing at the screen. An old lady pushes me to get past and this jolts me. I stop gazing at the screen and instead start following this unlikely assailant with my eyes. She is a typical Hong Kong middle-aged woman. Minute but seemingly made of gnarled wood, sandpapered to a surprising smoothness, her light mahogany skin appears anything but creased. I get pushed aside again by the moving crowd and this time I turn around clamping down a rising sense of irritation and find myself suddenly staring straight in to the eyes of a pumpkin. It takes me a second to understand what I am seeing and yet another second to recover from my surprise. I take a step back and silently look at the five foot pumpkin man in front of me. I glance around and spy several more of these walking visions. My head starts to throb, I desperately want to close my eyes and fall asleep.

Thursday, August 11, 2005

Plagarism

French President Jacques Chirac reacts caustically to the suggestion France is losing its "Global War on Evil" as the American insurgency begins to dampen French public opinion. With his poll numbers steadily decreasing and with nearly 1,800 French troops killed and another 13,000 seriously wounded by American insurgents, the French public, media and even France's "puppet" parliament are beginning to question Chirac’s motives and judgment concerning his decision back in March 2003 to invade the US. France did so in order free the American people from the brutal illegitimate regime of then President George W. Bush and to bring French style democracy to the American people. Termed Operation American Freedom, French and German troops, cheered on by compliant embedded French journalists, invaded the US to overturn what Chirac called, again, “the brutal, illegitimate regime of George W. Bush.” Citing the dangers Bush's regime posed to the French people, and emphasizing that America had over the years attacked its neighbors in Grenada, Panama and Haiti as well as Vietnam, Korea, Iraq, Somalia, Serbia, and Afghanistan, Chirac grew weary of Bush's incessant violations of UN Security Council resolutions. He removed French and German weapons inspectors from US cites and launched a massive land, sea and air assault appropriately called le shock et l'awe. “With his 400 billion dollar [ US ] military budget, Bush is amassing the most lethal chemical, biological and nuclear weapons of mass destruction ever known to mankind,” warned Chirac. The danger these weapons posed to France as well as Bush's links to such terrorist organizations as Israel 's Mossad and Britain ’s MI6 required immediate action. "We must fight evil over there so we don't have to fight it over here," he said. Referring to the United Kingdom and Israel as part of the "axis of evil,” they too remain in the crosshairs of France 's divinely inspired "global war on evil." Former American President George W. Bush, you'll recall, was found cowering in a spider hole outside his ranch in Crawford , Texas , back in December 2003. Now in an undisclosed location awaiting trial, the former tyrant, who executed his own people while governor of Texas with lethal chemical injections, was recently photographed standing his underwear in a dingy prison cell. The picture was sold to a French tabloid and circulated around the world on the Internet. The French public delighted at the spectacle of their former friend, now foe, the diabolical tyrant Bush, in his briefs. But most Americans, even those who hated the man, felt ashamed and humiliated at the sight of their former president, however bad he was, photographed thus. Chirac chuckled. As the old Bob Dylan song goes: "Even the President of the United States sometimes must have to stand naked." But suddenly the French leader became quite agitated. “These American insurgents who attack French liberation forces from les états rouges [the red states] are rebels, cowards and terrorists who can't stand freedom,” he said angrily. “Most of les états bleu,” he reminded us, “are mostly peaceful, showering the French and German coalition forces with truffles and flowers and presenting little if any resistance.” Then in January 2005 the Americans bravely went to the polls, from Florida to Ohio , and elected a government sympathetic to the French and German occupation. Americans opposed to it mock the government with words like “ Vichy ” and “Quisling” and refer to their fellow countrymen as “liberals,” “collaborators” and “traitors.” To the astonishment of Chirac, American insurgents attack those of their fellow countrymen who support the French occupation

