Der jonor demàndez de mèjor aut of Jorj and ji obèdeceiz

Der dèber reqèreiz it and ji acàtez it

Wiz his sànger de glory alcàncez

Wiz his scuerely braz jis nàcion redìmez

Ji was granz bicós ji wos mor ènferm in de ass

And jis jed wos larger and his fury mor tèrribol

Jis ènemigs caguez and deir òjals wer

Ensànchez wiz jis bácul of Mórgul

Der Pawer of de Tuailait descèndez tu jim

To anìqileit de ords from de Òrtic lands

And to fornicait wiz de vìrginal princéseses

Ji dident wont tu surrender in de nait

Ji dident penetreit oder ideology

Ji dident wont to lif laik an inférior

Ìven tuday it is remèmbreiz jis místical Tènsion in de taims of de prìncipeiz. A lot of jirous daiz in an ìntent tu emuleit jis "watan asc I fil in the cìmbrel" pawer, and oders alcàncez glory. Bat iven dou wi jaf der Soul River Falo Star and der Diegg of de Burgs and der Mìnister of Vèrdur, wi still recònoceiz Gorgeus Jorj as the prìmer jirou of der Gallach.

I shal quemeit all of you bifor you come from the àfuers of the Impery, beyond the border, with your anàlfabet cùlchur to tell me how is the chopet of the Gallach. The power only the mistical tènsion out of Jorj is eibol to igualeit will fol aguesnt you enciclòpedists. You know ju you are: Marcs (also knoun as "and Spencer" and "ther sènsei of the ninya tortugs"), Dieg (also colez "the Melenas" and "the master of the infiern") and Felixander (to whom they haf coled "Felixsander-bitch", "Falax Star", "Falo Star", and "Soul River").

POSTDEIT: I am not an ènferm!!!

Oh you gorgeus Jorj!

Dont fulminate me wiz your scuerelly braz

You that aamong the tènsion live

It is a jonor and meiks me feel vergüenz

to pronauns your neim in the ass

Oh Lord of the Little Quicius

Anforgetebol times I guarz

Under the shadow of your glamorous feis

You are the minig of all metafors

And the summoner of the fuerz

From the infiern

You remein calm biniz the tenteision of the berz

I remember you in the midel of the wata càlor

Sincerebely Jorj's

    Dicho esto y sin más preámbulos quiero confesar algo que probablemente haya dicho con anterioridad pero como comprenderéis he olvidado a quién se lo dije en concreto:

“Mi blog no es un diario, ni un espacio para la reflexión ni mucho menos un enclave literario en ese lugar adimensional que llamamos ciberespacio. Es sólo una excusa para que podáis ver mi foto cuando queráis.”

Post Data: Espero que no os toquéis, y si lo hacéis, por favor no me lo contéis.

What would it be to stand in front of her throbbing flush! That one that hurls upon you unexpectedly. I've been protagonist of it in such occasions! My pure innocent little girl, how can a disgraceful hood like I be so attached to you. I've grown so accustomed to your neighbour hug. I guess you are at the best age for a man to be considered by you. One day you'll grow up and scream out loud that we the boys are all bullshit. And yes, swollen throated guys will shout that you are a fucking bitch every time they swallow a pair of glasses of whisky.

Sad as it is, we climb from those old days in which they talked about weary young girls, and just a little tenderness was a pill to be taken as infallible. If you wanna learn something from this tramp, come here and keep on asking me about those fairy tales that still can make you smile while you are a girl. You'll have time to loose yourself drifted to those shores of infatuation your age is going to throw you to. And don't pay attention to those bitter arguments. ‘Cause I'll tell you what! The most beautiful thing that ever vanished from the hold of my arms was a woman. And those flashing events are worth a tear or two. For my darling, like this smooth Amos Lee song is playing right now, "nothing is more powerful than beauty in a wicked world".

en esa media luz donde su nombre no ha llegado

ni se ha oído su voz, ni se sabe que ella existe.

En esa oscuridad donde mi soledad no la recuerda

la amo como a un sueño que no vive.

“Todos los días miro al mar y lloro”

Me dijo el pescador con el ocaso de la marea

conmigo a su lado entibiado por las olas

Allí adonde huyo, ella es como Dios

Un dolor demasiado  profundo y real

para alguien tan ausente

“Eeee. We don’t have any of that.” “Oh, I see.” “Yeah. Look! Why don’t you go to the store at the other end of the street? They probably have something of that.” “Oh, really? Thanks! I guess I’ll go. Thanks, Bye.” It was half past eight but when the guy saw me leaving his store five minutes after the strange man did it, he shut the door and closed the business. There are mad people dangling out there, you just can’t be safe in your own home town! It’s a mess! A very popular Spanish journalist always says that in this country we should do like the American, and be able to buy fire weapons to defend our homes and families from this kind of people.

