Five seconds.

What's incredible to me is that you can keep out of trouble pretty much every minute of your life apart from maybe five seconds, and that five seconds can get you into the worst trouble of all, just about.

Slam, Nick Hornby.

I'll kill ya.

If you hold back anything, I'll kill ya. If you bend the truth or I think you're bending the truth, I'll kill ya. If you forget anything, I'll kill ya. In fact, you're gonna have to work very hard to stay alive, Nick. Now, do you understand everything I've said? 'Cause if you don't, I'll kill ya.

Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels (1998), Guy Ritchie.

Job.

My job consists of basically masking my contempt for the assholes in charge, and, at least once a day, retiring to the men's room so I can jerk off while I fantasize about a life that doesn't so closely resemble Hell.

American Beauty (1999), Sam Mendes.

Nightmare.

I was having this awful nightmare that I was 32. And then I woke up and I was 23. So relieved. And then I woke up for real, and I was 32.

Before Sunset (2007), Richard Linklater.

Absurd.

The concept is absurd. The idea that we can only be complete with another person is evil! Right?

Before Sunset (2007), Richard Linklater.

Is it?

Against our will.

We tend to fall in love the same way we get sick; without wanting to, without believing it, against our will & unable to defend ourselves. And then we loose love exactly the same way.

Older.

Young boys should never be sent to bed. They always wake up a day older.

Finding Neverland (2004), Marc Foster.

Sentido.

Pasamos nuestra vida intentando encontrarle algún sentido al mundo. Pero el mundo no tiene sentido. Somos nosotros los encargados de dárselo.

High School Girls.

That's what I love about these high school girls, man. I get older, they stay the same age.

Dazed and Confused (1993), Richard Linklater.

Cool.

For well you know that is a fool who plays it cool by making his world a little colder.

Paul McCartney, Hey Jude, The Beatles.

Words so sweet.

It’s like forgetting the words to your favorite song.
You can’t believe it, you were always singing along.
It was so easy and the words so sweet,
you can’t remember, you try to feel the beat.

Regina Spektor, Eet.


Un tema así, para escuchar en un lugar así, en un día así.

Thank you.

And I thank you for bringing me here.
For showing me home.
For singing these tears.
Finally I've found that I belong here.

Martin Gore, Home, Depeche Mode.

Stade de France, Paris, 27.06.06.

In the words of.

Chances like this do not come around every day. You've played hard in here, and I am proud of every last stinking one of you. Let's just give this everything we got.

We may fall on our faces,
but if we do, we will fall with dignity!
With a guitar in our hands and rock in our hearts!
And in the words of AC/DC:
"We roll tonight to the guitar bite,
and for those about to rock...
I salute you."

School of Rock (2003), Richard Linklater.

Even better.

And when I squinted the world seemed rose-tinted, and angels appeared to descend. To my surprise, with half-closed eyes, things looked even better than when they were open.

Martin Gore, Waiting for the night, Depeche Mode.



Stade de France, Paris, 27.06.09.

A real RocknRolla.

People ask the question... what's a RocknRolla? And I tell 'em - it's not about drums, drugs, and hospital drips, oh no. There's more there than that, my friend. We all like a bit of the good life - some the money, some the drugs, other the sex game, the glamour, or the fame. But a RocknRolla, oh, he's different. Why? Because a real RocknRolla wants the fucking lot.

RocknRolla (2008), Guy Ritchie.

London.

Fish, chips, cup 'o tea, bad food, worse weather, Mary fucking Poppins... LONDON!

Snatch (2000), Guy Ritchie.

Next to me.

Come and open up your folding chair next to me.
My feet are buried in the sand and there's a breeze.
There’s a shadow, you can't see my eyes,
and the sea is just a wetter version of the skies.

Folding Chair, Far, Regina Spektor.

Stanley Kubrick.

