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Un día vas a un boliche y conoces a una striper llamada:
Infinity.
Conoces una stripper llamada:
Destiny.
Conoces una stripper llamada:
Fantasy.

Conoces una stripper llamada:
Surprise.
Conoces una stripper llamada:
Deseo
Conoces una stripper llamada:
Wanda
Conoces una stripper llamada:
Universe.

Giras y te convertís, giras y te transformas en transformación detrás de transformación doblas el momento y te convertís en una especie de espejo.
Girar y convertirse.

Girar y transformarse.
Entras en el hall de un edificio y el hall es todo de mármol. Hay un gran espejo a tu izquierda y una escultura mural a tu derecha o viceversa? Seguí avanzando y llama al ascensor y espera al ascensor y cuando venga abrí las puertas y entra. El ascensor es muy naranja. Bajate y entra por la puerta de servicio a través de la cocina y quedate en la cocina y mira alrededor en la gran cocina que tiene una barra larga y ancha que corre todo a lo largo de la pared.

Estas sentado en la mesa de la cocina y estas borracho y solo. Lentamente rascas la mugre bajo tus uñas con un escarbadientes. Viene tu mujer y se sienta a beber con vos y hablan de comprar nuevas cortinas para el living. Miras los pequeños azulejos de la cocina y son azules y amarillos, súbitamente te da hambre así que abrís la puerta de la heladera y miras adentro pero nunca hay nada porque tu mujer no sabe cocinar lo único que hay son kneidalaj que quedaron del pesaj pasado y renuncias. Lentamente cavas un agujerito con el escarbadientes en la tela encerada de flores del mantel que se va directamente a la Formica de la mesa y luego clavas el escarbadientes y haces un agujerito en la Formica. Seguís tomando y prendes un cigarrillo y tu mujer te dice que ya nadie fuma lo cual es verdad y no te importa, es un tiempo de descomunicacion total no tenes ninguna idea no pensas nada.

Muy lentamente giras y te transformas. Lentamente ahora quemas el mantel de plástico con la punta del cigarrillo y tu mujer te pide por favor que pares la quemadura se va directamente a la Formica. Ahora vas al dormitorio y te quedas muy quieto mirando por la ventana grande. En el piso del cuarto hay un cuaderno que esta abierto y sobre las paginas aplastadas contra el piso hay un grupo de manchas negras alineadas sobre una rayita de lápiz. Las manchas negras que son tal vez agujeros negros están unidas con flechas a las palabras y las palabras dicen algo como:

• una piedra
• el libro de Blanchot
• un agujero
• un poster
• Hollywood

en la otra pagina hay una lista que dice así:

• Lady D
• Elthon John
• the pet Shop Boys
• la lambada
• cher
• mojo
• Freddy Mercury
• Marina A
• La Pantera
• El Puma Rodriguez
• la bomba tucumana
• Moria
• Lady G
• Beyonce
• Justin
• Ulysses

Muy lentamente giras y te transformas.
La cama esta desecha tu mujer esta en el living, cerca del sofá en el living hay una estantería. En la estantería hay unas figuritas de porcelana, en la mesita de luz hay un vaso de whisky conteniendo su dentadura postiza. Es de mañana y todavía no has levantado la persiana y la luz pasa a través de las ranuras estrechas. Achicas los ojos y tratas de mirar el mundo exterior, el sonido viene muy suavecito, tu aliento es lento cuando miras el trafico en la calle y el trafico también es vago y lento porque es Domingo.

Giras y transformas.
Girando y transformandose en el espejo del baño te ves la cara.

Das una vuelta y te ves la cara de nuevo.

Das otra vuelta y ves tu cara pero esta vez estas usando una mascara de celofán.

Das una vuelta y ves tu cara desnuda de nuevo.

Das otra vuelta y ves mascara de celofán

Das otra vuelta y ves cara.

Das otra vuelta y ves celofán.

Giras y ves cara.

Giras y ves celofán

Cara.

Celofán.

Cara.

Celofán.

Cara.

Celofán.

El baño tiene un olor particular. Huele a cigarrillos. Inspiras y expiras e inspiras y expiras e inspiras y expiras en breves porciones de movimiento que te llevan a tener muy mínimas convulsiones que te hacen girar de manera diminuta y transformarte. Abrís la puertita del tocador del baño y ves como todo cae. Salís del baño y vas a la pieza.
La luz pasa a través de las aberturas entre las persianas y entra por tus narinas y la luz te filtra interiormente. La calle esta tan tranquila que podes escuchar distantes unos disparos.
Te quedas muy quieto.

De repente es como si un doble tuyo fuera un cantante de Reggaeton.

Es como si un doble tuyo fuera un Gangsta Rapper.

Cosas que nunca harías.

Mientras tanto los muebles son de caoba y en las paredes las reproducciones son de
Kandinsky y Picasso el ascensor es naranja y la cocina de Formica, el whisky es importado.

Es mediodía y la luz del sol golpea furiosamente tu cara a través de las pequeñas ranuras.

Entraste al baño y el baño huele a cigarrillos congelados. Volviste a tu cuarto y moviste el espejo que estaba en la puerta del armario. Esperas, todo sigue casi igual. La luz empieza a bajar a través de las persianas raya el cuarto como si fuera una cebra pareja por todas partes. Así que agarras un lápiz que encontrás debajo de la cama y te sentás en el piso. Tu doble te habita. Te tiras al piso y empezás a dibujas sobre las rayas que marca la luz en el piso y subrayas cada linea furiosamente hasta que todo el cuarto quede rayado con luz y marcas de lapiz en tu imaginación hachas el piso con el lápiz HB una y otra vez hasta que le das duro y parejo. Trabajas durante horas. Al final miras tu obra de arte con satisfacción solo para darte cuenta que la luz ya bajó y que te perdiste ese momento tan efímero en el cual se suponía que ibas a alcanzar la Unidad. Ni siquiera te importa. El cuarto quedó todo rayado la alfombra y el empapelado verde botella. Sino todo sigue igual.

Septiembre 2012. Buenos Aires.

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Sept Films Possibles: 

Publicacion de siete mini guiones relatando cada uno un filme imaginario. Paris Francia. Ediciones ENSAPC.

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MI MADRE

Mi madre es un cuento de Carver que reescribi de memoria.

“Vengan a comer conmigo una ultima vez” dice mi madres por teléfono. La miro a Jill. Jill no me devuelve la mirada me dice algo así como “tenemos que ir?”. Jill lleva el pelo corto y tiene patillas, es bañadora de perros, le gusta su trabajo. Antes trabajo de muchas cosas, digo antes de volverse bañadora de perros. Cuando trabajaba de muchas otras cosas estaba casada con un hombre. El ex marido de Jill era una lcoholico como lo fui yo mismo hace ya muchos años. Un día le rompió un tímpano y después manejo hasta chocar con un puente pero no se murió. Jill no quiere recordare esos tiempos mueve la cabeza y dice que eso ya paso. Su ex marido alcohólico también se quedo con la custodia de los chicos. Pero eso ya esta muy lejos dice jill.

Ahora Jill lava perros y es feliz, cada mañana va a trabajar y vuelve trayendo un olor particular a shampoo para perros que yo creo percibir cuando llega a casa. Jill dice “ tenemos que ir?” y se encierra en el baño con un catalogo de cortinas del cual ya señalo las que le gustaban doblando las esquinas de las paginas. A Jill le gusta meterse en el baño cuando esta enfurruñada.

Eh encontrado la colilla de un porro y trato de fumarmelo como puedo.

“traigan cubiertos porque ya empaqué las cosas de comer” dice mi madre. Las empaco hace años en realidad, en junio ya tenia las cajas hechas, y estamos en diciembre. Y todavía no se ha ido. “vamos” dice jill suspirando “alguna vez nos dejara en paz?” piensa. Pero no dice nada.

Mi madre se mudo a nuestra ciudad en mayo. En diciembre pasado traté de convencerla para que no viniera pero no me escucho. En ese momento Jill y yo recién nos habíamos mudado juntos teniamos un pasado tormntoso y muchas ganas de que nos dejen en paz. Queriamos empezar de nuevo esta vez desde cero. Asi que le dije a mi madre que Oregon era una ciudad fria en invierno y calurosa en verano. Que se iba a aburrir, que no habia actividades para la tercera edad, pero no me escucho y vino igual. “quiero estar done tu estés cariño” dijo en ese momento.Cuando llegamos a su casa que esta llena de cajas Jill y mi madres se abrazan. Entre ellas son cordiales pero se que tienen miedo de quedarse solas la una con la otra. Mi madre dice que el pollo estará hecho en un minuto. “espero que hayan traido vasos dice. Porque acá no queda ninguno” ya están todos empacados dice mientras se mueve entre las cajas como una experta. Desde que tengo memoria mi madre se esta mudando. Antes era algo que hacian con mi padre, como una actividad compartida. Cuando los vientos no soplaban a favor se mudaban en busqueda de un futuro mas prospero mas esperanzador. Hemos vivido en todo tipo de casas, a veces solo por un mes o dos hasta levantar alas de nuevo, y una vez llegamos a vivir en una casa rodante por un año mientras cambiábamos de ciudad constantemente.

Mi madre se pone a pinchar el pollo frito con el tenedor. Nos explica que esta feliz de volver a California donde el sol brilla constantemente y de volver al mismo departamento tan bien ubicado donde millones de lineas de ómnibus la acercan al centro y al club para la tercera edad que ella frecuenta. Dice que extraña la amabilidad de la gente y la simpatía de los conductores, que odia esta ciudad en donde hace un puñetero frío todo el tiempo.

Por que te mudaste entonces pregunta Jilll te voya decir por que dice mi madre “ la vieja que vivía en el departamento vecino era una alcoholica y para colmo tenia un andador con el que se desplazaba por todo el departamento. Como las paredes eran de carton yo al escuchaba tiqui tiqui para alla tiqui tiqui para aca todo el maldito tiempo el ruido del hielo en su vaso y la maldita puerta de la heladera abriendose y cerrandose cada cinco minutos en busca de mas hielo. La vieja alcohólica me tenia los nervios de punta querido, ya no sabia que hacer, hable con mi propietaria del antiguo departamento y me ha reservado uno muy bonito en la segunda planta ” Miro por la ventana un hombre cortando el pasto nos saluda, es Larry el propietario del actual departamento de mi madre. Larry es un obrero de la construcción que hizo algo de plata y la invirtió en unos departamentos. Es un hombre triste y amable, un viudo. Cuando le dije que el departamento era para mi madre bajo el precio de un 15 por ciento, en el momento fantasee con que mi madre y Larry se harían amigos y hasta llegarían a salir juntos una o dos veces.

“ahi lo tienen al rey Larry” dice mi madre. “ A el si que no se le cae un centavo, siempre quiere mas para el. Es una avaro, y un tacaño, que tiene que andar cortando el pasto de nuevo? Ya lo corto hace una semana el maldito rey!” le digo que probablemente este alistando el departamento para el nuevo inquilino. Mi madre hace un sonido extraño una especie de buffido. Sentados a la mesa Jill repite

“por suerte no tendras que verlo nunca mas. Ni a el ni a nadie de esta maldita ciudad” “gracias al cielo dice mi madre” Después nos dice inmediatamente que mañana se levantara muy temprano, antes de que salga el sol, y manejara toda la mañana, al mediodía se detendrá para almorzar en alguna cafeteria de la 66 y que después seguirá hasta el atardecer. Ahí espera encontrar un cuarto en algún motel simpático de la costa oeste. Después se levantara muy temprano de nuevo y manejara si dios la ampara hasta su California adorada

Mi madre no toma alcohol, ni una gota, lo dejo hace ya años cuando mi padre renuncio a el. “por suerte ya te vas mañana” dice Jill. Yo no digo nada. Yo como a cuatro manos, me doy cuenta que no comí nada desde la mañana y el efecto del porro se me ha pasado por completo. Jill se tira hacia atrás en la silla y prende un cigarrillo y me mira “Terminaste querido?” pregunta le digo que si y me quedo mirandola después digo que ya es tarde y nos tenemos que ir.

