Tableau

El calor es casi insoportable
las calles están quietas
los pocos que se atreven a salir
se refugian en la sombra
y caminan más despacio
como dejándose llevar
por un leve impulso
primero y la gravedad
después sin esfuerzo
la avenida es un desierto
junto al mar
entre el asfalto negro y blanco
de Vegueta y el océano azul
San Cristóbal da esquinazo
al sol en sus callejuelas
y conserva el interior
fresco para regocijo
de los jóvenes los viejos
y los medianos
los de allí
y los que venimos
de fuera de la otra isla
el tiempo se ha parado o
va más lento
afectado también por los
cuarenta grados el mar
está callado y a pesar
de la alegría
de la gente a las puertas
de sus casas en las terrazas
de los bares del pescado
frito y las cervezas y el agua
fresca en los vasos de tubo
el silencio
las voces bajas y tranquilas
hacen más presente
el espacio y el tiempo
queda fotografiado y todo
en un momento se convierte
en un cuadro captados
para siempre los colores
de un domingo cualquiera
en una isla atlántica
latitud 28.1
longitud -15.4167

Is it really that important?

The other day, I watched a documentary called Born Into Brothels about a young female photographer who taught a group of Calcutta Red Light District children aged from 8 to 10 how to take pictures and who gave them a camera to take whatever pics they wanted. Children of prostitutes who don't have anything, who work from early morning to late at night. Children, some of them, with still some hope but with no expectations of changing their way of living and, as a result, their future.
I think that it's more than worth watching. We should all be witnesses (at least through TV images) of what life can be like for other people. I think that it helps us understand better where we are, who we are and what we really should see as important in our own life.
My niece turned two yesterday and I hope she will be able to be happy and free.
Happy birthday!

Life's but everyday happenings

After all, each and every great event in History has been carried out by ordinary people (even though they may have been out of ordinary). People who were born one day and one day died, people who used to urinate, defecate and fart when in bed. People who had to find themselves some food and water to survive, and some warm clothes to put on in winter when the cold can be unbearable. People who met other people and had their own unique point of view and had to tackle everyday small affairs: hunger, boredom, doubts, debts, hate, fear, death and joy, laugh, certainty, succes, love... So, what's life but good, bad, great, boring, rich, plain successive everyday happenings?

My last night as a Rodríguez

Just say that you'll have it, that you'll get it

before everything else collapses,

before the well gets drier

and the love goes further.

Love in the dirt

I stumbled upon this, let's say, graffiti, in the outskirts of a small village on the northern coast of my island. The village's called Sardina del Norte and the place where the pic was taken is right next to the arduous volcanic shore, below an abandoned lighthouse, a place where young couples usually go to see the sunset and to do whatever young couples do when alone in a car. Although the view from there is beautiful, people don't bother at all to keep it clean and it's sometimes covered with rubbish. Anyway, it's still a quiet and nice place to visit when you're around.

The passionate line reads: "I will love you forever Mary Pino"

Excerpts from a lost diary

Everything that one day you told me remained worn out in the wind and, having nothing to do, now I stumble upon little stones with parts of your name on.

If everything were only light, if when walking in the city we did not find misterious shades, dark black shadows which contrast with the light we sometimes see, how important would laughter be, who would care about love, what kind of triumph would we find when feeling the warmth of a body beside us?

Who locked the door? who with their hands, aware of it all, wanted to break up my wings, to mutilate the dream of my getting you. Your pale hand, so weak to grasp the reins of your own fate, did not hesitate when signing my sentence to oblivion, humiliation and death.

Arrivé (2ème. tentative de dépoussiérage de mon français)

Ça fait déjà une semaine que je suis rentré chez moi de Madrid. Tout s'est très bien passé. J'ai fait la connaissance de la soeur, du beau-frère et des nièces de F. Ils sont charmants, amusants. On a bien ri ensemble...
Depuis lundi 24, je ne fais que travailler: il faut bien essayer de faire encore d'argent pour pouvoir partir bientôt (chose difficile maintenant au portefeuille vide, quoi).
Ce mois-ci, je travaille l'après-midi: se coucher tard, se lever tard et se dépêcher afin d'avoir le dejeuner prêt, prendre le vélo et rouler, presque voler, vers le boulot où je m'assois jusqu'à 21 heures et puis avoir le sentiment de ne pas avoir profité de la journée et ses 24 heures. C'est bien ça mon nouveau roulement...
Le week-end dernier, P. et S. sont venus chez nous avec I. On a dîné ensemble de merveilleux poivrons rouges cuits à la viande par F. C'était magnifique! On a pris du vin avec, on a bavardé pendant des heures et on a pris d'autres choses...