I wrote in a letter I never mailed: "El mar sonríe a lo lejos, dientes de espuma, labio de cielo". (Havet ler i fjärran, tänder av skum, himlaläppar.)
La balada del agua del mar, Federico García Lorca.
-> Things go by. Words. Perhaps they can stay and breathe, here.
After all, I am one of those Fenno-Swedish HBL ducks. A yellow one, rubber, like the one I bought in Ale-Hop in the shadow of the immense, ancient cathedral of Salamanca. Spanish highlands, deserts and random trees and Lorca whispering things to my neutrons on a perfect sunday. One thing, this duck says she is a hairy ducky. Famous for her hair, like me.
I bite a strawberry and continue. You are welcome.
För alla starka känslor börjar i magen, sa Janssons mumintroll. Hungrig?
We felt this funny feeling growing in our stomaches so we went picking oranges in Sevilla, they grow like grass. We picked and we shared and washed sticky fingers in fountains. Bitter and sour and full of sun. Improvising oranges.
Send letters from my past baby.
Thursday, April 21, 2005
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