A la noche hablo con mi madre por teléfono. Dice que tiene miedo, que el camino es pesado y que no esta segura de poder soportarlo durante el viaje. Se pone a llorar, dice que me va a extrañar. De repente una luz se abre en mi cabeza y recuerdo algo que le decía mi padre cuando yo era chico. Se lo decía cuando no estaba demasiado borracho y la podía tratar bien. Le decía “ mi querida”: le decía “mi querida si vas a la tienda me podrías traer unos cigarrillos?” O “ mi querida apagaste el fuego”?. Asi que cierro los ojos un instante y cuando los abro le digo “ mi querida”. Después repito “Mi querida, no tengas miedo, todo va a estar bien”. Y colgamos.

Al día siguiente la voy a despedir a mi madre. Es muy temprano y no he despertado a Jill. Decidí que Jill se puede quedar durmiendo no creo que a los perros los ofenda mucho empezar su tocado un poco mas tarde. Mi madre esta mirando el mapa que tiene sobre el auto. Se ha puesto una blusa blanca y unos pantalones blancos, unas sandalias blancas y un pañuelo blanco en la cabeza. Dice que me va a extrañar. “Ojalá tu y Jill puedan venir a verme en el verano” dice. Le digo que si que vamos a ir pero lo cierto es que no se nada, probablemente no vayamos a ningún lado. Mi madre me da un ultimo abrazo y se mete en el auto y arranca. El sol empieza a salir. Mi mama se aleja hacia el sol y yo me vuelvo a casa.

Septiembre 2012. Buenos Aires.

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FAST FORWARD (Texto publicado por primera vez en Pobre Feo y Elegante #3)

Algún otro día estas caminando por la calle y ves un auto estacionado en la vereda, bajo el auto se asoman dos piernas de hombre. Atravesas calles de concreto mientras te pones a errar alrededor del barrio de talleres mecánicos como un agente secreto de la jungla dura y aunque todo esta ligeramente mal no te importa y decidís vivir con esa equivocación cotidiana.

Tu sueños están ligeramente mal también, ayer dormiste y en tu sueño caminabas alrededor del agua de un pantano y a través de la oscuridad con flashes de mas oscuridad (estabas casado de antemano pero seguiste boxeando y aceptaste que el mundo estaba ligeramente equivocado pero que seguiría girando aunque en cadagiro disgregaría cada vez un poquito mas y que en su equivocación día a día cada digresión de cada giro tendería cada vez mas hacia el sol, siempre hacia una realidad cada vez mas caliente) el sol te pega duro en en la coronilla de tu cabeza y estas jadeando y sudando el tipo de sudor duro que ocurre cuando es imposible escapar del sol.

Miras alrededor y extrañamente las superficies son duras y el sol es duro también las calles llenas de talleres mecánicos en sus enteritos sucios, las construcciones alrededor tuyo son cubos en formas de cubos y el paisaje se ve como un cementerio. Ayer te fuiste a la casa sintiendote pesado y en tu sueño caminabas abajo de un pantano y caminando a través del agua sucia te dabas cuenta que la superficie del agua era como un espejo y el agua era espesa. Básicamente petróleo. En tu sueño levantabas plantas del entorno tropical en el cual evolucionabas, con una distintiva falta de gracia recogías plantas fosforescentes del suelo mientras caías en el agua una y otra vez.

El barrio industrial en el que te encuentras empieza a levantar humo negro que hermosamente se pega a las paredes de los edificios cortos que ya de por si son grises.
En tu imaginación ves un cuadrilátero mientras una mina semidesnuda se pasea meneandola. Tiene en las manos una especie de cartel. Aunque te acercas no podes ver lo que dice.

Un grupo de casas blancas aparece una fracción de segundo en tu cabeza. Es una imagen que siempre te reconforta. Miras tu cuerpo y tu cuerpo se ve como el tipo de muebles que tenes en casa que es un estilo vagamente europeo en clima subtropical.

Caminas sin rumbo entrando y saliendo de los talleres mecánicos en donde el caos permanente te da un confort automático pero efímero porque no te animas a quedarte ahí para siempre. En casa la TV esta prendida todo el tiempo

mostrando maratones de boxeo y en donde todo esta ligeramente mal también a causa del empapelado, el cual es furiosamente rosa y que ya no podes soportar.Tu casa es como un cubo al cual entras a través de un salón de bowling, tu casa esta justo detrás, a través de una escalera que fue construida directamente sobre una ventana. La construcción es tan aleatoria que uno puede ver que la gente que vive en esa casa la fue construyendo a lo largo del tiempo. Esta es tu casa, es lo que hay.

Tu casa es un cubo y también es la TV que tenes adentro y también la computadora y los muebles también son cuadrados , sorprendentemente todos esos cubos y cuadrados y rectángulos respondiendose entre ellos como en un ballet silencioso con el empapelado rosa, las columnas de la entrada y el pequeño cementerio que tenes en el jardín. Esto solo te cuenta que aquí cada uno hace sus propias reglas, el minimalismo reina en la miseria de todos los días. A veces en ciertas situaciones particulares pensas en un grupo de casas blancas, como en una fantasía, un grupo de casas que se ve limpio y organizado, rodeado de perfectos jardines como en los suburbios americanos.

Bajas la calle hasta que encontras una suerte de cafetería para taxistas donde un grupo de hombres esta reunido, vos los envidias en silencio. Los taxistas están escuchando la radio, donde pasan un partido de fútbol. No decís nada porque el tuyo es un combate solitario. Te gustaría ser un taxista a vos también. Así que te quedas quieto y prendes un cigarrillo.

Hace mucho tiempo cuando eras joven pasaste un tiempo en un hospital. Era una institución mental. Y en la institución mental conociste a un hombre, que se convirtio en algo que podrías llamar un amigo. Como era de esperar el hombre estaba loco. En ese tiempo tu principal problema era que estabas perdiendo tu forma solida, licuando, me estoy licuando decias tan seguido. Y sabias que eso era una mentira, porque no te estabas licuando, solo necesitabas un tiempo afuera para vos solo y eso es lo que obtuviste porque estabas triste.

Después paso el tiempo y cuando eras normal de nuevo te dijiste a vos mismo que vivir era un poco como boxear y te pusiste tus guantes y tu bata brillante y saliste a la multitud.Un tiempo después tu amigo que era mucho mas viejo se murió. Respiras para adentro y afuera y entras en el bar de taxistas de nuevo donde la gente te recibe virilmente. Vas al mostrador y pedís grappa llamando al mozo jefe. Le decis jefe. El barman apoya las dos manos en el mostrador. lentamente te imaginas pedacitos de confeti cayendo en el rabillo del ojo, confeti negro y blanco hasta que la imagen se vuelve borrosa.

Cuando el liquido espeso y transparente baja por tu garganta los ojos se te ponen llorosos.

Te pones a pensar en tu amigo de la institución mental cuyo nombre era Bob. Extrañas mucho a Bob. Bob y su historia de amor. La calle esta tan tranquila que podes oír el humo subiendo.

Te quedas con los taxistas por un rato, ellos aceptan tu presencia com absorbiendola por osmosis.

Te tomas el liquido espeso pero transparente
Una suerte de papel picado negro y blanco empieza a caer ante tus ojos. Primero hace lentamente hasta que después se intensifica y se pone denso hasta que se convierte en una masa húmeda y tu vista se empieza a poner cada vez mas borrorsa. Ante tu vista cae papel picado hasta que no se ve nada mas, salís a la calle y caminas en la dirección contraria a por donde viniste hasta que encontras el punto donde esta el auto estacionado en la vereda.
El auto sigue ahí y aun podes ver las piernas del hombre asomando por abajo. Lentamente te acercas a las piernas y te agachas para mirar abajo del auto.

El hombre que esta ahí ya no es un hombre, es un muerto. Vos te arrodillas y lo rodas lentamente hacia afuera. Te pones abajo del auto y tomas el lugar del muerto y te quedas ahi. Y es así como todo empata.

Julio 2012. Buenos Aires.

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FIFTY-FFTY

Protocolo físico: el espacio de la pagina web que vemos esta dividido en dos espesos cuadrados de texto con algunas imágenes. Del lado derecho una oscura versión de un sitio de lucha libre especializado en mascaras hechas a mano. Ese lado esta en general mal hecho la tipografía es errónea tiene varias faltas de ortografía, parece un blog, de un lado es interminable no tiene links pero si tiene una especie de recuadro que es en realidad una imagen filmada en vivo por una cámara web.

La imagen parece transmitir un sótano, pero no pasa nada mas que eso. Parece que la cam se cayo, y muestra el piso.

Del otro lado de la pagina es el perfil de alguien con buen gusto.

Cuadrado izquierdo:

En un cuarto oscuro un hombre esta esperando. Respira lenta y pesadamente. El hombre esta mirando su computadora y y su computadora le hace una luz tenue y metálica en la cara. Esta mirando la televisión por internet. El tipo tiene puesto un pijama aunque es de día, porque una luz gris se cuela por un ventiluz. El hombre aletea. El tipo esta rodeado de brillantes objetos que son en realidad la abstracción de una cierta disciplina artística por todas partes hay objetos puntiagudos y angulosos y superficies lisas, brillantes, y laqueadas. El cuarto esta atiborrado de objetos geométricos, brillantes, los techos son bajos, el tipo va a la cocina, donde tiene una maquina de nexpresso, y se hace un café con la capsulita dorada y pone la capsulita vacía en una montaña de capsulitas vacías que almacena y vuelve a sentarse a la computadora que le ilumina la cara. Esta descalzo. El pocillo empieza a quedarse frío, es un pocillo stark. A su derecha hay un pato de porcelana; todo hecho en formas geométricas y brillantes y a su izquierda hay algo que parece un ataúd en superficie plateada, por supuesto macizo. Y el cuarto esta atiborrado de objetos así.

De un bolsillo del pijama sobre sale algo que es como un objetos brillante un pequeño paralepipedo no se sabe bien que es. El objeto reluce, el tipo lo acaricia con un dedo. La computadora esta como ondulando. Lentamente ondula en material negro y blanco, el hombre mira fijamente la imagen. Piensa en un grupo de casas blancas, el cielo también esta casi blanco como si hubiera mucha luminosidad en el aire. El grupo de casas blancas es en general un buen signo que tiene que ver con el humor previo a. el tipo no puede ni formularlo. Le corre una gota de sudor.

Hace ya un tiempo que este hombre empezó a invadir las casillas de correo de sus amigos artistas galeristas y curadores con pop up sexual. Manda spams todo el día:

“montese a una estudiante de arte con su nueva capacidad de abstracción!”

“tu amiguito esta funcionando como una maquina situacionista?! O sea mal? Ayudela a rehabilitarse!!” “tu miembro parece un pedazo de escultura concreta?! El minimalismo te deja confuso? No distingues el cuerpo de una mujer de una obra de Donald Judd? No sabes por donde empezar con tus alumnas?! Desentendete! La geometría conceptual te deja rabioso?! Ya no distingues una cola de dos semi-esferas juntas? Eyacular te parece un acto de dripping?! “Un pasaje de ida con…” “para todos estos interrogantes y muchos mas llame ya al..” a continuación un teléfono, cuando llaman de verdad y el hombre atiende se queda respirando tranquilo escuchando a su interlocutor decir: hola? Hola? Pero en la vida real es un hombre irreprochable. Por el momento el tipo esta en pijama en su propia casa y todos esperamos. No manda ningún mail no hace nada.

Ha descubierto que en el sótano de la bodega de un barco un grupo de inmigrantes ilegales lucra con peleas clandestinas de lucha libre que el tipo mira por la webcam.

Todos llevan mascaras hermosas pintadas y cosidas a mano y batas brillantes y pelean a mano limpia. Personifican animales y este hombre esta especialmente caliente con el que se llama la Pantera personaje que lo enloquece. El hombre esta fascinado empezó a vivir con ellos y a seguir los movimientos de esta gente, durmiendo cuando duermen y comiendo cuando comen todo esto pasa de noche. El hombre se hace muchas pajas online y usa un nuevo perfil en facebook por donde recluta nuevas víctimas para el spam. Después se levanta y se va al trabajo, en el trabajo toma café en pocillos Stark y organiza la retrospectiva de, ponele, picabia. De día piensa que el spam es un sistema infeccioso. Funciona como termitas.

