Struthio camelus

NUBES (I)

No habrá una sola cosa que no sea
una nube. Lo son las catedrales
de vasta piedra y bíblicos cristales
que el tiempo allanará. Lo es la Odisea,

que cambia como el mar. Algo hay distinto
cada vez que la abrimos. El reflejo
de tu cara ya es otro en el espejo
y el día es un dudoso laberinto.


Somos los que se van. La numerosa
nube que se deshace en el poniente
es nuestra imagen. Incesantemente


la rosa se convierte en otra rosa.
Eres nube, eres mar, eres olvido.
Eres también aquello que has perdido.

NUBES (II)

Por el aire andan plácidas montañas
o cordilleras trágicas de sombra
que oscurecen el día. Se las nombra
nubes. Las formas suelen ser extrañas.


Shakespeare observó una. Parecía
un dragón. Esa nube de una tarde
en su palabra resplandece y arde
y la seguimos viendo todavía.


¿Qué son las nubes? ¿Una arquitectura
del azar? Quizá Dios las necesita
para la ejecución de Su infinita


obra y son hilos de la trama oscura.
Quizá la nube sea no menos vana
que el hombre que la mira en la mañana.

Jorge Luis Borges

Rigby & McKenzie

Ah look at all the lonely people
Ah look at all the lonely people

Eleanor Rigby, picks up the rice
In the church where a wedding has been
Lives in a dream
Waits at the window, wearing the face 
That she keeps in a jar by the door
Who is it for

All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?

Father McKenzie, writing the words
Of a sermon that no one will hear
No one comes near
Look at him working, darning his socks
In the night when there's nobody there
What does he care

All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?

Ah look at all the lonely people
Ah look at all the lonely people

Eleanor Rigby, died in the church
And was buried along with her name
Nobody came
Father McKenzie, wiping the dirt
From his hands as he walks from the grave
No one was saved

All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?

el pan nuestro de cada día

[Lord Buckley Sample]

“They didn’t know where they was going, but they knew where they was wasn’t it”

We are everyday robots on our phones
In the process of getting home
Looking like standing stones
Out there on our own
We’re everyday robots in control
Or in the process of being sold
Driving in adjacent cars
‘Til you press restart

[Lord Buckley Sample]
“They didn’t know where they was going, but they knew where they was wasn’t it”

Everyday robots just touch thumbs
Swimmin’ in lingo they become
Stricken in a status sea
One more vacancy
For everyday robots getting old
When our lips are cold
Lookin’ like standing stones
Out there on our own

Little robots in ringback tones
In the process of getting home