"You are a bonafide rarity"

Annie

"Annie, you had your name in the bright lights.
Annie, you were made for the big time.
Will you go down on me?
That the dreams are crumbling?
Annie, why aren't you bathed the limelight?
But all the world will know your name,
And you'll be famous as you are 'cause I'll sing for you."

Septiembre

Septiembre siempre ha sido un mes raro, un mes de comienzos, incluso mas que el mismísimo Enero me atrevería a decir. Permítame el Corte Inglés, llevarle así la contraria: no todo era "volver a empezar otra vez", es "volver a empezar" o simplemente "empezar". El año debería empezar en Septiembre. Séptimo mes del calendario romano.

Mutability

"It is the same! -- For, be it joy or sorrow,
The path of its departure still is free:
Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow;
Nought may endure but Mutablilty" (Percy B. Shelley-Mutability)

"I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the beginning and the end,
But I do not talk of the beginning or the end.

There was never any more inception than there is now,
Nor any more youth or age than there is now,
And will never be any more perfection than there is now,
Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.

Urge and urge and urge,
Always the procreant urge of the world.
Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and increase, always sex,
Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of life.

To elaborate is no avail, learned and unlearned feel that it is so."
(...)(Walt Whitman-Songs of Myself"

Southern Girl

Southern Girl
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vGgx3fCO8R0
If you're looking for an open book,
Look no further, I am yours.

We'll behave like animals, swing from tree to tree
We can do anything that turns you up
and sets you free.

You're an exception to the rule
You're a bonafide rarity
You're all I ever wanted.
Southern girl, could you want me?

Isabel Allende "Eva Luna"

"- La tristeza y el aburrimiento le resultaban más soportables que el esfuerzo de una existencia normal. Tal vez en esa época comenzó a rondarla la idea de la muerte, como un estado superior de pereza, en el cual no tendría que mover la sangre en sus venas o el aire en sus pulmones, el descanso sería total, no pensar, no sentir, no ser.

- Sospechaba que nada existía verdaderamente, la realidad era una materia imprecisa y gelatinosa que mis sentidos captaban a medias. No había pruebas de que todos la percibieran del mismo modo, tal vez los demís tenían una impresión diferente de las cosas, tal vez no veían los mismos colores ni escuchaban los mismos sonidos que yo. Si así fuera, cada uno vivía en soledad absoluta. Ese pensamiento me aterraba."