So Steven Spielberg dies and goes to heaven and when he get to the gates he meets Gabriel who says, "It's great to meet you. God really loves your work, if there's anything you need come to meet me I'm your man". And Steven says, "Well, you know, I always wanted to meet Stanley Kubrick, do you think you could arrange that? And Gabriel looks at him and he says, "You know Steven, of all the things you could for why would you asked for that? You know Stanley doesn't take meetings. "Well, you said it it was anything I wanted." And Gabriel says, "I'm sorry, I can't do that". Later that day Gabriel is giving a guided tour around heaven when Steven sees this bearded guy wearing an army jacket, riding a bicycle and Steven says to Gabriel, "Oh my God, look over there, that's Stanley Kubrick, couldn't we just stop and say hello?" and Gabriel pulls Steven to the side and says, "That's not Stanley Kubrick, that's God, he just thinks he is Stanley Kubrick."

WhiteChapel Art Gallery Cafe.

Cry.

You got to cry without weeping. Talk without speaking. Scream without raising your voice.

Running to Stand Still, The Joshua Tree, U2.

 











Hoy, 16 horas, saliendo del Old Spitalfields Market camino a St. Paul.

Sin molestar a nadie.

Cuando comprendió el carácter definitivo de aquel abandono, el poeta reparó en unas tristezas nuevas, que no había experimentado nunca, ni siquiera ante la ausencia de sus novias más clásicas. Por un instante, sintió la tentación de escribirle o de llamarla por teléfono para revelarle un amor que nunca se había verbalizado. Pero no lo hizo. Largos años de sabiduría amorosa le decían que las personas que abandonan no desean oír declaraciones del abandonado. Se dispuso entonces a sufrir el silencio sin molestar a nadie con sus esperanzas.

Alejandro Dolina, Bar del Infierno, La Conversión de los Descreídos.

Salgamos.

Salgamos de una vez. Salgamos a buscar camorra, a defender causas nobles, a recobrar tiempos olvidados, a despilfarrar lo que hemos ahorrado, a luchar por amores imposibles. A que nos peguen, a que nos derroten, a que nos traicionen. Cualquier cosa es preferible a esa mediocridad eficiente, a esa miserable resignación que algunos llaman madurez.

Alejandro Dolina, El Fantasma, Instrucciones para buscar aventuras.

Para los hombres de verdad.

Dejo para el final el obvio resultado de haber bebido en las fuentes vulgares de la verdad: nunca seremos más jóvenes que hoy; jamás volveremos a ver a nuestros muertos; el tiempo no retrocede; el amor perfecto no existe; hay un verso que está siempre a punto de revelársenos y que no escribiremos nunca. Para los hombres de verdad, este no es el final de sus sueños, sino más bien el principio.

Alejandro Dolina, El Fantasma, Fuentes de la Juventud.

La injusticia.

Envejecer es, antes que nada, injusto. Y el hombre noble no se resigna jamás ante la injusticia. Varones eminentísimos han luchado contra el tiempo. El carácter inevitable de la derrota sólo desalienta a los cobardes.

Alejandro Dolina, El Fantasma, Fuentes de la Juventud.

Castigo.

Hay demonios que gobiernan el azar y que tienden terribles trampas a los jugadores, de modo que a veces ganar es perder y perder es ganar. Una noche de 1970, Ricardo Ventura, un petiso de Caseros, empezó a recibir poker de reyes mano tras mano. El hombre amontonaba fichas. Los otros jugadores empezaron a sospechar. Ventura recibió un cuarto, un quinto y un séptimo póquer. Lo mataron en el décimo y nunca se supo si guardaba reyes en su manga o si tenía esa noche una suerte desmesurada. En ambos casos su castigo es merecido. Hacer trampas no es más canallesco que ligar demasiado.

Alejandro Dolina, El Fantasma, Juego.

It would kill us.

Sometimes we love people so much that we have to be numb to it. Because if we actually felt how much we love them, it would kill us. That doesn't make you a bad person. It just means your heart's too big.

Riding in Cars with Boys (2001).

Sea-foam-green Fender.

And then Harold saw it. A damaged and terribly mistreated, sea-foam-green Fender, staring back at him. Despite its obvious maladies, the guitar spoke with conviction and swagger. In fact, it looked Harold directly in the eye and very plainly stated: I rock.

