In your dreams


You shall ride


Whilst your mammy's watching over


















Current 93, All the pretty little horses

I´m in the basement, you´re in the sky

(Enchanting Galician summer rain)

Placebo, English Summer Rain


.

I'll take a second of the day to think about the things that we have done this year

It's the colour of blood, chaos and corruption of a happy soul,
a happy soul will ride in the field

Me pregunto qué color tendrá el año 24.

Belle And Sebastian, The Loneliness Of A Middle Distance Runner

.

Os versos non son, como a xente supón, simplemente sentimentos. Son experiencias.

(...)

É necesario ter a lembranza de moitas noites de amor... e tamén ter estado xunto ós moribundos, terse sentado xunto ós mortos nos cuartos da fiestra aberta... E aínda non é abondo con ter lembranzas. Porque non son lembranzas en sí mesmas. Non, ata que se convertan en sangue dentro de nós, en ollada e máis en xesto, anónimas e indistinguibles de nós mesmos. Non é ata ese momento que se fai posible que, na hora máis insólita, a primeira palabra dun verso emerxa entre
todas elas e se lles adiante.


Rainer Maria Rilke,
Love and Other Difficulties


.

La femme voilée (La foi?).
Antonio Corradini.

J´aime passionnément le mystère, parce que j´ai toujours l ´espoir de le débrouiller .

Charles Baudelaire
Mademoiselle Bistouri. Le Spleen de Paris

.

(Even roses
do have thorns)


.

.

There is a drop of blood on the ground
And it seems to me that it's not my kind
And I can't be sure if it's yours or mine

In this public space a private moment
I need some desperate love
In a primitive way

Najwa Nimri, Sexy light

One night a boy and I rowed across the lake. He was furious with me because I wanted to let another boy go with us. He was cross all the way across the lake and crosser still when we found -after we finished shopping- that our boat was gone and we had to walk back around the end of the lake. On the way I stood a moment looking out across the marshes -marshes with tall cattails, a patch of water, more marsh, then the woods with a few birch trees shining white at the edge on beyond. In the darkness it all looked just like I felt -wet and swampy and gloomy, very gloomy. In the morning I painted it.

Georgia O´Keeffe



.

Me cruzas, muerte, con tu enorme manto
de enredaderas amarillas.

(...)

Lenta, muy lenta, muerte, en la belleza
tan lenta del otoño.


José Ángel Valente
Fragmentos de un libro futuro

¿Nostalgia del campo? No es seguro. El campo hace vibrar la nostalgia, la infinita nostalgia.

(Enero del 1922)


Diarios, Franz Kafka



Nostalgia de somewhere else











.

O ceo está azul.
O ceo segue estando azul.
Nin sequera sei ónde estás.

Yolanda Castaño
Delicia (1998)






.

Picture this: a day in December

All I want is a photo in my wallet
A small remembrance of something more solid

Cuando tengas calor, recuerda los días más fríos del invierno

Picture this, Blondie

The days are much too bright

We only come out at night, The Smashing Pumpkins

.

Deep happiness is always with me

Najwa Nimri, Lord of nations

Baby, baby, baby, oh baby

Superstar, Sonic Youth

Sweetened horizons

Dance away the pain tonight
just like you and I

In summerian haze, Sirenia



.

.

C´est quelque chose de crépusculaire, de bleuâtre et de rosâtre: un rêve de volupté pendant une éclipse.

Charles Baudelaire, Le Spleen de Paris