viernes, 17 de marzo de 2017

Eureka? and The Timothy Adventure

Hi! Double wave. Here you got two things just written. Comedy is still beating in my veins, but in a more serious way. Ironic. Actually it always beats in some ocasions. Like when I'm with pals, or in theatre, or when I try to cheer up someone. But that's another me. Another me who doesn't write.
¡Hola! (ese chiste solo podía ser en inglés) Aquí van dos cosas recién escritas. La comedia todavía late en mis venas, pero de una manera más seria, qué ironía. En realidad, siempre late en algunas ocasiones. Como cuando estoy con amigos, o en teatro, o cuando intento animar a alguien. Pero ese es otro yo. Otro yo que no escribe.
Eureka?
Then I found this man who told me I could excavate in a particular place well before of course I wanted to find it but it seemed so impossible that I gave up I was crazy about but I left it but then this man came and told me it was safe to dig in there that there was sand and not stone it was curious because he wanted to dig but he couldn't I guess I have like a special shovel but I don't know if I'll find water and if I find whether it will it be clean will it be like I spect it to be oh please satisfy my thirsty oh please don't get dry too soon you see we're all looking for a underground lake in which we can swim forever could it be this one of course not in this vast land it's so hard to find that lake but at least I pretend to get a little bit of that sweet diving.

¿Eureka?
Entonces me encontré a este tipo que me dijo que podía cavar en un lugar particular bueno por supuesto yo antes quería pero parecía tan imposible que me rendí estaba loco por ello pero lo dejé pero entonces este tipo vino y me dijo que era seguro que había arena y no piedra es curioso porque el quería cavar pero no podía supongo que tendré una pala especial pero no sé si encontraré agua y si la encuentro no sé si está limpia si será como espero que sea oh por favor sacia mi sed oh por favor no te seques demasiado pronto ves todos estamos buscando un lago subterráneo en el que podamos nadar para siempre podría ser este por supuesto que no  en esta vasta tierra es tan duro encontrar ese lago pero al menos pretendo disfrutar un poquito de ese dulce buceo.

The Timothy Adventure
When Timothy arrived home and the maid told him Holly had gone with his best client Derek frankly he didn't care. It bothered him the way she spoke, she dressed, she... existed. Why did he even marry her? Because of the appearances? No, years ago he had agreed with himself that version wasn't good looking. He had to think what he had done with his life. It had been fifty years, right? He checked his ID. Fifty two. Moved by some force, he had managed to carry out a normal life, but the truth is he didn't care about anything. He had to appraise his situation. He started walking on the walls and the ceiling. When he was upside down, near the lamp, he realised the maid was silently comtemplating him. 
-What? Have you never seen a man walking on his ceiling?
She looked at him with her old, dark and burning eyes between arctic wrinkles.
-All men like you can challenge the laws of the nature.
Timothy did not understand, but he couldn't stand that black hole sinking from his thoracic jail, so he abandoned the house. He stepped on the clouds. He heard the thunders down his feet, and the lightning bolts projected a mask on his bony face. He went on. He dived in the roughing volcanos and he layed on the flatlands of Neptune.  He fed himself to the beasts of the jungles and the savannahs, but they died with the mere contact with him. He could not understand why he could do all these things. Sad, he flied to the surface of the Sun and became the Thinker of Rodin. He reasoned for centuries, until he finally discovered what was wrong. And when the gears made the most minimum creak, the solar hell took him under its wing.
La Aventura de Timothy
Cuando Timothy llegó a casa y la doncella le dijo que Holly se había ido con su mejor cliente, Derek, francamente no le importó. Le molestaba cómo hablaba, cómo vestía, cómo... existía. ¿Por qué siquiera se casó con ella? ¿Por las apariencias? No, años atrás había acordado consigo mismo que esa versión no lucía bien. Tenía que pensar que había hecho con su vida. Habían pasado cincuenta años, ¿verdad? Miró el carné. Cincuenta y dos. Movido por alguna fuerza, se las apañó para llevar una vida normal, pero la verdad es que nada le importaba. Tenía que valorar la situación. Empezó a caminar sobre las paredes y en el techo. Cuando estaba bocabajo, al lado de la lámpara, se dio cuenta de que la criada le estaba contemplando en silencio.
-¿Qué? ¿Nunca ha visto a un hombre caminar sobre su techo?
Ella lo miró con sus viejos, oscuros y ardientes ojos entre glaciales patas de gallo.
-Todos los hombres como usted desafían las leyes de la naturaleza.
Timothy no comprendía, pero no podía soportar ese agujero negro hundiéndose en su cárcel torácica, así que abandonó la casa. Pisó las nubes. Oyó los truenos bajo sus pies y los rayos proyectaron una máscara sobre su rostro huesudo. Continuó. Buceó en los volcanes rugientes y se tendió en las llanuras de Neptuno. Se dio de alimento a las bestias de las junglas y las sabanas, pero se morían en cuanto le tocaban. Él no podía comprender por qué podía hacer todas estas cosas. Triste, voló a la superficie del Sol y se convirtió en el Pensador de Rodin. Razonó durante siglos, hasta que finalmente descubrió que estaba mal. Y cuando los engranajes hicieron el chasquido más mínimo, el infierno solar lo acogió en su seno.

