Left with scraps, and the fact that those scraps have a bad attitude doesn’t help.
Te cuento que el asunto con Emily esta interesante… desde un punto de vista “humano” o fraternal, si prefieres; es una persona inteligente, aceptablemente alegre, más que límite creo que saludablemente histriónica, muy poco narcisa y en general amena, además de un tanto aburrida y predecible, es decir, una persona con quien cohabitar en un espacio, no solamente no implica conflicto, si no que tampoco nada que pueda considerarse emocionante. Ensucia poco, lo que utiliza lo lava, no hace tiradero y mantiene sus cosas dentro de su habitación, no madruga pero no se queda en la cama una vez que despierta; entra y sale del depto sin meter ruido. Como toda mujer tiene su genio pero este es de lo más llevadero, le gusta la naturaleza, ir trekking y actividades que sean “exciting but safe”… es casi como si fuese un chavo… y, triste o alegremente, compruebo que es desabrida, una maruchan sin el sobrecito de condimento. Increíble pero cierto: no me inspira nada que pueda ser considerado propiamente sexual. A pesar de ser una “activista radical” no hay pasión de mujer, y tal vez, es por eso que necesita una causa.
Así que pienso…. y, ¿si le intento mover la emoción? ¿habrá algún potencial injundioso y pasional en algún lugar? ¿será lesbiana en proceso de descubrimiento? Pero, es posible que nunca encuentre estás respuestas porqué ni siquiera me mueve lo suficiente como para ahondar y buscar.
American as in United Statean. Blond. Pretty eyes and deceptively sweet smile.
Very strong ideals.
Ecologocically outraged at the current state of affairs.
She announces, “I’m a Scorpio”.
“I see, so, what are you doing so far away from home?”
“They told me this place has some very radical movements”.
“They told you wrong. Where are you staying?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Come stay at my place.”
She looks at me and doesn’t say anything.
“Okay, but I have a boyfriend back home.”
“I’m glad, but, what’s that got to do with anything?”
She smiles and shakes her head.
I pick up her suitcase.
I can almost feel the trouble right under the surface, pushing her and pulling me. Life takes a turn just when I started reading Dante, who’d have guessed.
A few days ago I finished reading Seven Nights by Borges which as you know is a set of seven lectures given by him in a very casual tone, for Borges that is, to an unspecified audience.
As you may also know, the first lecture is the one that verses on his impressions of the Divine Comedy by Dante and inn which Borge’s prompts all readers to enjoy this classic which can be safely called a masterpiece. So, I began reading it yesterday and am surprised by how much I feel to be enjoying it so far.
I’m reading it both in English and Spanish (hardcovers) and might try to look up the Italian version (PDF) today to better appreciate the prose. My first impressions are related to the intense thrill of the archetypical density found in almost every passage, a thrill which at present I cannot yet write about.
I’m in a passage.
The walls are black, made of what resembles onyx.
I walk forth, into a dark hall which feels vast, I’m naked and there’s a tight collar around my neck with a leather leash attached to it. Holding the leash is a tall slender woman whose face I can’t make out. She orders me to move further into the hall and I see two shoulder height clean platforms made of stone forming a type of endless aisle that extends into the darkness. On the platforms there are golden thrones and on the thrones nude women sit and look down at me with indifference. I am ordered to advance and stand before the nearest one, I look at her feet, she puts one forth and I am to kiss it, then she does the same with the other one. She smiles and I move on to the next and repeat the procedure with a similar result but notice the smoothness and warmth of her feet as I kiss them.
On the third or forth woman I try to touch her feet with my hands but feel the leash yanked back, I suddenly understand that I am supposed to be looking for someone, for a specific woman whose feet I might have kissed before and who I am to recognize, and at the same time all this is supposed to be a privilege for me, an exception made.
I don’t remember how the dream ended or what it shifted towards…
After Ilse I did what any sane man would do.
I hit the road and went on a transandean mototrip, into the valleys and all the way up to the lower jungle, where I got hit by a Hummer and ended up staying in a little town called Saipina while a man called Gunnar got the bike back running… made it back, the bike behaved grandly.