Stranger than Fiction (2006), Marc Foster.

Wishes.

So? Everyone wants stuff, we wake up every day with list of wishes and we spend our lives trying to make those wishes come true, but just because we want them doesn’t mean we need them to be happy.

Before you die.

The expression “Pie in the Sky” entered popular culture in 1911: it refers to a dessert so sweet that it can only be found in Heaven. If you’re craving something before you die, I recommend where The Pie Maker makes his pies. But if you’re like Chuck, you may enjoy the pie even after you die. Her sixty seconds came and went, she stayed alive; and instead, someone else had to die. He kept Chuck blissfully unaware of this fact: she was alive again – that was that.

Pushing Daisies. Season 1, Episode 2, Fun in the Funeral.

Holding hers, holding his.

As he stared at her, he reached around his back and held his own hand, pretending he was holding hers. And at that very moment, she was pretending to be holding his.

Pushing Daisies. Season 1, Episode 1, Pie-lette.

Young Ned.

At this very moment in the town of Couer d'Couers, young Ned was nine years, twenty-seven weeks, six days and three minutes old. His dog, Digby was three years, two weeks, six days, five hours, and nine minutes old... and not a minute older. This was the moment that young Ned discovered that he wasn’t like the other children: nor was he like anyone else, for that matter. Young Ned could touch dead things and bring them back to life. This gift was a gift given to him, but not by anyone in particular. There was no box, no instructions, no manufacturer’s warranty: it just was. The terms of use weren’t immediately clear, nor were they of immediate concern: young Ned was in love. Her name was Chuck. At this very moment, she was 8 years, 42 weeks, 3 hours and 2 minutes old. Young Ned’s random gift that was, came with a caveat or two. After one minute, the timer goes off. Ned looks out the window and sees Chuck’s father fall flat on his back, dead; his mother follows his line of sight and drops the pie in shock. It was a gift that not only gave – it took. Young Ned discovered that he could only bring the dead back to life for one minute without consequence; any longer, and someone else had to die. But there was one more thing about touching dead things that young Ned didn’t know … and he learned it in the most unfortunate way … as Ned settles into bed, his mother kisses his forehead, she drops to the ground, dead; Ned touches her to no avail. First touch: life. Second touch: dead again, forever.

Pushing Daisies. Season 1, Episode 1, Pie-lette.

The world is not enough for the both of us.

007; Britain's finest secret agent, licensed to kill. Mixing business with girls and thrills. I've seen you walk the screen, it's you that I adore. Since I was a boy I've wanted to be like Roger Moore. A girl in every port, and gadgets up my sleeve. The world is not enough for the both of us it seems. So I wish I was James Bond, just for the day.

I Wish I Was James Bond, Scouting for Girls.

The trick to life.

The trick to life is...

not to get too attached to it.


The Trick To Life, The Hoosiers, The Trick To Life.

Felicidad ordenada.

Como todas las personas que viven mimadas por los dioses sin ninguna razón, también sentía una especie de angustia en el fondo de tanta felicidad. Todo era demasiado hermoso, demasiado redondo, demasiado perfecto. Uno siempre teme tanta felicidad ordenada.
Porque los dioses son, como se sabe, envidiosos, y cuando dan un año de felicidad a un simple mortal, lo apuntan como una deuda, y al final de su vida se la reclaman, con intereses de usurero.

El último encuentro, Sándor Márai.

That's what I keep asking myself.

What have I got? Really? Some money in my pocket, some nice threads, fancy car at my disposal, and I'm single. Yeah... unattached, free as a bird... I don't depend on nobody and nobody depends on me... My life's my own. But I don't have peace of mind. And if you don't have that, you've got nothing. So... what's the answer? That's what I keep asking myself. What's it all about? You know what I mean?

Alfie (2004).

Compilation tape.

