un día después

Otro de los de pasarse siete pueblos, con el consabido precio:

After 1925, and taking the name 'Witkacy', the artist ironically re-branded the paintings which provided his economic sustenance as The S.I. Witkiewicz Portrait Painting Firm, with the motto: "The customer must always be satisfied". Several grades of portrait were offered, from the merely representational to the more expressionistic and the narcotics assisted. Many of his paintings were annotated with mnemonics listing the drugs taken while painting a particular painting, even if this happened to be only a cup of coffee. 

The latter major work encompasses geopolitics, psychoactive drugs, and philosophy. 

During the 1930s, Witkiewicz published a text on his experiences of narcotics, including peyote, and pursued his interests in philosophy. He also promoted emerging writers such as Bruno Schulz. Shortly after Poland was invaded by Germany in September 1939, he escaped with his young lover Czesława to the rural frontier town of Jeziory, in what was then eastern Poland. After hearing the news of the Soviet invasion of Poland on 17 September 1939, Witkacy committed suicide on 18 September by taking a drug overdose and trying to slit his wrists. He convinced Czesława to attempt suicide with him by consuming Luminal, but she survived.

En esta y esta página hay muy buen material. Sólo dejo una fotografía y un retrato. Como botón de los siete pueblos.







did you rub one another

Neil y compañía vuelven a clavar el asunto. La letra es tan fina como dura. Exacta, diría yo.
Levantarse de buena mañana con ellos tiene su aquel.





Were you tired of the laughter
Were you bored of the pain
Is the bond now broken
Does nothing remain
Shoulder to shoulder
Like two stones in a bag
Did you rub one another
Until there was nothing yeah
Nothing but dust

And still you talk soft
So desperate and kind
So pure and so pointless
So helpless and blind
And is there no anger
Just pills for the pain
My friend you've been wasted
And you will be again

And you wait for a whirlwind
To unwind your soul
And you cry like a baby
You feel so alone
Cos she broke you so softly
You can't see the blame
Like a dog with a bone
You refuse to let go

Ans still you talk soft
So desperate and kind
So pure and so pointless
So helpless and blind
And still there's no anger
Just pills for the pain
My friend you've been wasted
And you will be again

dónde quedan los grilletes

Desde octubre de 2011 ha llovido. Hoy me volví a cruzar con él y pensé: algo caerá. Al hilo de la anterior entrada, vamos con el ínclito Ambrose:

Libertino, s. Que ha perseguido con tal ansia el placer que ha tenido la desgracia de alcanzarlo.

Libertino, s. Literalmente, liberto; por tanto, esclavo de sus pasiones.

Liberto, s. Persona cuyos grilletes se han introducido tan profundamente en la carne que ya no son visibles