you can tell
from the scars on my arms
and cracks in my hips
and the dents in my car
and the blisters on my lips
that i'm not the carefullest of girls
you can tell
from the glass on the floor
and the strings that're breaking
and i keep on breaking more
and it looks like i am shaking
but it's just the temperature
and then again
if it were any colder i could disengage
if i were any older i could act my age
but i dont think that youd believe me
it's
not
the
way
i'm
meant
to
be
it's just the way the operation made me
and you can tell
from the state of my room
that they let me out too soon
and the pills that i ate
came a couple years too late
and ive got some issues to work through
there i go again
pretending to be you
make-believing
that i have a soul beneath the surface
trying to convince you
it was accidentally on purpose
i am not so serious
this passion is a plagiarism
i might join your century
but only on a rare occasion
i was taken out
before the labor pains set in and now
behold the world's worst accident
i am the girl anachronism
and you can tell
by the red in my eyes
and the bruises on my thighs
and the knots in my hair
and the bathtub full of flies
that i'm not right now at all
there i go again
pretending that i'll fall
don't call the doctors
cause they've seen it all before
they'll say just
let
her
crash
and
burn
she'll learn
the attention just encourages her
and you can tell
from the full-body cast
that i'm sorry that i asked
though you did everything you could
(like any decent person would)
but i might be catching so don't touch
you'll start believeing youre immune to gravity and stuff
don't get me wet
because the bandages will all come off
and you can tell
from the smoke at the stake
that the current state is critical
well it is the little things, for instance:
in the time it takes to break it she can make up ten excuses:
please excuse her for the day, its just the way the medication makes her...
i don?t necessarily believe there is a cure for this
so i might join your century but only as a doubtful guest
i was too precarious removed as a caesarian
behold the worlds worst accident
I AM THE GIRL ANACHRONISM
Es quererse, el querer también la muerte
como parte del misterio y del destino
como mezcla de lo débil con lo fuerte
Que es amor quererme bien como adivino
que me guíe mi razón y no la suerte
por deseo y voluntad de lo divino.
Una palabra, tal vez perdida, sin importancia,
una comparación inexacta, tal vez,
no quiero saber si es premeditada, con alevosía;
sea falsa o verdad me hace estremecer.
Un sensible lamento del lugar profanado
donde estuvo mi llama a punto de volverse a
encender
con la magia de una palabra tierna, de un
nombre añorado,
pero hay llamas que más vale no dejar renacer.
Vivir es solamente una eterna renuncia
y hay renuncias que son imposibles de poder
explicar;
por ejemplo, a unas manos amigas que regalar
ternura,
cómo decirles: "no quiero ternura,
porque me hace sangrar".
Siempre renunciando desde que nacemos
a lo que no podemos nunca relagar,
a los más grandes gozos: amor, libertad, vida.
Y, sin embargo, siempre nos hacen renunciar.
Siempre presente com un tormento,
algo que nunca puedo explicar.
"¡Levántate y anda! no quiere decir milagro sino: rebélate, libérate, no seas rebaño, no creas, piensa y reclama justicia."
Ramón Sampedro, Carta cuarta (pag 163), Cartas desde el infierno
"Only go so far to bury them."
My Chemical Romance, I never told you what I do for a living
"Can you hear me?
Are you near me?"
My Chemical Romance, Helena
"I miss you, I miss you so far."
My Chemical Romance, Cementary drive
"Alone you find yourself just hanging,
and to fill the hole you cling to all that seem,
to hide the little girl that crying,
underneath the rage that you let others see.
'Cause you're dancing dirt into the snow
while others look at you on show.
You're dancing dirt into the snow
while all around you people grow
And watch you bleed.
And watch you bleed.
(...)
The more you push through broken glass, the thicker it becomes.
And the more you turn on broken worlds, the sooner you will need
A gun."
Missy Higgins, Dancing dirt into the snow
"From the first time I laid my eyes on you
I felt joy of living
I saw heaven in your eyes
in your eyes
I wish you were here
Don't you know the snow is getting colder?
And I miss you like hell
And I'm feeling blue"
Nightwish, Wish you were here
"Mientras la muchedumbre pasa, yo observo que, aunque ella no mira el cielo, el cielo la mira.
Sobre su masa indiferente y oscura, como tierra del surco, algo desciende de lo alto. La vibración de las entrellas se parece al movimiento de unas manos de sembrador."
José Enrique Rodó, Ariel.
"I have dreamed of you so much
You are no longer real.
Is there still time for me to touch
Your breathing body,
To kiss your mouth
And make your voice come alive again?
I have dreamed of you so much
There's no more time for me to wake up.
I have dreamed of you so much,
Have walked so much, talked so much,
Slept so much with your phantom,
The only thing left for me
Is to become a phantom among phantoms,
A shadow a hundred times more shadow
Than the shadow that moves and goes on moving,
Brightly, over the sundial of your life."
Sophie Auster, The last poem.
" Close your eyes and look at me.
Lock the door and you'll be free.
Dreams can be re-al-i-ty,
If you live your dream with me.
Wave good-bye to what you are.
What you want is not so far.
Life is short and life is long,
If you let me sing this song.
Give away your eyes to me,
I'll show you things you couldn't see.
Rain will fall, the sun will shine,
If I'm yours and you are mine.
Love me now and love me true,
Dream with me, I'll dream with you.
You'll find the thing you couldn't be,
If you stop and look at me."
Sophie Auster, Close your eyes.
"La muerte lo sabe todo a nuestro respecto, y quizá por eso sea triste. Si es cierto que nunca sonrie es porque le faltan los labios, y esta lección anatómica nos dice que, al contrario de lo que los vivos creen, la sonrisa no es una cuestión de dientes. Habrá quien diga, con humor menos macabro que de mal gusto, que lleva cincelada una especie de sonrisa permanente, pero eso no es verdad, lo que salta a la vista es una mueca de sufrimiento, porque el recuerdo del tiempo en que tenía boca, y la boca lengua, y la lengua saliva, le persigue continuamente."
José Saramago, Las intermitencias de la muerte (pag 181-182)