They say it fades if you let it,
love was made to forget it.
I carved your name across my eyelids,
you pray for rain I pray for blindness.

If you still want me, please forgive me,
the crown of love is fallen from me.
If you still want me, please forgive me,
because the spark is not within me.

I snuffed it out before my mom walked in my bedroom.

The only thing that you keep changin'
is your name, my love keeps growin'
still the same, just like a cancer,
and you won't give me a straight answer!

If you still want me, please forgive me,
the crown of love has fallen from me.
If you still want me please forgive me
because your hands are not upon me.

I shrugged them off before my mom walked in my bedroom.

The pains of love, and they keep growin',
in my heart there's flowers growin'
on the grave of our old love,
since you gave me a straight answer.

If you still want me, please forgive me,
the crown of love is not upon me
If you still want me, please forgive me,
'cause the spark is not within me.
it's not within me, it's not within me.

You gotta be the one,
you gotta be the way,
your name is the only word that I can say

You gotta be the one,
you gotta be the way,
your name is the only word , the only word that I can say!

Only one that I can say!

I'm coming up only to hold you under
I'm coming up only to show you wrong
And to know you is hard and we wonder
To know you all wrong, we were

Really too late to call, so we wait for
Morning to wake you; it's all we got
To know me as hardly golden
Is to know me all wrong, they were

At every occasion I'll be ready for a funeral
At every occasion once more is called a funeral
Every occasion I'm ready for the funeral
At every occasion one brilliant day funeral

I'm coming up only to show you down for
I'm coming up only to show you wrong
To the outside, the dead leaves, they all blow (alive is very poetic)
For'e (before) they died had trees to hang their hope

At every occasion I'll be ready for the funeral
At every occasion once more is called the funeral
At every occasion I'm ready for the funeral
At every occasion one brilliant day funeral

I'm gonna fight 'em all
A nation army couldn't hold me back
They're gonna rip it off
Taking their time right behind my back

And I'm talking to myself at night
Because I can't forget
Back and forth through my mind
Behind a cigarette
And the message coming from my eyes
Says leave it alone

Don't want to hear about it
Every single one's got a story to tell
Everyone knows about it
From the Queen of England to the hounds of hell

And if I catch it coming back my way
I'm gonna serve it to you
And that aint what you want to hear
But thats what I'll do
And the feeling coming from my bones
Says find a home

I'm going to Wichita
Far from this opera for evermore
I'm gonna work the straw
Make the sweat drip out of every pore
And I'm bleeding, and I'm bleeding, and I'm bleeding
Right before the lord
All the words are gonna bleed from me
And I will sing no more
And the stains coming from my blood
Tell me go back home

SÀBATO TAMBIÈN MURIÒ

No me gusta hablar de lo que sucede en el momento y cuando tuve oportunidad siempre ganò la pereza.

A Sàbato lo conocì con Juan Pablo Castel a los quince, realmente no recuerdo mucho màs que una trama plagada de oscuridad y la parte donde cierto grupo intelectual discutìa sobre una idea de novela negra.

Despuès encontré que era una parodia a Borges, Bioy Casares y Victoria Ocampo.

Me enfrentè a El tùnel con la desmesura que presentan los iniciados. Leer todo lo que tengas al alcance solo para ser pronto olvidado. La impresiòn que me dejó fue la de un escritor crudo y antisocial, del que no se podía digerir su trilogìa narrativa de manera consecutiva sin caer en la depresiòn o la paranoia.

El escritor y sus fantasmas

La variedad que presentan actualmente algunas librerías me permitió conseguir títulos como la Obra Completa en Ensayo de Ernesto Sabato, publicada por Seix Barral. Tener en un solo tomo Uno y el universo, Hombres y engranajes, Heterodoxia, El escritor y sus fantasmas, Apologìas y rechazos, Entre la letra y la sangre, y Otros ensayos, me sumergìa en una de las compilaciones màs interesantes para leer de noche y por las calles.

No era una lectura acadèmica, solo abrìa en cualquier parte y encontraba tìtulos como Sobre la naturaleza de la literatura argentina, El hombre tìtere, Sòcrates, Baudelaire y Sartre, La novela de la crisis, Modestia de los grandes espìritus, Novelistas y revoluciones, donde resaltaban los micro-ensayos tipo:

GENEALOGÌA DE LA ETERNIDAD. Egipcios (hieratismo, geometrismo, abstracciòn de su arte) - Pitàgoras (viajò por Egipto) - Platòn (recibiò la herencia pitagòrica y òrfica, eternidad = geometrìa = ideas) - Cristianismo (a travès de los platònicos).

Esto salvaba cualquier tiempo perdido.

Sobre héroes y tumbas

Para sentir su narrativa, debe ser leìda en momentos de crisis. Sobre hèroes y tumbas representó en 1961 el primer ejemplo de lo que se esperaba de la novela latinoamericana. Existencialista, experimental y poètica, de corte detectivesco y cargado con un humor desolador.

Cuando acabè la historia de Alejandra y el Informe sobre ciegos, no quise leer nada suyo en mucho tiempo. Sàbato tiene la cualidad de inmiscuirte en su obra como si estuvieras escuchando a un tipo muy culto pero con psicopatologías crònicas.

Comenzarè pronto con Abaddòn el exterminador y volveré a cargar el peso de sus Ensayos en mi mochila. Es lo menos que podrìa hacer, ahora que ya se unió a Saramago y Salinger en la mesa de los inconformes.