“But Paris was a very old city and we were young and nothing was simple there, not even poverty, nor sudden money, nor the moonlight, nor right and wrong nor the breathing of someone who lay beside you in the moonlight.”

E. Hemingway.
"París era una fiesta"


Wednesday 15 July 2015

Pena

 The tears are welling in my eyes again
I need twenty big buckets to catch them in
Twenty pretty girls to carry them down
And twenty deep holes to bury them in

 

Nick Cave acaba de perder a su hijo Arthur, de quince años, en uno de esos accidentes absurdos que ponen a prueba toda la fe que un hombre pueda tener. De esta tragedia saldrá algo maravilloso, a la larga; mientras tanto, que Dios lo fortalezca.


3 comments:

  1. Coño, me acabas de partir el corazón. Mi pésame para el maestro.

    Saludos desde Londres.

    ReplyDelete
  2. What Cuban said.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Una pena enorme, negra y peluda. Pobre Nick.

    ReplyDelete

¡Habla, pueblo de Aura!