WINTER 2007
BOGOTAIRES
In the dream the stairs were long and led to the first floor and exit door of a large house. I threw down the golden handle, very thin and double-curved like a wave embalmed, and then noticed that the door of frosted glass squares of many colors was very similar to what was in kindergarten where I K and transition. The nostalgia came into reverse and repressed desire to mourn pressing hard lips between the teeth while a burst of tears into my boiling seas, in time I managed to stop the tsunami, then I walked with dignity into the street and found myself in a city made up of two cities: it was the perfect balance between Bogota and Buenos Aires, a city of fall and mountains with a river bottom, giant eucalyptus and subways and bicycles occasional wet and cold but high, a city the color of dead and melancholy exile rumors: yellow taxi cabs Individual veins cut without a trace: Bogotaires.
The drought of my throat I woke up again and again I was looking for grope the fridge in the middle of the icy gloom of dawn Aires. A bottle bill gave him five long Citrus drinks the water I bought only be for emergencies of my hangover and went back to bed. I spent half an hour awake wondering how shit I was going to stop spinning around my ego, "I extrapolate this self-centeredness that is driving me crazy, how to stop this deadly addiction myself, I remembered a pair of own goals that had the night before, some days it's better to be absent, but not matter anyway: the own goal is older than football. "Hopefully, today at least it does not rain," I said, and sank again in the fresh pillow.
Al appeared to fall asleep in the dream Zaraza Sergio, a friend I have not seen Bogota maybe six years ago. I was in Caracas, lying on a table or a cutting room, swimming pool cruel to his own vomit after being drunk to death because of the love of a lass lass murderer Caracas. Sergio then woke up and we ran it all was a deformed little monster bathed in vomit-white, moving like a bad dream and smelling robot of doom, "to bathe first," sentenciábamos and went out to a terrace where you watch all Caracas; Then Caesar, a Venezuelan friend, Statistics let me go, "read a noventaydós percent of cases of insanity in psychiatric clinics are based on problems of love, partner." I nodded and I knew I was feeling nostalgic or otherwise feel miserable but did not remember why and then direct cut appeared driving a Panasonic camera that had the option of videotape or photograph on film. And for the long aisles of a television movie filmed and spent in vain, happy to be finally making films.
Again I wake up, it was day. There are cold, do not feel like getting up, or listen to music, auto, alone. Today I will be only, say, if I can. Someone should have heard me when delusions ceased to belong, corners of my leak, a farewell, balances and distances: I preferred to leave one day rations to save my madness and I clung like a leech anemic meat of my ego, myself. I abandonadito and pathetic when the wind chill low of 8 degrees and I am alone and no one to call attention to my torments.
came back to sleep In the third dream: we were in a bar in Bogotaires with several old friends that made me feel warm again, again again. "Quihubo my cute Chinese," he told Miguel Gutierrez and gave him a kiss on the square head, so boyaca, as yours. Calvados was all top of the skull from the parietal to the occipital, and had left only a few streaks on the nape. I was enthralled by giving kisses to the bald Muisca happy to see again a good friend. Then began to try to understand the heated discussion of which was late, "she is not called Yobana," said one, "yes, yes, yes Yobana called," said the other. I looked terrified discussion of these drunks Colombians gave meaning to my existence and to participate in some way, can not remember or understand in the dream who was Yobana-intervened:
"No, well ... then Mejía Mejía is not, well ...
" Right, is that this is what I say, fag. That's it.
To my left, very close, it appeared Catherine Velez, arguing vehemently about the identity and Yobana Mejía. Catherine was Catherine but at times became Juliana Barrera, curiously the two girlfriends had been before Mejía. He saw the other side of the table, a little absent. Juliana Catherine began to speak, closer, until I found myself talking to her with her lips, and I confessed, "is that Mejia had a child with Pablito Galeano, is I swear, had a child with Pablito Pablito and now will not give you custody. "
Bogotaires was crazy, no doubt, and while all were arguing heatedly about the identity of Yobana and Mejia, Juliana Catherine was making me scary confessions with his lips glued to mine and I did the calculations: "can not be Cathe, if the girl is fifteen years old, and Mejía has treintaytrés ... well, it can be, it may be July, but is that Pablito is a man. Pablito is a man! Can not you see? ". Near my lips again and we were debating on transsexualism by Mejia and Pablo with eyes closed and we changed the subject and in any case Bogotaires was paradise, I returned to live in the country of my friends.
