Las palabras son geniales, incluso cuando mi cara Otaku parece burlarse del tema serio; o ¿será tal vez mi lenguaje de desvaríos?
Empezaba a llover un poco. No entiendo; es raro, tanto como que con todo y los vacíos aún permanezcas aquí sólo mirándome. Yo creo fielmente que es mi estructura mental deficiente, aunque tú pienses firme que es simplemente mi affaire por el caos.
- Estás fría.
- Es Usted fría señorita, se siente como un bloque de hielo, lamento decirlo pero es la verdad, debería meterse en un refrigerador.
- Hey! no robes mis diálogos.
-Sólo era por decir algo...
Unos minutos más tarde.
-Dime que estoy loca!
- No estás loca y no vas a convencerme de ello.
-¿¿ No??! ¿Ni con caras, gritos o persecusiones?
- No.
- ¿Acaso eres psiquiatra para saberlo?
- Si.
-Mientes!!
-Si ya sabes para que preguntas, mocosa?
-Sólo para corroborar cuantas veces me dices mentiras. Pero si no crees que estoy loca y no voy a convencerte, entonces el loco eres tú.
- Yo?, que... ¿Acaso eres psiquiatra para saberlo?
- Yo.... mmm. Tomé un curso.
- Ah entonces puedes decirme algunas cosas. ¿De qué fue el curso?
- Ahm... de... realidades alternas.
- Ah! eso no tiene nada que ver con la Psiquiatría!
- jajaja ¿Aún así no crees que estoy loca?
4 comentarios:
¡¡¡¡Hey Mara!!!!!
Antes que nada ¡que gusto volver a saber de tí en este espacio del cyberespacio! ¡hacía tanto que no te aventuravas a entrar aquí!
Oye, no creas que exagero ni que soy un adulador desmedido, pero de veras, esta técnica del diálogo y de las sitaciones absurdas y quizás cómicas o tragicómicas no te la conocía. ¡ERES FORMIDABLE! lo he leido con una amplia sonrisa en mis labios, una sonrisa franca, abierta, sincera. Si algo que escribiste antes me produjo tristeza, pues esto que acabas de poner aquí me devuelve la alegría. ¡GRACIAS PRECIOSA! y bueno, todo lo que escribas lo absorberé, lo devoraré con gran pasión. Eres única, te quiero, te admiro. Te mando mil besos
BOTS
TE MANDO ESTE POEMA DEL IRREVERENTE DYLAN.
Un beso: BOTS
IF DOGS RUN FREE
If dogs run free, then why not weAcross the swooping plain?My ears hear a symphonyOf two mules, trains and rain.The best is always yet to come,That\'s what they explain to me.Just do your thing, you\'ll be king,If dogs run free.If dogs run free, why not meAcross the swamp of time?My mind weaves a symphonyAnd tapestry of rhyme.Oh, winds which rush my tale to theeSo it may flow and be,To each his own, it\'s all unknown,If dogs run free.If dogs run free, then what must be,Must be, and that is all.True love can make a blade of grassStand up straight and tall.In harmony with the cosmic sea,True love needs no company,It can cure the soul, it can make it whole,If dogs run free.
Bob Dylan (1970)
TRÁGICO, CRUDO, DESPIADADO, REALISTA: EL GRAN BOB DYLAN
DE PARTE DE bots:
Ballad of Hollis Brown
Hollis BrownHe lived on the outside of townHollis BrownHe lived on the outside of townWith his wife and five childrenAnd his cabin fallin\' downYou looked for work and moneyAnd you walked a rugged mileYou looked for work and moneyAnd you walked a rugged mileYour children are so hungryThat they don\'t know how to smileYour baby\'s eyes look crazyThey\'re a-tuggin\' at your sleeveYour baby\'s eyes look crazyThey\'re a-tuggin\' at your sleeveYou walk the floor and wonder whyWith every breath you breatheThe rats have got your flourBad blood it got your mareThe rats have got your flourBad blood it got your mareIf there\'s anyone that knowsIs there anyone that cares?You prayed to the Lord aboveOh please send you a friendYou prayed to the Lord aboveOh please send you a friendYour empty pockets tell yuhThat you ain\'t a-got no friendYour babies are crying louderIt\'s pounding on your brainYour babies are crying louderIt\'s pounding on your brainYour wife\'s screams are stabbin\' youLike the dirty drivin\' rainYour grass it is turning blackThere\'s no water in your wellYour grass is turning blackThere\'s no water in your wellYou spent your last lone dollarOn seven shotgun shellsWay out in the wildernessA cold coyote callsWay out in the wildernessA cold coyote callsYour eyes fix on the shotgunThat\'s hangin\' on the wallYour brain is a-bleedin\'And your legs can\'t seem to standYour brain is a-bleedin\'And your legs can\'t seem to standYour eyes fix on the shotgunThat you\'re holdin\' in your handThere\'s seven breezes a-blowin\'All around the cabin doorThere\'s seven breezes a-blowin\'All around the cabin doorSeven shots ring outLike the ocean\'s pounding roarThere\'s seven people deadOn a South Dakota farmThere\'s seven people deadOn a South Dakota farmSomewhere in the distanceThere\'s seven new people born
Bob Dylan (1963)
DYLAN EL ENIGMÁTICO .
de parte de bots para la poeta.
BALLAD OF A THIN MAN
You walk into the roomWith your pencil in your handYou see somebody nakedAnd you say, "Who is that man?"You try so hardBut you don\'t understandJust what you\'ll sayWhen you get homeBecause something is happening hereBut you don\'t know what it isDo you, Mister Jones?You raise up your headAnd you ask, "Is this where it is?"And somebody points to you and says"It\'s his"And you say, "What\'s mine?"And somebody else says, "Where what is?"And you say, "Oh my GodAm I here all alone?"Because something is happening hereBut you don\'t know what it is Do you, Mister Jones?You hand in your ticketAnd you go watch the geekWho immediately walks up to youWhen he hears you speakAnd says, "How does it feelTo be such a freak?"And you say, "Impossible"As he hands you a boneBecause something is happening hereBut you don\'t know what it isDo you, Mister Jones?You have many contactsAmong the lumberjacksTo get you factsWhen someone attacks your imaginationBut nobody has any respectAnyway they already expect youTo just give a checkTo tax-deductible charity organizationsYou\'ve been with the professorsAnd they\'ve all liked your looksWith great lawyers you haveDiscussed lepers and crooksYou\'ve been through all ofF. Scott Fitzgerald\'s booksYou\'re very well readIt\'s well knownBecause something is happening hereBut you don\'t know what it isDo you, Mister Jones?Well, the sword swallower, he comes up to youAnd then he kneelsHe crosses himselfAnd then he clicks his high heelsAnd without further noticeHe asks you how it feelsAnd he says, "Here is your throat backThanks for the loan"Because something is happening hereBut you don\'t know what it isDo you, Mister Jones?Now you see this one-eyed midgetShouting the word "NOW"And you say, "For what reason?"And he says, "How?"And you say, "What does this mean?"And he screams back, "You\'re a cowGive me some milkOr else go home"Because something is happening hereBut you don\'t know what it isDo you, Mister Jones?Well, you walk into the roomLike a camel and then you frownYou put your eyes in your pocketAnd your nose on the groundThere ought to be a lawAgainst you comin\' aroundYou should be madeTo wear earphonesBecause something is happening hereBut you don\'t know what it isDo you, Mister Jones?
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