A good compilation tape, like breaking up, is hard to do and takes ages longer than it might seem. You gotta kick off with a killer, to hold the attention. Then you have to take it up a notch, but not blow your wad, so maybe cool it off a notch, and you can't put the same artist twice on the tape, except if some subtle point or lesson or theme involved, and even then not the two of them in a row, and you can't woo somebody with Joni Mitchell's "Big Yellow Taxi" and then bash their head off with something like GBH's "City Baby Attacked by Rats," and... oh, there are a lot of rules.

High Fidelity, Nick Hornby.

Así.

En el fondo, no creo que haga falta ningún talento especial para que una persona se eleve del suelo y permanezca suspendida en el aire. Todos lo llevamos dentro -hombres, mujeres y niños-, y con suficientes esfuerzo y concentración, todo ser humano es capaz de duplicar las hazañas que yo realicé cuando era Walt el Niño Prodigio. Tienes que aprender a dejar de ser tu mismo. Ahí es donde empieza, y todo lo demás viene de ahí. Debes dejarte evaporar. Dejar que tus músculos se relajen, respirar hasta que sientes que tu alma sale de ti, y luego cerrar los ojos. Así es como se hace. El vacío dentro de tu cuerpo se vuelve más ligero que el aire que te rodea. Poco a poco, empiezas a pesar menos que nada. Cierras los ojos; extiendes los brazos; te dejas evaporar. Y luego, poco a poco, te elevas del suelo.
Así.

Mr. Vértigo, Paul Auster.

La necesidad.

Eso es lo que ocurre con la necesidad. Mientras te falta algo, lo ansías sin cesar. Si pudiera tener esto, te dices a ti mismo, todos mis problemas se resolverían. Pero una vez que lo consigues, una vez que te ponen en las manos el objeto de tus deseos, empieza a perder su encanto. Otras necesidades se afirman, otros deseos se hacen sentir, y poco a poco descubres que estás de nuevo en el punto de partida.

Mr. Vértigo, Paul Auster.

The alter ego.

As you know, l'm quite keen on comic books. Especially the ones about superheroes. I find the whole mythology surrounding superheroes fascinating. Take my favorite superhero, Superman. Not a great comic book. Not particularly well-drawn. But the mythology... The mythology is not only great, it's unique. Now, a staple of the superhero mythology is, there's the superhero and there's the alter ego. Batman is actually Bruce Wayne, Spider-Man is actually Peter Parker. When that character wakes up in the morning, he's Peter Parker. He has to put on a costume to become Spider-Man. And it is in that characteristic Superman stands alone. Superman didn't become Superman. Superman was born Superman. When Superman wakes up in the morning, he's Superman. His alter ego is Clark Kent. His outfit with the big red "S", that's the blanket he was wrapped in as a baby when the Kents found him. Those are his clothes. What Kent wears - the glasses, the business suit - that's the costume. That's the costume Superman wears to blend in with us. Clark Kent is how Superman views us. And what are the characteristics of Clark Kent. He's weak... he's unsure of himself... he's a coward. Clark Kent is Superman's critique on the whole human race.

Kill Bill Vol. 2 (2003), Quentin Tarantino.

Though things like this make me sick.

I want somebody to share the rest of my life, share my innermost thoughts, know my intimate details. Someone who'll stand by my side and give me support, and in return, she'll get my support.

She will listen to me when I want to speak about the world we live in and life in general. Though my views may be wrong (they may even be perverted) she will hear me out and won't easily be converted to my way of thinking. In fact she'll often disagree, but at the end of it all, she will understand me.

I want somebody who cares for me passionately with every thought and with every breath. Someone who'll help me see things in a different light; all the things I detest I will almost like.

I don't want to be tied to anyone's strings; I'm carefully trying to steer clear of those things. But when I'm asleep I want somebody who will put their arms around me and kiss me tenderly.

Though things like this make me sick, in a case like this I'll get away with it.

Somebody (Depeche Mode), Martin L. Gore.

The tip of the spear.