martes, 14 de marzo de 2017

The toy/El juguete

Another thing for my beloved english speaker public. Written originally in english, I feel kind of proud of this text and I hope to make you think. Its key it's very easy to obtain.
The toy
I gave you this toy, feeding-bottle so you could live, my son, but I TOLD YOU you couldn't like, screw it up. I don't care if you only have some thousands of years, you've got to be RESPONSIBLE and you seem like you don't care. Is that pretty, huh? My son, I told you, if you bite the nipple with sharp intentions, if you throw the bottle again and again against the wall, you will end up blocking the mechanism, the weird nutritious liquid won't be potable anymore and, with that, you will die of hunger, of maybe poisoned, I don't know! The point is that when I and I had you I didn't mean you to kill yourself. Also it irritates me a lot having to talk through black collars with some squary white infiltration, but since I resolved not moving from my cotton candy residence I am not able to directly speak to you. Yeah, I know, why don't I get my ass out of the armchair and go help you, well, listen, you'll never know why I'm definitely not going, you just got to know you're 100% responsible of yourself and you're screwing it up, don't you see? You think that feeding-bottle, which, it must be said, has millions of components (you don't know how long it took for me to make it) is a TOY, but it isn't, kid, it's the only thing you got in the huge black room to survive and you're screwing it up. YOU HEAR ME? I see you're still playing. You'll grow beard and you will be still playing like nothing happened. I see you're not scared. That's because you know that when you're finished with the toy I put so much love into, you will come back to me. Only then I will hug you, slap you in the nape and... maybe I am so stupid to craft you another feeding-bottle. Ugh... I shut up. I'll just wait.

Otra cosa para mi amado público angloparlante. Escrito originalmente en inglés, me siento más o menos orgulloso de este texto que, espero, te haga reflexionar. Su llave es muy fácil de sacar.
El juguete
Te di este biberón para que pudieses vivir, hijo mío, pero TE DIJE que no podías, en plan, joderlo. No me importa que solo tengas algunos miles de años, tienes que ser RESPONSABLE y parece que no te importa. ¿Es eso bonito, eh? Hijo mío, te lo dije, si muerdes la mamila con intenciones afiladas, si lanzas la botella una y otra vez contra la pared, acabarás bloqueando el mecanismo, y tu rara y nutritiva papilla no será comestible más y morirás de hambre, o envenenado, no sé. La cosa es que cuando yo y yo te tuvimos no quería que te matases a ti mismo. También me irrita mucho tener que hablarte a través de cuellos negros con alguna cuadrada infiltración blanca, pero ya que resolví no moverme de mi residencia de algodón de azúcar no soy capaz de hablarte directamente. Sí, lo sé, por qué no muevo el culo fuera del sillón y voy a ayudarte, mira, escucha, nunca sabrás por qué paso de ir, simplemente tienes que saber que eres 100% responsable de ti mismo y que lo estás jodiendo, ¿no lo ves? Crees que ese biberón, que, hay que decirlo, tiene millones de componentes (no sabes cuánto me llevó fabricarlo) es un JUGUETE, pero no lo es, chico, y es lo único que tienes en esta gigantesca habitación negra para sobrevivir y lo estás destrozando. ¿ME OYES? Veo que sigues jugando. Tendrás barba y seguirás, como si nada pasase. Veo que no tienes miedo. Eso es porque sabes que en cuanto hayas acabado con el juguete en el que puse tanto amor, podrás venir a mí. Solo entonces te abrazaré, te daré un collejón en la nuca y... quizás soy tan imbécil de hacerte otro biberón. Ugh... me callo. Me limitaré a esperar.