El otro lado de esa web. Cuadrado derecho:

en el cuadrado derecho el recuadro de la webcam empezó a agitarse y la imagen se sacudió con pisadas, hasta que alguien la levanto y la volvió a poner enfocando el ring. Lo que se ve ahora es el ring vacío, pero pronto la pantera y chancho salvaje van a pelear.

Aparece la pantera.

Es el encargado de poner al día el sitio y recaudar la plata de las apuestas porque es el que mas sabe leer, cuando abre sus mails un montón de spam inexplicable desborda de su casilla y no se da cuenta que el spam es un mensaje codificado de amor. Es el curador que se ha enamorado. Ayer durmió y en su sueño había un grupo de coloridos objetos, algo de muebles que podía identificarse como mesas, heladeras, teles, dos sofás un grupo de cajones, un armario y una cama. Había un ventilador colgando del cielorraso también, y era rosa.

La pantera tiene que pelear, se venda la manos y se pone la bata brillante y sale a escena; pero esta distraído por otros pensamientos, ayer fue su cumpleaños y le trajeron una piñata gigante en forma de mujer y el le dio justo casi en el primer intento con los ojos vendados. Aunque no le importa demasiado su sueño piensa en el mientras entra en el ring y el ring entra en escena en la casa del conservador que esta mirando agarrado de la mesa porque las peleas lo enloquecen y se ha enamorado de la pantera. A la pantera no le importa demasiado que le hayan roto el arco de la ceja y mira al techo y piensa en la pintura que se cae y no se da cuenta que su oponente le rompe la cara porque tiene demasiada sangre en el ojo y todo lo que ve es rojo.

De un extremo del cieloraso cuelga una televisión de esas que se amuran a la pared. En la tele una pareja besandose de una telenovela que llega a su fin, y después una imagen en negro y blanco, la imagen al principio esta borrosa y de ella solo se ve una especie de textura medio liquida hasta que todo se vuelve un poco mas claro y se va solidificando de a poquito, la imagen deja de correrse y muestra un hombre en pijama y cuatro patas agarrado a un extremo de la mesa de vidrio. Los dos se miran.

Buenos Aires. Septiembre 2011.

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Tengem Issue 3

– Original poetry by Mark Ford, Graeme Abernethy, Peter Robinson, Olivia Ho, Khalid Tetuani, Clarissa Pabi and Rupert Cabbell Manners.

– Prose pieces from Liv Schulman and Timothy Yam, as well as an excerpt from Louisa Little’s ‘The Wake’.

IDIOGLOSSIA

Publicación colectiva de Art Writing. Whitechapel Editions. Londres 2012.

       

Spin and become
Spin
Spin and become
Spin and transform.
Spin and become.
You go into a nightclub and meet a stripper called:

• Infinity.
• You meet a stripper called:
• Destiny.
• You meet a stripper called:
• Fantasy.You
• meet a stripper called:
• Surprise.
• You meet a stripper called:
• Desire.
• You meet a stripper called:
• Wander.
• You meet a stripper called:
• Universe.
• You meet a stripper called:
• Topanga.
• You meet a stripper called:
• Amatista.
• You meet a stripper called:
• Tugucigalpa.
• You meet a stripper called:
• Novelty.
• You meet a stripper called:
• Cheri
• You meet a stripper called:
• Satine
• You meet a stripper called:
• Amour
• You meet a stripper called:
• Shadow.
• You meet a stripper called:
• Crystal.

You spin and you become, you spin and you become in transformation after transformation,
you double the moment and become a kind of mirror.
You spin and become.
You spin and transform.
You enter the hall of your building and the hall is all in marble. There’s a big mirror
on your left and mural sculpture to your right, or vice versa? Keep on going and take the lift and wait for the lift and when it comes open the doors and go inside. The lift inside is very orange. Get off and enter the apartment through the service door, through the kitchen and stay in the kitchen and look around in the big kitchen that has a long and large shelf that runs all through the wall. You wife has left you what invariably
seems to be a list:
coffee
lemoncigarettes
bread
matzo ballshalva
avocado
olive oil
semolina
2 tomatoes
1 pumpkin
sparkling water
You’re sitting at the table in the kitchen and you’re drunk and alone. You slowlyscratch the dirt under your nails with a toothpick. Your wife comes and sits to drink with you and you talk about buying new curtains for the living room. Everything is mundane. You look at the blue tiles in the kitchen, and they’re blue and yellow, you feel suddenly hungry and then you open the door of the fridge and you look inside but there’s nothing because your wife doesn’t cook all there is, is matzo balls, leftover from Pesaj and instant mash and you renounce. You slowly dig a very tinny hole with the tooth stick in the plastic flowered tablecloth that goes down to the Formica and you dig a very tinny little hole in the Formica. You keep drinking and you light up a cigarette,
and your wife tells you that nobody smokes anymore. Which is true. You slowly burn the plastic tablecloth with the tip of the cigarette and your wife tells you to stop doing that. The burning went all the way to the Formica. Very quietly you spin and become. You go to the bedroom and on the floor there’s a notebook which is open and inside there’s a group of black spots drawn over a line. The black spots that are maybe black holes are linked with arrows to words, the words say things like: a stone, a film, a Blanchot’s book, a hole, a poster, Hollywood. They look like this:
On the other page, and you don’t know why, there’s a list that goes like this:
Lady D.
Elton John.
The Pet Shop Boys.
La Lambada.
Cher.
Mojo.
Freddy Mercury.
Marina Abramovic.
La Pantera.
El Puma Rodriguez.
La Bomba Tucumana.
Lia Crucet.
Moria Casan.
Lady Gaga.
Cristina.
Beyoncé.
Justin.
J.Low.
Ulysses.
The bed is undone. Your wife is in the living room. Next to the sofa in the living room there’s a shelf. In the shelf there are little porcelain figurines and your favourite is a woman with milk giant bottles. On the bedside table there’s a glass half full of whisky containing her dentures. It’s the morning and you still haven’t lifted the blinds and the light seeps through the narrow gaps, you squint your eyes and try to glimpse the outside world. Sound comes from the exterior very vague and very soft sound, your breath is slow when you’re watching the traffic in the street and the traffic is also vague and slow because it’s Sunday.
Spin and become.
Spinning and transforming in the bathroom loo you see yourself in the mirror.
You take a spin and see your face again.
You take another spin and see you face again but this time you’re wearing a cellophane mask.
You take another spin and there’s your face naked again.
You take another spin and there’s the cellophane mask.
You spin and see your face.
You spin and see cellophane.
You spin and see face.
You spin and see cellophane.
You go to the bathroom and the bathroom has a very particular smell. It smells like cigarettes. You breathe in and breathe out breathe in and breathe out and in very small amounts of movement on very tinny convulsions you spin and you become.
Light passes through the gaps in the blinds and enters through your nostrils and the light filters you interiorly. The street is so silent that you hear distant fire shots.
You stand very quiet.
In your dream:
You’re a reggaeton singer.
You’re a gansgta rapper.

You’re a cumbia singer.
You sink in tropicality.
Meanwhile the floor is marble, the furniture is Oak and in the wall the reproductions are Kandinsky’s and Picasso’s, the lift is furiously orange the kitchen is Formica, the whisky is scotch the shelf is massive mahogany, your flask is in silver steel, your playboys come from America and you hide them under the bed, you have a swimming pool with an inflatable seahorse that your wife loves, and you have a little table on wheels, that you wife uses as a mini-bar, for alcohol and her cigarettes that are Jockey Suaves Largos.
It’s noon and the sunlight kicks your face hard through the little gaps.
You entered the bathroom and the bathroom smells like frozen cigarettes.
You came back to the room and moved the mirror door of the armoire. Things are almost the same.
Through the blinds the light is lowing down, and striping up the room and so you take a pencil you find under the bed and sit on the floor. You spin once again and your double takes over. You start drawing stripes repeatedly, you draw on the carpet and then in the furniture, you draw on the mirror and then you drag yourself under the bed and draw stripes, you hatch the carpet with your pencil again and again until the whole room is striped with light and tiny pencil traces.

You work for hours. You look at your masterpiece just to discover that the light is already down and that you missed that fleeting moment where you were supposed to reach unity. You don’t even care. You spin again and you become.

Marzo 2011. Londres.

