Tropical

I'm sprawled in the grasp and the sun is beating me right in the face. I've forgotten my spring allergy and the sunny day and the delightful brise takes me out to a unknown shore in a tropical beach. Tropical, what a beautiful word, tropical. I picture myself eating fresh fruit and swimming. My mind is naked. Tropical, what a beautiful word.

Estaciones de paso, Andenes perdidos

Retratos del paso del tiempo

Estaciones de paso, andenes perdidos. La velocidad de los trenes se confunde con los andenes olvidados del litoral Valenciano. Sólo la violencia de las máquinas y el estridente sonido del silbato del tren te recuerdan que el mundo sigue en movimiento. El futuro se encuentra aquí con el Pasado. El movimiento de la sociedad postmoderna que, con prisa avanza de un lado a otro sin rumbo aparente, descubre en estos viejos andenes la decadencia de un mundo que en otro tiempo les perteneció. El óxido de las viejas máquinas pone el color a un pasado latente.

Como viajeros no vemos nada. El escenario transcurre como en una película sin argumento, vacía y llena de publicidad. No obstante, las historias florecen con  poner los pies en el suelo. La señora que apura su cigarrillo antes de subir al tren o el mendigo que se esconde el mundo en un vagón abandonado. La melancolía es la banda sonora de estas estaciones. El avance de la sociedad ha propiciado el abandono de estos entornos rodeados de antiguas glorias industriales. Cristales rotos y graffittis ponen en manifiesto la decadencia de una sociedad que se apresura.

Los aeropuertos, en contra, son centros de vivo movimiento. Las largas distancias se convierten en un mero trámite, los hombres con traje que se mueven acelerados hacia las pertas de embarque. Si los aeropuertos son la imagen de la sciedad actual, estos andenes son el resquicio de un pasado perdido. Con sus historias perdidas. 

En borriana todavía avisan del próximo tren. La genérica voz de la megafonía suena a antiguo, como un viejo vinilo, como si el próximo tren fuese el último que pudieras coger. 

(Este trabajo lo hicimos Sergio, Miquel y yo cuando todavía, más que una carrera, empzábamos una aventura)

Ells se dibuixaven sa ruta a una zona tosca i difícil,
homes que se feien preguntes.

"She was a nice little girl, simple and true, and tremendously frightened of sex. I told her it was beautiful. I wanted to prove this to her. She let me prove it, but I was too impatient and proved nothing. She sighed in the dark. «What do you want out of life?» I asked, and I used to ask that all the time of girls. «I don’t know,» she said. «Just wait on tables and try to get along.» She yawned. I put my hand 

over her mouth and told her not to yawn. I tried to tell her how excited I was about life and the things 

we could do together; saying that, and planning to leave Denver in two days. She turned away 

wearily. We lay on our backs, looking at the ceiling and wondering what God had wrought when He 

made life so sad. We made vague plans to meet in Frisco. 

My moments in Denver were coming to an end, I could feel it when I walked her home, on the 

way back I stretched out on the grass of an old church with a bunch of hobos, and their talk made 

me want to get back on that road. Every now and then one would get up and hit a passer-by for a 

dime. They talked of harvests moving north. It was warm and soft. I wanted to go and get Rita again 

and tell her a lot more things, and really make love to her this time, and calm her fears about men. 

Boys and girls in America have such a sad time together; sophistication demands that they submit to 

sex immediately without proper preliminary talk. Not courting talk - real straight talk about souls, for 

life is holy and every moment is precious. I heard the Denver and Rio Grande locomotive howling off 

to the mountains. I wanted to pursue my star further. "

On the Road, Jack Kerouac

Heaven can wait

While reading On the road you early start planning your no way back trips, your I don't care where to go maps and your there's nothing else to say dictionaries. Because you can't avoid flirting with the idea of getting lost forever.  London's waiting for me. And I'm secretly calling the rain, the warmth and the grey. I need to be back in town, I need to be a stranger in my own home once again.

Hot coffee and hidden smiles. Hot coffee and bitter cigarettes.

Heaven can wait.

Tears

Things to remember just in case you fall apart
1. Sorry, but you have feelings
2. You've always been lost, it's just you didn't realize so

February sometimes is the longest month

My mother taught me no to be evil

Now she is dead 

My whole neighborhood heard me cry

But no one knocked my door

To be empty is never easy

To be full of crap is not better

It’s true I’m cold as ice

It’s true I’m hard as rocks

But sometimes I need to be hugged

Just to carry on walking

http://www.goear.com/listen/b477d9f/girl-youll-be-a-woman-soon-urge-overkill