Dear Mr. Vernon,
we accept the fact that we had to sacrifice
a whole Saturday in detention
for whatever it was we did wrong.
But we think you're crazy to make an essay
telling you who we think we are.
You see us as you want to see us...
In the simplest terms,
in the most convenient definitions.
But what we found out
is that each one of us
is a brain...
...and an athlete...
...and a basket case...
...and a criminal...
Does that answer your question?
The Breakfast Club.
yet they showed no corrections of any kind.Not one. Do you realize what that meant? He'd simply put down music already finished in his head. Page after page of it, as if he was just taking dictation. And music finished as no music is ever finished. Displace one note and there would be diminishment. Displace one phrase, and the structure would fall. It was clear to me. That sound I had heard in the Archbishop's palace had been no accident. Here again was the very voice of God! I was staring through the cage of those meticulous ink-strokes at an absolute, inimitable beauty.
From now on, we are enemies, you and I.
Because you will not enter me, with all my need for you;
because you scorn my attempts at virtue;
because you choose for our instrument
a boastful, lustful, smutty infantile boy
and give me for reward only the ability to recognize the Incarnation;
because you are unjust, unfair, unkind, I will block you!
I swear it!
I will hinder and harm your creature on earth
as far as I am able.
I will ruin your Incarnation!
Amadeus (1984), Milos Forman.
Siete para los Señores Enanos en palacios de piedra.
Nueve para los Hombres Mortales condenados a morir.
Uno para el Señor Oscuro,
sobre el trono oscuro
donde se extienden las Sombras.
Un Anillo para gobernarlos a todos.
Un Anillo para encontrarlos,
un Anillo para atraerlos a todos
y atarlos en las tinieblas en
donde se extienden las sombras.
J.R.R. Tolkien, El Señor de los Anillos,
more complex, and more violent.
It takes a touch of genius -- and a lot of courage --
to move in the opposite direction.
Imagination is more important than knowledge.
Anyone who has never made a mistake has never tried anything new.
Great spirits have often encountered violent opposition from weak minds.
Common sense is the collection of prejudices acquired by age eighteen.
The secret to creativity is knowing how to hide your sources.
If A is a success in life, then A equals x plus y plus z.
Work is x; y is play; and z is keeping your mouth shut.
Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity;
and I'm not sure about the the universe.
I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought,
but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones.
My God what have we done to You?
We always try to share the tenderest of care.
Now look what we have put you through.
Things get damaged,
things get broken,
I thought we'd manage
but words left unspoken,
left us so brittle,
there was so little left to give.
Angels with silver wings shouldn't know suffering. I wish I could take the pain for you. If God has a master plan that only He understands, I hope it's your eyes he's seeing through. I pray you learn to trust. Have faith in both of us and keep room in your hearts for two.
Martin L. Gore, Playing the Angel.
the strangest one by far,
doesn't have a special power,
or drive a fancy car.
Next to Superman and Batman,
I guess he must seem tame.
But to me he is quite special, and Stain Boy is his name.
He can't fly around tall buildings,
or outrun a speeding train,
the only talent he seems to have,
is to leave a nasty stain.
Sometimes I know it bothers him,
that he can't run or swim or fly,
and because of this one ability,
his dry cleaning bill's sky high.
Tim Burton, The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy and other stories.
So certain are you.
Always with you it cannot be done.
Hear you nothing that I say?
Master, moving stones around is one thing.
This is totally different.
No! No different! Only different in your mind.
You must unlearn what you have learned.
All right, I'll give it a try.
No! Try not.
Do. Or do not.
There is no try.
I can't. It's too big.
Size matters not. Look at me.
Judge me by my size, do you? Hm? Mmmm.
And well you should not.
For my ally in the Force.
A nd a powerful ally it is.
Life creates it, makes it grow.
Its energy surrounds us and binds us.
you would be better off reading some other book.
In this book, not only is there no happy ending,
there is no happy beginning
and very few happy things in the middle.