FOR A SYSTEM OF EQUIVALENCE IN TROPICAL VIOLENCE
First part: within the limits of control/
He feels that the air is thickening. He tries to think of his body as a machine that has been specially calibrated to breathe. He is at home and Tv is on the entire time. He opens one eye. With his one good eye he sees a group of punks on TV.
As the air thickens into touchable material his heart pumps. His heart started pumping hysterically up and down on and off, he doesn’t want to stop thinking in his heart as an organ with a life on its
own while a process of very little changes starts inside his pumping body. He thinks his body is stillchanging maybe growing? Yesterday he was high and while looking at the refrigerator he started thinking that the fridge was becoming a piece of sculpture maybe it was minimal sculpture? from when he studied art history in a private university with a bunch of preppy girls he retained this kind
of knowledge of things, the relation between things and bodies.
He had the conviction that objects were dead bodies and that those dead bodies were equivalent to each-other as in an idea of equivalence in death he looked at things and then he looked at bodies and mostly at his body and understood that his body and the objects in his house were
interchangeable and he felt panic. Let’s spare people and furniture he thought.
In a more paranoiac version of the same obsession he thinks that he’s surrounded
with death in all senses and that is a general stage in which he just has to evolve within violence. And he’s been feeling the kind of bourgeois anxiety that lately drove him to start boxing. He has so much free time that he started feeling prisoner of his belongings.
Since he does a lot of cocaine his perception of reality started blurring last year and now he believes objects conspire against him.
Yesterday he threw away:
• A bunch of stickers that he kept from when he was twelve.
• His collection of wrestlers figurines.
• Two of his chairs (now he’s got one left but it’s in the kitchen stocked to a table all-info
rmica. All very respectable reminiscences of modernity).
• The TV table.
• The table for the booze.
• The lamp that looked so seventies all orange that was such a preppy style of interior design.
• His work table.
• A broom.
• All of his paintings (because he paints too) .
• Almost all of his books (he kept the one he used to like when he was a kid
• The dvd player.
• The Formica table that was in the kitchen.
• The Kandinsdky reproductions tat were on the wall.
• The Delaunay’s cups that were on the cupboard.
• The Miro’s dishes that he got from a museum gift shop when he travelled to the continent.
• His collection of porn.
• He also ripped off the wallpaper because he thought that it was a sign of small-minded
bourgeoisie and threw it away.
• The tea cups his mother bought him when he moved alone.
• The leather sofa he had against the living room wall.• A pair of roller skates from when he was a teenager.
• The compressed air rifle.
• His exemplar of Das Capital that he never read.
• The vaguely architectonic desk lamp he kept on his desk
• The oak table he had in the dinning room ( a group of rom people came and took it almost
right away).
• His passport and identity card.
• A pan and the toothbrush.
• An easel.
• A bunch of t-shirts he had from when he was a punk.
• His glasses
He obscurely understands that the space he wants to live in is a space of horizontality
but he doesn’t know what he means by that, in a way what he wants is to live within the space of a list. A space in which all things have the same value, he’s almost in tears touched by the strength of his ideals against the verticality of power and he wonders how is this power linked to his obsessional behaviour with things. When he watches TV his thought become unclear.
He progressively feels panic of things panic of architecture, panic of the food he’s got inside the refrigerator, panic of the relations he had to start cutting
with the outside world, panic of his intentions, panic of other people’s intentions panic of using metaphors, panic of drinking, panic of eating, panic of cutting bread and panic of opening a bottle of wine and panic of having things, and panic of not having things and panic of his computer and panic of pressing the arrobas key in his keyboard and panic of opening his emails and panic of reading his books and panic of writing and almost panic of reading the only book he’s got left.
Sometimes in particular situations he thinks of a group of white houses, as a fantasy. White geometric houses, looking clean and organized, surrounded with perfect gardens, as in American suburbs.
His sight is all blurred by now that he’s living in panic attack after panic attack but he thinks that he’s shifting the wait of power and that revolution has started only that it’s an inner revolution that will change the world? But isn’t the world changing already? He doesn’t know why he doesn’t remember. The cigarettes that were on the drinks table were Long, Soft Jockeys. And in TV a war was happening but he thought it was a movie, which is not such a crazy thought since it was a well scripted war. In the Tv there were war images and he saw a lot of smoke and a bomb exploding and screaming children with kalachnikoves.
Also a group of students that were almost children were throwing paint bombs to the walls of a bank and he thought that the painting looked good on those walls. He doesn’t know any more if he was watching the students demonstration on TV the other day but he saw all those policemen wearing neon jacket and the policemen were surrounding the students and the sound was off and all of a sudden it was like a strange ballet going on whit the cops getting together and circling the students and all you could hear were two or three explosions strong enough to be heard by the off sounded sound recording.
Watching the luminescent square he saw the protest going on and on to the rhythm of a nonhearable sound and he saw how his body was reacting to that rhythm and like the square that was filling up with people and music his body started inflating an pumping. He imagined himself inside the vibrating body of protest and thought for a second that he was inside but he doesn’t even know
where it’s going on since all he sees is a bunch of out-of-context screaming people and he wonders if he’s not the one who’s out of context. Inner revolution?
Revolution is going on already! Only that outside the TV. But where is that magical space? He only gets the distorted reality coming out fromthe cube.
In a less perverse stage of mind he would have joined the social protest for real that led to so much cultural change but he couldn’t anymore all he could do was observe the fragments of generalized violence and pray. But he kept on watching TV and now the group of punks was replaced by a group of policemen. The policemen look so well organized that for a second he thought of joining
the police corpse, He’s discovered that he can’t identify the bad guys anymore, he doesn’t know why it’s a country against a guerilla, and why does a country behave like a guerilla in military techniques that he doesn’t get. The group of white houses appears the fraction of a second in his mind and stays
a little longer than usual until the image becomes white. He turned off the TV and went out.
Part two: in which his inner self is surgically removed and changed by an apologetical yet collective you. Things start getting perverse.
So you’re walking down the street and you see a car parked across the pavement and under the car two legs are coming out. There’re man’s legs. In the stage of permanent chaos you’re living in you don’t even look forward. You figure that the man is fixing his car or something, and you so you keep on walking down. You walk down streets of concrete, you wander around the car workshops district
like a secret agent of the hard jungle although everything is slightly wrong you don’t care and decide to live with that daily wrongness.
Your dreams are slightly wrong too, yesterday you slept and in your dream you were walking through the water of a swamp, and through the darkness with flashes of darker. The sun is punching hard in the pavement and in the crown of your head and you’re gasping and start sweating the kind of hard sweat in which keyboard and panic of opening his emails and panic of reading his books and panic of writing and almost panic of reading the only book he’s got left.
Sometimes in particular situations he thinks of a group of white houses, as a fantasy. White geometric houses, looking clean and organized, surrounded with perfect gardens, as in American suburbs.
His sight is all blurred by now that he’s living in panic attack after panic attack but he thinks that he’s shifting the wait of power and that revolution has started only that it’s an inner revolution that will change the world? But isn’t the world changing already? He doesn’t know why he doesn’t remember. The cigarettes that were on the drinks table were Long, Soft Jockeys. And in TV a war was happening but he thought it was a movie, which is not such a crazy thought since it was a well scripted war. In the Tv there were war images and he saw a lot of smoke and a bomb exploding and screaming children with kalachnikoves.
Also a group of students that were almost children were throwing paint bombs to the walls of a bank and he thought that the painting looked good on those walls. He doesn’t know any more if he was watching the students demonstration on TV the other day but he saw all those policemen wearing neon jacket and the policemen were surrounding the students and the sound was off and all of a sudden it was like a strange ballet going on whit the cops getting together and circling the students and all you could hear were two or three explosions strong enough to be heard by the off sounded sound recording.
Watching the luminescent square he saw the protest going on and on to the rhythm of a nonhearable sound and he saw how his body was reacting to that rhythm and like the square that was filling up with people and music his body started inflating an pumping. He imagined himself inside the vibrating body of protest and thought for a second that he was inside but he doesn’t even know
where it’s going on since all he sees is a bunch of out-of-context screaming people and he wonders if he’s not the one who’s out of context. Inner revolution?
Revolution is going on already! Only that outside the TV. But where is that magical space? He only gets the distorted reality coming out fromthe cube.
In a less perverse stage of mind he would have joined the social protest for real that led to so much cultural change but he couldn’t anymore all he could do was observe the fragments of generalized violence and pray. But he kept on watching TV and now the group of punks was replaced by a group of policemen. The policemen look so well organized that for a second he thought of joining
the police corpse, He’s discovered that he can’t identify the bad guys anymore, he doesn’t know why it’s a country against a guerilla, and why does a country behave like a guerilla in military techniques that he doesn’t get. The group of white houses appears the fraction of a second in his mind and stays
a little longer than usual until the image becomes white. He turned off the TV and went out.
Part two: in which his inner self is surgically removed and changed by an apologetical yet collective you. Things start getting perverse.
So you’re walking down the street and you see a car parked across the pavement and under the car two legs are coming out. There’re man’s legs. In the stage of permanent chaos you’re living in you don’t even look forward. You figure that the man is fixing his car or something, and you so you keep on walking down. You walk down streets of concrete, you wander around the car workshops district
like a secret agent of the hard jungle although everything is slightly wrong you don’t care and decide to live with that daily wrongness.
Your dreams are slightly wrong too, yesterday you slept and in your dream you were walking through the water of a swamp, and through the darkness with flashes of darker. The sun is punching hard in the pavement and in the crown of your head and you’re gasping and start sweating the kind of hard sweat in whichthere’s no place to hide from the sun. You look around and strangely, surfaces are hard and the sun is hard too, the streets of car workshops and fat mechanics
in their dirty jumpsuits, the constructions around you are cubes in the shape of cubes, the landscape looks like a graveyard. You understood that the landscape was changing to the rhythm of a broken sound that was in power of architecture and collective dreams of commodities and you thought of the group of white houses again. You see the group of white houses like in american suburbs
that indicates you that comfort is power. Yesterday you went to bed feeling
heavy and in your dream you were walking down a swamp walking through the dirty water and the black surface of the water was like a mirror, and the water was thick. In you dream you were picking up plants from the tropical environment
in which you evolved. With a distinct lack of grace you were picking up phosphorescent plants while you relentlessly fell into the water.
The industrial neighbourhood starts raising dark smog that beautifully sticks to the walls of the short buildings that are already grey.
A group of white houses appears the fraction of a second in your mind that’s a dream of comfort that you have. A dream that symbolises commodities and comfort
and social success.
You look at your body and your body looks like the kind of furniture you had at home, which was vaguely European furniture in subtropical weather.
You walk aimlessly entering in and out the car repair workshops where the permanent
chaos gives you automatic yet fleeting comfort because you don’t dare to stay in there for ever. And here is when you start really panicking out of architecture. You house is like a cube that you enter through a bowling salon. Your house is just beneath, through a stair that has been built directly over a window.
The construction is so random, that one can see, people living in the house have built it through time. That is your house, which is what you’ve got. As you should now there is a system of power within architecture. Your house is a cube and so is the TV that you have inside, so is the computer and the furniture
is square, surprisingly all these squares and cubes responding to each other as in silent ballet with the pink wallpaper the columns of the entrance and the small cemetery you’ve got in your garden. This just tells you that in here, everyone makes his own rules, minimalism rules inevery day’s misery.
You go down the street until you find some sort of cafeteria for taxi drivers where a group of men are gathered, you envy them in silence. The taxi drivers are listening to the radio, the football match is on. You don’t say anything, because yours is a solitary combat. You wish you were a taxi driver
too. A man with out destination so is a taxi driver. You stay very quiet and light up a cigarette.
Outside a group of girls are screaming and what you see is all in red. The image
is strangely textured like in TV and you wonder if what you’re seeing is blood, or red paint. You can’t distinguish.
But right now you breathe in and breathe out and you enter the taxi drivers cafeteria again were people greets you with virility. You go to the counter and ask for grappa, calling the bartender boss.
You call him boss. The bartender leans both of his hand on the till. You have always been very good to talk about almost everything with bartenders, taxi-drivers, nurses, street café sellers, cleaning ladies, newspaper stallholders and etc because you’re very good at small talk you can talk about almost everything with everybody because you master the popular style which is so necessary in these tropical landscapes. Although it’s cold all around the world seems to have tropicalized. Your eyes get all shiny when the thick yet transparent liquid runs through your throat. The street is so quiet all of a sudden that you can hear smog rising. You hang around the taxi drivers for a while,they accept your presence like absorbing it by osmosis. When you go out of the tax drivers bar the street is in chaos, because one of the students from the protest has been shot. You don’t reckon having seen the protest in the streets but now you see that the students seem to have left your Tv and now they are bombing the highly inflammable car workshops area in which you calmly walked
down two minutes ago. Or maybe it’s you who left the TV. While the chaos reorganizes
into the same variation of smoke arrangements and you start seeing you decide to run away but calmly with your tail between your legs.
Now you go up the street on the opposite direction until you reach the point with the car parked across the pavement. The car is still there and you can still see the man’s legs coming out. You slowly approach the legs, and reach under to look down the car.
The man is not a man anymore but maybe he never was. He’s a dead body, from the protest, you don’t know for how long time this man has been dead but now you see that the man wasn’t fixing his car. You slowly grab the man’s legs and pull it out until the body is in the pavement and then you slowly roll it to behind a narrow street. Then you know what to do, you just go under the car and you stay there with your legs coming out, you take the man’s place and you wait. And there’s when you link yourself to the reality of death, you become and object, a martyr, your refrigerator, the body of protesting people, the revolt, your TV, and life changes for ever.

Enero 2011. Londres.

TROPICAL BODIES

Tropical body (i) (e) (s) is a collaboration with Maru Rojas, a mexican artist currently living in London. Our goal is the production of a weekly  tropical and transnational pamphlet curated by a different guest every issue , in here you can download our first issue, written by ourselves. We are currently inviting people from all nationalities to participate.  

I had a dream last night. In my dream my skin was so tight that it hurt, in fluorescent (full of Fluor) rivers of dirty water my skin tended to blow, practically like a put-in-water-let-it-grow toy. But then all that bloating started expanding like universe.

Skin became water and water became skin.

Skin became table.

Skin became absorption and power.

Skin became kitchen.

Skin became vacation resorts.

Skin became the space race and the cold war.

Skin became peace in America.

Skin became neon lights, lost books, televisions and Macintosh.

Skin became rocks, the desert, cups, chopping boards, poison, wrapping paper, an island, cloth, floating birds and fishes, globalization and fucking. Skin became waiting peacefully for things to happen, and then it meant no more waiting, just inventing your own things. Walking lit from behind in streets of concrete I woke up and discovered that peripheral meant centre, and that there was no centre anymore things where invisible, but they where happening. The next morning I woke up and lifted the blinds just enough to let a ray of light come inside. I had a brown eye. My chest was whistling, but I didn’t care a lot, through the small split of light left I could see rocks on fire and covered in red. A man’s legs, too. They looked like Chuck Norris’. Chuck Norris looks about eight years old. He’s seen it all the skin tight trousers, the Hoxtonites, the fashion statements: sweet bodies parading around East London, a lost battalion, an apolitical mass. Who hiccupped their way through their own existence with laughing gas balloons who screamed and shouted in Neon colours with disgorging uncertainty who fell to the ground night after night with excruciatingly painful beauty whose skin became peace, protesters and tents outside a fictitious camp whose cocks and balls were incidentally caressed by men and women and children alike dressed in Neon colours. Chuck Norris is eight years old. He dresses only in black. He’s got ten sons, his offspring looks like him only in a tiny version. Ten little Norrises wearing skin troussers and Hoxtonian boots that are actuallly the prolongation of some/ plasma moment, on TV. And in real life, we don’t know what plasma is. But we intuit it. Neon is beautiful, and so is art. Women and children dressed in Neon colours parade around wearing and creating/ the arenas of advertisement. I see a woman wearing a neckless and it’s huge, it says Neon2000. It’s time for Neon companies to advertise on people’s backs. Kids are so cruel sometimes. In the warm haze of despair a gigantic fan slowly turns. At Chuck Norris’ house it’s always hot. It’s like hell actually, but no one says so. People just hold their breathe.

