Großartig!

Estic surant pels efectes post concert. Nine Inch Nails... They were... Loud! I en veure Trent en escena, agafar el micro i començar a cantar les primeres notes... Quasi m'hi pixo a sobre. Per sort només vaig mullar els ulls amb unes llagrimetes incipients... Però la mar d'emocionades, reconec. Què bé que senta emocionar-se amb la música.
Tita, em vaig comportar, i com. Vaig pensar molt en tu, si hagués tingut un mòbil t'hauria passat un mini vídeo abans del teu concert per fer-te salibar una estona. Vam agafar un lloc privilegiat. A dalt, assegudets com iaies i amb vista de l'escenari panoràmic. Allà l'acústica era molt bona.
Trent Reznor gaudeix de l'escenari, s'ho passa bé, transmet moltíssim. Una gaudeix de veure'l gaudir. I es comunica de maravella amb el públic. No puc dir més. Només que van pirar-se-les abrúptament. Ni Zugabe ni hòsties. I als holandesos, tan sosos com sempre, els va faltar temps per pirar organitzadament uns 2 minuts de crits més tard.

Ara venen els petits paral.lelismes de la vida. Un dia després la sala Paradiso d'Amsterdam s'omplirà per darrer cop per rebre uns individus foscos, sorollosos i irreverentment provocatius mentre una gran part de Catalunya s'hi aplegarà a Verges a rebre un artista reconegut als Països Catalans i famossíssim a Kolomna (si no que li preguntin a tots els rusos que canten ara el "tomba, tomba" des que vaig marxar, és el meu sobrenom), artista si més no provocatiu, en un estil completament diferent, però de cap manera comparable amb l'estil i estètica dels Nine Inch Nails.

Per què els comparo, doncs?

Coses dels gens, amics. Pels que no saben que tinc una germana, sí, la tinc. És una mica l'altra cara però definitivament de la mateixa moneda. Amb els anys ens hem sorprès de descobrir les nostres afinitats. I apreciar les nostres diferències.

Portaria molt de temps descriure la diversitat dels caràcters tot i haver estat educades conjúntament i haver compartit 16 anys de vida. Però el que segueix crec que farà mostra a mode de metàfora melòmana del contrast.

La germana petita sempre ha estat més responsable, predictible i organitzada. No és difícil si la gran (moi) va néixer amb certes capacitats humanes un pèl subdesenvolupades. Vamos, que la rara sóc jo.

Però imagineu les imatges. Les dues germanes amb la seva entrada a la mà. La gran, exposant NIN, sala Paradiso, Amsterdam. After party al Korsakov. La petita, carpa organitzada a Verges per a l'event, amb tertúlia a l'ajuntament. A l'entrada hi diu: Lluís Llach, Envelat, Verges, Girona. Tota una llegenda, que es retira del món de la música. I que deixa llegat...

I puc veure les dues germanes, cadascuna en el moment de clímax del concert. En Llach entona "l'avi siset", el "tomba, tomba" a Rúsia. Sé d'una que segurament quasi s'hi pixa a sobre.
El mateix efecte a la gran, versió hardcore. Trent Reznor comença a tocar "March of the Pigs", jo pensava que em saltava el cor i la bufeta.
Clar que cap dels dos estils són comparables. Tampoc ho són les germanes. El cas és que no vaig poder evitar imaginar-me-la al seu esperat concert i el seu comportament. La situació en general.

La gran: head-banging, march of the pigs: "but doesn't it make you feel better + soroll elèctric indescriptible..."
La petita: sospenent el cap, de costat a costat "segur que tomba, tomba, toooombaaa", la carpa amarada de senyeres i encenedors... O espelmetes.

L'atavi:
La gran: per l'ocasió s'ha posat unes mitges de xarxa, un vestit negre de gasa i top de serp, maquillatge (no és la norma, però pel dress code convidava) lleugerament exagerat als ulls (una no volia anar de goth, no fotem, però el negre era quasi obligatori) i botes, negres, de cama alta. Per favor.






No posseixo imatges de la petita, i em temo que tampoc el permís de mostrar-ne si en tingués (menuda es!): Però quasi m'ho puc imaginar: pantalons de pana o texans, còmodes, àmplis; camisa sòbria, jersei de punt, potser d'estampat discret, sabata plana, potser bota menorquina, maquillatge? No, no és cap festa de disfresses. És el concert d'en Llach al seu poble natal! Si us plau.