The third awakening surprised and warm. Lowering the erection look at the ceiling. Palermo birds sing their secret symphony half past eleven and I understand then that one day Yobana sectioned my wings and fly together on salt deserts and mountains of fire. Not today. Later today I will walk along the waterfront of the River Plate and adjacent to the airport where planes land will look sad coming from nowhere and impossible to take off into the blue, then look for some sign, some indication in the east sad that looks to South Africa and remind me of the eastern hills, the seventh race, the Chapinero Alto where there are my brothers. Then I'll play the blues like a tango: I miss so many friends and so many phrases that I wanted to tell Yobana ear in Bogotaires.
say is the river, for now, and keep up to one day be true and the Russian roulette of my regrets and my wishes and not turn around my own temples.
SLEEP WITH SIMON, SANDRA AND CROCODILE
was with Simona on a bus. For some unknown reason we started to look at the window and laugh till you drop power passers-by and their faces of idiots: everyone was playing the role of fool in the street, looked to the bus by the cross-eyed, playing the fool. We had fun numbers, was indeed a city like Bogotaires, we averaged the TransMilenio bus and the bus in Buenos Aires. After giving some kisses on the forehead and eyes to Simona, never in the mouth, we got off on a street and we started walking.
"Hey, Mickey Chela ended, right? I asked-
"No, but returned. Chela got tired of that man to whom she was out in Tokyo.
"Sure, the man was walking with many Japanese, I guess.
"Yes, yes ..." I
I'm breaking away. We talked for a while
my emotional situation and then asked him how he'd just go in Caracas, "do you see? There can not dream out loud because everything can come true. Have you read your mail? ". Simona had not read your mail so I told him, Anyely, our Venezuelan leader, wanted us to do a video workshop together, all this information and said I was in real life, and even the mail I wrote to Simon there "... then I would make you a fake documentary workshop, later read the mail, then I'll explain everything. "
Suddenly the dream was a radical twist: we were visiting Sandra Mendez, the girlfriend with whom I lived in Candelaria, 98, was in a mental hospital, had lost his mind but I did not know how he was. Upon arrival, we discovered the seriousness of his condition: Sandra was so crazy and so doped that had decreased in about ten inches tall and looked like a twelve-year-old deaf and dumb. Simona was walking with her, she spoke of several things but no answer, I went back very surprised, scared. The clinic was very similar to Montserrat, Bogota. Later there a fast forward. Sandra I am still in a courtyard, perhaps the area of \u200b\u200bclinic visits, Simona has disappeared and is now Santiago Rueda, my childhood friend, talking to Sandra. We sat on a sun visor to discuss the three, is dark and Sandra asks me for turning on the light, is substantially recovered, has returned to its usual appearance. I turn on the light, a lamp is turned into crocodile (live) which is necessary to open the jaws and press the switch in the throat, then turned and left with his mouth open, impassive, shining, I put about five meters us and I'm talking to them, Sandra and James share experiences in London as the Both lived there at different times in their lives. I notice that the lamp heats up quickly and is really hot, I propose to zoom out a bit and Sandra tells me no problem, then begins my ordeal: I fight with the crocodile to get carried away about five yards back. When I can master it, always with his mouth open light, led him to a place where there is a hose that waters the grass, lit. I worry that its light is wet a lot and burst the bulb, then move it back to the right, where there is a garage with a dog that barks me mad. It is a style garage Calatrava Santiago where he lives in Bogotá, when they finally managed to locate the crocodile to save water, his mouth closes and turns off the light. I begin to fight again, now to try to open the mouth is a martyr, the crocodile can not resist more and in the distance I hear the conversation of James and Sandra, she says, "but I do not remember most of you "I cry in the distance, almost herniated opening the animal's mouth," is that he was in London when you and I were together. " Defeated, ask for help from Sandra but she insists she'll make it, and then finally opens the crocodile snout, I sit with them and when I'll finally start talking, quiet, awake.
