Now you can reread Carlos Zanon all you can and you can reclaim the soul that connects to the rap of his death and emotional sadness. Songs that turned us into our exact twenties without us being able to say why.
Okay. Cleaning leave. Catch the rhythm it never had to lose. at least until re-reading Love songA novel that was worthy of its space-time and that takes us to a well that we haven’t stirred well.
And you know you’re saying goodbye, so clean, so unbearably rotten
His name was – we called him – Palatine, a name that I must admit, has been hard for me to remember. That’s how the mud of my swamp remains motionless. I make sure by asking coworkers in the newspaper. That was his name and we loved him. It was the saltiest.
In a time when being gay was not well viewed, he was very, very independent. He ruled over salt and the sun. One day he appeared different. Or was it me, after a year in New York. The door connecting the newsroom to the workshop opened and his sharp smile revealed its end.
The Palatino robe was from men. When they took it off, the boy from Sitges appeared, who marches every day and from real life, how would we like to live if they had not instilled in us so much complacency, conscience and fear of bad people. The good wisdom that saved us from cosmic sordid and ridiculous transgressions could not last over time. Especially now that you reread Zanon, a writer taken in by Greek tragedy, who transfers its mystery to his latest novel and Thanatos who surrounds the band’s vocalist Eileen.
And with your soul intoxicated by curses, your friend of the workshops appears to you. atex one, or was it offset? He comes with his face suddenly thundering and his body is taken over by the virus. And you remember your painful reaction, to the terrifying fear of a twenty-year-old without the resources. And now yes, you want to die.
You will hug him but you will just smile at him. You put your hand on his shoulder and weigh what is honest about wanting to kiss death. You obey him, he is your idol, your idol, live and let live, have sex till the end of time. But you have neither the courage nor the courage. And you know you’re saying goodbye to her, so neat, so unbearably decadent. Oh, Spade.