This is because not very many happy things happened
in the lives of the three Baudelaire youngsters.
Violet, Klaus, and Sunny Baudelaire were intelligent children,
and they were charming, and resourceful,
and had pleasant facial features,
but they were extremely unlucky,
and most everything that happened to them
was rife with misfortune, misery, and despair.
I’m sorry to tell you this, but that is how the story goes.
Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events.
What's the matter?
My mother caught me.
"Caught" you? Doing what?
You know. I was alone..
(Laughing) She caught you?
I stopped by the house to drop the car off,
and I went inside for a few minutes..
Nobody was there - they're supposed to be working.
My mother had a Glamour magazine,
I started leafing through it..
So, one thing lead to another..
So, what did she do?
First she screams,
"George, what are you doing?! My God!"
And it looked like she was gonna faint -
she started clutching the wall, trying to hang onto it.
I didn't know whether to try and keep her from falling,
or zip up.
What did you do?
I zipped up!
So, she fell?
Yeah. Well, I couldn't run over there the way I was!
So, she fell, and then she started screaming,
"My back! My back!"
So, I picked her up and took her to the hospital.
How is she?
She's in traction.
Ok, I'm sorry.
It's not funny, Elaine.
(Stifling her laughter) I know. I'm sorry. I'm serious.
Her back went out.
She's gotta be there for a couple of days.
All she said on the way over in the car was,
"Why, George, why?!"..
I said, "Because it's there!"
Well, I'll tell you this, though -
I am never doing.. that , again.
What, you mean, in your mother's house, or all together?
Oh, gimme a break..
Ohhh yeah.. right.
Oh, like you're gonna stop?
JERRY AND ELAINE
You don't think I can?
(Daring) You think you could?
Well, I know I could hold out longer than you.
Care to make it interesting?
Sure, how much?
A hundred dollars.
Wait a second, wait a second. Count me in on this.
You'll be out before we get the check.
I want to be in on this, too.
GEORGE AND JERRY
Ohh, no. No, no, no..
It's apples and oranges..
Because you're a woman!
It's easier for a woman not to do it than a man.
We have to do it. It's part of our lifestyle.
It's like, uh.. shaving.
Oh, that is such bologna. I shave my legs.
(Making a point) Not everyday.
'Cause I could tell you.
Would you like to know?
Alright, I'll tell you.
Nothing. We're not thinking anything.
We're just walking around, looking around.
This is the only natural inclination of men.
To just kinda check stuff out.
We work because they force us to,
but other than that,
this is really the only thing we wanna do.
We like women, we want women.
But that's pretty much as far as we've thought.
That's why we're honking car horns,
yelling from construction sites...
these are the best ideas we've had so far.
Honking the car horn amazes me!
This is gotta be just the last living brain cell
in this guys skull that comes up with this idea.
She's on the street, he's in the car.
"I think I made my point."
What is she supposed to do?
Kick off the heel, start running after the car?
Grab on to the bumper?
The car comes to a stop...
"It's a good thing you honked."
"I had no idea how you felt."
Why do men behave in these ways?
Why are we rude, obnoxious, getting drunk,
falling down, peeling rubber, making kissing...
Why are we like this?
I know what you ladies are thinking...
"No, no, not my guy.
I'm working with him, he's coming along."
No, he's not.
He's not coming anywhere.
We, men, know: no matter how poorly we behave,
it seems we will somehow end up
with women anyway.
Look around this room.
Look at all the men you see with lovely women.
Do you think these are special men?
Gifted men? One of a kind men?
They're the same jerks as any of the ones
that I'm talking about.
They're doing just fine.
Men, as an organization,
are getting more women than any other group
working anywhere in the world today.
Wherever women are,
we have men looking into the situation right now.
We explored the Earth looking for women.
We even went to the Moon
just to see if there were any women there.
That's why we brought that little car.
Why would you bring a car,
unless there's some chance of going on a date?
What the hell were they doing with a car
on the goddamn Moon?
You're on the Moon already!