Gentlemen, you are the top 1% of all naval aviators: the elite, the BEST of the best. We'll make you better. Fly at least two combat missions a day, attend classes in between, and evaluations of your performance. Now in each combat sequence you're going to meet a different challenge. Every encounter is going to be much more difficult. We're going to teach you to fly the F-14 right to the edge of the envelop, faster than you've every flown before, and more dangerous. Now, we don't make policy here, gentlemen. Elected officials, civilians, do that. We are the instruments of that policy. And although we're not at war, we must always act as though we are at war. We're the tip of the spear. In case some of you wonder who the best is, they're up here on this plaque on the wall. The best driver and his RIO from each class has his name on it. And they have the option to come back here to be Top Gun instructors. You think you're name's going to be on that plaque?

Top Gun (1986), Tony Scott.

The ability to bullshit.

It was the oddest, most unexpected thing. I began writing what they call a Mission Statement for my company. You know -a Mission Statement- a suggestion for the future. What started out as one page became twenty-five. Suddenly I was my father's son. I was remembering the simple pleasures of this job, how I ended up here out of law school, the way a stadium sounds when one of my players performs well on the field... I was remembering even the words of the late Dicky Fox, the original sports agent, who said: The key to this job is personal relationships. Hey, I'll be the first to admit it. What I was writing was somewhat "touchy feely." I didn't care. I had lost the ability to bullshit. It was the me I'd always wanted to be.

Jerry Maguire (1996), Cameron Crowe.

Inspiración.

-La inspiración acude cuando se pegan los codos a la mesa, el culo a la silla y se empieza a sudar. Elige un tema, una idea, y exprímete el cerebro hasta que te duela. Eso se llama inspiración.

El Juego del Ángel, Carlos Ruiz Zafón.

Simple y pura biología.

-Está en nuestra naturaleza sobrevivir. La fe es una respuesta instintiva a aspectos de la existencia que no podemos explicar de otro modo, bien sea el vacío moral que percibimos en el universo, la certeza de la muerte, el misterio el origen de las cosas o el sentido de nuestra propia vida, o la ausencia de él. Son aspectos elementales y de extraordinaria sencillez, pero nuestras propias limitaciones nos impiden responder de un modo inequívoco a esa preguntas y por ese motivo generamos, como defensa, una respuesta emocional. Es simple y pura biología.

El Juego del Ángel, Carlos Ruiz Zafón.

Todo es un cuento.

-Todo es un cuento , Martín. Lo que creemos, lo que conocemos, lo que recordamos e incluso lo que soñamos. Todo es un cuento, una narración, una secuencia de sucesos y personajes que comunican un contenido emocional. Un acto de fe es un acto de aceptación, aceptación de una historia que se nos cuenta. Sólo aceptamos como verdadero aquello que puede ser narrado...

El Juego del Ángel, Carlos Ruiz Zafón.

Hair grows even after you're dead.

Imagine you go away on a business trip one day and when you come back home your children have grown and you never made your wife moan, and people make you nervous. You'd think the world was ending and everybody's features have somehow started blending. And everything is plastic, and everyone's sarcastic, and all your food is frozen; it needs to be defrosted.

Well maybe you should just drink a lot less coffee, and never ever watch the 10 o'clock news. Maybe you should kiss someone nice or lick a rock or both. Maybe you should cut your own hair cause that can be so funny, it doesn't cost any money and it always grows back. Hair grows even after you're dead.

The Ghost of Corporate Future, Regina Spektor.

Train of thought.

Leonard:What did Penny mean, "you'd make a cute couple"?

Sheldon: Well, I assume she meant that the two of you together would constitute a couple that others might consider cute. An alternate, though somewhat less likely interpretation is that you could manufacture one. As in, "Oh, look, Leonard and Leslie made Mr. and Mrs. Goldfarb! Aren't they adorable?

Leonard:
If Penny didn't know that Leslie had already turned me down, then that would unambiguously mean that she, Penny, thought I should ask her, Leslie, out, indicating that she, Penny, had no interest in me asking her, Penny, out; but because she did know that I had asked her, Leslie, out, and that she, Leslie, had turned me down, then she, Penny, could be offering me consolation - "That's too bad, you would have made a cute couple..." - while thinking, "good, Leonard remains available.

