Sobre cómo ganarle al capitalismo...
Ni siquiera había algo adentro, sólo cartón flojo y en las paredes, recortes de revistas y un útero gigante heredado sin buscarlo.

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.............................................elegir....................





no era parte de la oración.

To Ramona

Ramona, come closer,
Shut softly your watery eyes.
The pangs of your sadness
Shall pass as your senses will rise.
The flowers of the city
Though breathlike, get deathlike at times.
And there's no use in tryin'
T' deal with the dyin',
Though I cannot explain that in lines.

Your cracked country lips,
I still wish to kiss,
As to be under the strength of your skin.
Your magnetic movements
Still capture the minutes I'm in.
But it grieves my heart, love,
To see you tryin' to be a part of
A world that just don't exist.
It's all just a dream, babe,
A vacuum, a scheme, babe,
That sucks you into feelin' like this.

I can see that your head
Has been twisted and fed
By worthless foam from the mouth.
I can tell you are torn
Between stayin' and returnin'
On back to the South.
You've been fooled into thinking
That the finishin' end is at hand.
Yet there's no one to beat you,
No one t' defeat you,
'Cept the thoughts of yourself feeling bad.

I've heard you say many times
That you're better 'n no one
And no one is better 'n you.
If you really believe that,
You know you got
Nothing to win and nothing to lose.
From fixtures and forces and friends,
Your sorrow does stem,
That hype you and type you,
Making you feel
That you must be exactly like them.

I'd forever talk to you,
But soon my words,
They would turn into a meaningless ring.
For deep in my heart
I know there is no help I can bring.
Everything passes,
Everything changes,
Just do what you think you should do.
And someday maybe,
Who knows, baby,
I'll come and be cryin' to you.

Y si,
odio esto.
Será mi sinceridad innata, mi sobreestimación de dureza, mi certeza de ser la hija no reconocida de Tom Waits, mis paredes, mis noches de bar, mi madre que devolvía mis muñecas.
Ni sería mujer sino fuera por esa necesidad brutal de que alguien entienda.
De dejar las vidrieras.
De un silencio pacífico, de algo que no se posea ni se deba, de las cosas que no requieren esfuerzo.
Como el sol.
Sí, así de cursi.
Nunca pensaste que de mi boca llena de confites y malas palabras podría salir algo parecido, no?
Y, no. Yo tampoco.
Pasa que vos querés sabores. Yo soy joven y quiero el mundo.












(Los antídotos contra la aventura por fin surtieron efecto. Y al fin y al cabo tampoco estoy hecha de papaya, hombre)

A lo largo de mi vida, he leido tantos cuadritos
como libros 'de en serio'
Muchas gracias!
Feliz día de la historieta!

Cómo nunca llegar a ser cirujana

Vos quién sos?
Una practicante de la guardia.
Hablaste con el cirujano?
No.
Y cómo entraste?
Me dijeron de traumato que podía pasar.
Pero hablaste con el (supermegaarchitodopoderoso.o.sea.YO) cirujano encargado?
No.
Y no le pediste al cirujano encargado si podías pasar?
No.
Sin risita ni comentario sagaz ni movimiento de culo insinuante al irme.

Y NO SOY MARíA
Si querés una María, buscate una María.
A mí me tratás de yo, divo quirúrgico.