FALL 2008
DREAM Moebius (with Richard)
I reached the ninth floor of his house and not out of surprise and happiness to see him alive. "Yes, something went wrong, but you fix it," he said, and ran to the back terrace which swoops into the void. I anguished over the elevator down nine floors and when it came to first appear you're walking, smiling again, "nothing happened, it hit me really hard and I hit a few hours will take effect and be dead again."
We went up to her room and you alternately appeared and disappeared in sleep, like he was fading away little by little, without remedy, in the midst of a mist of a landscape of Moebius. It appeared then Elizabeth, her mother, suddenly in his room next to Ximena leaning out the window every so often to calculate the height. Her mother brought a box measuring comparative rankings of the best friends in the last ten years. It was a business corner with high peaks and low peaks where there were several people who can not remember now. In any case I was not, "what a bad friend Richard, he thought, and watched the only person who from 2000 until he began to fall below zero and according to that curve was his enemy, was Pia Quiroga.
later you appeared again in the fourth. We would talk three or four words.
"That's coming now. He referred to the final fade.
"Well, if you are going to die, Richardo, at least let me his collection of comics.
"The balls! For everything you read.
We laughed shrilly and I saw you walk away leaving her room, at some point had taken off his shirt and was no longer the same thirties and forties way to secure the belly, but his torso was twenties bodybuilder . It was towards the end of the hall, there where ever saw a football game with his dad, and while they are away to death to say goodbye and I reached umpteenth time:
"In any case, Richardo, I want you to know that I love. "I said from a distance when it was almost full spectrum.
Alanco to warn her slight smile and woke up.
SLEEP WITH GEORGE W. BUSH
Ximena walked with travel somewhere with a beach I can not determine but it seems Brazil.
suddenly came to a corner house, large, and Ximena says: "George Bush lives here." We approached the open door and is without insurance or custody. Xime invited me to come with the argument that she is a friend of the Bush family are known from long ago because they once worked for an advertising campaign of the president. I am surprised his confession, but went into the house. We
long journey through a house is the house I'd expect to find at the residence of one of the most powerful men in the world. By contrast, the house is large but modest, no frills. As a tourist guide, Ximena is showing me the room, the dining room of the Bush marriage and a large dressing room where George saves some sports uniforms and a majestic collection of sheepskin coats. There are at least fifteen jackets, including two large coats. Leaving
Back to the street in view that no one comes home, and after walking a little more than a block, I do not take it anymore and tell Xime: "come back, I have to steal one of those jackets." Ximena not blame my instinct of cocoa and, conversely, seconded the idea. Returning to the gate of the house, I ask to stay on guard, if Bush arrive, should ring so that I know I'm in trouble so he can then hide behind a curtain to find the right moment to escape.
I go through the house quickly to the big dressing room where jackets and take one, the youngest, I is perfect. When I'm driving toward the exit, sounds the bell. Suddenly I see me running down the street, surrounded by a group of gorillas sunglasses that prevent my escape. The elusive, I return it, but another group of gorillas out I nearly step on the other side. Already lost and sentenced to prison in Guantanamo, Ximena see the front door, called me with a smile.
I enter marriage presents Bush. Are a pair of adorable little old retiree whose ingenuity gives them an air of incomparable tenderness, a candor that Mr. George W. has nothing to do with the idea of \u200b\u200bMr. Danger, psychopathic warmongering that nearly ends the world in the last eight years.
We invite the backyard, where they will make a chopped with some friends and talk shit grandchildren accompanied by several glasses of California wine.
"How well you speak English, Laura," I say to the wife, and then I turned and asked him: "Where
English learned this so well spoken, you were the U.S. ambassador in Colombia, in which government , the Lopez Michelsen?
"No," she replied with a charming smile never was ambassador to Colombia, was ambassador to Cuba, then learned to speak English Laura and me.
I get to eat some of the food they brought Laura and I discovered with horror that everything has pineapple, fruit which I am allergic to rice with pineapple, ham and pineapple, beef with pineapple. I curse and I remember that I have the leather jacket on, "is that it is not caught?", And the thief's fault I'm uncomfortable talking nonsense with Bush until I wake up, angry, thinking that I should have sung with good courage Madrasa Mr. Bush.
least I take comfort in having stolen the jacket.
