THIS A SONG BY DAFT PUNK REMIXED BY M83 EVERYONE SHOULD LISTEN AND OWN IT. (right click for download)
And now for something completely different:
The amount of observing I am doing: I hardly talk any more. Today my friend's grandma died and, obviously, when that kind of thing happens, it stirs shit up from my past. About half of my family is dead: all my grandparents, my father. My mom has had some fucked up health scares. I have to be careful about what I think. It's super windy outside, it makes everything lonelier. I had a teacher once that didn't like when I used adjectives meant for people as adjectives describing a feeling or a day or a mood. He can go fuck himself. I like doing it, it may be cliched but there it is.
The night is lonely, herself. My eyes are lonely, so are my ears. They miss having people around, colors. Right now, my color gamma limits itself to pale yellow and navy blue. The colors of Montevideo at night, the colors of inside my apartment.
This apartment, where both of my grandparents died. I am right now in the room where my favorite person in the whole world, el Señor (con B mayúscula) Beltrán Castro, died three years ago. I can pictures his thinning hair and the even-more-thinning fabric of his old ass PJs. They were lovely. He was lovely. But I miss him with a smile on my heart. I wish I could say this to my friend who lost his grandma. In a little while, you'll remember and cry but with a smile.
And you'll laugh about the way he used to recite random poems in the lunch table and no one would know what to do. The way he would always joke that I was the stupidest in the family even though he loved me the most (sorry, family, but we all know it). He would sing folk songs to which I never bothered to learn the words, because I though they would be there forever. But now they're not. It's OK, they are his songs, not mine. I have my own, and my grand children will have to ignore my singing some day.
My grandfather was the most practical person in the world. He needed to have the time on the microwave reset every time there was a blackout. I did that for him. He pealed my banana and orange for me.
Te extraño, abue. Is your ghost in this room? Someone is here with me, and they are heavy and sleepy and melancholic... is it you?
There are other dead people I can never remember with a smile. They still scream.
..
And now for something completely different:
The amount of observing I am doing: I hardly talk any more. Today my friend's grandma died and, obviously, when that kind of thing happens, it stirs shit up from my past. About half of my family is dead: all my grandparents, my father. My mom has had some fucked up health scares. I have to be careful about what I think. It's super windy outside, it makes everything lonelier. I had a teacher once that didn't like when I used adjectives meant for people as adjectives describing a feeling or a day or a mood. He can go fuck himself. I like doing it, it may be cliched but there it is.
 |
| Erin McCarty |
The night is lonely, herself. My eyes are lonely, so are my ears. They miss having people around, colors. Right now, my color gamma limits itself to pale yellow and navy blue. The colors of Montevideo at night, the colors of inside my apartment.
This apartment, where both of my grandparents died. I am right now in the room where my favorite person in the whole world, el Señor (con B mayúscula) Beltrán Castro, died three years ago. I can pictures his thinning hair and the even-more-thinning fabric of his old ass PJs. They were lovely. He was lovely. But I miss him with a smile on my heart. I wish I could say this to my friend who lost his grandma. In a little while, you'll remember and cry but with a smile.
 |
| recodis magazine |
And you'll laugh about the way he used to recite random poems in the lunch table and no one would know what to do. The way he would always joke that I was the stupidest in the family even though he loved me the most (sorry, family, but we all know it). He would sing folk songs to which I never bothered to learn the words, because I though they would be there forever. But now they're not. It's OK, they are his songs, not mine. I have my own, and my grand children will have to ignore my singing some day.
 |
| Nick Vargas |
My grandfather was the most practical person in the world. He needed to have the time on the microwave reset every time there was a blackout. I did that for him. He pealed my banana and orange for me.
Te extraño, abue. Is your ghost in this room? Someone is here with me, and they are heavy and sleepy and melancholic... is it you?
 |
| unknown artist: not mine, probably not yours either. |
There are other dead people I can never remember with a smile. They still scream.
..