Febrero 2012. Londres.

EL MUNDO NO EXISTE
creo que el islam vive con un dios mas vengativo, una mujer dice después de un atentado: “Que Dios cumpla su venganza sobre los que han cometido estos crímenes!”.

por eso me parece mas activo. tiene un acuerdo activo con el mundo.

yo, por ejemplo, hago todo lo que me dicen mis amigos en el chat de facebook. Tengo un acuerdo sumiso con el mundo.

EL MUNDO NO EXISTE 2.

dichosos aquellos que viven en el ciclo del arte

sin que el mundo deje de girar por aquello que todos sabemos pero nadie dice

de que los aeropuertos son una replica del mundo

en los aeropuertos internacionales la sección de llegadas es/

como el monstruo come galletitas

una mancha de chupar y escupir por el mismo agujero

porque no puede tragar, claro

y así gira el mundo.

Rápido y frecuente.

Abrir escupir cerrar abrir escupir cerrar abrir escupir cerrar abrir escupir cerrar

En los aeroparques y llegadas nacionales el mundo sigue girando

pero como en el interior a la hora de la siesta.

Las puertas se abren y sale un tipo de la limpieza.

Se cierran.

Cinco minutos después se abren y sale un tipo con una maletita.

Se cierran.

Diez minutos después se abren y salen dos azafatas.

Cinco minutos después se abren y sale otro tipo de la limpieza.

Que, el avión estaba vacío?

Un rato después se abren de nuevo y salen dos nenas solas

y así sucesivamente, nunca sale quien esperas ver

pero el mundo sigue girando, solo que mas lentamente.

recuerdo

un momento en el que no lloraba

y que duro tres años

después si que lloré

con películas sobre todo

hoy es el día en el que corro por la playa yo también

es hoy

playas peronistas

con colonias de vacaciones, niños gordos que se tiran de bomba

siempre son bombas siempre salpican mucho a su alrededor

también hay tucanes

papagayos

fotos de famosos

contrabando de melones

el árbol de mango

los ventiladores en el balcón parece

un pasado idílico en Asunción

ciudad del este se las trae

hay una linea que pasa por el mundo en general y que hace que el tercero este en el primero, infiltrandose en la vida de todos los días del primero, no eran fronteras geográficas, era otra cosa/

no hay que pensar que:

la comida nepali no es igual a la colombiana

que el pollo RDC no es igual al peruano

que la mandioca no crece en india

que por panamericana no suena en los micros que van de paris a marruecos

que las bolsas de plástico y arpillera de los marroquies no son como las de los bolivianos

que la muerte no es la muerte en todos lados

las lapidas son

la expresión del minimalismo

a la manera de cada uno, uno entiende en secreto

que la muerte es la expresion del minimalismo

pero en serio

tropical-minimal

tropical-decadente

tropical-deseoso

tropical-instantaneo

estar en el mundo de nuevo.

No puedo ver ni a un hombre ni a una mujer cenando solos en restoranes con vitrinas a la calle

no puedo ver cartones vacíos con las solapas abiertas en la calle

tampoco soporto que estén mojados

tengo que encontrar siempre las mejores ofertas

si algo me salió caro me avergüenzo y digo que me salió barato

me dan miedo las camas vacías para una sola persona

casi no puedo ver la historia sin fin porque le tengo miedo a la nada

pero le tengo miedo porque no se bien que significa

una vez le hice masajes a un senior que se fue re empijado

sino todo el mundo escondía bien sus erecciones

detrás del jean

esta mañana y durante un mes no uso jean ni short de jean porque el jean me viola

mas bien lo violo yo.

Un saludo a la comunidad judía de villa crespo. No a la del once. Un aplauso al lobby judío de villa crespo. No al del once.

Es muy importante ser honesto en el arte, pero en la escritura mas.

Y asi el mundo gira.

Febrero 2012. Buenos Aires.

GOOGLE.

• Baterías Cosmos. Merlo.El orden en tu motor.
• Optica Cosmos visión.No pensar que vas a ver bien después. Económicas envidias, ordenan mejor, lo inordenable. No pensar que los ojos son los únicos actores de este fango irreal.
• Radio Cosmos am1370.
• Cosmos unión ferroviaria y amigos, en un campito al lado del aeropuerto, las familias organizan un asado, los pibes corren. Se trajeron una olla.
• Cosmos ramallo supermercados y autoservicios. Hay algo que agregar a tan bella analogia del orden?
• Cerámicas Cosmos.
• Cosmos pinturerias. Un saludo a la comunidad peruana de París.
• Farmacia Cosmos. Para esperar sentados la muerte.
• Librería Cosmos. Un proceso de substitución reemplazó uno por otro.
• Cosmos SA. Misterio/
• Hotel Cosmos. Constitución. Orden y deseo.
• Cosmos Argentina SRL. El juego/ el simulacro/ el país.
• Cosmos offset.
• Disco Cosmos. Retiro. En una esquina están ellas; esperando entre los carteles descascarados con tipografías grotescas; kory, los amantes, la flor guarani, el amor. El amor, el amor.
• Cosmos internacional SRL. Intriga. Conquistaran el mundo.
• Cosmos registradoras computadoras. Por adentro pasa la joda/chupan pijas y cooperan para que el día sea un poco peor.
• Cosmos licuadoras. Mama.
• Minimaquinas de coser Cosmos. También en una esquina. Esta vez de Once, un saludo a la comunidad nigeriana.
• Cosmos centro artístico y cultural.
• Cine Cosmos. Mas misterio.
• Cosmos bar axel hotel.
• Centro cultural Cosmos.
• Kosmos factory outlet. Dos veces, este se las trae.
• radio Cosmos Fm “La 92.1” en vivo.
• Ofertas empleo grupo Cosmos.
• Solo chicas Cosmos. Abre un mundo reducido de posibilidades. El labio, la mejilla, la pierna, el palito, los parlantes, el espectro, los sillones, el enfasis, la estampita, los guantes de lavar vajilla.

• Hotel Cosmos buenos aires. Estas son las paredes descascaradas de un hotel familiar. En la recepción un poster del tamaño de la pared nos muestra un paisaje del litoral. Un hombre que viene del interior toma mate sentado en los sillones bordeaux y se mece lentamente. Una mano le acaricia la pantorrilla.
• Cerámica Cosmos S.A. Cerámicas y afines, todo para la cocina por lo menos.
• Hotel Cosmos constitución. Lo mismo pero con la mano en la entrepierna.
• Palacio Cosmos. República de los niños.
• Cosmos sonido movil. Esperar en la oscuridad gazapados!. La puerta se abre, se cierra, se abre se cierra.
• Neón Cosmos 2000.
• Supernova Cosmos café.
• Cosmos DVD. Mas saludos a la comunidad judía del once.
• Distribuidores laboratorios cosmos.
• Cosmos traductores. Mas espera en la oscuridad. Un resto de huevo frito duerme en el sillón.
• Cosmos bufete de abogados. Un saludo a la gente de San Justo.
• Transportes Cosmos. Un saludo al circulo de fleteros.
• Pinturerias cosmos. Un saludo a la comunidad colombiana de París.
• Cosmos online devas.
• Cine club núcleo Cosmos. Corrientes y ecuador, esperando al Mesías. Un saludo a los amigos del museo de la shoa.
• Kosmos malabares.
• Cursos solid work simulación Cosmos. Google miente.
• Grupo Cosmos buenos aires. Misterio y olvido.Olvidoluego misterio nuevamente.
• Atlas visual argentina Cosmos.
• Fotos Cosmos. Para la fiesta de quince de la nena, fondos pastel, repetición y monotonía en el pasaje de colores pintados con esponja. Toda la familia hace turismo en el estudio, turismo de vestidos, peinados, ruleros y fotos. La pierna, los labios, el palito, la tela de araña el vestido la rajadura los anteojos negros el piloto de avión en la foto el avión los bebes el sillón el vestido las calaveras las tachas la repetición de todo esto de nuevo, la simpleza de los acordes; la falta de plata el exceso de plata. Los ataúdes, los héroes, los power metal los sueños reveladores los embarazos.
• Amigos Cosmos contacto Cosmos busco amigos Cosmos. Fango inmortal.
• Metegoles Cosmos. Mas fango esta vez en la esquina del maxikiosko.
• Productos para mascotas Cosmos S-A.
• Telescopios Cosmos. Caos.
• Libros del Cosmos. Caos.

Y:

• Centros culturales y deportivos Cosmos.

• Vecinal Cosmos.
• Cosmos tae kwon do.
• Hotel Cosmos en la ciudad autonoma de buenos aires.
• Optica Cosmos vision
• Cosmos argentina SRL.
• Imprenta Kosmos.
• Fm Cosmos 901/
• Cosmos music.
• Pinturerias Cosmos villa adelina.
• Ceramica cosmos SRL;
• cosmos división servicios, piso de goma Almagro.
• Heterogenesys y Cosmos vibration buenos aires.
• Mirta Cosmos and Cia.
• Cosmos sonido movil. San Isidro.
• Sandwicheria Cosmos Lavalle 776.
• Cosmos S.A;
• Cosmos Trovit autos.
• Cosmos autos.
• Edificio Cosmos. Excelente estado.
• Supermercados Cosmos delivery.
• Traductores públicos Cosmos.
• Restaurante-farmacia Cosmos.
• Cosmos división servicios pisos buenos aires.
• Cosmos football.
• Autos Cosmos.
• Cosmos revista de actividad contemporánea.
• Cosmos.
• Metegoles Cosmos juegos y juguetes juegos de jardin. SRL.
• Librería Cosmos comercial-escolar.
• Cosmos mochilas SRL.
• Cosmos radio remis.

• Cosmos videofilms. Lavalle 2081. capital federal.