ESPAIK
Li's Dream We were doing a Life Maetra Telesur on Spike Lee. In the research phase, I had to go to interview to fit the recordings and know a little more. By telephone, he told me in perfect English, "Come to my house, there is no problem," and I answered confidently, "OK Espaik, as you say Espaik, no problem Espaik, Espaik thank you very much."
It was a fantastic coincidence that Lee was living some time with her family in Buenos Aires, so after an ellipsis instant I appeared ringing the bell at the door of his home as he thought about the fortune to call your name stack, "Espaik" with such confidence, such a master of cinema. Someone opened the door and told me that Mr. Lee worked with the typewriter in his study, I drove down there and when I entered I saw a blond-aged, beard and glasses and brown eyes. "This must be his assistant, he thought, but he invited me to sit down and talked as if they were Spike Lee himself:" Look
Juan Pablo, I have a trip to Bogota on Wednesday and return to Buenos Aires a week later, so we can do the interview at any time upon my return, but not before.
showed me some of the scripts he had written with his Olivetti typewriter and I still did not believe at all that you were talking to a Spike Lee as white as Martina Navratilova, but my suspicions about their identity were collapsed momentarily by a number of black boys aged between five and ten years old running around the house and eventually called him "Dad this", "Dad the other."
still do not understand anything, another radical ellipsis led me to the office of Gregoria Pérez street and saw me talking to Gaston and Sebastian while we drank coffee.
"I do not know if I was making a joke some assistant Lee, but I was at home one more kind-Aryan told them Nick Nolte.
-John, one thing you must know, "he said Gaston.
"No ...
" Yes.
"No, I'm not going to say that Li is white Espaik.
-Juan, sorry ... it is true, Espaik Li is white.
I pulled to the floor as if I had been given the worst news of the world and screaming "noooooo !!!!, can not seeeerrrr !!!!!". It was a bit conscious to be kidding but seriously doing my show for that suddenly arrived tolca and Schonfeld, who worked around-to ask amazed what had happened. However, Schonfeld was talking on the phone in his office, as usual, and tolca increasingly concentrated in that translation, while I was still wallowing in the floor with his face covered with both hands and roaring mad "can not be, no seeeerrrrrrr pueeeeeedddddeeee." Gaston
reassured me, and playing to perfection the role of light that has been clarified over the ignorance and naivety of the world for many years, told me: "come that I show you something." He put
play a mini DV cassette in which he had recorded some interviews with Lee and his collaborators in a beach hut in some Caribbean coast. The players formed a small group of blue-eyed blonde barbados looking more like the staff of the SS counter the makers of "Malcolm X" and "Do the right thing." Gaston interviewed them, and though they said nothing suspicious about having been deceiving the world for three decades, white fox disguised as black sheep, "one supposed that it was.
- And what is this? "He asked with suspicion Gaston Espaik recording, noting the monitor.
"Nothing a little work I've been doing for years.
I thought it was wrong that Gaston did not work with us Lee said anything to the team, let alone when we were about to begin a Life Master with him but I stayed quiet and kept seeing the tape in disbelief, then increasingly placed surreal: there came a moment when a tsunami swept the place where they did the interview and the camera was on a perfectly-made traveling as a giant crane or the poor helicam-Lee, who was shipwrecked with his crew and clung with all their might to a barrel of oil floating on the giant wave. At the end of that sequence shot was perfect, the camera framed on the beach, on the mainland with the albino Lee safe, and then went to the box at the top of the screen one of his colleagues, who fell from the sky as released by a catapult and was buried in the sand like a tree was planted from the foot to the waist and the strangest thing was that after of such a fall had not lost his cowboy hat, was now a rigid statue, a figurine of natural size fischer price fixed on the beach.
- And all this so you recorded? "Gaston asked with some amazement and envy the majestic documentary making and the virtuosity of the camera. He improvised his best smile of pride and satisfaction, and always looking at the monitor, with all the teeth in the air, replied:
"Yes, everything.
"Well, then you have to wait for Li Espaik back from Bogota to continue with the interview, I told my envy embedded Overcome shots from every point of view, changed the subject as if nothing had happened, as if nothing had ever seen, and then woke up.