French and German troops, too, have been suffering an increase in terrorist attacks by Judeo-Christian Crusaders (Jihadists) opposed to France 's occupation of the US and Chirac's global war on evil. Chirac claims foreign evildoers from Canada and Mexico are crossing the border and committing terrorist strikes against French and German troops. "Canadians are foreigners and are in the US illegally," he emphasizes. To the south, Mexican mastermind, the phantom “Houdini" Zarqawi, who has more lives than a cat, wounded more often than the Monty Python Black Knight and continuing to foil French troops at every rendezvous, has escaped capture once again. But Chirac insists he will be brought to justice, “either dead or alive at a time and place of our choosing and we will not cease until our mission is accomplished. France and Germany ,” notes Chirac, “will not sit idly while foreigners from Canada and Mexico infiltrate the US and commit terror alongside the American rebels in the Dixie Triangle.” The Dixie Triangle extends from Virginia to Texas , and in 1860 seceded from the US , then also “preferring slavery to freedom,” quips Chirac. Germany, part of the coalition that invaded the US in 2003 and remaining in the US as a liberation force, sought world sympathy as well when religious Christian and Jewish extremists in Berlin, opposed to the French and German occupation of the US, launched coordinated suicide (some call them homicide) terrorist attacks on German subways and buses. Killing more than 50 German citizens and wounding hundreds more, “these Christian and Jewish extremists are murderers who will not shake the resolve of the German people,” notes German Chancellor Gerhard Schroeder. Together Chirac and Schroeder condemn these Christian and Jewish fundamentalists as cowards and murderers. Christian and Jewish groups in the US claim the suicide bombings were in retaliation for atrocities France and Germany committed against Christians and Jews in past and the Franco-German occupation of the US today. Most decent people worldwide deplore the loss of innocent lives taken in these suicide attacks but feel the unprovoked strike by France and Germany on the US created the climate that breeds desperate acts by overtly religious Christian and Jewish extremists. "These Americans are religious extremists who hate our values, our traditions, our culture and way of life,” says Schroeder. “This is the same evil which was inflicted on Dresden , Hamburg and Cologne in 1945. Then, too, evildoers terrorized our people with bombs. They hated us then for wanting to bring freedom to the people of Eastern Europe as they do today for wanting to bring freedom to the US .” Chirac, who loves to give nicknames, refers to Schroeder as his ”German Shepherd." But world opinion has no sympathy for the Germans and French, believing America never posed a threat, and that they deliberately exaggerated the danger US weapons posed to France, Germany , their neighbors and allies. Most world opinion is incredulous at their case for sympathy, stating this is an example of the oppressor claiming to be the victim. With the word "B" word, Bourbier (quagmire), creeping into the French psyche, Chirac has now gone on the offensive to crack down, kill or capture, or as more aptly stated, bring to justice those "who can't stand freedom" by taking away their freedom.

Captured Americans as well as foreign-born terrorists from Canada and Mexico are confined at New York 's notorious Abu Attica prison or sent to Devil's Island in the beautiful Caribbean . Nearly 10,000 American, Canadian and Mexican criminals, terrorists, insurgents and general evildoers, especially those with suspected ties to the terrorist group "The Base," are detained “humanely in accordance with international law,” notes the French president. “They might be subjected to some pranks and college like hazing as a good natured means to obtain important information for security purposes,” a defensive Chirac adds. For example: American detainees are required to wear French lace panties on their heads, eat escargot and frog legs, and are routinely kidded about their sexual "shortcomings" by French female prison guards. Chirac denies reports of electrical shock treatment being applied to the genitals of male prisoners in Abu Attica. The denial has merit, for there is no longer any electricity (or clean water for that matter) in the broken, ravaged, late, once great United States . It has also been reported French prison guards urinated on a Bible and flushed a Torah down the toilet at the Abu Attica and Devil's Island detention facilities. When confronted with this accusation, Chirac noted the prank of holding prisoners’ heads in toilet bowls and suggested some "tinkle" may have splashed on a Bible while French troops were urinating on American prisoners, “but these are not violations of the Geneva Convention and are necessary interrogation tactics to succeed in the global war on evil," he explained. A sympathetic looking Chirac maintains the French would never flush the Torah down the toilet or urinate on the Bible. “What do you think we are? Barbarians?”

Wednesday, August 10, 2005

Wednesday Morning

As soon as my alarm clock started madly beeping at me this morning, I knew it was going to be a difficult day.

My head and stomach seemed to be having a heated discussion about who was going to torture me most. My eyes were simply refusing to co-operate and were threatening to declare independece from the rest of my head.

