Ever watched Dr. Who's episode "Blink"? NO?! You should!
Weeping angels, melting time.
Ubiquitous statue, fatal chime.
Eyes covered, exposed fangs.
Subtle haunting, perilous gangs.
Quantum death, blinking eye.
Second chance, another life.
noviembre 23, 2010
febrero 23, 2010
Duelo
Desestimo mi confianza en tus ojos,
mentiras en párpados taciturnos.
Detesto tu frío y mutis nocturnos,
la quietud de tus puños desdeñosos.
Finges sentir gozo y ser vaporoso,
sonrisa tiesa por sueños diuturnos.
¡Reaviva piadosamente aun en turnos!
Ruego oculto por velos misteriosos.
Vida continua sin alteración;
prófugo tú, esfumados propósitos.
Sobran pretextos, falta conclusión.
Empero mis lágrimas son parásitos,
pues vida es sólo sin perturbación:
duelo pulido de pasos inhóspitos.
En honor a mi abuelo.
mentiras en párpados taciturnos.
Detesto tu frío y mutis nocturnos,
la quietud de tus puños desdeñosos.
Finges sentir gozo y ser vaporoso,
sonrisa tiesa por sueños diuturnos.
¡Reaviva piadosamente aun en turnos!
Ruego oculto por velos misteriosos.
Vida continua sin alteración;
prófugo tú, esfumados propósitos.
Sobran pretextos, falta conclusión.
Empero mis lágrimas son parásitos,
pues vida es sólo sin perturbación:
duelo pulido de pasos inhóspitos.
En honor a mi abuelo.
diciembre 05, 2009
New Year's resolutions
- Stop tweeting about myself. No one cares about my senseless and me-centered rants.
- More work, less depression.
- Work = quality friends' time + productive activities (writing scripts, poems, doing homework, etc etc etc)
- Do things I'm afraid of, i.e. have my own radio show, sing in front of people, dance in front of people, etc etc etc.
- Go to school dressed up extravagantly at least once.
- Bring this blog back to life.
- Laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh.
- Be a better friend.
- Follow through my thesis plan.
- Stop liking gay guys.
- Find a scholarship.
- More work, less depression.
- Work = quality friends' time + productive activities (writing scripts, poems, doing homework, etc etc etc)
- Do things I'm afraid of, i.e. have my own radio show, sing in front of people, dance in front of people, etc etc etc.
- Go to school dressed up extravagantly at least once.
- Bring this blog back to life.
- Laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh.
- Be a better friend.
- Follow through my thesis plan.
- Stop liking gay guys.
- Find a scholarship.
octubre 18, 2009
Mephistophelian encounter
to hide behind a glass wall
to run around in circles
to gaze into your eyes
to lose and break the chains
cause I sold my soul to the devil
and he overcomes it all
and the sun is just so blinding
and the loneliness so huge
and the stars are now unwanted
and the darkness seems so pure
cause I sold my soul to the devil
and he outshines it all
pretend we're just strangers
hide away the pain
the burn is just one-sided
the fire has no flames
cause I sold my soul to the devil
and he numbs all the ache
cause I try to smell the colors
think of something else
and I try to taste the sounds
live anywhere else
to fake all the mysery
to follow the game
to mix good and evil
to love your mystery
cause I sold my soul to the devil
and he beats all the angels
so I sold my soul to the devil
and the devil is you
to run around in circles
to gaze into your eyes
to lose and break the chains
cause I sold my soul to the devil
and he overcomes it all
and the sun is just so blinding
and the loneliness so huge
and the stars are now unwanted
and the darkness seems so pure
cause I sold my soul to the devil
and he outshines it all
pretend we're just strangers
hide away the pain
the burn is just one-sided
the fire has no flames
cause I sold my soul to the devil
and he numbs all the ache
cause I try to smell the colors
think of something else
and I try to taste the sounds
live anywhere else
to fake all the mysery
to follow the game
to mix good and evil
to love your mystery
cause I sold my soul to the devil
and he beats all the angels
so I sold my soul to the devil
and the devil is you
About one particular heaven
There was a girl who lived through the sky. She was no angel, bird or any other celestial creature. She lived on the earth and enjoyed earthy pleasures. She cultivated fruits and vegetables, and when winter came hunt a little; she bathed in a nearby lake and played with rabbits and dogs.