LEVITATION
gringa was watching a movie, a conventional romantic comedy in which a kind of Shirley McLaine forties despite a long lived by the love of a Tom Hanks or a Richard Gere or any of these pathetic actors conducive to romantic comedy in which once I become time: in the dream I am a spectator and protagonist of the film, ALTERNATIVE, and the plot is simple: Tom Gere is torn between the love of a mature woman (Shirley) and a young Anna Kournikova mommy style, which now gives for filmmaking. The plot goes too messy, feel, rather than seen, and many tears of confusion accompany Shirley Tom Gere, until it reaches the final scene, which gives its name to the title of the film: "Woman is the Future of Man" . Tom Gere is in the pool from the house of Shirley, of course, in Beverly Hills, talks to her and declares her undying love, kisses and engagement ring. Shirley makes a face extremely funny, can not avoid basking in his victory and declared, looking at camera: "Woman is the future of man because the woman gets her pussy: men can not resist, they always fall, always return the same, as the scorpion that was killed by the black widow" , gives another short laugh and thrusts triumphantly back into the pool. He begins to swim. Start the music end credits for some Brian Adams made a little more force and the guests of the house begin to enter the pool, happy, in a particular way: two channels are arranged rounded, very ergonomic, to the extent of feet, tilted slightly downward and always nourished by a steady stream, so que uno pueda entrar a la piscina deslizado rápidamente por esos toboganes para pies. Veo dos o tres gringas gomelas de Beverly Hills, extras de mi película, eso sí, yo soy el protagonista, que entran de esa manera a la piscina y me entusiasmo y lo hago también. Entonces me queda gustando tanto esa sensación y voy y me siento en una silla que está bajo los parasoles del patio de la mansión. Es una silla ochentera, idéntica a las que había en la sala de mi infancia: de madera, metal y mimbre, diseño cúbico, sus patas son un cuadrilátero de acero circular, tres centímetros de diámetro, de solo tres lados, que la sostienen desde la base, suben hasta el sentadero, dan la curva hasta el espaldar y keep going to finish in the header. Buttocks and back, in turn, are lacquered wooden base and is the padded wicker dream to sit in a chair like this, I can support my feet on the metal part below, and even woven into the vertex less than 90 degrees. And so I, like so: interlace my feet on the metal part of the chair, took some momentum with torso and head, and begin to move, at first I do it very slowly, but the chair is gaining momentum and accelerating ends: it has inches from the ground up, although I know that is not the will of the chair which allows the levitation but my own body: the body is located in my levitator equilibrium point, in my hip. From there I adjust the speed and the feet below the metal bracket and steady hands, clutching the stool seat, control the direction. I take a lot of momentum and start to walk the streets of Beverly Hills to get to a park that has many walking trails. Elusive people coming from the front, in the distance I see approach, especially old people who walk their dogs and people who jogs in sweatshirt. The feeling is unbeatable: sometimes took a little boost with his feet on the pavement, but usually chair and I are a perfect flying body to fifty miles per hour controls all the laws of aerodynamics. Beginning to make a regular circuit around the park, I remember begin to go through the same parts every so often, especially one that I really love is a long downward trend, dizzying, leads to a passage that connects a portion of the park with other old and has stairs, full of moss, like those of the Florida National Park roundabout in Bogotá. I like to go out there with my chair because it is a pretty bold action: to estimate the speed very well which gives the curve and always in the end, it is necessary to set foot on the ground to avoid crashing against the stone wall which closes the vault five meters, which eventually goes back to the park. On my last trip, and forgotten all about Shirley and black spider, I hear behind me two old Argentine football talk: "Can not believe, San Martín de San Juan tied him just last night at the Independent, how will we get old?" they keep talking about the deplorable situation of the first division in Argentina and I asked: "Independent tied with San Martín de San Juan?" a little shocked, but then, indignant, I find that the old are still talking behind my back when I supposed to be swift in my chair levitating. Then swift as possible but I find that I am reaching my dangerous curve: I do not care, I accelerate to lose and I'm about to fall, I have repeatedly put his feet on the stairs wet and slippery and almost ran over two old men down there, but I go graceful, new, single: just as awake. It's another day of winter, Tom Gere, rain on Buenos Aires, it's Sunday and you might miss Shirley, without Anna, without your black widow: will there be tied Independiente San Martín de San Juan?
