domingo, mayo 31, 2009

39. Hang his face in shame

Publicado por Alba |

Idiot. You big fucking idiot. You don't neglect your life partner, you just don't. Your kids can grow up to be their own individual persons but you, big rat-fuck, are supposed to be her other half. Oh, but it's so convenient, isn't it?

Cowardly, is what it is. Despicable. You self-centered son of a bitch.

I keep reading memoirs and autobiographies disguised as fiction, of men fighting their way through life trying hard not to become their fathers. Please, God, anything but their fathers. They grow to hate themselves deeper everytime they discover a new part of him in themselves. They fear these episodes and dread the moment the mirror is going to reflect their direct male ancestor looking back at them.

You read and hear and see these thing and you thing you get it, you understand. But you don't. Until you do.

sábado, mayo 30, 2009

38. Promises are made to be broken

Publicado por Alba |

'You don't have to be so careful with me. I'm not made of glass. I promise I won't break.'

Man, did she remember not to take promises so lightly from then on.

viernes, mayo 29, 2009

37. The offensive wonders of Nature

Publicado por Alba |

If you've ever wondered why we never see baby pigeons is because they are ugly as fuck. They kinda look like malformed ducklings. Exactly what you would expect from a ratty-bird. They don't leave the nest until they are fully-formed feathered flying disgusting little creatures.

I, myself, was never a baby pigeon. I came out of the egg a fully-grown magnificent rat bird. I mean, I'm repulsive enough as it is, I would never admit to having been more revolting than this.

jueves, mayo 28, 2009

36. Fearless

Publicado por Alba |

A la meva nena petita res no li fa por. Mai ha sentit cap esglai. Els seus reflexos i la seva psique estan perfectament bé, té responses naturals físiques al fred inesperat o a la calor extrema de la llum. Nomès és que no pot sentir por.

D'alguna manera si és podria dir que és un assumpte d'origen físic, ja que és cega. És clar, doncs, que, com que no pot veure, no pot tenir por de la foscor. I, si ho penses bé, la foscor és el que constitueix tot allò que ens fa por. Tot el que desconeixem o que no entenem, és com un núvol fosc que ens ennuvola el cel i ens tapa la llum.

Llavors, té sentit, que la meva nena petita sigui immune a la por. No té el punt de partida del que constituïx tot el que podria fer-li por, o, millor dit, tot el que coneix, ho coneix en la foscor. ¿Per què hauria de tenir por del que coneix millor?

miércoles, mayo 27, 2009

35. Live it down

Publicado por Alba |

See, I knew great things were not destined to come. It was no bump in the road, it was a defining moment, a hard one, and I thought we would never live it down.

And I was right. Half right, at least. It wasn't about me as much as it was about him. The real story, the pressing one, is not the same tired old one. It is not about what he did, and how and why. The story is not the one about my brother being there, to protect me, doing what needed to be done so nothing like that happened to me. The story, the present one -the only important one-, is what all that did to him. It's about where he is now. It was never about the reason I'm not where he is now, that ship sailed and that fate was sealed a couple of lives ago. That's a long time ago.

It's the consequences of him being there. In a box, all packed up and never to be open again, for no-one cares to understand and take the time. They all know, but they don't mind, they don't want to get it.

The point of the only story worth telling is, he never lived it down.

martes, mayo 26, 2009

34. Lock up when you're done

Publicado por Alba |

I could tell it was going to be one of those days before I even opened my eyes. What I could not anticipate was just how shitty it would turn out to be until I got to the office to learn that my three most tolerable co-workers were missing. What are the odds. So, not only I had to deal with the cops in their whole investigation thing -someone overreacted and called them in just to uncover a really nasty case of the flu-, I was also lacking my best partners in arms.

Obviously, silly me, that meant I was stuck with my top three least favorite co-workers for at least the rest of the day. Some days everyone seems to go out of their way to piss you off. That just kills my mojo, y'know?

lunes, mayo 25, 2009

33. Digging the hole deeper

Publicado por Alba |

You've gone and done something bad. It's hard to explain, the nature of this something bad. But, mostly, it was cowardly of you. Beyond contemptible.

There is no excuse for what you've done. Although, inevitably, there is a reason. It all comes from something. No such thing as spontaneous generation. It is because you are not a born decision maker, and you avoid culling unless you're forced to, that all this mess happened in the first place.

