ENERO, MECANISMOS SUICIDAS, EL AMOR - JANUARY, SUICIDAL MECHANISMS, LOVE (Esp-Ing)

Yo estaba enamorado de Nadia, toda la vida fue ella mi otra parte, ella junto al mar, con los ojos en el horizonte y el pelo suelto, oliendo a salitre y peces, desparramada en la arena circular, entre las gaviotas y el diente de perro, el ángel de la muerte, marchándose de mi vida para siempre, ella no sería menos puta que las otras, ella era realmente puta, no quiero decía queriendo, esos zapatos no los quiero, queriéndolos, no te quiero, no queriéndote, no quedándose, ella tenía los ojos hacia el cielo, pero la muerte llega, le están acechando, lo sé desde que quiso marcharse, había dejado sus blúmers rojos en la cerca de palitos, junto al naranjo, se fue del lugar, vendría después, en uno de los trenes, vomitaría en el retrete maloliente, lo haría con un negro de esos que han estado la vida entera escapando, con los ojos más salidos del sitio, entonces ese día como quien ha estado sentado en la parte de atrás de la casa te dirá cariño y el blúmers que había dejado, entonces le muestras un bulto podrido, en el mismo lugar donde lo dejó, pero no lo has recogido, y qué has hecho mientras estaba en el portal, esta casa tiene una pequeña planta espinosa para los malos ojos, ella tiene los ojos fijos en el cielo, ha tenido relaciones por unos cigarros raquíticos y aún mira el cielo, que nubes más jodidas no, le traigo un trago de café y me mira fijamente, que cara de asesino tienes, el mar a comenzado a bajar nuevamente, necesito unos pesos para ir allá, señala con el dedo pulgar, eso no es único en ella, la puta madre le ha enseñado, la he odiado unas millonésimas de segundo más de lo que me he establecido para esta tarea, se quita las chancletas y camina hasta el espejito que ha perdido parte del azogue, tengo este pelo de lo más roñoso eh, no la miro, estoy trasteando en la cocina y quizás comience a suministrarle un poco de cianuro en el café, ella se va en la tarde, ha dejado el blúmers rojo como siempre en la cerca y las chancletas regadas delante de la cama, tomo una libreta y continuo en uno de mis muchos croquis de formas de matarla, uno tiene un cuchillo anclado a la parte superior de la puerta y con una cuerda y un contrapeso, y entonces he dibujado también un mono flaco que la representa, en cuanto cae el peso y otro es con la corriente, he pasado la mayor parte de la tarde entregado a estos placeres, ella viene riendo con un mulato que la deja frente a la casa y sonríen largamente antes de despedirse, guardo mi libreta de croquis y voy a sentarme en el portal, ella entra, ha escondido las alas oscuras, la siento destapando el termo en busca de café, este café algún día me va a matar, le escucho y observo la estructura circular de una de las nuevas construcciones para un área recreativa, que te pasa no vas a pelearme, ella eventualmente es tan puta que no tiene una idea exacta de si misma, estuve ahí en el parque, me entretengo destripando hormigas, se ha revuelto el hormiguero y pienso en uno de mis croquis, versión 2.1 este puede funcionar con hormigas perfectamente, la miro y algunas le ha comenzado a subir por la falda, en dos segundos han comenzado a picar, en que mierda estas pensando, no ves las hormigas, ella camina rascándose, allá el televisor anuncia el tiempo, mañana no podrá ver el cielo.

Que porquería de vida, dice desde el cuarto, afuera llueve bestial, que coño es esto, pregunta y manotea con mi libreta de croquis en la mano, entonces viene y grita, me tira sobre la cara una a una las hojas de la libreta, grita y maldice como su jodida madre, en eso se te van las horas, maldito entupido, le he dado una patada en la boca que esta escupiendo una sangre negra y espesa, parte de la cara se le ha hinchado y por lo menos en unas dos semanas no podrá salir. Pero ella es puta, se ha estado dando maquillaje durante horas para salir, las putas tienes una facilidad para inventar, cierra los ojos e imagina el cielo, ve a ver si las nubes parecen empedradas, el blúmers sigue sobre la cerca, descomponiéndose, algún día vendrá por él, entonces su final vendrá aleteando, entre las plumas a los ángeles se le pegan mariposas y cigarrillos muertos por el impacto, detrás del armario tengo mi libreta No. 2 de croquis, ya tengo unos doscientos planos, el último es ahogada en un poso con una piedra atada con alambre al cuello, mira so bruto como tengo la cara, entonces se marcha a la estación, ha estado esperando un tren que no llega, le han plantado como tantas veces, viene llorando y se sienta en la terraza, quiero una casita mía, allá en los pinares, le he suministrado la primera dosis * y está silbando en el camastro la muy puta, de que color es la nube que estoy pensando, las nubes de ella dependen de si quiere tener sexo o no, jodete entonces, ya no tengo ganas de jugar sus juegos fainos ** y está o no está, en algunos casos no lo sé, ha venido despeinada y maloliente, pienso que andaba con otros, qué te preocupa, ha sacado uno de sus senos, la mesa esta servida se sirve lo mejor, la blusa apenas guarda sus senos, el pelo le cae ahora grotescamente sobre la cara y lo aparta con un dedo embadurnado de grasa, quiero trabajar en una cafetería, estaba pensando que de enfermera le quedaría mejor, que quieres decir, enfermera es el colmo, bueno ya lleva seis tomas del veneno, tengo unas ganas de vomitar y me duele la cabeza, veo en el cielo las nubes desaparecer, te amo, tráeme un trago de café. Enseguida, le respondo, voy a la cocina y pongo un poco de agua a calentar, me sorprendo silbando una cancioncilla.