Isn't that far enough?
There is no more male idea
in the history of the universe than:
"why don't we fly up to the Moon
and drive around?"
That is the essence of male thinking right there.
All men kinda think of themselves
like low-level super-heroes in their own world.
I'm not even supposed to be telling you this.
But when men are growing up and are reading
about Batman, Spiderman, Superman...
these aren't fantasies.
These are options.
Jerry Seinfeld, I'm telling you for the last time.
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumber'd here
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend:
if you pardon, we will mend:
And, as I am an honest Puck,
If we have unearned luck
Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue,
We will make amends ere long;
Else the Puck a liar call;
So, good night unto you all.
Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends.
Act 5, Scene 1. William Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream.
as I ran to your heart to be near, and we kissed as the sky fell in holding you close how I always held close in your fear.
Remembering you running soft through the night, you were bigger and brighter and wider than the snow, and screamed at the make-believe, screamed at the sky, and you finally found all your courage to let it all go.
Remembering you fallen into my arms crying for the death of your heart you were stone white so delicate, lost in the cold, you were always so lost in the dark. Remembering you how you used to be, slow drowned you were angels, so much more than everything. Oh hold for the last time then slip away, quietly open my eyes but I never see anything.
If only I had thought of the right words, I could have hold on to your heart.
If only i'd thought of the right words, I wouldn't be breaking apart all my pictures of you. Looking so long at these pictures of you, but I never hold on to your heart. Looking so long for the words to be true, but always just breaking apart my pictures of you .
There was nothing in the world that I ever wanted more than to feel you deep in my heart. There was nothing in the world that i ever wanted more than to never feel the breaking apart all my pictures of you.
Robert Smith, Disintegration, The Cure.
the one that makes me scream" she said
"the one that makes me laugh" she said
And threw her arms around my neck
"show me how you do it,
And I promise you, I promise that
I'll run away with you
I'll run away with you"
Spinning on that dizzy edge
I kissed her face and kissed her head
And dreamed of all the different ways I had
To make her glow
"why are you so far away?" she said
"why won't you ever know that I'm in love with you
That I'm in love with you"
Soft and only
Lost and lonely
Strange as angels
Dancing in the deepest oceans
Twisting in the water
You're just like a dream
Daylight licked me into shape
I must have been asleep for days
And moving lips to breathe her name
I opened up my eyes
And found myself alone alone
Alone above a raging sea
That stole the only girl I loved
And drowned her deep inside of me
Soft and only
Lost and lonely
Just like heaven
she asks me if I want to break
into her duty free,
and I find that I do. So.
I speak quietly, slowly, thoughtfully, I express regret,
I say nice things about Laura,
I hint at a deep ocean of melancholy just below the surface.
But it's all bollocks, really, a cartoon sketch of a decent,
sensitive guy which does the trick
because I am in a position to invent my own reality
and because — I think —
Marie has already decided she likes me.
I have completely forgotten how to do the next bit,
even though I'm never sure
whether there's going to be a next bit.
I remember the juvenile stuff,
where you put your arm along the sofa
and lee it drop onto her shoulder,
or press your leg against hers;
I remember the mock-tough adult stuff
I used to try when I was in my mid-twenties,
where I looked someone in the eye
and asked if they wanted to stay the night.
But none of that seems appropriate anymore.
What do you do when you're old enough to know better?
In the end it's a clumsy collision
standing up in the middle of the living room.
I get up to go to the loo,
she says she'll show me,
we bump into each other,
I grab, we kiss,
and I'm back in the land of sexual neurosis.
Why is failure the first thing I think of
when I find myself in this sort of situation?
Why can't I just enjoy myself?
But if you have to ask the question,
then you know you're lost:
self-consciousness is a man's worst enemy.
Look at all the things that can go wrong for men.
There's the nothing-happening-at-all problem,
the too-much-happening-too-soon problem,
the dismal-droop-after-a-promising-beginning problem;
there's the size-doesn't-matter-except-in-my-case problem,
the failing-to-deliver-the-goods problem...