Sheldon:
You're a lucky man, Leonard.

Leonard:
How so?

Sheldon:
You're talking to one of the three men in the Western Hemisphere capable of following that train of thought.

Leonard:
Well, what do you think?

Sheldon: I said I could follow it, I didn't say I cared.

The Big Bang Theory, Season 1.

Sagittarius.

Penny: I'm a Sagittarius, which probably tells you way more than you need to know.

Sheldon:
Yes, it tells us that you participate in the mass cultural delusion that the sun's apparent position relative to arbitrarily defined constellations at the time of your birth somehow affects your personality.

The Big Bang Theory, Season 1.

Chance.

You have about as much chance of going out with Penny as the Hubble Telescope has of finding that at the center of each black hole there's a little man with a flashlight trying to find the circuit breaker.

The Big Bang Theory, Season 1.

La entrada número 200.

Sí, otras 100 entradas más. Y una vez más vuelvo a escribir. Tardé mucho tiempo en postear esta entrada, casi un mes, porque quería hacer algo especial para esta ocasión (por alguna convención que desconozco, todo número redondo es digno de algún tipo de festejo o distinción). Evalué la posibilidad de volver a mostrar algún texto mío, pero nada era digno de tal merecimiento. Y durante todo este tiempo, si bien me encontré con varios textos que merecían aparecer en este blog, quería que la entrada 200 me representara de alguna manera. Y hoy, por esas cosas del azar, me volví a cruzar con un cuento que leí hace muchísimos años, y releí hace otros tantos muchos años. Un cuento que me fascinó desde mi infancia y que me marcó de alguna manera, ya que lo recuerdo como el primer cuento por el cual sentí algo mucho más fuerte que el simple placer de la lectura. Un cuento que me despertaba pasión, admiración, felicidad, y tristeza al mismo tiempo. Un cuento que recuerdo como el primer gran final de una saga que haya leído. Un cuento que comenzaba así:

Tomo la pluma con tristeza para redactar estos pocos párrafos, que serán los últimos que yo dedicaré a dejar constancia de las singulares dotes que distinguieron a mi amigo el señor Sherlock Holmes. Me he esforzado, aunque de una manera inconexa y, estoy profundamente convencido de ello, del todo inadecuada, en relatar como he podido las extraordinarias aventuras que me han ocurrido en su compañía desde que la casualidad nos juntó, en el período del Estudio en Escarlata, hasta la intervención de Holmes en el asunto de El Tratado naval, intervención que tuvo como consecuencia indiscutible la de evitar una grave complicación internacional. Era propósito mío el haber terminado con ese relato, sin hablar para nada del suceso que dejó en mi vida un vacío que los dos años transcurridos desde entonces han hecho muy poco por llenar. Pero las recientes cartas en que el coronel James Moriarty defiende la memoria de su hermano me fuerzan a ello, y no tengo otra alternativa que la de exponer los hechos tal como ocurrieron. Soy la única persona que conoce la verdad exacta del caso, y estoy convencido de que ha llegado el momento en que a nada bueno conduce el suprimirla. Por lo que yo sé, sólo han aparecido en la Prensa tres relatos: el que publicó el Journal de Geneve el día 6 de mayo de 1891, el telegrama de Reuter que apareció en los diarios ingleses el día 7 de mayo y, por último, las cartas recientes a que antes aludí. El primero y el segundo de estos relatos son sumamente lacónicos, en tanto que el último tergiversa por completó los hechos, según voy a demostrarlo. Me toca a mí el contar por primera vez qué es lo que verdaderamente ocurrió entre el profesor Moriarty y el señor Sherlock Holmes.

Arthur Conan Doyle, "El problema final", Las Memorias de Sherlock Holmes.

Polite.

You shouldn't think that just because I'm looking at you while you're talking to me, that I'm necessarily listening to or caring about what you're saying. It's just something I do to be polite.

Sports Night. Season 2, Episode 2, "When Something Wicked This Way Comes".