What I write is a summary of his way to the reading, the story. Is fine, but without periods or commas. It's like one of those monologues Ulysses, but grace. I put my points (pellets in pencil that look like stones on the line) and congratulate her. Points are a concession, of course. Within two or three years, at most, and tell you how you have to write, or rather how to write. He recorded the heat gradually, and then goodbye. Write as if instead of paper had to carve in marble the sentences.
*
blew the dust off the 2004 Daily . Book writer role of star, scourge of liars (almost all are), headless puppets (most are), and croaker almost always. That's what I see in him and read a lot. Nor is there much more to read in the newspapers, and I'm addicted to the daily paper. I glance at the copy, I remember buying the Alcampo for two euros when they went to my cart and the shopping list in hand. I threw on the leeks and today I am on it, because from that day I have leeks just had a look. Now I understand what the two euros. What to read yesterday here when that today is not today. today is a very and breaking, embalmed in formaldehyde or those fetuses as a permanent bug in a glass jar to keep fans of filth with bug. It is also true that it was very bad year. It is a year that was easy buried under the weight of 11-M. Not so much with the dead, which is always important to staff, but less, as the authors of the slaughter, or the alleged perpetrators, as important to the story and especially for the reconquest of public affairs. Have passed, what years, seven years of writing. This man writes well and has enough doses of evil to give us good things, but it kills so much faith in the reality, and continues to manage its corrections to the pen that deviate from it. Reality. Not much. The reality here is not that reality be more general to be hitting at night in the newspapers but never found just one the street. Or at home. And the worst is not that. What's worse is that some money every day reminds me most pure and playful animal that insulting to the reds and oranges and even the wicked from the ABC colorless. What was his name? Jaime Campmany. And I had to read her articles at Campmany, for not studying. But that was a vice, and the bad.
What I had to leave it went very well. He could have gone wrong. We've always seemed a little asshole who participated in benefit concerts, to which we participate in one. She played, D and I spreading the word and doing errands to do, not having children around to make it. The case has gone well, there were groups, almost more than seats available (two hundred and armchairs in a skirt), and there were cameras and photographers who testified that this was happening and the next day they would learn that they had not come. Nor did anyone jumped rope and music instruments left without further unexpected. We presented the mayor and ambassador to Venezuela, passing there, we were told. Our beloved mayor has the appearance of one of those quiet children's story which moles poke their heads from time to time to sniff what's happening in the world. He has the voice of healing broken people. Sounds like a good man and I've always been very lonely, something that perhaps a little surprised everyone, as if a mayor always had to have someone with you to give suck up or take the portfolio. Most prefer this type of politicians who have no direct communication with God and save the world with a snap. They are, as far as it goes, people trusted, and therefore have little encouragement to give daily press note also have no desire to tear down other worst things and put in place.
The day was rainy. Somehow the machine-gun drops fatigued were heard in the chapel of the inn. We came the sound of rain below the strings resonating web of old wood that was music. In the scores sorted notes to the taste of some gentlemen in the past few centuries. Overrides the time, our gaze is fixed on the golden altar or mound, or stay on the fingers of the pianist piano whispering phrases that only listen to it, perhaps fearing that the piano exploding if it touches him affectionately. Sounded contemporary works very well, although the public may never sound familiar enough the apparent disorder of the contemporary. No matter how good it sounds, if there is a melody more or less clear than humming some throw their hands in their head. The good thing is that no one threw their hands in their head, because the tone of the modern funeral came in handy.
There may have been too light on the front of the chapel in which he played. I will always need less light. Especially when K read his little speech, which I had written the night before and that she tested in the morning. Just as I was sitting in my chair, a few seconds before the concert, I went into panic meats. One looked at all those faces and saw that they were there to fit the words written in that other world that is in the morning. At dawn, to the many, one skin tear to shreds if given to believe that is something right and necessary. At dawn a skin starts to strip for whatever reason. You will skin tearing strips morning when the day, nobody, not yourself, you skin starts to strip for nothing. Even the skin around the nail those and children, to start, we have to cause endless pain. So she read those words before the break I spoiled the concert. I thought to run away was all I thought. In short, do not say anything awful in that role, but he said something, and that something seemed to a just and necessary. And that was bad, the bare minimum of hours ago was still the right and necessary today, but not quite. Or not that way. The blank page makes one believe that has much to say, but the real world off-putting us all, and especially to say something. The real world gives a desire to remain silent. Perhaps it was the words: how to recognize those words, in that order. Three hundred words arranged in short sentences with which throw me into a ravine. It was fucking evil speech of Lenin stayed and anarchic, there among so nice peaceful and serene. Of course it was not bad. Not even close. We see a ghost, we see him and at night we sleep so peacefully. We are born, die, eat a mussel empanada and this has not happened. Onetti remembered hearing the words of last night just before starting to write: " The only words that deserve to exist are the words better than silence. "Apparently the advice I had not helped.
There was some expectation; not know if getting a piss or wait a while. She left the paper. Read very well, too well. I would have preferred less clarity in the vocals, the words blurred, a fog neutral acknowledgments. Would have preferred to write the speech as Deep Blue, the chess-mail. D, I saw his head hidden behind the neck of the jersey, I was relieved to finish. People clapped and two or three Japanese hugged me crying, because force will mourn rid of all topics. Although we must not exaggerate. After dinner we support the D and I talk a ruthless bastard folklore in northern Guadalajara, so close to the Aragonese jota. Two hours watching a guy sweating and chewing lamprey pie while he talked endlessly of his subject. But it was penance we pay for everything had gone well, or three hundred words that read K.