You cannot always have control over what happens after you lose it. Sometimes it gets ugly. Sometimes, it gets so ugly, you need to relinquish it completely, and even perhaps start talking about yourself in the second person.

domingo, mayo 24, 2009

32. The lowdown

Publicado por Alba |

You and I, faithful companion, will never cease the search, even when the walls start to peel, for the fundamental difference between real and bad.

As we get to the empty part of this world, the boss-eyed bow-legged evil water witch will try to sneak up on us with her trickery, unwinding her wicked web of poison oak. While you sound the alarm, I will make time by proposing a game.

'If you win this one', I will tell her, 'I'll stay with you forever and let you love me and eat me up alive. If I win, you'll let us leave and you can die without me.' She will accept, for she cannot turn down a good game. Of course, I will have my riddle ready. I'm getting the hang of it.

'How can you walk away from something and still come back to it?'

She won't know what to say. She wouldn't. Only you and I have learned that the lowdown to everything that has a front cover is that it also has a back end.

sábado, mayo 23, 2009

31. Grandes hitos (del pasado)

Publicado por Alba |

El Polo Ártico, un científico solitario dedicado en cuerpo y alma a la física experimental. De la nada, sus usualmente imperturbados monitores alertan de la presencia de un aislado monopolo. El doctor en física, inalterado ante semejante revolucionario encuentro, sufre un repentino ataque de melancolía. Con la vista clavada a la pantalla, se concede un momento para rememorar sus años universitarios.

viernes, mayo 22, 2009

30. Tales of woe

Publicado por Alba |

Write me a bad check if you need to, but you gotta give me something. Give me bearings, tell me which way to go. Give me one, tell me to keep true. Just gimme.

jueves, mayo 21, 2009

29. Sizzling fuchsia

Publicado por Alba |

This is going to sound stupid and a little out there. And here is the reason why: it totally is.

I fell into the rabbit hole. Not intentionally, yet I fell. The memory of it is as clear as day to me. I walk down the stairs -somewhat ceremoniously for such is my preference in walking down a set of stairs-, and at the second step of my left I miss the pit and I fall into it. I fall, I fall and I fall. And just when I am about to make peace with me falling, I land.

And, you know me, if I must fall, I fall hard. Of my own accord, you probably guessed, why with you knowing me and all. Thus my hard landing got me reminiscing, specifically to that time when I didn't think I could get by, really get by, by my lonesome. What eluded me until the very moment of my firm touchdown was that I absolutely can and have been doing. I just think we'd fit. Thing is, I was able to fit in the rabbit hole, and it wasn't even deliberate. I cannot tell a lie.

Speaking of which, while this might sound a tad offhand, it is the simple truth. Not seeing you beats seeing you happy.

miércoles, mayo 20, 2009

28. Dos términos, una especie

Publicado por Alba |

Es importante tener principios. Y bien está lo que bien acaba.

martes, mayo 19, 2009

27. Tag, you're it

Publicado por Alba |

There is an undercurrent of hypocrisy in her attitude. Being a sort of the human version Komodo dragon of all known STDs, her sexually predaceous behavior is one thing. Purposefully infecting every dupe that pops on her radar is another.

Funny to call it that, a game. When there are no winners and no clear end.

lunes, mayo 18, 2009

26. Straight as an arrow

Publicado por Alba |

She swore she was straight. But, boy, did she ever enjoy keeping me company while I took my long late night baths.

domingo, mayo 17, 2009

25. El que resta d'avui

Publicado por Alba |

Em quedava una última cosa per fer avans de renunciar al dia. Però no podia, per més que ho intentés, recordar-me de què es tractava. Em va semblar que finalment estava perdent el cap. El que, creu-me, ja anava sent hora.

Així que torno a començar. Ho faig tot de nou i, quan arribo a l'última acció del dia, se'm torna a oblidar. A més de l'anterior a aquesta última. No només no me estava tornant boja, sinó que a més a més estava perdent el temps.

I això si que no. A la merda i bona nit.

sábado, mayo 16, 2009

24. Flying lessons

Publicado por Alba |

You know that little boy that flew and was never seen again? He fell and broke his neck. It wasn't broken all the way, though, luckily. The traveling salesman that found him talked him back to life. The traveler had a really lovely voice, you see. It really was that lovely.