•                Buenos Aires, Enero 2012ULTIMO ROUND1^st ROUNDSuena la campana y comienza la primera vuelta, muy sereno, muy tranquilo te veo relajado y listo a enfrentar tremendo contrincante dispuesto a dar y recibir el aperca.Pink and light bleu neon surround your frozen smile while you look at the teenager behind the counter, feeling your cock’s elongating one inch to the sight of his muscles.Muscles.You stare at the boyish yet masculine teenager, he looks at you and smiles.You smile back. The air smells like detergent.A fat-ass lady is moping the floor with loads of detergent water.You’re in Whitechapel. You’re in Sydenham.You’re in New Cross. You’re in Kennington.You’re in Bergamo. You’re in Laos.You’re in Greenwich. You’re in Seattle.You’re in Paris. You’re in La Paz.You’re in St Michel. You’re in Abidjan.You’re in West End. You’re in Asuncion.You’re in Shoreditch. You’re in Birmingham.You’re in Bristol. You’re in Elephant and Castle.You’re in New Castle. You’re in Liverpool Street.You’re in Disaster Land. You’re in Lewisham.You’re in Place de la Sorbonne. You’re in Dakar.You’re in Buenos Aires. You buy the newspaper in Whitechapel.You look at yourself.You look at your slightly green coffee.You look back at yourself.You think at yourself as an object.You think at yourself as a living-dead.You look at yourself.You become close with the idea of a happy ending but also with the idea of an ending.You feel, happy. You suddenly look at your happiness as a comment on happiness.You think at your happiness as the legacy of a previous happiness, as if in some point some far relative, like a great-uncle had left you his happiness in his will and when he dies and you finally get it you have to pay the lawyer fees and all it’s left is half the happiness due. And your memory is vague, and you know that it’s not it, but you don’t remember having felt that happy ever.You blink back at the teenager behind the counter but he’s gone by now.You go to the toilet and wash your face.You’re in Tel Aviv. You’re in Kentucky Fried Chicken.You’re in Chicago. You’re in Detroit.You’re in Place de Clichy. You’re in Venice.You’re in a dirty toilet. You’re in New York.You’re in Hackney. You’re in Kosovo.You’re in Whitechapel. You’re in Frankfurt.You’re in New Delhi. You’re in Haifa.You’re in Plaza Constitucion. You’re in South Hampton.You’re in Portobello Market. You’re in Kinshasa.You’re in Monte Carlo. You’re in New Orleans.You’re in Leader Price. You’re in Tesco.You’re in Mozambique. You’re in Mogadishu.You’re in Tegucigalpa. You’re in Panama City.You’re in Covent Garden. You’re in Elephant and Castle (yet again).When you come out the teenager is leaning on the wall, he crosses his arms over his chest in a defying position. He’s waiting for you. He looks at you. He smiles at you. You kiss him.You’re in Elephant and Castle. You enter the shopping centre the air smells like popcorn. You vaguely wander around entering every fast food you see, looking for the teenager, a teenager, the teenager, some teenager, an other teenager. You found a ten-year old-looking boy but he turns out to be a dwarf.You go out, you follow the road, you want to cross the street but there’s no pedestrian crossing so you just keep going on the same side.2^nd ROUNDSegunda tasacion, saved by the bell the first time the crowd incest! You check the trees and the telephone poles, and you see that in every tree there’s a picture of somebody who died in a car accident. Apparently people just cross the street like this, hoping not to get crashed, since there’s no pedestrian crossing, they just give it a try. Some make it but most don’t. Most people just get run over.That’s ok though (you think) since you didn’t know this people. You look up.To your right there is a residential complex, very social utopia architecture, and very fifties.You hate the sight so much that you try to get around and in the attempt you barely die. So you come back where you were and keep on going. You think perseverance is the word. You walk, walk and walk feeling every second more and more tired.You check the buildings in your right, they’ve become threatening, since it’s the sunset. You realize that even if the place is abandoned there are some people living in. You hear your inner voice telling you something you can’t really hear; you hush that voice and keep on going. Through the massive buildings, following the slope that was prepared to make people walk in an ordered way. You think of the architecture from the fifties as soft fascism disguised in social dream; you surprise yourself thinking that, since for the last three months all you cold think about was teen muscles. You see that the massive buildings you’re entering have their windows entirely shut with wooden panels painted in the building wall’s colour, so basically what you see is a building with out windows. You see a dog. You see a man. You see the dog and the man wandering around the outer space that happens to be a depressive park, still green but all covered with trash.You penetrate the building. Ganchocabezahookcrossydoblecross. The building that has no windows. Breathe in breathe out breathe in breathe out breathe in breathe out.What you see inside is nothing, but then you start seeing, not with your eyes, but with your mind, you perceive the mental space guided by this ridiculous inner voice that becomes stronger in the dark and you’re blind but it’s like having an audio-guide that you just have to follow.You turn on a hallway. The hallway is moist; you can barely feel that you’re walking over water. Your feet are wet. You walk in the hallway for hours. You feel the time passing by.Hours filled with moments of panic, terror, anxiety, pain and desire, your lachrymals working wildly, stopped between pain and an erotic feeling, an enormous amount of oestrogen and the impression of gathering all the teenage tears in the universe, all the absurdities in the world gather and give birth to this oasis of scandalous repetition walking round and round, in which you’re soaking until the halls are empty and there is nobody but you howling to that lonely dog that watches you spinning and you don’t know why but millions of little gases start blowing up inside your body and the walls bend and break and all this little gases coming from your full of oestrogen body inflate your belly and your eyelids curb so deeply that your eyes pop out from it’s orbits. You feel perverse. You feel about to die. You feel it’s the end of the adventure. You feel just fine.What you see then is a long corridor. You just walk the corridor, and at the end there is your teenager again, waiting for you.He’s leaning on the same wall, slightly crosses his arms over his chest and smiles. You smile back and approach him. when you approach him you think apperca uppercat aperca hook, doble cross, take a deep breath inhale and exhale and let the air go through your lungs partially forgetting through pain that you eyebrow starts bleeding coz your opponent breaks it.3^rd ROUNDY suena la campana y comienza el tercer round le das el aperca para empezar respirando pesadamente hook and double cross.Some other day day you’re walking down the street and you see a car parked across the pavement and under the car two legs are coming out. There’re man’s legs. You figure that the man is fixing his car or something, and you so you keep on walking down.You walk down streets of concrete, you wander around the car workshops district like a secret agent of the hard jungle although everything is slightly wrong you don’t care and decide to live with that daily wrongness.Your dreams are slightly wrong too, yesterday you slept and in your dream you were walking through the water of a swamp, and through the darkness with flashes of darker (you were tired in beforehand but kept on boxing and accepted that the world was slightly wrong but would keep on turning although in every spin it would digress a bit more in it’s daily wrongness and every digression would tend towards the sun, always towards a hotter reality) the sun is punching hard in the pavement and in the crown of your head and you’re gasping and start sweating the kind of hard sweat in which there’s no place to hide from the sun.You look around and strangely, surfaces are hard and the sun is hard too, the streets of car workshops and fat mechanics in their dirty jumpsuits, the constructions around you are cubes in the shape of cubes, the landscape looks like a graveyard!Yesterday you went to bed feeling heavy and in your dream you were walking down a swamp walking through the dirty water and the black surface of the water was like a mirror, and the water was thick. In you dream you were picking up plants from the tropical environment in which you evolved. With a distinct lack of grace you were picking up phosphorescent plants while you relentlessly fell into the water.The industrial neighbourhood starts raising dark smog that beautifully sticks to the walls of the short buildings that are already grey.In the ring an almost naked lady is parading around, shaking it. Se holds up some sort of sign. You can’t see what it says.A group of white houses appears the fraction of a second in your mind.You look at your body and your body looks like the kind of furniture you’ve got at home, which is vaguely European furniture in subtropical weather.Respiras lentamente y expiras, respiras y expiras, respiras y expiras y le das el aperca con todo mientras el otro te revienta literalmente el ojo pero que le vas a hacer no es exactamente el problema tenes toda la cara ensangrentada y no ves nada, y ahora quiseras ver algo pero no ves nada porque la sangre te cubre el ojo y lo unico que ves es rojo, una superficie roja que se va expandiendo por todo tu campo de vision hasta que respiras, inspiras, expiras, inspiras y lentamente le das el aperca, te pones a pegarle a esa superficie roja que te rodea dandole con aperca, hook, doble hook y aperca de nuevo.4^th ROUNDYou walk aimlessly entering in and out the car repair workshops where the permanent chaosgives you automatic yet fleeting comfort because you don’t dare to stay in there for ever. At home TV is on the entire time showing boxing marathons and where everything is slightly wrong as well because of the wallpaper, which is furiously pink and that you can’t stand anymore. You house is like a cube that you enter through a bowling salon. Your house is just beneath, through a stair that has been built directly over a window. The construction is so random, that one can see, people living in the house have built it through time. That is your house, which is what you’ve got.Your house is a cube and so is the TV that you have inside, so is the computer and the furniture is square, surprisingly all these squares and cubes responding to each other as in silent ballet with the pink wallpaper the columns of the entrance and the small cemetery you’ve got in your garden. This just tells you that in here, everyone makes his own rules, minimalism rules in every day’s misery.Sometimes in particular situations you think of a group of white houses, as a fantasy. White geometric houses, looking clean and organized, surrounded with perfect gardens, as in American suburbs.You go down the street until you find some sort of cafeteria for taxi drivers where a group of men are gathered, you envy them in silence. The taxi drivers are listening to the radio, the football match is on. You don’t say anything, because yours is a solitary combat. You wish you were a taxi driver too. A man with out destination so is a taxi driver. You stay very quiet and light up a cigarette. Y le das el aperca!A long time ago, when you were younger, you spent some time in a hospital. It was a mental institution. And in the mental institution you met a man, who became something that you could call a friend. As it is to be expected the man was crazy. Back in that time your main problem was that you were losing your solid shape, liquefying, I’m liquefying you used to say so often. And you knew that was a lie, because you weren’t, you just needed some time off and that’s what you got, because you were sad.Then time went by and when you were a normal man again, you told yourself living was like boxing and you put on your shinny gloves and went out.Cuarta tasación denota de la inteligencia del arbitro cuarto round en mano buscandote pero es el otro el que entra rápido con esa izquierda izquierda derecha combinación de izquierda derecha uno dos combinación clara precisa del argentino esta vendría a ser la cuarta defensa en la columna tuya tiene tres aventónes y hoy le toca a el y ahi te esta buscando con la mano izquierda en este combate pactado a trece lo buscas le das por lo bajo, ahi te frena con la mano izquierda peligroso en el cuerpo estas y sobre todo en la media distancia con su hook en la izqui­erda y sobre todo en la mano derecha y se devuelve mejor, mejor plantada, mas sereno el otro y el vos tratando de ganar la medida te veo nervioso es difícil tenerle al otro en una guardia muy cerrada el otro y vos te desesperas ahi esta la izquierda la dere­cha del otro dominando a lo grande ahi en el centro del ring lo vas a perseguir el gancho derecha bajo du­ guadia bajas la  guardia y cuando no te das cuenta te dan por el aperca aperca aperca aperca doble cross y aperca medis la distancia rarisimo lo del otro que no ceja te tiene en el centro del ring te tiene trabajando perpetuamente y te lleva contra las sogas trata de entrar con la izquierda y con la derecha desborda sobre las cuerdas prácticamente porque el otro se te escapa con una inteligente defensa a ver el gancho del otro derecha por ahi entro.5^th ROUNDAnd in this round we have the nastiest knock out!!After a while your friend who was much older died. Your broken eyebrow suddenly starts bleeding again covering your face all in red. You breathe in and breathe out and you enter the taxi drivers cafeteria again were people greets you with virility. You go to the counter and ask for grappa, calling the bartender boss. You call him boss. The bartender leans both of his hand on the till. You slowly reckon small pieces of confetti falling in the corner of your eye, black and white confetti and so on the image becomes blurry.Your eyes get all shiny when the thick yet transparent liquid runs through your throat. You think of your old friend, from the mental institution whose name was Bob. You miss Bob so much. Bob and his love story. The street is so quiet you can hear smog rising. It’s time for the next round. You hang around the taxi drivers for a while, they accept your presence like absorbing it by osmosis while you remember Bob’s story. Here’s what your friend used to tell you everyday, the time when you were in the nosocomio: “We spent five days in a hotel room which door was open whilst nobody came to clean in, drinking martinis and doing angels in our own waste. It was a time in when she used to let me fuck her very slightly, as long as she could keep her underwear on and produce the illusion of not being fucked, of she still being in control, and it was true, she was all the time in control, she used to practice a kind of daily hypnosis, in when she was in my dreams when I slept, and when I woke up she would still be there, smiling at me in red underwear, she’s in, my dreams every night now but at that point she would infest me all the time, day and night. One day she went out for ice cream and came back much later. While I was waiting for her my sight started blurring. First from the corner of the eye I started seeing confetti falling slightly, I would turn my eye down for a while and close my eyelids. At that moment I would see confetti falling profusely and then when opening it would not completely stop, some black and white little points would still remain there in the corner of my eye. One day those little black and white confetti spots became bigger and covered the totality of my sight like white noise on TV. I was thankful, because I couldn’t stand the sight of her red underwear that was becoming redder everyday like covering my eye in blood. Confetti felt in great amounts until everything became black. And black it stayed. When she came back with no ice cream my sight was completely lost and I was a normal man again” and that was his daily performance, something that you and the others would wait for all day long.Now you go up the street on the opposite direction until you reach the point with the car parked across the pavement. The car is still there and you can still see the man’s legs coming out. You slowly approach the legs, and reach under to look down the car. The man is not the man anymore; it’s a dead body. And everything is even now.