lunes, 13 de marzo de 2017

The Chamber of the Future

The Chamber of the Future
Under a junk'n'soil purée (a lot of metres), we can see the Chamber of the Future. It is not really a Chamber, but a group of them; actually, maybe it isn't even called like that, maybe some of its people just want to feel special. Theirs is one of the last cities on Earth, and since all of them are incommunicated they can do that sort of cool stuff. 'Where do you live?', 'In the Chamber of Future', 'Wow...'
The Chamber of Future is made out of some few steel rooms, that may give someone claustrophobia after a while, with some people who know they will probably have no descendants so they just live to have some fun. We'll look at some of this wonderful individuals.
***
Peter. 15 years old, the flower of life. Doesn't know if the expression it's still valid since there aren't those anymore. But Peter is confused. Dalila, the 16 year old girl of the town, is so ugly he doesn't know if he likes women, so he goes to Rose, the crazy love goddess, who's not a public woman, but someone who makes her living from giving advice about sex to the people. Peter arrives to the cash desk and leans on his left forearm in an insecure attitude.
-Hello, handsome, what can I do for you.
-You don't have to lie to me, we've met since I was a toddler. Dalila, I'm confused. I came here because I want a sexual identity. What you got?
Dalila said a wet 'Well' and took out from a drawer a roulette with lots of triangles. She spinned it. 68. Took out a book which had no dust at all and passed its pages making them sound like the flight of a retarded seagull.
-Sixty eight: male but with some homosexual behaviours and a vagina on the right shoulder.
-Oh crap! I just wanted to be a regular male, but that's ok. Although it doesn't make sense. How am I supposed to have a vagina on my shoulder?
-Just chill, it's a sticker. Oh, and when they ask you, you're a shouldhermaphrodite.
-And if a boy wants to hook up with my shoulder?
-Just tell him you have feelings and walk away.
And that's how Dalila ended up crying in a corner knowing the love of her life wasn't even one of the thirty first genres, which were the comprehensible ones for her.
***
Mary is an artist. She wears a saucepan as a parisian beret and people are amazed when they watch her paint a red vertical line in the middle of a sheet.
-It's called 'Wound'. Inspired by Velázquez.
-Who was Velázquez-says a naive visitor to the ear of other.
-No way to know, just admire.
And the crowd rippled in a 'Ooooooh', and she bowed to her people.
-Well I think you could...
And the crowd stoned him for opposing to the artist, case closed, then the richest man in town bought 'Wound' and his whole family felt fulfilled that night when he hung it on the fireplace. Mary was happy, rolled up over herself in her bed. She was a recognised artist. Thank God for her invaluable talent! Hip, hip...! Let that to the people.
***
-In the old timez, boyyy, they did much better-dreamily said Daniel to John the Fireseller.
-Shut the duck up and take your fire.
Daniel put his wooden stick in front of John so he could set fire to it with his torch. The rumours said he was a month experimenting to get the fire. Lately the business had been going wrong because the people just passed the flame between each other instead of buying it from him, so he complained to the cop (who had a gun and twenty bullets, more than enought for all the people in the Chamber of the Future) and the cop threatened the thieves with building a tunnel in their heads if they had that type of bad attitude. The business was cool because John was also the provider of wooden objects. Knowing this, it can be deduced that John had a very nice life, and lots of money. So much money he desperately tried to spend it in the other shops after work. The men in town would like to protest against him for absorbing Lucy's time, but there was the problem of that damn tunnel engineer.
***
Lucy was very attractive. In other ages, in other places, of course, she wouldn't have been able to perform her job, but in the Chamber of Future nobody cared about the fact that she was fourteen, neither she, neither her clients.
-Also, it is fun. And do I tell you a secret? Peter Lindsay isn't a shouldhermaphrodite. In our meetings he's male two hundred per cent.
Also, people don't have anything to do. In the old times, you had to study, to work, you know, to be something in life. Now that the species are inexorably doomed, the few dwellers just want to have a little fun and not harm anybody. There was that guy, Robertson or something, who wanted them to fight because he had some knives he wanted to sell. Lucy walked in his shop and stabbed him one time for each knife he had. When she had ended, everybody came and applauded. The cop wanted to shoot her but he was too afraid; he was even happy, because riots were nonsense and it was cool to sit on a plastic chair and read Superman comics. Lucy is a very good girl. She loves everyone in town and everyone love her, men and women (and whatever the other people obtained in the roulette). She did well killing that bad man, everyone hated him, and now he cannot do any harm.


Aaaand that's all. A piece of this 'Chamber of the Future'. Inspired in New York and some other stuff, dedicated to Max Kyburz (and the other museum guard whose name I can't recall)... I really wish I had more english content because that would at least give the english speakers a taste of my style. So I'll just create it. 'Cause I caaaaaaaan yes! Tell me if in the comments if you wanna know more about this weird town :).
Side Note: I know last text, the Lucy one, may be a bit controversial since it's child prostitution. But, I must say two things: 1-It's fiction, I'm the owner here so if you don't like it, make a different content yourself. 2-The world I paint here is a world where law has almost disappeared. Sincerely, nobody cares of what age she has, since she doesn't care either. Everybody happy. And no one is coming to the city to say 'Oh that's not ethical'.
I hope you enjoyed this, just wanted to do a dystopian world with satirical lens :).