No vaig poder evitar comparar el quadre familiar, incloent-hi el pare, qui va ser el que em va informar de l'event i l'assistència de la petita. Quan, al telèfon va preguntar: "ah, vas a un concert?" "de qui?" i jo responent amb emoció: "de Nine Inch Nails..." I la seva resposta: "de... qui? Rolling Stones?". "La teva germana hi va tb de concert: d'en Lluís Llach". Sorpresa, sorpresa.
Joder, igualetes!

Toquen Closer. No vaig fer cap striptease, Yoyo. Però al head banging el va acompanyar una mica de hip-banging. Què menys!
Puc imaginar la petita cridant: "la gallineta diu no!", amb un moviment que anomenariem: 'sacsejant el cap i les mans'.
A uns 1400 Km al Nord una morena tenyida de vermell amb serell brama: "I wanna fuck you like an animal!". No digueu que els textos no són reivindicatius, però alguna cosa em diu que la gallineta, no estava tan aturmentada, ni necessitava dir marranades per ser provocativa. Bé, segurament la gallineta també follava com un animal. Però no per sentir-se més propera a Déu i fugir d'ella mateixa. Coses del Rock.

Coses dels gens...

el que fa l'alcohol

Matar un parell de neurones inútils, total...
AS i have loads of ideas, and little time (this cannot go on like this) here a picture of the evening.
Remember in February, that I was about to nick the wheel of an abandoned bike to have a piece I needed for the grey bike?
Alcohol makes miracles.

A group pict in advanced alcoholic stage (some more than others), I actually remeber stumbling against a car on the bike on the way home, as usual rainy and windy, and hear people going "wey-oh!" and the sound of a side window bending. Hope it wasn't bad.
And no more going to Irish pubs for Saint Patrick's day. Too crowded. Too smelly.

theories

... I guess I will never be good at throwing theories, since, as far as I remember, I am good JUST at research ergo browsing around and finding sources but not the part that includes filing and putting things together.
I say this because we briefly elaborated an "Alfa person" theory in a bar on a gracht and now I am determined to scratch it out and put the bits together. Another on the list to come.
Nevermind.
I haven't drunk coffee a couple of days now and I get a stiff neck and a headache. I didn't mean to, I just forgot to make any yesterday and thought it was cool to stay so for some days. But 'so' describes me now with a 2 day buzzing head, painful sleep (the one you wake up with a stiff tongue, dried and cut in cracks) and the whole day long ready to go to the neighbour's to visit the cat, and getting distracted on the process. I got dressed, which is a great achievement, and put my coat on. then I got distracted with the problems of globalisation related to the impact in the enviroment and kinda kept sitting like this and clicking pages until I somehow ended up reading about David Fincher's films. Isn't it amazing how we change subjects?
What one thing can so remotely connect to the other?
Like my unability to get dressed. I would do much more outdoors if I didn't have to get dressed. One day I will pass a fashion list of my indoors models. I think that if I don't go out that much it is because I am too lazy to get dressed. It used to happen to me as well back when I was a young girl and lived with my parents. And it was winter. Only winter could do that. It was just cozy to stay in my pajamas. Since I live in a cold country this happens over and over, day by day. I usually leave with my pajamas on and a long coat on top. To the supermarket, to the post office, to the library and back. It takes me at least one hour to convince myself to get some shoes on.
Strange. When the weather is nice it goes the other way around. Nothing compresses, nothing bothers. I just wear dresses, if the chance allows it with nothing else underneath, on the beach, same same, nothing if possible, topless a rule. Shoes ain't a problem, as you can slip them in like slippers. I just have to wait for those months a year (or 15 days in Holland) and try to take one month holidays to anywhere warm. And think that life could be like that.
Such a prelude just to show around and say I'm fine. And looking forward to hear from all. Particularly one person, I won't name her here, but will write soon.
Anyhoo, below a picture sent by Cris. As she came to NL for some days and we got to hang around (però no vam fer prou mal...). Pity we missed a good bar session.
I must say I'm not that satified with my image, and I don't really want to post images of myself, but a promise is a promise. And otherwise she looks sooo cute!

the good, the bad and the impossible

Do good things in life come in three?...
I just woke up of my day sleep to face another night of work. I work shifts. It's not healthy, but I love it.
That apart, everytime I have a dream related to that I get somehow disturbed by the thought of it existing. IT??!
, an undescribable 'it', the essence of the existence of what I call a live memory. Anyway, let's say there are three loves I recognize: The one you should love, the one you shouldn't and the one you can't. And subsequently: you won't keep the one you should love, you love the one you shouldn't and you want to be able to have the one you can't. It feels as an unrequited love. Far in distance and in the whole sense of it: unreachable by any other means. Basta.