However, she spent most of her time gazing up.
She woke up with the first ray of sun, ate when the sun rested a few moments at the very top, fell in love while the birds sung their last song before sunset, sighed deeply at sunset and felt infinite at night.
She thought each day was a lifetime, so by the time she was 15 she actually had the wisdom of 5,478 lives.
Every morning she shed a tear along the condensed mist in the leaves and the new born's cry; they cried together because they understood what life is about. She then shed a second tear because she knew that before noon she would have forgot the knowledge.
Not only did she live through the sky, but she missed with it. They shared the same color-driven nostalgia.
At sunset, when the sky was red, she missed her mother, who always wore a shiny scarlet lipstick.
In the days when everything was yellow, she missed her first friend: a little chicken with whom she played hide and seek.
When it was gray, she thought of her grandmother's hair. If it was a clear blue, she would long for the ocean's murmurs.
On the rare ocassion the sky was pink, she would think of cotton candies and spring fairs, of all her unaccomplished childhood dreams when she wished to be a princess.
She specially loved the afternoons when it turned violet, she would think of mystery, cloaks, magic... it was a day when anything could happen.
She met her first love in such a day. He was a young man who enjoyed trying different occupations; when they met, he was trying the explorer lifestyle. He came from the big city and wanted to get away from the steel, the cars, the machines... he wanted to be in love with nature, and ended falling in love with a girl.
They were happy while the skies were crystal blue, and hugged each other on grayish days. But his need for new adventures ached, he felt a growing hole in his chest, and even though he did love the girl, he needed to part. He left at sunset, a beautiful one.
For days, the sky was the clearest blue she'd ever seen... and, for the first time, she couldn't stand the brightness. But the new hue of blue wouldn't go away.
And one day, another boy showed up in her heart, and the sky was again changing colors each day. But in her heart, a tiny space, probably smaller than an inch, was forever tainted blue. Many people left marks in her heart, but none as her first love.
One day she woke up to find the sky in a strange blue, one she'd seen before. It was his blue. And deep down she knew he had died... The last thing she'd heard was that he was a soldier. He definitely wasn't a fighter, just a soldier, no wonder he died.
But just like day and night, and the never stopping rotation of the Earth, life goes on and she had to move on.
And life insisted on going on and on and on. Until one day she couldn't keep up.
The day she died, people as far as China were marveled by the sky... it looked like a mirror.
However, she spent most of her time gazing up.
She woke up with the first ray of sun, ate when the sun rested a few moments at the very top, fell in love while the birds sung their last song before sunset, sighed deeply at sunset and felt infinite at night.
She thought each day was a lifetime, so by the time she was 15 she actually had the wisdom of 5,478 lives.
Every morning she shed a tear along the condensed mist in the leaves and the new born's cry; they cried together because they understood what life is about. She then shed a second tear because she knew that before noon she would have forgot the knowledge.
Not only did she live through the sky, but she missed with it. They shared the same color-driven nostalgia.
At sunset, when the sky was red, she missed her mother, who always wore a shiny scarlet lipstick.
In the days when everything was yellow, she missed her first friend: a little chicken with whom she played hide and seek.
When it was gray, she thought of her grandmother's hair. If it was a clear blue, she would long for the ocean's murmurs.
On the rare ocassion the sky was pink, she would think of cotton candies and spring fairs, of all her unaccomplished childhood dreams when she wished to be a princess.
She specially loved the afternoons when it turned violet, she would think of mystery, cloaks, magic... it was a day when anything could happen.
She met her first love in such a day. He was a young man who enjoyed trying different occupations; when they met, he was trying the explorer lifestyle. He came from the big city and wanted to get away from the steel, the cars, the machines... he wanted to be in love with nature, and ended falling in love with a girl.
They were happy while the skies were crystal blue, and hugged each other on grayish days. But his need for new adventures ached, he felt a growing hole in his chest, and even though he did love the girl, he needed to part. He left at sunset, a beautiful one.
For days, the sky was the clearest blue she'd ever seen... and, for the first time, she couldn't stand the brightness. But the new hue of blue wouldn't go away.
And one day, another boy showed up in her heart, and the sky was again changing colors each day. But in her heart, a tiny space, probably smaller than an inch, was forever tainted blue. Many people left marks in her heart, but none as her first love.
