By/Per Ester Astudillo
Tribute to the following sources of inspiration:
Pink Floyd’s The Wall,
Suzanne Vega’s 99.9 F º album, among many beautiful others,
Carles’s last post “La extremidad”,
Hamlet and literature in general,
plus, of course, the universal history of mankind
Pink Floyd’s The Wall,
Suzanne Vega’s 99.9 F º album, among many beautiful others,
Carles’s last post “La extremidad”,
Hamlet and literature in general,
plus, of course, the universal history of mankind
Homenatge a les fonts d'inspiració següents:
The Wall de Pink Floyd,
99.9 ºF de Suzanne Vega, entre molts altres deliciosos LP seus,
el darrer post de Carles "La extremidad”,
Hamlet i la literatura en general,
99.9 ºF de Suzanne Vega, entre molts altres deliciosos LP seus,
el darrer post de Carles "La extremidad”,
Hamlet i la literatura en general,
a més de, naturalment, la història universal humana
Trim, trim, trim,
Crop, crop, crop,
‘til the core of the real thing
Unearths a limp unclad bone.
Shave, shave, shave,
Prune, prune, prune,
Let the glossy flay of wounds
Gleam a-free of apparel.
Dig, dig, dig,
Puke, puke, puke,
Acquiesce to the fierce allure,
Turn your entrails outside in.
“Light and quiet are awaiting
Someplace far, beyond your gaze.
License me and my train of gangsters
Hold your grasp and guide your way.”
“Pardon me if I’m mistaken,
I’m a demented loon, you guessed,
But how in god’s name would that heaven
Know I’m lost, heart-ripped, insane?”
“Sweet Ophelia, in the wilderness
We’re all somewhat out of bounds.
Pull your robes, I’ll draw the curtain,
Shrinks around will be in charge.”
“I’m all fury, that’s for certain,
I don’t buy any of your calm.
Take your hands off me, Dr. Psycho,
That straightjacket won’t be enough.
‘Cause burrowed deep in my corpse there’s a hollow
Where I save my vilest spite
And not for the life of me, you hear me?,
Will you dispossess me of that.
Shall this suffice to discharge me?
Will it hold back my repair?
Dr. Psycho, are you still there?
There’s some cacophony round my cell.
Are my thoughts contending warriors?
Is that squealing from without?
Is this a nunnery where I find me?
Won’t you, Dr., make me sound?”
Crop, crop, crop,
‘til the core of the real thing
Unearths a limp unclad bone.
Shave, shave, shave,
Prune, prune, prune,
Let the glossy flay of wounds
Gleam a-free of apparel.
Dig, dig, dig,
Puke, puke, puke,
Acquiesce to the fierce allure,
Turn your entrails outside in.
“Light and quiet are awaiting
Someplace far, beyond your gaze.
License me and my train of gangsters
Hold your grasp and guide your way.”
“Pardon me if I’m mistaken,
I’m a demented loon, you guessed,
But how in god’s name would that heaven
Know I’m lost, heart-ripped, insane?”
“Sweet Ophelia, in the wilderness
We’re all somewhat out of bounds.
Pull your robes, I’ll draw the curtain,
Shrinks around will be in charge.”
“I’m all fury, that’s for certain,
I don’t buy any of your calm.
Take your hands off me, Dr. Psycho,
That straightjacket won’t be enough.
‘Cause burrowed deep in my corpse there’s a hollow
Where I save my vilest spite
And not for the life of me, you hear me?,
Will you dispossess me of that.
Shall this suffice to discharge me?
Will it hold back my repair?
Dr. Psycho, are you still there?
There’s some cacophony round my cell.
Are my thoughts contending warriors?
Is that squealing from without?
Is this a nunnery where I find me?
Won’t you, Dr., make me sound?”
* * *
Xolla, xolla, xolla,
sega, sega, sega,
fins que el cor de la genuïna cosa
desvetlli un flàccid os de cera.
desvetlli un flàccid os de cera.
Poda, poda, poda,
afaita, rasura, cisella,
deix exultant de lluïssor (joies fora!)
dels traus sagnants la pela.
Pica, burxa, perfora,
vomita, buida, treu,
accepta el ferotge agulló,
capgira els budells fora teu.
vomita, buida, treu,
accepta el ferotge agulló,
capgira els budells fora teu.
"Claror i silenci t’esperen
en un bell paratge llunyà.
Digues sí a la cort de gàngsters
i t’hi durem destrament de la mà."
i t’hi durem destrament de la mà."
"Disculpi'm si vaig errada,
sóc dement, ho ha ben clavat,
però en nom de quin déu sap l’edèn
que vaig perduda, estrip al cor, delirant?"
que vaig perduda, estrip al cor, delirant?"
"Dolça Ofèlia, a sol i serena
tothom trobem a faltar el Nord.
Descorda’t la roba, avall el teló,
l’horda hipocràtica té cura de tot."
"Sóc sols que fúria, l’ha encertada,
no em ratlli amb el mot ‘calma’.
Tregui’m la grapa de sobre, Doctor,
amb la camisa de força no em basta.
amb la camisa de força no em basta.
Perquè fons al meu cadàver hi ha excavat un buc
on hi deso la fel més pudenta
i no accediré del tresor al furt,
és prou clar?, res a fe meva us hi mena.
Eix exabrupte, n’hi ha prou per absoldre’m?
O embussarà, potser, el meu endreç?
Doc Psico, és per ‘quí encara?
Hi ha distorsions entorn meu.
Els pensaments que m’eixorden, són poder croats en brega?
Cruixen els xerrics del defora?
És aquest erm un convent on reposo?
I vostè, Doctor, em guarirà d’estar boja?”