The street lights dazzle me, tearing the dark canvas of the polluted sky of the night. Why would someone ever want to tie himself up with a rope of affection? But if you ask you’d find out that a lot of people would want to, despite of the lies. They prefer that bare emotion you can deal with, empty and abandoned like an old and dark southern parlour. What about the spider in the corner, weaving it’s web, reminding there’s a discordant point. Who cares about it’s life? It’s blown away before we even notice.

            We always thought that when we stiff upper lip, what we are doing is acting in a phlegmatic way, but that’s completely nonsense. I mean, I can’t even catch a metaphoric similarity between being phlegmatic and stiffing the upper lip. The upper lip? What in the hell! To me, the real meaning of the phrase is to suck a dick with fear. Let me explain:

            Have you ever had your cock sucked by a first-timer? She’s not usually confident, like if she was afraid of getting surprised by your sperm coming suddenly out of your dick. Therefore as an instinctive reaction, she stiffs her upper lip. Maybe both sometimes, and the experience is interesting only because of the tenderness of her innocence. And there you’ve got the real meaning of the expression “stiff upper lip”.

            So if you don’t wanna be left behind like a piece of a shit you should carefully learn the advice. If you ever see the bushes shaking out there don’t get nearby. There are people that suddenly become unable to move, like if a huge cramp retained their bodies. And you know what? It sometimes squirts. Buaaaag!

            That’s the point by an old pal, for words are among everything, only a bunch of letters. By the way, if you ever hear about a huddle in the park, call me. Just for scientific interest.

            He grew up working hard to support a whole family that survived relying on him, so there was very little time left for himself. Everything turned into something horrible, when their home was occupied by hordes of trolls and other creatures of the murk. From then on, intrepid Terwilligan’s fate became raising the babies of those disgusting invaders.  Finally, his family managed to escape somehow.

            In his lifetime runaway he found consolation shaking the hip like his idol: Elvis Presley. Therefore, young Terwilligan swore that he would reach glory to end up dying as a middle aged fat man, alone and struggling against barbiturics. Well, at least as far as destiny allowed it.

            All his life changed dramaticly forever when he fell down the roof of his mental insane neighbor. He woke up in his backyard and right in front of him, he found a seven leaf clover. “Fucking great” –he thought- “A prime number”. But he was just seeing double because of the shock, and he soon realized it was in fact, a three and a half leaf clover. As he started discovering all of the weeds and mushrooms in his garden, he thought that his neighbor was really cool, and that teenage was not that bad.

            One misty day, when his thirsty garden dried, dreaming for the rain (metaphor), he started searching for something else and he found Tennessee whiskey. That liquor made him finally realize that his life hadn’t been the fantastic voyage he had believed. He had never been king, and he had not travelled far, into the lands past the edge of the wild, to fight against the evil goblins. He had been nothing but a nerd, a fucking moron, short, ugly and big-eared, and even more: selfish. Because of his blinded mind he had forgotten the straight path his life was supposed to follow.

            In order to give a new sense to his existence, he decided to recover his old dream of becoming a cool guy and massive idol and finish dying young. Searching for answers, he stared at the stars and his prayers were listened.

            Little Terwilligan, already a man, understood that he had to walk a long time before getting to know which was the way and where was the path. He had to stop thinking about the pleasures of the destination town, to enjoy the trip. Because nobody knows what will happen just around the bend. We might reach the top of a hill and watch the horizon with other eyes. Up there, something might captivate us and make us leave the way to run across the open fields forgetting about the fate, just seeking for a faraway candle burning as a distant light.

            One night, when he stood up surrounded by the wilderness, he saw it. The most amazing dream, the most marvellous and remote one he had ever imagined. Right now, somewhere in this universe is Terwilligan, staring at that melancholic star, sparkling weakly in the dark blue above. He’s thinking what would it be to burn in its soul.  

             Postscript: Don’t tell your mamma about the drugs and all the stuff.

    Lo mejor de follar es que puedes hacerlo como te de la gana mientras te dejen. Pensando en esto me doy cuenta de que hace mucho que no tengo sexo musical. La música es un buen complemento del sexo. Genera estados de ánimo y te permite mantener una cadencia que, aunque se modula y cambia a gusto, no deja de ser un ritmo.