And what do women have to worry about?
A handful of cellulite? Join the club.
A spot of I-wonder-how-I-rank? Ditto.
a) to dispense with awkward conversation, and
b) to prevent a chap from leaping into bed with someone who might, at a later date, turn out to have every Julio Iglesias record ever made.
It amused us at the time, although Barry, being Barry, went one stage further: he compiled the questionnaire and presented it to some poor woman he was interested in, and she hit him with it. But there was an important and essential truth contained in the idea, and the truth was that these things matter, and it's no good pretending that any relationship has a future if your record collections disagree violently, or if your favorite films wouldn't even speak to each other if they met at a party.
Crushed the end within my stride
Said I'm strong now I know that I'm a leaver
I love the sound of you walking away,
you walking away
Mascara bleeds a blackened tear, oh
And I am cold, yes, I'm cold
But not as cold as you are
I love the sound of you walking away,
you walking away
Why don't you walk away?
No buildings will fall down
Won't you walk away
No quake will split the ground
Won't you walk away
The sun won't swallow the sky
Won't you walk away?
Statues will not cry
Why don't you walk away?
I cannot turn to see those eyes
As apologies may rise
I must be strong and stay an unbeliever
And love the sound of you walking away,
Mascara bleeds into my eye, oh
And I'm not cold,
I am old
At least as old as you are
And as you walk away
Oh, as you walk away
What came first, the music or the misery?
Did I listen to music because I was miserable?
Or was I miserable because I listened to music?
Do all those records turn you into a melancholy person?
People worry about kids playing with guns, and teenagers watching violent videos; we are scared that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands, literally thousands, of songs about broken hearts and rejection and pain and misery and loss. The unhappiest people I know, romantically speaking, are the ones who like pop music the most; and I don't know whether pop music has caused this unhappiness, but I do know that they've been listening to the sad songs longer than they've been living the unhappy lives.
And she liked me. She liked me. She liked me. She liked me. Or at least, I think she did.
We went out for two years, and for every single minute I felt as though I was standing on a dangerously narrow ledge. I couldn't ever get comfortable, if you know what I mean; there was no room to stretch out and relax. I was depressed by the lack of flamboyance in my wardrobe. I was fretful about my abilities as a lover. I worried that I was never ever going to be able to say anything interesting or amusing to her about anything at all. I was intimidated by the other men in her design course, and became convinced that she was going to go off with one of them. She went off with one of them. I lost the plot for a while then. And I lost the subplot, the script, the soundtrack, the intermission, my popcorn, the credits, and the exit sign.
Read any women's magazine and you'll see the same complaint over and over again: men — those little boys ten or twenty or thirty years on — are hopeless in bed. They are not interested in 'foreplay'; they have no desire to stimulate the erogenous zones of the opposite sex; they are selfish, greedy, clumsy, unsophisticated. These complaints, you can't help feeling, are kind of ironic. Back then, all we wanted was foreplay, and girls weren't interested. They didn't want to be touched, caressed, stimulated, aroused; in fact, they used to thump us if we tried. It's not really very surprising, then, that we're not much good at all that. We spent two or three long and extremely formative years being told very forcibly not even to think about it. Between the ages of fourteen and twenty-four, foreplay changes from being something that boys want to do and girls don't, to something that women want and men can't be bothered with. (Or so they say. Me, I like foreplay — mostly because the times when all I wanted to do was touch are alarmingly fresh in my mind.) The perfect match, if you ask me, is between the Cosmo woman and the fourteen-year-old boy.
Terminada la aclaración, el comentario: High Fidelity es un libro de un autor inglés llamado Nick Hornby, en la que está basada la película homónima protagonizada por John Cusack. Nick Hornby también es el autor (entre otros libros) de About a Boy, en la que está basada la película homónima protagonizada por Hugh Grant. En ambos casos, las adaptaciones son buenas, pero los libros, infinitamente mejores.