The thing is the boy had not a single memory left, for his head took the rest of the blow his neck was saved for. Fortunately, the salesman had an eye for people, developed in his many travels, and he was able to teach the boy quite a lot about himself, just from observing him.

His clothes told him about the boy's mother's income. His haircut talked about the kind of school he went to. And so on and so forth. The man transmitted this information to the boy.

Although some bits he kept for himself. The traveling salesman well-advisedly omitted that which he was able to see through his shoes. Nobody should know that much about their own future.

viernes, mayo 15, 2009

23. Drive yourself

Publicado por Alba |

Most of the time it feels to me I am nodding along for the ride. It's not that I'm that good of an actor, I'm just really other people. Fake but actual personalities that kick in whenever my consciousness isn't quite home.

But let me tell you that this, seeing you in a different light, doesn't mean I can see you as a woman. To me you're nothing more than an extremely hot piece of furniture.

jueves, mayo 14, 2009

22. Revenja, ¿de què?

Publicado por Alba |

Quan es ja massa tard, i no té ganes de res, sobretot d'aguantar la teva merda de jocs psicològics, talla la connexió visual amb tu. Simplement, no et pot veure. Escull no ser capaç de veure't.

La seva consciencia no se n'adona, però la seva càrrega d'experiència enregistra l'última traïció que fa vessar el got.

Ella i els seus amics, què també són els teus, s'aixequen per a sortir del club. T'acostes al grup, somrient joganera, i parant la mà li demanes què et deixi conduir a tu. Ella et somriu, i molt calmadament et diu què d'això res, guapa, jo condueixo el meu cotxe a casa meva.

I tu, busca't la vida.

miércoles, mayo 13, 2009

21. The linger

Publicado por Alba |

Someone who could make an honest woman out of me. Such a ridiculous thought. That ship has sailed, I was sure, looking absent-mindedly at the young breeders, with all of their cubs, inappropriately misbehaving around the place. Way too fancy a restaurant to come even close to a family venue.

A messy blonde brat with a runny nose tripped and fell flat on his face. While he was crying hysterically still on the ground the hostess stopped dead in order not to run the kid over, which consequently made a rushing waiter drop a couple of very expensive looking glasses of wine. All of this while the menace's parents chatted casually with another couple, oblivious to the whole ordeal. It's little occurrences like these that help me fill my self-sufficiency monthly quota.

My freedom rush was cut short when a temporary insanity gust came and blew me off my high horse. Seeing her there, already waiting at the table, more polished than usual and idly swirling her glass of Vermentino, kicked me hard. I couldn't say why, it just did. She looked a little nervous, impatient. Anxious. And, out of nowhere, that monstrous thought.

Timing is everything, really, in all situations. If I had lingered for a couple of extra seconds, I might have forced myself to run the gauntlet of family life, with all that it entails. I will not go down by friendly fire, thank you very much. Most of my fantasies entertain abused feelings and play with ambiguous unrequitedness for a reason.

Instead, I shook that evil twitch from hell and, turning around at once, run for my life.

martes, mayo 12, 2009

20. We will not fudge

Publicado por Alba |

They keep looking up, expecting the bears to attack from the sky, without realizing this is a different game. Then one of them breaks formation, takes a step forward and addresses the lot.


We will not budge where there is fudge! Furthermore, there will be no rivers but those made out of sweet sweet honey and the waterfalls murmur will speak only of chocolate milky goodness.

No skanks but those of gold, and coal, gathered around a fountain of caramel.

There will be no stopping until the Promised Land is delivered. Those of us who have believed against all odds and better judgement, that have never, not for a second, doubted our true destiny, those who believed when seemed like a lost cause to keep believing, those who believe still, we deserve to get our rightful dues.


A set of familiar features on a stranger yells back a few words of support, but the spontaneous spokesperson is suddenly dumbfounded by this. Something in the anonymous voicer unsettles the speaker's determination.

Rended speechless, the last vestige of independent thought takes out the service gun strapped around its reglamentary belt and ends it all.

lunes, mayo 11, 2009

19. El verde con verde sale

Publicado por Alba |

Todo lo que ha de ser empieza siempre en la mitad, cuando lleva siendo una buena temporada sin nada cambiar. En medio del cuento es cuando alguien que se había olvidado de dónde estaba se acuerda de lo que le falta y reúne valores y energías de ir a por ello. Aunque tenga que dar un par de vueltas completas al globo para cruzar la calle.