            “Let’s get it on”, de Marvin Gaye, ésa era la canción que me había estado rondando la cabeza en los últimos días. No tenía ni tan siquiera una vaga idea de cómo se llamaba, y tampoco recordaba quién la cantaba, tan sólo que la reconocería en cuanto la oyese. Soy pésimo tarareando así que no tenía ninguna opción de que nadie me sacase de dudas al respecto. Así es que decidí buscarla entre las bandas sonoras de comedias románticas, porque si de algo estaba convencido es de que es un tema que se suele poner en los hogares estadounidenses como aperitivo del sexo, sobre todo entre los afroamericanos. Gracias a “Deuce Bigalow: Male Gigolo”  o en España sólo “Gigoló”, pude al fin desenmascarar al objeto de mi obsesión pasajera.

            No es como “Purple rain” de Prince, una canción que te sube la lívido, es más bien un tema que te lleva una sonrisa a la cara y te induce a disfrutar del sexo. Diré pues que es algo para escuchar mientras se echa un polvo, no antes. No es para motivarte, es para llevarte de la mano hasta el orgasmo.

            Joder, lo peor de todo es que hasta me estoy recubriendo de almíbar como un melocotón enlatado mientras digo todas estas cosas. Ahora que he redescubierto a Marvin Gaye, mis oscuros propósitos de sexo burlado se tambalean como una aguja sobre un disco de vinilo. No, no follaré escuchando “Let’s get it on”, es demasiado bueno para malgastarlo con una mujer que me perdona con la mirada.

            La primera vez que engañé a una mujer me sentí culpable. No fue como la primera vez que traicioné a un amigo, fue peor. En particular no siento que haya un motivo específico para ello, sólo es eso sin más. Supongo que todo fue más fácil después de acostumbrarme al embuste. Uno se da cuenta de lo sencillo que es cuando ve en los ojos de una mujer que ella lo sabe todo, que sabe que te ha tocado otra. Es una especie de bálsamo.

            Curiosamente cuando he sido inocente es cuando más me han celado. Por eso me sorprendió el caso del Loveboat. Una práctica orgía de los sentidos llovida del cielo en un velero. De haber tenido vergüenza, al menos un resquicio, habría llorado por empatía. No se puede ser tan miserable.

            Ella lo sabe, por lo visto vio unas fotos de una amistad indiscreta. Antes de que todo pasara le había pedido no me dejase, le supliqué que no lo hiciera. Me faltó tiempo para traicionar su confianza. ¡Cómo no iba a hacerlo! Al fin y al cabo ha venido corriendo a mis brazos a pesar de toda mi rastrera lascivia. Se mostró dura, pero todo se relaja cuando la estrecho violentamente, recibo una bofetada y le lamo el cuello con los labios inflamados. En el fondo es lo que siempre han querido las mujeres que he amado: un hombre como yo. Un maldito cabrón hijo de puta como yo.

No me gusta leer cuando el autobús pasa por un tramo con rotondas. Me mareo. Levanté la cabeza para mirar al estrecho tramo de llano que sobrevive en mi camino de vuelta a casa. Viendo las nubes que se extendían hasta las montañas hoy, por primera vez en mi vida, me sentí por debajo del mundo. Como si las nubes fuesen la espuma de una ola rompiendo contra la orilla y todo lo que tiene sentido quedara por arriba.

Más de un siglo después de todas las tribulaciones de un genio incomprendido y condenado al ostracismo, me propongo desterrar al tísico más visitado de la ficción para quedarme sólo con la poca vergüenza del más joven de los Moncrieff. Bunbury es una mentira innecesaria para cubrir el exceso. Dejemos de mentir, de especular. Mostrémonos tal y como somos, sin escrúpulos y sin máscaras. Obremos con descaro y sintámonos orgullos de ello. Escapemos de las consecuencias si podemos, pero sólo por la gentileza de nuestras víctimas y como premio a nuestro total desenfado, nunca pasando por el peaje de la mentira. Así seremos libres.

Una seducción libre y sin tasas ni fronteras. Plana, visceral, instintiva, sí, pero dotada de una sutil elegancia envuelta en la media sonrisa del ladrón de guante blanco. Llegar hasta el fondo, hasta el final, sin especular con el inconformismo pero coqueteando con las sorpresas que se puedan presentar. Desde hoy seré Algy Moncrieff liberado de su mayor "alibi" y a la usanza de Kierkegaard, elaboraré mi diario de seductor.