Sobre High Fidelity encontrarán numerosas entradas, dada la imposibilidad de poner el libro entero en el blog, libro que se encuentra en mi "top five all time favourite books" (los que leyeron el libro o vieron la peli sabrán entender).
PD: Mi top five se completa con Lord of the Rings (los cinco, pero los cuento como uno), Harry Potter (los siete, pero los cuento como uno y aunque todavía sean seis), La sombra del viento (Carlos Ruiz Zafón), La melancólica muerte del niño ostra y otras historias, de Burton (matan los dibujitos) y el quinto High Fidelity, obviamente. Entre los que quedaron afuera de la pelea están: Bioy (Historias Desaforadas, una colección de cuentos, ranquea alto, aunque también podría ser El Sueño de los Héroes), El Prestigio, de Christopher Priest (¿vieron El Gran Truco?) y Lemony Snicket Una Serie de Eventos Desafortunados (los 13, aunque sólo haya leído 5, y aunque la peli esté en mi top five all time favourite movies).
Metatron. Don't tell me the name doesn't ring a bell?
You people. If there isn't a movie about it,
it's not worth knowing, right?
I am a seraphim. The highest choir of angels?
You do know what an angel is, don't you?
Metatron acts as the voice of God.
Any documented occasion when some yahoo
claims to have spoken with God,
they're speaking to me.
Or they're speaking to themselves.
Dogma (1999), Kevin Smith.
I'm frozen, and you're dead.
And I love you.
It's a problem.
I lost you when I got in that car.
Do you remember what you told me once?
That every passing minute...
is another chance to turn it all around.
I'll find you again.
I'll see you in another life...
when we are both cats.
I feel my time... my time has come
Let me in... unlock the door
I never felt this way before
And the wheels just keep on turning
The drummer begins to drum
I don't know which way I'm going
I don't know which way I've come
Hold my head... inside your hands
I need someone... who understands
I need someone... someone who hears
For you I've waited all these years
For you I'd wait... 'Til Kingdom Come
Until my day... my day is done
and say you'll come... and set me free
just say you'll wait... you'll wait for me
In your tears... and in your blood
In your fire... and in your flood
I hear you laugh... I heard you sing
I wouldn't change a single thing
And the wheels just keep on turning
The drummers begin to drum
I don't know which way I'm going
I don't know what I've become
For you I'd wait... 'Til kingdom come
Until my days... my days are done
Say you'll come... and set me free
Just say you'll wait... you'll wait for me
George, I was just reading this thing in the papers, it's amazing!
I know, I was telling them the story.
Come on George, finish the story.
The sea was angry that day my friends,
like an old man trying to return soup at a deli!
I got about fifty-feet out
and then suddenly the great beast appeared before me.
I tell ya, he was ten stories high if he was a foot.
As if sensing my presence he gave out a big bellow.
I said, "Easy big fella!"
And then as I watched him struggling,
I realized something was obstructing his breathing.
From where I was standing
I could see directly into the eye of the great fish!
Well, what did you do next?
Then, from out of nowhere, a huge title wave lifted,
tossed like a quark and I found myself on top of him,
face to face with the blow-hole.
I could barely see from all of the waves crashing down on top of me,
but I knew something was there,
so I reached my hand and pulled out the obstruction.
(George pulls out of the inside pocket a golf ball)
(Jerry and George just stare to Kramer)
What is that, a Titleist?
A hole in one, eh?
Well, the crowd must have gone wild!
Oh yes, they did Jerry, they were all over me.
It was like Rocky 1.
Diane came up to me, threw her arms around me, and kissed me.
We both had tears streaming down our faces.
I never saw anyone so beautiful.
It was at that moment I decided to tell her I was not a marine biologist!
Wow! What'd she say?
She told me to "go to hell", and I took the bus home.
to God 28 years ago to never do again.
I've created, "something that kills people.”
And in that purpose I was a success.
I've done this,
I'm sympathetic to your aim.
I can tell you with no ego,
this is my finest sword.