One day she woke up to find the sky in a strange blue, one she'd seen before. It was his blue. And deep down she knew he had died... The last thing she'd heard was that he was a soldier. He definitely wasn't a fighter, just a soldier, no wonder he died.
But just like day and night, and the never stopping rotation of the Earth, life goes on and she had to move on.
And life insisted on going on and on and on. Until one day she couldn't keep up.
The day she died, people as far as China were marveled by the sky... it looked like a mirror.
Draft: Barely Functional
I had that dream again, where I was lost in the outer space.
Again.
Again.
Again.
And it’s always you in my big dreams.
Always.
Always.
Always.
I hope it’s gonna make you notice someone like me.
Like me.
Like me.
Like me.
My heart is yours to fill or burst, to break or bury.
Or wear as jewelry, whichever you prefer.
Completely yours.
Sincerely yours.
Fatally yours.
He’s a looker, but I really think it’s guts that matter most.
You matter more.
You matter most.
You matter all.
Rather be working for a paycheck than wait to win a lottery.
I’ll never win with you.
No jackpot of love for me.
My lottery.
Again.
Again.
Again.
And it’s always you in my big dreams.
Always.
Always.
Always.
I hope it’s gonna make you notice someone like me.
Like me.
Like me.
Like me.
My heart is yours to fill or burst, to break or bury.
Or wear as jewelry, whichever you prefer.
Completely yours.
Sincerely yours.
Fatally yours.
He’s a looker, but I really think it’s guts that matter most.
You matter more.
You matter most.
You matter all.
Rather be working for a paycheck than wait to win a lottery.
I’ll never win with you.
No jackpot of love for me.
My lottery.
julio 28, 2008
Maybe in the Twilight Zone
I sometimes cry like a spoiled little brat
because I want something that's not mine,
then cry some more at my lack of cool.
There are times I think I would not mind
if you ran over a dog or parked selfishly in two spots
as long as I were in the passenger seat.
I would forgive your greed and shallowness,
your using me, your self centered friends,
if you said I'm important in your world...
But we both know that's not me,
nor my disposition
to be reckless and disdain my mind.
And so, despite the pain of my otherwise strength,
I despise silently and falsely
the awful person you've made me want to be.
because I want something that's not mine,
then cry some more at my lack of cool.
There are times I think I would not mind
if you ran over a dog or parked selfishly in two spots
as long as I were in the passenger seat.
I would forgive your greed and shallowness,
your using me, your self centered friends,
if you said I'm important in your world...
But we both know that's not me,
nor my disposition
to be reckless and disdain my mind.
And so, despite the pain of my otherwise strength,
I despise silently and falsely
the awful person you've made me want to be.
julio 02, 2008
You.Yes.You... as always
Esta entrada va dedicada a él, como casi todas mis entradas poemosas. Pero ahora no son mis palabras las que le dedico, sino la de otros autores, poetas mucho más diestros para expresar lo que siento.
ENJOY
Separation
W.S. Merwin
Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle
Everything I do is stitched with its color.
Yo no puedo tenerte ni dejarte
Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz
Yo no puedo tenerte ni dejarte,
ni sé por qué, al dejarte o al tenerte,
se encuentra un no sé qué para quererte
y muchos sí sé qué para olvidarte.
Pues ni quieres dejarme ni enmendarte,
yo templaré mi corazón de suerte
que la mitad se incline a aborrecerte
aunque la otra mitad se incline a amarte.
Si ello es fuerza querernos, haya modo,
que es morir el estar siempre riñendo:
no se hable más en celo y en sospecha,
y quien da la mitad, no quiera el todo;
y cuando me la estás allá haciendo,
sabe que estoy haciendo la deshecha.
Dream
Langston Hughes
Last night I dreamt
This most strange dream,
And everywhere I saw
What did not seem could ever be:
You were not there with me!
Awake,
I turned
And touched you
Asleep,
face to the wall.
I said,
How dreams
Can lie!
But you were not there at all!
Heart! We will forget him
Emily Dickinson
Heart! We will forget him!
You and I - tonight!
You may forget the warmth he gave -
I will forget the light!
When you have done, pray tell me
That I may straight begin!
Haste! lest while you're lagging
I remember him!
Time does not bring relief
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
The old snows melt from every mountain-side,
And last year's leaves are smoke in every lane;
But last year's bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide.