I managed to get up and crawl pathetically towards the kitchen with surprising ease. Pulling my self up to table height proved a bit more tricky but I eventually managed by jamming my leg under the closet and pushing. Once up, things were easier. I managed to make coffee, drink it and head back towards my room without too much pain or discomfort.

I showered, shaved, brushed my teeth and applied deodorant at will. Dressing proved tricky but finally managed to put on my dark grey suit, a blue shirt and my red Ermenegildo Zegna tie.

By the time I walked the three hundred metres or so which divide my house and the subway I was feeling much better. I remember thinking that the sky was a beautiful blue.

Twenty minutes on a packed subtel carriage, with some psycho mumbling loudly under his breath right next to my ear and some old lady stabbing me with her pointy elbows, and I was finally in the office.

Now, I only have to think of a way to get through the next nine hours, including two meetings and a conference call, without passing out and then I will be able to go home and sleep.

Tuesday Night

My head hurts, my eyes hurt, my lungs hurt.

I knew I would regret last night´s partying in the morning and I have definately not been proven wrong.

It all started with an evil little call which reached me as I was leaving the office last night. I was 7:30 (surprisingly early) and I was heading home for a nice home-cooked meal and a good night´s sleep. After a week of continuos drinking, my body was demanding a little rest and recuparation. Thus, when lucas invited me out for a quite drink, I was not initially too keen. However, after a couple of minutes discussing the relative merits of sleep vs. quick drink and then sleep I told him I would meet him at the Shamrock in twenty minutes. this was my first mistake.

My second mistake was, in comparison, much worst. Even as I was walking towards the bathrooms with that little package nesting in my suit pocket, I knew I should turn back.

"Just one little line, then I will finish my beer and then straight home"

Hardly.

Three hours, five pints and half a dozen lines later I was finally home. The problem, and there is always a problem, was that my night was not over.

Right now, I do not remember whose idea it was. All I do remember is that I picked up my phone, dialed a number and, after a couple of rings, soraya´s voice answered. I do not call escorts very often, but, then again, I do call them more often than most. I put down the phone and told Lucas that Soraya and a friend would be over in an hour or so.

When the girls got to my house forty five minutes later, an extra empty bottle of wine was sitting prettily on my table.

The next couple of hours were pleasurable ones. I will not go in to detail explaining what happened. I will leave it to your imagination. All I will tell you is that when I finally managed to kick everyone out hours later I was feeling already quite sick. The last thing I saw before gratefully closing my eyes was the blinking indicator on my alarm clock.

04:18

Tuesday, August 09, 2005

Poema en castellano

Vos entras con violencia en mi miente
Te robas mis pensamientos como un rapaz
Me sigues, me persigues
Pero cada vez que me doy vuelta
Ya no estas

Vos agarras mi atención y te la quedas
Te escapas con mi mirada sin querer
Me ignoras, me torturas
Y cada vez que te sonrío
Ya no estas


Vos violentas mi ánimo con tu olor
Me ahogas en un mar de ilusión
Me agarras, me secuestras
Pero cada vez que yo te busque
Ya no estas

A very short short novel

I remember Tommy telling me, as a teenager, that he would have liked to die on a rainy day. He said he would have felt better leaving the world if the day was wet and cold. In the end, they killed him on such a beautiful April morning, on the first real day of spring. It is all I remember thinking while I watched, mesmerized, as his head slowly exploded, droplets of blood taking flight like a flock of startled birds. It is all I remember thinking, while he keeled over as though in slow motion. It is all I remember thinking as he lay in my arms, dead yet still warm, gone yet still familiar. He would have liked to die on a rainy day.
Once I got home, it took me a while to clean the dried blood which had caked to my skin. The clothes I was wearing I had to throw away as they were beyond recovery. I would have never imagined how much blood could rush forth from a human body. To me, the flow of blood seemed endless, a majestic crimson river which streamed forth from unknown depths. Of course I was not able to do anything about Tommy’s lifeless body. I had to leave it there on the cobbled street like carrion left to the birds. I am sure the Americans will take care of it. They will dump it in one of the many communal graves that seem to be cropping up like mushrooms recently. They will take my best friends body and throw it in a nameless pit next to thousands of other fellow Europeans they have slaughtered since the invasion began exactly six months ago.