• 6^th ROUND

  Sexto round empieza con la inteligencia del otro manejando la media distancia con una combinacion de derecha izquierda derecha con vos que ya estas un poco cansado aunque le das el aperca con una mano durisima!! Vemos la repeticion inmediata cuando tu contrincante cae contra las cuerdas y le das el aperca de nuevo!Spin and becomeSpinSpin and becomeSpin and transform.Spin and become.You go into a nightclub and meet a striper called:Infinity.You meet a striper called:Destiny.You meet a striper called:Fantasy.­­­­You meet a striper called:Surprise.You meet a striper called:Desire.You meet a striper called:Wander.You meet a striper called:Universe.You spin and you become, you spin and you become in transformation after transformation, you double the moment and become a kind of mirror.You spin and become.You spin and transform.You enter the hall of your building and the hall is all in marble. There’s a big mirror on your left and mural sculpture to your right, or vice versa? Keep on going and take the lift and wait for the lift and when it comes open the doors and go inside. The lift inside is very orange. Get off and enter the apartment through the service door, through the kitchen and stay in the kitchen and look around in the big kitchen that has a long and large shelf that runs all through the wall.You’re sitting at the table in the kitchen and you’re drunk and alone. You slowly scratch the dirt under your nails with a toothpick. Your wife comes and sits to drink with you and you talk about buying new curtains for the living room. Everything is mundane. You look at the blue tiles in the kitchen, and they’re blue and yellow, you feel suddenly hungry and then you open the door of the fridge and you look inside but there’s nothing because your wife doesn’t cook all there is, is matzo balls, leftover from Pesaj and instant mash and you renounce. You slowly dig a very tinny hole with the tooth stick in the plastic flowered tablecloth that goes down to the Formica and you dig a very tinny little hole in the Formica. You keep drinking and you light up a cigarette, and your wife tells you that nobody smokes anymore. Which is true. You slowly burn the plastic tablecloth with the tip of the cigarette and your wife tells you to stop doing that. The burning went all the way to the Formica. Very quietly you spin and become.Izquierda derecha combinación de izquierda derecha uno dos combinación clara precisa del argentino esta vendría y hoy le toca a el y ahi esta esta buscando con la mano izquierda le das el aperca, lo busca le das por lo bajo, ahi te frena con la mano izquierda peligroso en el cuerpo estas y sobre todo en la media distancia con su hook en la izqui­erda y sobre todo en la mano derecha y se devuelve mejor, mejor plantada, mas sereno el otro y el vos tratando de ganar la medida te veo nervioso es difícil tenerle al otro en una guardia muy cerrada y vos te desesperas ahi esta la izquierda la dere­cha del otro dominando a lo grande ahi en el centro del ring lo vas a perseguir el gancho derecha bajo bajas la guardia y cuando no te das cuenta te dan por el aperca aperca aperca aperca doble cross y aperca medis la distancia rarisimo lo del otro que no ceja te tiene en el centro del ring te tiene trabajando perpetuamente y te lleva contra las sogas trata de entrar con la izquierda y con la derecha desborda sobre las cuerdas prácticamente!!

  7^th ROUND

  Waiting for the half time with the timekeeper trying to separate you and the other, you go to your bedroom and you stand very quiet next to the big window. The bed is undone. Your wife is in the living room. Next to the sofa in the living room there’s a shelf. In the shelf there are little porcelain figurines and your favourite is a woman with milk giant bottles. On the bedside table there’s a glass half full of whisky containing her dentures. It’s the morning and you still haven’t lifted the blinds and the light seeps through the narrow gaps, you squint your eyes and try to glimpse the outside world. Sound comes from the exterior very vague and very soft sound, your breath is slow when you’re watching the traffic in the street and the traffic is also vague and slow because it’s Sunday.Spin and become.Spinning and transforming in the bathroom loo you see yourself in the mirror.You take a spin and see your face again.You take another spin and see you face again but this time you’re wearing a cellophane mask.You take another spin and there’s your face naked again.You take another spin and there’s the cellophane mask.You spin and see your face.You spin and see cellophane.You spin and see face.You spin and see cellophane.You go to the bathroom and the bathroom has a very particular smell. It smells like cigarettes. You breathe in and breathe out breathe in and breathe out and in very small amounts of movement on very tinny convulsions you spin and you become. Go to the cabinet above the sink and open the little door. Inside there is stuff and the stuff starts falling. Light passes through the gaps in the blinds and enters through your nostrils and the light filters you interiorly. The street is so silent that you hear distant fire shots.You stand very quiet.And all of a sudden it’s as if a double of yours were a Reggaeton singer. It is as if a double of yours were a Gangsta rapper. Things you’d never do.Meanwhile the floor is marble, the furniture is Oak and in the wall the reproductions are Kandinsky’s and Picasso’s, the lift is furiously orange the kitchen is Formica, the whisky is imported.It’s noon and the sunlight kicks your face hard through the little gaps.You entered the bathroom and the bathroom smells like frozen cigarettes.You came back to the room and moved the mirror door of the armoire. Things are almost the same.8^th ROUNDOctavo round esperando una mano decisiva de tu adversario que parece no tener limites con una mano durisima sin respetar la cabeza reglamentaria cuando se abrzan de nuevo a medio combate estamos fifty-fifty.Through the blinds the light is lowing down, and striping up the room and so you take a pencil you find under the bed and sit on the floor. You spin once again and your double takes over. You start drawing stripes repeatedly, you draw on the carpet and then in the furniture, you draw on the mirror and then you drag yourself under the bed and draw stripes, you hatch the carpet with your pencil again and again until the whole room is striped with light and tiny pencil traces. You work for hours. You look at your masterpiece just to discover that the light is already down and that you missed that fleeting moment where you were supposed to reach unity. You don’t even care. You spin again and you become.Claro por la derecha trata de entrar el otro, otra vez por la derecha, otra vez por la izquierda trata de desestabilizarte te esta trabajando esta de golpe entra por la izquierda una muy baja tuya revoleando la zurda arriba no encuentra las medidas entra por la izquierda, entra por el codo de la mano derecha el otro el que avanza se te escapa entre la izquierda del otro te dan duro con todo estas trabajando lo miras al arbitro y para recordarles que el otro no pierde desde 2003 para ser mas exactos desde el nueve de octubre y que han pasado once años, ocho meses y diecisiete días, concesionado el ring esta demostrando que tampoco va a perder esta noche contra vos pese a los esfuerzos que esta haciendo el chano muy sereno hasta el momento el campeón del mundo te da el aperca derecha entra con la izquierda te va dando los anticipos para vos manejando la plena distancia y va pegando los golpes claros y netos vos te has desesperado como ahora en acortar la distancia pero no has podido frenar el fallado izquierda que ah interpuesto.Por la derecha el aperca otra vez del otro palanca del otro entra el aperca de nuevo palanca con movimientos claros.The space of the ring is organized in two squares of action now.Left Square:In a dark room a man is waiting. He breathes heavily and slowly. There’s a man staring at his computer and his computer makes it like TV light on his face, flashing on and off. His face is flashing. He’s wearing pyjamas although it’s daytime. Did we know it’s daytime?Yes. But we don’t see the light.We all wait.The man has reached the point of least resistance.He’s surrounded by shiny objects that are abstraction of some old minimalism. To his left there’s this thing, something that looks like a coffin made out of steel, all massif of course. No, it’s actually a cube, a square obscure thing. And made in one piece. To his right there’s a porcelain duck, made in geometrical shapes. And behind the man there’s a plastic thing that’s partially buried on the floor. In the pocket of his pyjamas there’s a shiny object, it’s a soft, but glowing object. The computer is like weaving. It slowly undulates in black and white footage. The man stares at the image. Every time he reaches this point it’s the same, and a group of white houses appear in his mind. He doesn’t know why, white houses like in American suburbs. The sky is almost white too, like there’s a lot of luminosity in the air. The group of white houses is usually a good sign. It’s the sign that things are going to become next, that the man is excited, that he’s about to reach that very particular stage. The group of white houses is like the previous stage of the ultimate stage. And the man wonders if all this has to do with. If it’s not the previous mood for. He can’t even formulate it. To swipe this image out of his mind he thinks in secure things such as concrete buildings that look like bunkers, a reserve for geometric shapes, a swimming pool and the group of white houses evaporates. He wants to follow the trace of the white houses but doesn’t know how, the image is a missing corpse.He’s discovered that in the hold of a ship some illegal Bolivian immigrants are making money out of clandestine Lucha Libre fights that he watches on web cam all in black an white footage. They all wear beautiful masks, and shiny robes and they fight barehanded. They personify animals so he’s especially fond on the one who is called la Pantera to the point that he’s almost in love. The man is fascinated. He started living with them following these people’s movements, sleeping when they sleep and eating when they eat. He watches the fights everyday and he records the fights. When he has to sleep he does it embracing his laptop. Right now the man is awake. He breathes heavily and slowly. He stands very quietly in front of his table and suddenly the table breaks itself down in three and folds throwing the laptop on the floor and exploding it. The man stands like a marionette and he closes his eyes and falls asleep.9^th ROUNDRight Square:Last night you slept and in your dream there was a group of colourful objects, some furniture that you could identify like tables, fridges, TV’s, two sofas, a group of drawers, an armoire and a bed. There was a fan hanging from the ceiling too, and it was pink.You have to fight; you put on your gloves and shiny robe and go out there. Yesterday it was your birthday and they brought you a big Piñata in the shape of a playboy naked lady that you stroke almost at the first try with your eyes blindfolded.You don’t really care about your dream, you think aperca aperca aperca aperca hook doble hook cross aperca perca aperca aperca aperca aperca hook doble cross hook claro por la derecha trata de entrar el otro, otra vez por la derecha, otra vez por la izquierda trata de desestabilizarte que bien te esta trabajando esta de golpe entra por la izquierda una muy baja tuya revoleando la zurda arriba no encuentra las medidas entra por la izquierda, entra por el codo de la mano derecha el otro el que avanza se te escapa entre la izquierda del otro te dan duro con todo, estas trabajandolo duro y le das el aperca aperca aperca no encuentras las medidas de este combate en el cual pensas aperca aperca aperca and you look at the ceiling you think aperca aperca aperca and you’re looking up, looking up, looking up, you look at the ceiling and you don’t realize that your opponent breaks your face, now the arch of your eyebrow is a complete mess and you want to fix it but there’s so much blood on your eye that all you see is red and you’d like to breathe in with out that sharp pain under your ribs, and that makes your chest whistle in a way you’ve never heard before but you’re persistent and you keep going. You wait for it to happen and you break his back. He breaks your arm. He punches you in the eye again. The fights get really real. You look up to the TV that is hanging on the ceiling. You just have one good eye left. With that good eye you see that on TV some telenovela is on and what you see it’s in white and black footage. On TV the telenovela is climaxing and the characters are kissing. You see the word. FIN.10^th ROUNDYou breathe in and breathe out heavily while the other fights you with the intuitive intelligence while you’re sitting on a cyber café when people are heavily breathing next to you, while they breathe in they breath out breath in breath out breath in breath out expelling the air through the moist air while they slowly turn into mozzarella.All you see is plain pixel. You chat online with the teenager you met a week ago. Every night you’ve got erotic dreams about him.You look at your hard-on. You feel your hard-on; you think of your hard-on, you look at your shaky hands.You’re in a cyber café looking like a fourteen-year-old wanker with a hard-on looking at you sweetheart. You look at the screen but your sight is blurry and your eyes produce pixels. You try to subtract and you don’t succeed, your eyes add pixels to a world composed by pixels, you open Youtube and there’s your teen love singing you a love song. You heavily breathe in and breathe out, while you discover that your computer winks and liberates the kind of dark pheromone that makes you wander if Internet isn’t composed of spores flying in the air between you and him. You open and close you eyes, you recycle the air forever, you open Msn and try to get lucky, you send your sweetheart loosely threatening lusty e-mails and you wait. You repeat the move up and down on and off. You’re on. Your love is on Msn, your carefully tell him that the vague amorphous space of Msn is home and that all the rest is exile. And you mainly live on exile.You walk on euphoria; you experience a kind of precarious lucidity that you intend on maintaining alive. You stand very quiet in your kitchen while the city falls into flames. You organize a small firework in your kitchen that slowly extends like mono between teenagers and you go sit in front of your computer and:Respiraspesadamentecuandopensasquetemiraalosojosafueraadentro afueraadentroapercahookdobleapercahook cross.Your sweet hart doesn’t smile cause he’s an insecure teenager with brackets and you spend a year of your life online chatting with the boy. You asked your sweetheart to design you a tattoo and so he did and you got tattooed on the thigh, you got tattooed his name. Your sweetheart is a migrating teenager. You’re so into him that you breath heavily while your flesh slowly turns into mozzarella. Mozzarella. You ask your teen sweetheart to show you his tattoos and he stands and you start breathing heavily again inspirar expirar inspirar expirar inspirar expirar inspirar expirar inspirar expirar inspirar expirar inspirar expirar inspirar expirar inspirar expirar inspirar expirar inspirar expirar you got your sweetheart on web cam and perform hypnosis on him. Outside the night of the living dead is happening.What’s the best way to escape zombies? Turn yourself into one!Slowly walk towards the sunset stumbling to the left and to the right, look very calm, and perform every version of living dead that have existed since 1968. When you’re a zombie your body is a hotel, and you live in it, spiting out and eating in. You perform the best kind of zombie ever existed, the inner one, you become a specialist in performing the very minimal sense of zombiness, where small parts of your body fall asleep and you act compulsively. You perform small minimal convulsions that shake you from the inside, secret movements like vibes.Shake shake shake that body while diplomatically the timekeeper whispers in your year to give him the aperca, dale el aperca he whispers and you double cross the other while your eyebrow starts bleeding again and we have a knockout!!11^th ROUND.Vemos la repeticion de tremendo knockout.You go for repetition and melancholy. You look at your sweetheart on the web cam while you slowly turn into mozzarella. You feel your flesh going softer, you want to loose control, you want to see him with a hard-on, and then you want to cry.You spend a year chatting online while the outside world slowly turns into the night of the living dead, you say I love you online, you’re overwhelmed with desire and again you hear him breathe in heavily while you sink into the hole of the cam.You’re sweating and shaking, you go out to the streets on fire, you see a group of zombies running around in black and white footage, you see the bicolour shapes and you reorganize your sight until they become black and white chickpeas and then the chickpeas become confetti seen by a security camera slowly turning 360 degrees. You go out and box the zombies looking for your sweet love. You strike the shit out of their faces as easy as tearing a spider’s leg apart, you breath in and breath out. Breathe in breath out aperca and double hook your realize that zombiness is the pure essence of recycling and that you have nothing against recycling. Recycling your flesh that slowly turns into mozzarella.Breathing in breathing outSlowly inhale just exhaleThe air into your lungs and hold it in there count to threeQuiet empty the air in your lungsGo for itBreathe in/ breathe outBreath in/ breathe outBreath in/ breathe outAperca aperca aperca doble aperca hook doble hook supercross repite la combinacion up and down up and down aperca aperca aperca aperca aperca you turn yourself into horrific repetition up and down while you chew out small pieces of zombie flesh that fall into your mouth and taste like mozzarella. You see blurry pixels that turn your sight into confetti again and you feel perversely festive.You’re in/ you’re outYou’re living/ you’re dead.You run wildly through the mass of narcotic zombies in and out like a madman, you organize your thoughts while London burns you enter an hypermarket and you do some pillage you leave the place with a TV in your hands, aperca pibe aperca aperca aperca aperca aperca hook y doble cross aperca aperca aperca you open your eyes when you see the living dead as infested maps.You slowly surrender to them and join the group and for once you wander what is it that drives us to resist zombie’s attacks. What do you have against recycling? Why do you have to defend so much authenticity? You let go and join the group that eats you slowly when you go towards them as dolphins heading to the sea. You let them map the geography of your body north and south. When they’re done your body is an infested map that spreads its ramifications. You wander around in your newly found body, you feel the cells moving around and infesting other cells. You look around and what you see is zombies as:MAPS/ SPAMAnd the air is moist, and the zombies heavily breathe in and breathe out. You slowly go back home.

