"So do not raise my voice, old Walt Whitman,
against child girl's name written on his pillow,
or against boy who dresses as a bride and n the darkness of the wardrobe,
or against casinos solitary drinking water in disgust prostitution
or against men green eyed who love men and burn their lips silence. "
F. García Lorca.
Álvaro "Oh, how life has changed! Now we're half drunk and under the effect of beer, I is releasing the tongue, I'll tell you a story:
do things, Don Alvaro, which I have ever heard since we received from the college and I left the rough and mannish Antioquia my mountains to which I have never returned ...
Poor as I am, in the big city I've had to do everything. Goodbye
warm wind, warm nights, goodbye peaceful life of Santa Fe, Medellin drizzle and goodbye of wet, Silvia and herbs.
Note that some time has, for example, worked as a student counselor in the counseling department of a secondary school in any area of the Bogotá, and chronic thug that lazy (and concentrated on small works go Echo far from his world) never read you, puny.
should lead to final year students of a brainstorming workshop on "wonderful gift" of sexuality. I became aware of the needs and developing an outline that I think should have revised up the Archbishop, perhaps because a high content of such "dangerousness" should pass through the lens of a thousand sensors (Rightly lamented Fernando González Ochoa, our little old Envigado Otraparte of the Harvey, in his Journey on Foot "poor country, a country of poverty, [...] without direction and without conscience yet! Poor country in which they are joint owners the curate, the bachelor and the Devil! ". This last thought, but fortunately Don Alvaro thoughts as Zola read or count the drops of sweat falling from his brow as Dostoevsky's Raskolnikov.)
Finally, after all adjustments (cutting it, add this, do not say this, this is not necessary, this content is not relevant for adolescents, etc.), I do my workshop, that, long, it was a wonderful day for reflection and personal growth for myself and for the kids.
And I better not tell him, Don Alvaro, better write, and then come and read, tolle et lege, as he told the devil that of Hippo (Hippo was not Tagaste but that was not Tagaste but the woman who fired in Milan, but Milan was not of bitches that they say I am not aware, was a saint):
was Thursday or Friday of October in the afternoon and students in the ease of a teenager, opened its intimacy and celebrated jubilantly what they thought was an unusual outburst of sincerity. There was laughter, hugs and cheesy tears. Let there
Don Alvaro. Best I keep counting out loud:
-Lorenzo, the crazy one in the group (he even told her friends Lola and sang, "... she is walking alone in Barcelona looking mess." That I am thinking, but do not tell the of yore), the star dancer in the dance group of the school, the pearcing over the left eyebrow, pale skin and brown hair with a pair of lace locks, provided stiff under the effect of the gel, told all what we already knew: that he was gay. Like when Uribe, the doctor achondroplastic wand today dawned with a "fork in the soul" (thank goodness not in the ass), we say, finally, he wants to be reelected. People think that one is Birdbrain, right?
However, the safety of the Lola and the naturalness of the speech caused something few expected: Pipe, a lad of seventeen, athletic, beard and a dozen pimples on the face, also wanted to tell her secret compared to the astonishment of his colleagues and, especially, girls.
What liberals have made us boys! Right, Don Alvaro? You should feel at home in these times. And open parentheses for the reader to understand because it is usually silly and forgetful: Don Alvaro is a Summa Cum Laude fag Medellin, in my Letters of Ripol series was dying (not AIDS, not Malpensa), I think. Well, at least he is still alive for me and Martincito, the son of Silvia will not say who it is because I do not want to remove this murky swamp of my memory.
But back where we were: the beer table, where I'm drunk and I are loosing the language and Don Alvaro, drunk, blink slowly, slowly and sleeping.
But this is literature, play with time and better return back:
Time passed (in the past, because I'm playing with him, as I said) and ended giving up the job (oh man, how does that to what? to the school counselor! Concentrate! And no, I forgot the tilde, is that in Antioquia voseamos and make a antepenultimate one paroxytone because we feel the Castilian as we feel as SAR).
not returned in the afternoon of training and personal growth (the retreats became a weekend at the home of nuns).
not tell the reasons for my resignation, although, as I have mentioned four paragraphs above, the discerning reader (now I call and after telling silly because this is my story and make it what I please ) may colleagues easily. The boys graduated and when I left, I lost all contact with them.
time she passed and one night I met Pipe (last month, for that matter).
was so changed, Álvaro. If you see: it does not have mud on his face and his cheeks look adorned with a heavy beard, shave carefully following whimsical. Her hair was not going badly neglected and had to be some twenty or twenty years. Just as you don Álvaro (is laughing. It seems that just woke up). Terraced
Pasteur was one of the sites most popular gay cruising and traditional Colombian capital.
- Good evening monsieur!, cried in terrible 'fran-glish', with enthusiasm, Pipe, and to prove to his Chicano I was learning another language.
I turned and without giving him coldly replied: good.
- I Pipe, doctor! Do not you remember me? (Do not know why the hell I say now 'doctor'. It will be to insult me, because in Colombia doctor tells any sonofabitch, eg, Dr. Wand).
- Boy!, Said, but how changed you are. What are you doing?
"I hope someone answered.
I soon understand, Don Alvaro, that 'someone' had become a common word on his lips. 'Someone' appointed the most diverse types of people. 'Someone' could be Luis, Matthew, Philip, Jorge, Fernando, Eduardo, Esteban, Jairo or Ricardo. Pipe accompanied them, gave them a moment of pleasure, gave himself a moment of pleasure and returned late to the floor he had rented in Santa Isabel, where he lived alone. He liked what he did, he took precautions and enjoyed it very much. He had learned a thousand ways to love and was lucky to think that while the work involved for many great efforts and toil, for it was something so pleasant and spring.
Among his 'one', Eduardo was his favorite. I saw that day, just before saying goodbye to Pipe, when he was not to well but the coffee grounds, then invited him to take one. He was young and somewhat handsome, even seems to Harvey, Don Alvaro. He
clothing executive, about age 31, married and had a baby two years (this Pipe told me yesterday when I saw him and decided to write his story then at the little bar of Jet Quevedo, a place to marijuana and drifters, I'm telling you to Don Alvaro).
could be seen once a week. Eduardo seemed to want. I was looking for, we did gifts and treated him with a tenderness that touched and let the drama of his heart and his life divided facade. But Pipe was (in past tense because everything that has to do with the heart must be combined at this time) unable to love. Eduardo was not interested but the strength of his torso, glaucous tone of his eyes, reddish hair, the hieratic style of his gestures, the fine accent with which he spoke and the faint smell of his breath nicotine .
From the night I met him in passing through Terrace Pasteur, Pipe was slowly put their lives here or there, I've recreated in my mind a thousand ways, seeks to have this done, an explanation .
As I understand it, Don Alvaro, it all started in the same neighborhood houses where he spent his childhood. But better give me a paper, I will write again. Do not interrupt me more:
Under the clear sky of January 1 Wicked, which showed clearly the capital's afternoon sun, cirrus lost after wandering far and cotton intrusive, gentle trade winds while the leaves were fluttering near walnut trees in the dirty workshop amid the vulgarity of everyday life in the slums, among the cries of hawkers and the roughness of the artisans, Pipe discovered love, yes, in the most unorthodox and cuddly as possible.
Now that Caesar is gone and time goes by and he does not return, Pipe remember is blurred while the voice and the timbre of her voice suggests to me the profound nostalgia that makes you think of your first powder ...
continue.
