We break the silence that has plunged the monotony of work with two stories of the young writer Javier Gonzalez Blandino, student of the career of Philology UNAN-Managua. The reader will find this pair of texts in a rigorous language, worked with the patience of a surgeon. Alone will be the presentation of this author, I hope you enjoy.
Gramma Umbra
Where were you ...? Where I found you without knowing you? Venite. Take my hand, five intermittent plural. I've followed your steps back over thirty when pyres burn your body dismembered in that polished stone cliff remember? Do not look. Someone that afternoon faded, I whispered that afternoon dug my sin, a secret voice of my crime, while you listened with your eyes half open as slits blown into the fog, and sonreístes. It was not my fault. Your body is a bunch of vile offal, organs Forgot spat in an alley. Do not turn to that side of the bed, small veins, I understand that I am helpless this morning, this morning that I know that conjugarte die.
of all I serve this insomnia, you know. This thirst of silence that keeps me silent, this persistence absurd cracked anagrams that make me rubbing your mirror every night in this dump, invert your lines colorless, your back perpendicular to mine, your belly hurt your body in the dim light: A desecrated coffin I threw myself at the cliffs forever. Leave me, I do not want to continue this, andate when completed this line, I have no more to say. Do not you see?
Why do you laugh? You smell of incense and ritual mistletoe. They sometimes just not be repeated against the wall of this room. In a whisper trapped in a drop of amber. A repeat photographs, and portraits hidden frogs ...
- So you've come
another time?
- Yesterday I heard you talking in your sleep, your sleep yesterday, that walk was not suffering upon you, your puff quake, which was not green circundándote your breath, to sustain transitándote: atándote to the rock collapsed in your own presence, but whisper in your flesh softened by the vacuum, your body wet with blood on his back, - your hollow unreachable, your absence ... - I heard you sleep, to die for a moment in the dream-What dream? mine-
- No you can not lie, even were you here yesterday, and the worst is that I do not talk in my sleep- skirt the edge of the board to its knees and a uniform bending stands, stopping looking a step slow to put on the fingers retracted. In the bureau tries to find the hair clip, crumbling with the back of the hand or other objects. Their presence in the dark is a rustle of clothing and skin, silhouettes and unfinished gestures of stretching joints ...
- keeps saying "... I do of despairing situations.
- I nor spake it, and you matter to you what to say. Bitch, it was you Do not you listen to? - ... of crumbling joints.
always in the distance, Arabic dunes on the horizon of the plain: rusty shadows on the sand, screaming bodies face down to the bottom of themselves trampled dead as the tracks are written on them and I have cold-sink - inclined to each other as falling into the abyss forever exploded cemeteries airmen who believed to the sea and are now mounds that rise with their arms held up for silence. The dunes like taking a handful to the face and eyes eaten away by the haunting sandstone, mouth licking the crumbs incisive, "I have dizziness underground-Flashing-Dunas its presence now that I endorse deleted calligraphically-dunes as two doors open at night flashing their hands and walk-Writing, sunrise and sunset-geminate dunes, a fluttering eyelid-to-wear: blinking.
When the mother walked around the furniture, distracted, she heard a mumbling battered somewhere, and it was then discovered curled up on the floor by the closet: a lump Tremulant, my ears and the palms of the hands of so many busted -lie unburied memories was not the mother, was the father who found him that afternoon then cost of memory, like frames in a newspaper cutting, open-mouthed, encountered by their own fears.
do not understand you, why would I answer that?, You're ranting, what I said was that if you came again,
"Besides who does not, everyone at some point and we were absorbed back the rest, picking up the pieces of the image as when you teach a letter to read it. You know I was watching a movie ...
"For that you are well. Why else answer me?
-Bitch, bitch, bitch ...- moaned and animals, the edge set of my touch stubborn, my contempt "And I love you.
"I heard you hear? I heard footsteps outside, voices respond to the other side of the window, go go, go, I have fear.
- Is not nobody, I was, myself.
- Lie, I beg you
are other voices, stalking eye caves, we have been hearing all this time in reverse recesses, portable planets rotating on us, sniffing that I groom, multiply, reproduce, duplicate without stopping. Listen to them, listening, turn around. Go on, left, menthyl, Illusionist, Contortionist realities, menthyl as you always do, escupime, mess around.
- Bitch, bitch, bitch ... - and I miss you earlier. Carlos
brushed his teeth with his eyes closed, listening to the jet boring the surface, almost threw up, one hand on the key waiting. He got the watch and shirt stuffed into his pants as he walked with his eyes still confused. I think there are more than eight. He closed the door. It probed the keychain in your shirt pocket. Without a glimpse of just chaos, precipitation of the disaster. Don Domingo greeted him at the corner barbershop-oe kiddo! , And Carlos just nodded. Was reading the newspaper headlines on the shelf tripod. He tried to shove and disturbance moving in the middle of the bus. The case made him hindrance to forward. He adjusted his pants, attached to a woman sitting in front of him, dressed in green uniforms and red Lasita embraced the neck. We found the edge of the squeezed within the half-open blouse, bust trembling with every movement. The oversight was aware and smile, get up and brush her crotch with the hip; lowered from behind and walk, stop and forget ...
0 comments:
Post a Comment