Fragile Things

por ddanielbee


“Why won’t more keys come in letters ?”

Esta no es una reseña. Es un intento de iniciar la bibliografía de mi propia vida.

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Hay algo especial en las historias cortas. A diferencia de las novelas, las historias cortas están limitadas por su propia definición, un lago pequeño tratando de ser un océano (en serio, lean “The Ocean at the End of the Lane”) y, en ocasiones, lográndolo más allá de su propia intención. Este es un libro lleno de lagocéanos

Lo siguiente es el fragmento final de una de las historias del libro, titulada “The Day the Saucers Came”.

That day, the saucer day, the zombie day

The Ragnarok and fairies day, the day the great winds came

And snows, and the cities turned to crystal, the day

All plants died, plastics dissolved, the day the

Computers turned, the screens telling us we would obey,

  the day

Angels, drunk and muddled, stumbled from the bars,

And all the bells of London were sounded, the day

Animals spoke to us in Assyrian, the Yeti day,

The fluttering capes and arrival of the Time Machine day,

You didn’t notice any of this because

you were sitting in your room, not doing anything,

not even reading, not really, just looking at your telephone,

wondering if I was going to call.

Do you ever feel that sometimes writing from others cuts deep into your mind and brings out a big chunk of

Thought Cake

and there you stand, kinda drained by your newly found cake deficit. Sometimes, said cake has a name.

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“Grandma’s a boarding house keeper, she takes pretty working girls in.
She hangs a red light in the window, and oh, how the money rolls in.”