If on your journey,
you should encounter God,
God will be cut.
Revenge is never a straight line.
It's a forest. And like a forest
it's easy to lose your way...
to get lost...
to forget where you came in.
To serve as a compass,
a combat philosophy must be adopted,
that can be found in the secret doctrine
of the Yagu Ninja.
And now my yellow haired warrior,
repeat after me;
"When engaged in combat,
the vanquishing of thine enemy
can be the warrior's only concern...
This is the first
and cardinal rule of combat...
Suppress all human emotion and compassion...
Kill whoever stands in thy way,
even if that be Lord God, or Buddha himself...
This truth lies at the heart
of the art of combat.
Once it is mastered,
Thou shall fear no one...
Though the devil himself
may bar thy way.”
Those were almost the very first wordshe spoke to me and, in a way,that is where this story began, four hundred years ago, in a cellar beneath the Houses of Parliament.
In 1605, Guy Fawkes attemptedto blow up the Houses of Parliament.He was caught in the cellars with enough gunpowder to level most of
Sometimes I wonder where we would be if he hadn't failed.I wonder if it would have mattered. I suppose the answer is in the rhyme. More than the man, what we must remember is the plot itself. For in the plot we find more than just a man,we find the idea of that man,the spirit of that man, and that is what we must never forget.
Scared of what we might not be able to do.
Scared of what people might think if we tried.
We let our fears stand in the way of our hopes.
We say no when we want to say yes.
We sit quietly when we want to scream.
And we shout with the others
when we should keep our moths shut
we do only go around once.
There's really no time to be afraid.
Try something you've never tried.
Enter a triathlon.
Write a letter to the editor.
Demand a raise.
Call winners at the toughest court.
Throw away your television.
Bicycle across the United States.
Speak out against the designated hitter.
Travel to a country where you don't speak the language.
You have nothing to lose.
everything to gain.
Just do it.
In the day, I do my job, I ride the bus,
roll up my sleeves with the hoi-polloi.
But at night, I live a life of exhilaration,
of missed heartbeats and adrenalin.
And, if the truth be known, a life of dubious virtue.
I won’t deny it, I’ve been engaged in violence,
even indulged in it.
I’ve maimed and killed adversaries,
and not merely in self-defence.
I’ve exhibited disregard for life,
limb and property, and savoured every moment.
You may not think it, to look of me,
but I have commanded armies,
and conquered worlds.
And though in achieving these things
I’ve set morality aside,
I have no regrets.
For though I’ve led a double life,
at least I can say – I’ve lived.
Hacés grandes esfuerzos por hacerte el cool.
Te piden que seas seductor.
Hacés grandes esfuerzos por hacerte el seductor.
Te piden que seas alternativo.
Hacés grandes esfuerzos por hacerte el alternativo.
Te piden que seas solidario.
Hacés grandes esfuerzos por hacerte el recontrapelotudo.
para vivir fácilmente en el mundo que se les dió,
sin atreverse a explorar el poder que tienen para cambiarlo.
Imposible no es un hecho, es una opinión.
Imposible no es una declaración, es un reto.
Imposible es potencial.
Imposible es temporal.
Los que generan problemas.
Los que no encajan en ningún lado.
Esos que ven las cosas de otra manera.
No son de los que siguen las reglas,
y no tienen ningún respeto por el status quo.
Podés citarlos, disentir,
glorificarlos, o injuriarlos.
Pero lo único que no podés hacer es ignorarlos.
Porque ellos cambian las cosas.
Empujan la raza humana hacia delante.
Y mientras otros podrán verlos como unos locos,
nosotros vemos genios.
Porque las personas que están lo suficientemente locas
como para creer que pueden cambiar el mundo,
son quienes lo hacen.
I want you to pay particular attention
to the teeth.
Some unscrupulous trainers will show you
a bear whose teeth have all been pulled,
while other cowards
will force the brute into a muzzle.
Only the true master would attempt these
tricks without either measure of safety.
What did you bring me over here for?