  12^th ROUND

  You have steam in your glasses and you rub them with a small tissue.You box with a small version of Tyson on a game you found online but you stay at level one. You count the calories you’re mentally burning in your computer. You think: uppercut, uppercut, uppercut, hook upperca, uperca doble uperca, respirar inspirar hook uperca, uperca hoook doble aperca hook respirar inspirar respirar inpirar respirar inspirar Tyson peleando con la espalda rota inspirar expirar inspirar expirar aperca aperca aperca pibe aperca aperca, medis la distancia, miras al techo y pensas aperca aperca aperca aperca aperca hook and aperca aperca aperca aperca, you’re just the melancholic copy of a good boxer.You’re at home. You’re chatting with your computer in a face-to-face dialogue, you think of her as a personified object that you love. You box with you computer aperca aperca aperca aperca doble hook aperca hook aperca aperca aperca aperca aperca hook.You discover that in the hold of a Spanish ship stationed in Morocco there are three hundred illegal Bolivian workers hiding from the migration police. The ship is stationed because it’s in an illegal and very difficult to sort situation. They’re all man and they live and sleep together smelling each other’s manly sweat. They never go out. They organize public fights while they wait. They wait forever. You observe them fighting trough the web cam of an illegal bets website. You watch their muscles for hours. You’re feeling ambiguous curiosity towards this group of people that remains unknown of you. You learn to love them and you watch them everyday. You become dependent and at the end you don’t go out anymore, you just stay home and watch the boys. You have steam on your glasses again and spend the day sweating.You patiently wait for them to break the one you’ve chosen’s teeth and you lose the bet that you won’t pay. You’re already in trouble for not paying the bets you’re losing but oh well. You tape the footage for some possible eventual artwork although you don’t think you’re ever going to use this complicated black and white footage because you don’t really know what you want to say with it. You know that they’re making a lot of money thanks to the clandestine fights and you also know that you’re the maintaining that because you always lose every bet.They stay there for almost a year because the ship can’t reach the harbour so you get to know them very well, you watch them sleeping at night and you also know that in the beginning there was some North African people in there and two Argentinean women but the Bolivians have taken over.You watch the black and white footage over and over. You think hook doble hook aperca aperca aperca aperca aperca aperca aperca aperca hook doble hook doble hook doble aperca cross, hook cross hook etc; you’ve fallen in love with one of the boys from the ship. You’re sending love and lusty messages disguised as Internet pop ups and spam that your teen love is not getting because he can’t really read.You start living with them, you follow their movements and you listen to Reggaeton, cumbia hot and a few Rancheras.LAST ROUND.While you watch them fight you eat Arroz con Queso and when you’re lucky you get Asado de Chancho en olla, and lately you’ve been getting lucky.You sleep when they sleep but only a few hours because seeing them sleep is one of the most exciting things you’ve ever experienced. You tape their sleep. You watch them eat. You watch them fight. They fight twice a week and the fights are really impressive. They fight barehanded but they wear shiny robes, costumes and beautiful Lucha Libre masks. He’s got a fan club online, and you join the fan club and you send love messages and promises of going back to Morocco to win him back, and launch a fantastic career on the dry world. You keep fighting with Tyson online and now you’ve won level 2. You keep admiring your boy and you write a book on him.Ganchocabezaapercahookandcrosshook.You fill your eyes with teardrops, and spend the whole year wonting to cry. You keep losing all the bets. The boy you’ve fallen in love with wins the only fight you forget to bet for. You eat Frijoles to celebrate. You enlarge your desire. You watch them eat cake and celebrate someone’s birthday. In the strange footage there’s a black spot that slowly grows, you try to clean up your screen until the spot is over, you go to the kitchen and you fry Fritanga, when you come back to your screen the spot is back but you wait for a while and then it goes away. Aperca aperca aperca hook derecha izquierda derecha hook repetimos la combinacion aperca aperca cross y hook y cross doble cross aperca.You watch them having fun, and you have fun with them. Once they bring a piñata and your sweetheart strikes it. You see black and white confetti falling over his shoulders and for a moment the footage becomes blurred and you see abstraction, you see black and white shapes, bright-unidentified objects. You stare at this image for a while, and then the image becomes clear. The footage becomes blurry again or maybe it’s your glasses that are all steamed now. Your hands are shaking, you’re shivering. The image goes clear again.Your teen love comes to the web cam and winks and for the firs time in one year you shut off your computer and go to sleep. You close your eyes and all you see is in black and white. You experience confetti falling on your shoulders that become abstract geometric shapes and melancholy takes over. You think of your boys again.You sleep and in you dream your body is a hotel for strange feelings that you’re unable to identify, you don’t see anything or the things surrounding you have become abstraction, you see the souvenir of a table and the angle of a sofa and all you see is fake minimalism in the darkness with flashes of darker, you look at yourself crawling on the floor, you’re being watched trough a web cam and you fight your honey love. Aperca aperca cross hook aperca hook derecha izquierda derecha izquierda ok cross doble cross combinacion de derecha izquierda derecha izquierda derecha izquierda aperca aperca aperca aperca you hit him really bad, his eye is all swollen an you brake his back but he keeps fighting with a broken back and at the end he wins.When you wake up the first thing you see is black and white footage.Señoras y señores, respectable public, ladies and gentleman, thank you, and good night!2010-2011. Londres.

  EL COMPLOT DE LOS MORLACOS EN LA MULTISECTORIAL INVISIBLE ARTEBA 2012. Link para escuchar.

  http://www.goear.com/files/external.swf?file=7b0e689NOPedirle a Gabriel Corrado que reinterprete todos sus guiones en una replica perfecta actuada por su ligeramente equivocado propio rol. Convertite en una copia tropical de vos mismo, replicate, distribuite, segui el buen camino. Haceme un tatuaje en forma de moretón cambiante. Como esos anillos que cambian según el estado de animo, de la persona que siempre estaba/ enamorada. Se ve que no se como usar los recursos poéticos de los guiones. Convertite en un mendigo perecedero, los tatuajes son perecederos, tatuame un moreton, una axila peluda, una caries, un ojo ensangrentado, un tabique roto. Haceme un tatuaje en crisis! Haceme un tatuaje que sean tus dientes en la caverna de los pelos tatuados en la piel. Olvidate del artista conceptual sensible tropical, la torre de caramelos, las tumbas parcialmente enterradas, la equivalencia, entre el anillo del gigante y el anillo semienterrado, no mas sandias sobre gatos. I love you Diane. I love you agent Cooper. Comprar una bolsa de confetti, y separarlo por color, esa será mi próxima tarea,

   Junio 2011. Londres.

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FANZINES L´Aventura Finita: Fanzine. como su título lo indica, la historia termina antes mismo de haber comenzado. Adentro, se despliega un mundo de objetos dibujados, estáticos. Estos objetos están for- malmente relacionados con el devenir del cuerpo pero también, por la quietud ambiente, asociados con una idea de muerte. L’aventura finita es una especie de historieta de escultura cuya estática general crea la tensión necesaria al preámbulo de una historia. 29cm x 21cmM: Fanzine. M es un personaje que lucha constantemente por autodefinirse, al mismo tiempo que su realidad cambia sin parar.M pasa sus solitarios días sufriendo el ataque de los objetos que la rodean. 21cmx29cm.

“Techniques d’excellence militaire pour un futur militaire apprivoisé”. Fanzine: Este fanzine fue inspirado en una técnica militar utilizada por el ejército Israelí. Esta técnica está inspirada en la filosofía de Gilles Deleuze. En esta técnica se aplica la idea del rizoma, en donde en un espacio “alisado” todos los puntos están conectados entre si, cavando agujeros en las paredes laterales de una casa, para poder moverse de una casa a la otra sin tener que pasar por la calle, llena de trampas. El fanzine continúa esta idea, pasando de un punto a otro a través de los agujeros cavados en las páginas, solo que el mundo militarizado que este fanzine nos muestra, esta completamente neutralizado. Aplastando la violencia de una realidad militar. Lleno de objetos militares revisitados, reconside29cm x 21 cm