Monday, June 02, 2008


"I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I could choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet (...)


"She wants", said Jay Cee wittily, "to be everything".
I said I wanted to be a poet. "

The bell jar, SYLVIA PLATH

With your feet in the air and you head on the ground
Try this trick and spin it, yeah
Your head will collapse
If there's nothing in it
And you'll ask yourself
Where is my mind

Where is my mind, PIXIES


carmen said...

Hola! Qué tal te trata el nuevo continente?

maria said...

Bien, gracias.
Te vienes?


carmen said...

Un ratito en verano, tres semanas de agosto a NY. Y quizás en noviembre...