Es curioso cómo el asiento inmediato suele estar más lejos que ningún otro. Y es que no hay nada mejor para sacarse el verde de encima que más verde. Tanto mejor si tiene algo de negro khol.

domingo, mayo 10, 2009

18. Not the sweetest

Publicado por Alba |

Kat was eating up her every word, her eyes fixed on her wondrous newest discovery. Entertaining the thought that she might even have a chance with this one. After all, Adrienne seemed impressed enough with her so far. Why else would she be sharing such intimate details of what seemed like every aspect of her life?

Some names were being mentioned, along with a few praises for those corresponding to her innermost circle of friends. Kat recognized some of the qualities Adrienne clearly admired in others in herself, which contributed to raise her confidence. And then it came the killer line.

- She's just the sweetest girl in the world.

Kat's spellbound smile dropped without a warning. She quickly corrected it, covering with a plastic one she reserved for such occasions.

So, apparently, this Lindsey person is the sweetest girl she's ever met, she thought. Not just that, she thinks she's sweet enough to discard any other potentially sweet girl as bitter or even sour in comparison, Kat rambled on. And what if what that statement concealed, or rather revealed, was that Adrienne really was sweet on Lindsey?

Thus the circle of senseless emasculating questions began. Alas, Kat did not excel in anything that she could think of. She just didn't exceed, mostly she passed satisfactorily. She considered herself to be of a somewhat sweet nature, but certainly she was not the sweetest. Harshness had a place in her when needed. Even if not needed, sometimes.

Rudimentary social skills were not lacking in her. However, anyone could agree she wasn't the epitome of friendliness.

Nor were looks or wits completely absent on her. And still hers wasn't a beauty that stood up to most people. The phrase sharp as a whip would never be said about her.

The feeling of inadequacy made Kat shrivel.

sábado, mayo 09, 2009

17. Escabechina

Publicado por Alba |

Mira que lo había dicho. No paraba de repetir que el día menos pensado se iba a hartar y haría una chanfaina con todos.

Era un hombre de palabra, qué se le va a hacer. Aunque también hay que reconocer que no fue del todo fiel a las suyas. Porque lo que es el día menos pensado sí llego, pero lo que hizo fue adobar a más o menos la mitad de ellos en aceite y salar al resto.

viernes, mayo 08, 2009

16. Sense dir adéu

Publicado por Alba |

I una d'aquestes nits en què no puc deixar de donar voltes i més voltes a tot allò de què tot podria ser distint si nomès fos diferent, què m'estimaries de portes afora en lloc de només de portes a dintre i a llum apagada, si solament el que jo sóc no fos totalment en contra del què tu vols ser, és força probable què transformi la meva moto amb tendències suïcides en una moto de fugida, i adéu molt bones.

jueves, mayo 07, 2009

15. Faltadas

Publicado por Alba |

- Una faltá como ésta no me la pegas tú en la calle, quiá.
- Ahi va pues, míalo. ¿Qué t'he dicho, si se púe saber?
- M'has dicho remulgón, jodía.
- Hala, maño, mira que llegas a ser borrico y adoquín. T'he dicho remugón, so melón.
- Yastá bien, ¿o qué?
- Mira que eres chemecón, fongonizo.
- ¡Có! Eso lo has hecho a mala hostia, carnuza.
- Copón, mira que estás dengue. Será que aún estás medio modorro. Pobrecito, que has estao pachuchico.
- Pero deja ya de meterte conmigo. Que mira que tú no estás arguellada ni esmirriada ni nada, y yo no t'he dicho ná.
- Baldragas. Qué más te gustaría a ti, rabasón. Además, eres un pudenco.
- Chitón, que te va a oír todo el pueblo.
- Como si no lo supieran ya.
- Chitón.
- Vale, so caparra.
- Cudadín, que, claro, luego te vas de pingo por ahí, coges una y te pones alpacera. Pero chitón, sobretó a la Pascuala, que ya sabes qu'és una capacera y luego s'entera tol pueblo.
- Caguetas, ¿qué más te dará? Mira que eres petoste.
- Zurrupia.
- ¡Oi! Mira que te arreo, so borrego.
- Pezolaga.
- Pasmau...

miércoles, mayo 06, 2009

14. Hiperhidrosis nocturna

Publicado por Alba |

Tenía un gran problema: estaba oscureciendo y aún no había tomado su baño diario. Sufría de una rara enfermedad que afectaba al aspecto de su epidermis al entrar en contacto con líquidos sin la presencia de la luz solar directa. Algo que ver con una defectuosa absorción del agua, material de artículos de post-grado para biopatología biocomplicada. Para que nos entendamos, era algo así como un híbrido de Gremlin.