This is absurd. It's just a dog.
Come on, darling.
"Just a dog"? "Just"?
Porthos, don't listen to him.
Porthos dreams of being a bear
and you want to dash those dreams
by saying he's "just a dog"?
What a horrible, candle-snuffing word.
That's like saying, "He can't climb
that mountain, he's just a man."
Or, "That's not a diamond, it's just a rock."
Fine then. Turn him into a bear. If you can.
Peter, where are your manners?
With those eyes, my bonny lad,
I'm afraid you'd never see it.
However, with just a wee bit of imagination,
I can turn around right now and see...
the great bear, Porthos.
Now I would like you to step forward over here
and peruse some of the faces from the past.
You've walked past them many times.
I don't think you've really looked at them.
They're not that different from you, are they?
Same haircuts. Full of hormones, just like you.
Invincible, just like you feel.
The world is their oyster.
They believe they're destined for great things,
just like many of you.
Their eyes are full of hope, just like you.
Did they wait until it was too late
to make from their lives even one iota
of what they were capable?
Because you see gentlmen,
these boys are now fertilizing daffodils.
But if you listen real close,
you can hear them whisper their legacy to you.
Go on, lean in.
Carpe. Carpe Diem.
Seize the day boys,
make your lives extraordinary.
Oh, men, you made friends with them!
See, friendship is the booze they feed you.
They want you to get drunk on feeling
like you belong!
Well, it was fun.
They make you feel cool.
And hey, I met you.
You are not "cool."
I know. Even when I thought I was,
I knew I wasn't.
That's because we are uncool!
And while women will always be a problem for
guys like us, most of the great art in
the world is about that very problem.
Good-looking people have no spine!
Their art never lasts!
They get the girls, but we're smarter.
I can really see that now.
Yeah, great art is about conflict and pain
and guilt and longing and love disguised as sex,
and sex disguised as love...
and let's face it,
you got a big head start.
I'm glad you were home.
I'm always home! I'm uncool!
The only true currency in this bankrupt world
is what we share with someone else
when we're uncool.
Elegí una familia, elegí un puto televisor gigante,
elegí lavarropas, autos, reproductores de CD, y abrelatas eléctricos.
Elegí buena salud, bajo colesterol y seguro dental.
Elegí una hipoteca con cuotas de interés fijo.
Elegí tu primera casa.
Elegí a tus amigos.
Elegí ropa para el tiempo libre y equipaje que haga juego.
Elegí trajes de tres piezas en distintas variedades de telas comprados en cuotas.
Elegí cosas del estilo “arme usted mismo”,
y mientras lo armás un domingo a la mañana, pensá quien sos.
Elegí sentarte en ese sofá mirando programas de televisión
que te adormecen lamente y te aplastan el espíritu,
llenando tu boca de comida chatarra.
Elegí pudrirte al final de todo,
meándote encima en tú miserable última casa,
siendo nada más que una vergüenza para los egoístas y arruinados pendejos
que criaste para que te reemplacen.
Elegí el futuro. Elegí la vida.
Pero quién querría hacer algo como eso?
Yo elijo no elegir la vida, elijo algo más.
Y las razones?
No hay razones.
Quién necesita razones cuando tiene heroína?
Trainspotting (1996), Danny Boyle.
There is no pain
And all my thoughts
Are clouds of happiness
In my other world
My heart beats red
There is no gun
Pointed at my head
And I don't really want your kiss
My thoughts don't make me cry
My heart's not filled with grey sadness
My ears can't hear you lie
And I can't even see your face
I've never heard your name
My heart is still my thoughts are calm
And light has filled this space
In my other world
My pain is bliss
I own your soul
I own your kiss
In my other world
Martin L Gore, Counterfeit2.
Come my friends
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world
for my purpose holds to sail beyond the sunset.
And though we are not now that strength
which in old days moved earth and heaven;
that which we are, we are;
one equal temper of heroic hearts,
made weak by time and fate, but strong in will,
to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
Alfred Lord Tennyson