There are a hundred places where I fear
To go, — so with his memory they brim.
And entering with relief some quiet place
Where never fell his foot or shone his face
I say, “There is no memory of him here!”
And so stand stricken, so remembering him.
The first day
Chrisina Rossetti
I wish I could remember the first day,
First hour, first moment of your meeting me;
If bright or dim the season, it might be
Summer or winter for aught I can say.
So unrecorded did it slip away,
So blind was I to see and to foresee,
So dull to mark the budding of my tree
That would not blossom yet for many a May.
If only I could recollect it! Such
A day of days! I let it come and go
As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow.
It seemed to mean so little, meant so much!
If only now I could recall that touch,
First touch of hand in hand! - Did one but know!
Longing
Matthew Arnold
Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again.
For then the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day.
Come, as thou cam'st a thousand times
A messenger from the radiant climes,
And smile on the new world, and be
As kind to others as to me.
Or, as thou never cam'st in sooth,
Come now, and let me dream it truth,
And part my hair, and kiss my brow,
And say - My love! why sufferest thou?
Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again.
For then the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day.
ENJOY
Separation
W.S. Merwin
Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle
Everything I do is stitched with its color.
Yo no puedo tenerte ni dejarte
Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz
Yo no puedo tenerte ni dejarte,
ni sé por qué, al dejarte o al tenerte,
se encuentra un no sé qué para quererte
y muchos sí sé qué para olvidarte.
Pues ni quieres dejarme ni enmendarte,
yo templaré mi corazón de suerte
que la mitad se incline a aborrecerte
aunque la otra mitad se incline a amarte.
Si ello es fuerza querernos, haya modo,
que es morir el estar siempre riñendo:
no se hable más en celo y en sospecha,
y quien da la mitad, no quiera el todo;
y cuando me la estás allá haciendo,
sabe que estoy haciendo la deshecha.
Dream
Langston Hughes
Last night I dreamt
This most strange dream,
And everywhere I saw
What did not seem could ever be:
You were not there with me!
Awake,
I turned
And touched you
Asleep,
face to the wall.
I said,
How dreams
Can lie!
But you were not there at all!
Heart! We will forget him
Emily Dickinson
Heart! We will forget him!
You and I - tonight!
You may forget the warmth he gave -
I will forget the light!
When you have done, pray tell me
That I may straight begin!
Haste! lest while you're lagging
I remember him!
Time does not bring relief
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
The old snows melt from every mountain-side,
And last year's leaves are smoke in every lane;
But last year's bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide.
There are a hundred places where I fear
To go, — so with his memory they brim.
And entering with relief some quiet place
Where never fell his foot or shone his face
I say, “There is no memory of him here!”
And so stand stricken, so remembering him.
The first day
Chrisina Rossetti
I wish I could remember the first day,
First hour, first moment of your meeting me;
If bright or dim the season, it might be
Summer or winter for aught I can say.
So unrecorded did it slip away,
So blind was I to see and to foresee,
So dull to mark the budding of my tree
That would not blossom yet for many a May.
If only I could recollect it! Such
A day of days! I let it come and go
As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow.
It seemed to mean so little, meant so much!
If only now I could recall that touch,
First touch of hand in hand! - Did one but know!
Longing
Matthew Arnold
Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again.
For then the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day.
Come, as thou cam'st a thousand times
A messenger from the radiant climes,
And smile on the new world, and be
As kind to others as to me.
Or, as thou never cam'st in sooth,
Come now, and let me dream it truth,
And part my hair, and kiss my brow,
And say - My love! why sufferest thou?
Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again.
For then the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day.
junio 17, 2008
Si me preguntaran...
Si la gente me preguntara
sabrían que puedo contar a mis amigos con las manos,
pero no me alcanzan los cabello para quienes aprecio.
Si me preguntaran, sabrían que no confío en casi nadie,
que me destrozaron por dentro envidias y celos,
pero que sonrío y río para descongelar mi vacío.
Sabrían que me importa un comino su dios, el cielo o el infierno,
que la salvación esta aquí en acciones, no en rezos;
sabrían que me siento en deuda con el mundo.
Si les interesara preguntar, sabrían que un disco quemado es el mejor regalo,
que me gusta la tierra y el trabajo manual,
que juzgo por cómo tratan a sus inferiores y no a sus iguales.