Miró el reloj, consultó en Internet la hora prevista del ocaso correspondiente a la época del año y se plantó frente al espejo del baño cronómetro en mano. Según sus cálculos tenía un margen de apenas diez minutos.

Imposible, pensó. Yo soy de baños largos y no claudico ante una ducha corta. Hasta preferiría ir de apestoso mañana al trabajo.

Por supuesto, tampoco pensaba claudicar ante madrugar cinco minutos más de lo necesario. Ni aunque cuestión de fuerza higiénica mayor se tratase.

Resuelto, dejó el cronómetro sobre la repisa del baño y se dispuso a volver a su sanctasanctórum. Sin embargo su visión periférica le traicionó ofreciéndole un atisbo de su abandonada bolsa del gimnasio.

Una punzada de germofobia aguda le recorrió el espinazo, como una descarga eléctrica. Mirada rápida hacia la ventana.

Siete minutos y medio, calcula. Con una pasmosa velocidad, se desprende de todas sus prendas y se personifica en lo que tiene más a mano: el plato de la ducha.

Qué es una mitosis más.

martes, mayo 05, 2009

13. Qué broma es esta

Publicado por Alba |

El tiempo no avanza como debería. Tengo la sensación de que la benjamina que me recuerda a Winona Ryder en los noventa no para de mirarme. Con esta presión y estos nervios no hay quien se concentre.

Mi mirada perdida en algún punto inconcreto del infinito, avisto entre una muralla de textos de cálculo unas pastas rotuladas como "Withdrawal". El Universo y la Biblioteca Municipal se burlan descaradamente de mí. Echando mano a la petaca de emergencia, me dirijo a ejercer un bathroom break calmanervios.

El estrés no podrá conmigo.

lunes, mayo 04, 2009

12. Too literal

Publicado por Alba |

There is a trace of blood on the sidewalk. I am not really compelled to follow it, so I cross the street. On the other side of the road, a trail of shit. I kid you not.

This day has already gotten too literal for me, and it's only Monday. I turn around, I am going back to bed.

domingo, mayo 03, 2009

11. Dificultades técnicas

Publicado por Alba |

Estamos atravesando dificultades técnicas. Mantenganse a la espera.

sábado, mayo 02, 2009

10. Confidence trick

Publicado por Alba |

Persons of any level of inteligence are vulnerable to deception by experienced con artists. Anyone can be blinded by a charming stranger, who is relying on your honesty, compassion or even a naive expectation of good faith on their part.

They say you can't cheat an honest man, how about a trusting idiot? It's not like I hadn't ever been lied to before. Nothing further from the truth, pun intended. Every woman I had ever gotten involved with -or tried or wished for- had told me nothing but a load after load of bullshit. Why, you ask? Because I'm that gullible, of course. And I have always had a thing for malignant narcissists.

I first saw her rushing by under a thin rain, in her black dressy pants and a man's cut blue shirt. She was carrying an old greenish backpack over one shoulder, unaware of her surroundings. I guessed Korean descent, which she would later correct me on. If only I thought I could believe anything she said to me, I would still believe her heritage to be Chinese. Now, I simply don't prentend or care to really know a single true fact about her.

Hadn't it been for her sudden need of pushing a flock of her wet hair aside, our eyes would have never met. My gaze traveled to her half unbuttoned shirt, which was revealing part of a yakuza-like tattoo on her upper chest that promised to be of considerable dimensions. I could see her suspiciously self-satisfied smile from the corner of my eye, but I chose to mistake it for something else.

Looking back, emptied-out bank accounts aside, I needed that. That'll teach me to believe the best in pretty girls.

viernes, mayo 01, 2009

9. Forthcoming

Publicado por Alba |

You kept strike, strike, striking that guitar, persistently. While she kept yap, yap, yapping at you, insistently. Heavily sighing, you put your guitar down, rubbed your temples and gave her and ominous look.

- We need to talk. After that, you need to shut up.

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