          *cianuro no había he podido conseguir un poco de veneno para los ratones.   
         ** juegos sexuales que no recomiendo ha nadie.

I was in love with Nadia, all my life she was my other part, she by the sea, with her eyes on the horizon and her hair loose, smelling of saltpeter and fish, scattered on the circular sand, between the seagulls and the dog tooth, the angel of death, leaving my life forever, she would not be less of a whore than the others, she was really a whore, I do not want to say wanting, those shoes I don't want them, loving them, I don't want you, not loving you, not staying, she had her eyes to the sky, but death comes, they are stalking her, I know it since she wanted to leave, she had left her red blumers on the stick fence, next to the orange tree, she left the place, she would come later, in one of the trains, she would vomit in the stinking toilet, I would do it with a black of those who have been escaping all their life, with their eyes more out of place, then that day as someone who has been sitting in the back of the house will tell you love and the blumers he had left, then you show him a rotten lump, in the same place where he left it, but you have not picked it up, and what have you done while it was in the portal, This house has a small thorny plant for bad eyes, she has her eyes fixed on the sky, she has had relations because of some rickety cigars and she still looks at the sky, what more fucked up clouds there are, I bring her a drink of coffee and she stares at me, what a killer face you have, the sea has started to go down again, I need some pesos to go there, She points with her thumb, that's not unique to her, her mother has taught her, I've hated her a few millionths of a second more than I've set myself for this task, she takes off her flip-flops and walks to the little mirror that has lost part of the quicksilver, I have this most filthy hair eh, I don't look at her, I'm messing around in the kitchen and maybe I'll start to supply her with a little cyanide in the coffee, She leaves in the afternoon, has left the red blumers as always on the fence and the flip-flops watered in front of the bed, I take a notebook and continue in one of my many sketches of ways to kill her, one has a knife anchored to the top of the door and with a rope and a counterweight, and then I have also drawn a skinny monkey that represents her, As soon as the weight falls and another one is with the current, I have spent most of the afternoon devoted to these pleasures, she comes laughing with a mulatto who leaves her in front of the house and they smile for a long time before saying goodbye, I put away my sketchbook and go sit on the porch, she enters, has hidden the dark wings, I feel her uncovering the thermos in search of coffee, this cafe is going to kill me one day, I listen to her and observe the circular structure of one of the new constructions for a recreational area, what happens to you you are not going to fight me, she is eventually so bitchy that she doesn't have an exact idea of herself, I was there in the park, I entertain myself gutting ants, the anthill has turned over and I think about one of my sketches, version 2. 1 this can work with ants perfectly, I look at her and some have started to climb up her skirt, in two seconds they have started to bite, what the fuck are you thinking, you don't see the ants, she walks scratching herself, there the TV announces the time, tomorrow she won't be able to see the sky. What a mess of life, she says from the room, it's raining like hell outside, what the fuck is this, she asks and she wipes my sketchbook in her hand, then she comes and screams, she throws the sheets of the sketchbook at my face one by one, she screams and curses like her fucking mother, your hours are running out, you stupid fuck, I kicked her in the mouth that is spitting out thick black blood, part of her face has swollen and at least in about two weeks she won't be able to get out.

But she is a whore, she has been giving herself makeup for hours to go out, whores have a facility to invent, close your eyes and imagine the sky, go see if the clouds look like cobblestones, the blumers are still on the fence, decomposing, one day they will come for him, then his end will come fluttering, between the feathers the angels are stuck butterflies and cigarettes dead from the impact, behind the closet I have my notebook No. 2 of sketch, I already have about two hundred drawings, the last one is drowned in a deposit with a stone tied with wire to the neck, he looks so rough as I have the face, then he goes to the station, he has been waiting for a train that does not arrive, he has been planted as so many times, he comes crying and sits in the terrace, I want a little house of mine, there in the pine groves, I have given him the first dose * and is whistling on the bed the very bitch, what color is the cloud I'm thinking, the clouds of it depends on whether you want to have sex or not, fuck you then, I no longer feel like playing their games fainos ** and is or is not, in some cases I do not know, has come disheveled and smelly, I think he was with others, what do you care, has taken out one of her breasts, the table is served is the best, the blouse barely holds her breasts, her hair now falls grotesquely on her face and she pushes it away with a finger smeared with fat, I want to work in a cafeteria, I was thinking that as a nurse it would look better, you mean, nurse is the last straw, well she's had six shots of the poison, I feel like throwing up and I have a headache, I can see the clouds disappearing in the sky, I love you, bring me a drink of coffee. Right away, I answer, I go to the kitchen and put some water to heat, I surprise myself whistling a little ditty.

          *cyanide had not been able to get some poison for the mice.   
         ** sexual games that I don't recommend to anyone.