Eiii mannnnnnnnnnnnnnnn

Hana, the pictures eater

Walking in the rain

Música: The Ronettes - Walking in the rain

Friday I'm in love

No me importa si el lunes es triste,

el martes gris y también el miércoles.

El jueves no me me preocupo por ti.

Es viernes, estoy enamorado.

Música: The Cure - Friday I'm in love

The night at this side of the window

In this new section I'm going to post some of my stories translated into English. I'd like to apologise in advance because of the possible mistakes I might make. Furthermore, thanks to my housemate for her help with the corrections.

This story was originally published in a Spanish Internet magazine and it's based on this wonderful picture of my good friend Manel Santos. You can find the spanish version in this blog as well.

I hope you enjoy it.

The night at this side of the window

Text: Víctor Isabel Bueno

Photography: Manel Santos Espinosa

Before telling you my story I’d like to introduce myself. My name is Lorenzo. The girl next to me is Arantxa, the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me. She doesn’t know that I'm telling you this, and I’d like it to remain that way. The picture was taken a few years ago. I remember I was deeply in love with her. At that time we were already living together. That's our bedroom window. We decorated every single corner of our flat by ourselves, from the spider-shaped lamps to the curtains made with old sheets. The painting that is at the top left corner was our idea too. Well, Arantxa's idea. She always was a great painter. The lamps, although beautiful, didn't make much sense. We never put bulbs in them. They didn't even have lamp stands. Yes, that was her idea too. She thought that if we lived without light, maybe, some day, we could come to merge with the night.

She always told me that she had fallen in love with me because of the way I look at life. I enabled her to discover her hidden side. That one that even she didn't know. It seems beautiful, but it really isn't. She loved just herself. The feelings she had for me were born of respect because I helped her to know herself more. Because of that, she gave me her presence, her caresses, her sweet smile when she fell asleep in my arms, and endless gestures I could choose to see as falsehood, or just enjoy believing revolved around me. At that moment, neither of us were conscious of anything. That's why love is beautiful, because we just drift. No matter what etymology says, there's no link between love and philosophy. If you think too much, you loose your way. That was the source of the problem.

I can already remember the day when Arantxa, in the middle of the night, woke up and started to walk around the room. At the beginning I thought she was looking for something, although, to be honest, without making much of an effort. Afterwards I realised she was still sleeping. I tried to take her back, but I couldn't, by any means. I don't know if that's the case with all of them, but that somnambulist girl was stronger than you could ever imagine. She was walking around the room for a couple of hours, whilst I, surrendered to the evidence of my defeat, was splicing one cigarette after another, waiting for her to fall on the bed exhausted. But she never came back. Never. In the middle of an hysteric attack, she pulled all the curtains and piled them in front of the window. She sat on the floor, and with a susprising patience, was twisting them to build a string as long as the length that separated our window from the street. She lowered herself to the street and escaped. Since then, her last words live in me as an eternal echo, often not even allowing me to sleep. 

“Finally, we merged with the night. True, you and I were supposed to become stars, but you should know that that's impossible. If they themselves are nothing more than their own reflection, what could we do? What we did, to invent this room, deliberately designing a life together, and to act. Do not look at me like that. I'm sure you'd also thought about it. I do not deny that as a concept it was wonderful, but its logic was water everywhere. We merged with the night, but in our own way. The only possible way. Come, I will draw our last metaphor. Our night, the one we built on this side of the window, is completely different to the one out there. There will never be stars here. We can not be more than cheap fireworks. And think, what happens when they reach the top? Yes, they explode. For a few seconds they are precious. A beautiful setting for a perfect love story. But then they go off and fall to the ground turned into little more than garbage. Just think that at least we exploded together. Now if you'll excuse me I must leave. You can turn on the lights."

Victor & Barry Bianco, ahora en vídeo

Hace unos días descubrimos, por pura casualidad, que una de nuestras canciones había sido publicada en youtube, con su pertinente montaje de fotografías. Si fuésemos famosos podría haber sido cualquiera, pero en nuestro caso, estaba claro que tenía que ser algún amigo (sobre todo, además, porque hay fotos nuestras en él). 

Me repito mucho, pero cosas como éstas son las que hacen que de vez en cuando me levante con una sonrisa de la cama y con ganas de hacer millones de cosas. Así pues, mil gracias Kiko. Debo decir que no es que el vídeo me parezca una obra maestra, pero se ha de reconocer el esfuerzo en buscar las fotografías, y que ciertamente algunas parecen haber sido tomadas a propósito.

Vídeo: Víctor & Barry Bianco - Alma

Galería de fotos en bridgetfiske.com

Desde hace unas horas, algunas de las fotos que tomé en el Urban Moves 2010 viajan descontroladas (más) a través de la galería que la señorita Bridget Fiske ha creado en su web. Creo que todas esas fotos ya las había publicado en el blog, pero no está de más que alguien reconozca tu trabajo y se aventure a colgar tus fotos en su propia página. Desde aquí mis agradecimientos, los de mi cámara, y los de las horas de photoshop.

Salud.