Luckly the thought occupies my mind only when I dream of him, which I thank my subconscious to be scarcely, the memory thogh lingers on. It is not pleasant to dream about good times and wish they were back. Because they are not and they won't. And it sucks.

I don't want to recreate the sense or the nonsense of it. I think you will always go back to the platonic memories because they awake feelings you may believe to be in a slumber, to be numb. It doesn't matter what you feel anymore, because you want to be realistic and move on.
So I dreamt about him. It's something I can't control. It was sad. I dreamt a kind of a cyclic punishment, in which I was seeing him everyday and he would not notice me. In the end of this dream, in a room full of people where I could recognize him I cry in one of the occasions. Oh, how sweet and hopeless, that: "he doesn't notice me anymore" that I confirm and deconfirm as time goes by, I cry and dry my tears twisted palms, to the outside. If it means anything.
I don't think I master routine relationships.
I wonder too much until they loose meaning. If I managed to last in this so unreal harmony is because "the good" was always by my side, as it should be, giving me a lesson of endurance and meaningful reasons to coexist. When I think back, it all made sense, "the good" is the dream man, you know the perfect man, that one we say it doesn't exist: it exists. The one who always listens to you, who holds when you need to, whose eyes shine when you make yourself pretty. WE were a living example of balanced harmony, of mutual respect, a gift of personal freedom, the other half that fit. Aware of my privileged position I let my mind seek for dreamy "impossibles" because of having an island in him to come back when the dream was over. And life made sense again. And I could taste harmony again, let my heart beat freely, regularly.

It crashed by it's own idyllic nature, loyal until the end, I let go because I needed suspense, tension, passionate sadness, challenge. I craved for "the bad", the one who loves you for the wrong reasons, the one I shouldn't love, the one that turns me inside out, upside down and makes my world rock, we give away to each other in a way I never experienced, I wonder I ever will or if it is possible to feel that... All that passion, the hurricane of feelings I missed. So physical.
I haven't had the time to analyse that. In order to state a theory, like scientists, I have to experiment. There is no empiric proof on the permanence of relationships. I jumped on a rollercoaster with "the bad". Can't be with or without him.
I chose that, but I know I shouldn't go there...
I breathe, dream on, I look to the ceiling and think: And there came a dream to remember what I can't forget, what I can't have.

I actually left the house

Amazing,
On Monday night I couldn't go to work because I accidentally drank a whole bottle of wine in the time it takes to carry a chat conversation (don't feel guilty Maita mou).



My head was a mix of Paracetamol and visits to Mr Roca to expel pinky bits.
Today I finally left the house coming out of my self-pityness. A great achievement.
I went to the supermarket and bought so much stuff the security guys had to help me lift my backpack. It was so heavy that the front wheel of my bike was lifting up, because I was resting my ass and groceries in the back. I've had worse supermarket returns. One time my grocery box spread in the middle of a crossing and over the tram rails just on time for the tram to cross and quench a couple of yoghourts, and no-one but an elderly woman helped me pick it all up and even asked me if I was ok. Bless her whoever she was.

I watched "city of God" and became very concerned about human nature. I just applied the guettoish dirty survival and ambicious game to higher spheres and became very scared of today's governments and their soffisticated mobbing. Fear, for a lot of power becomes a very ruthless addiction. Arrggg!

And moving on to gossip vomiting, I saw the flat next door is on sale. It was sold for about 20% the value of mine. And it looks exactly the same, same size, and even less cute. If it goes on like this in one year, cigroneta, maybe I will be able to sell it and move in with you down under. Oh man! the thought makes me so happy. I was biking in the rain, annoying fringe in my eyes and freezing rain blurring my sight and wondered again "what the hell am I doing in this country?" no place for a summeblume.

Today's feelings: kinda wondering about "life support system for..." - I made up a new alias. Hmm what now?
Self-pityness moving towards the "Gotta change" stage. Started by cutting my hair and request an annoying fringe. THIS annoying. Enjoy



PS: pict as been changed after hearing how unlucky the other was... I guess one for the vanity!