Sabrían que adoro los colores brillantes,
que me gusta bailar música ochentera,
que mi sueño era ser cantante, princesa y vulcanóloga.
Si se fijaran, sabrían que no necesito llamar la atención,
que me agrada quien soy y, sobre todo,
que no voy a cambiar para encajar o caerle bien a alguien.
Si les entrara la duda, les contaría que me fascina la moda,
que sí me gusta gastar y estrenar,
pero lo que más me gusta es hacerles regalos a mis amigas.
Si les interesa, les puedo contar de por qué me he perforado,
del tatuaje que quisiera hacerme
y de cómo una canción cambió mi vida.
También les puedo contar que puedo ser conservadora,
puedo confesar que quiero un amor como los de Jane Austen,
y aceptar que me escondo en imposibles por miedo.
Si me preguntan, puedo aceptar que a veces extraño comer pato,
a veces me desespera no tomar y ser como los demás,
pero, sinceramente, admiro mi fuerza de voluntad.
Si no están seguros, les haría saber que no me gusta mi país,
que odio a los bullies y muchas cosas del capitalismo,
pero no es el dinero el malvado, sino las personas.
Si él me preguntara, le diría lo que siento,
también lo que pienso. Le hablaría en sinfonías y sonetos,
le enseñaría el agujero en el que me encuentro.
"Si la gente me preguntara" parece excusa,
"sería otra cosa si me preguntaran"...
la verdad, yo no quiero compartir nada.
Si me preguntan, yo también lo hago,
me pregunto el por qué de la soledad y el sufrimiento.
Si me respondo, creo que algo grande me espera.
Así que pregunten, que con gusto contesto.
sabrían que puedo contar a mis amigos con las manos,
pero no me alcanzan los cabello para quienes aprecio.
Si me preguntaran, sabrían que no confío en casi nadie,
que me destrozaron por dentro envidias y celos,
pero que sonrío y río para descongelar mi vacío.
Sabrían que me importa un comino su dios, el cielo o el infierno,
que la salvación esta aquí en acciones, no en rezos;
sabrían que me siento en deuda con el mundo.
Si les interesara preguntar, sabrían que un disco quemado es el mejor regalo,
que me gusta la tierra y el trabajo manual,
que juzgo por cómo tratan a sus inferiores y no a sus iguales.
Sabrían que adoro los colores brillantes,
que me gusta bailar música ochentera,
que mi sueño era ser cantante, princesa y vulcanóloga.
Si se fijaran, sabrían que no necesito llamar la atención,
que me agrada quien soy y, sobre todo,
que no voy a cambiar para encajar o caerle bien a alguien.
Si les entrara la duda, les contaría que me fascina la moda,
que sí me gusta gastar y estrenar,
pero lo que más me gusta es hacerles regalos a mis amigas.
Si les interesa, les puedo contar de por qué me he perforado,
del tatuaje que quisiera hacerme
y de cómo una canción cambió mi vida.
También les puedo contar que puedo ser conservadora,
puedo confesar que quiero un amor como los de Jane Austen,
y aceptar que me escondo en imposibles por miedo.
Si me preguntan, puedo aceptar que a veces extraño comer pato,
a veces me desespera no tomar y ser como los demás,
pero, sinceramente, admiro mi fuerza de voluntad.
Si no están seguros, les haría saber que no me gusta mi país,
que odio a los bullies y muchas cosas del capitalismo,
pero no es el dinero el malvado, sino las personas.
Si él me preguntara, le diría lo que siento,
también lo que pienso. Le hablaría en sinfonías y sonetos,
le enseñaría el agujero en el que me encuentro.
"Si la gente me preguntara" parece excusa,
"sería otra cosa si me preguntaran"...
la verdad, yo no quiero compartir nada.
Si me preguntan, yo también lo hago,
me pregunto el por qué de la soledad y el sufrimiento.
Si me respondo, creo que algo grande me espera.
Así que pregunten, que con gusto contesto.
junio 12, 2008
Los momentos más intelectuales de expoManagement 2008
Me temo que muchas cosas son chistes locales. Pero a las que capten, enjoy.
"el fulanito es como que muy fulanito" Cirze
"es por Poullet" mel (sí, ya la hagamos de nuestro pollito)
"super intelectual" mel (al rato será como "está hot" o "no es sexy")
"solo! solo!" mel
"los viejitos ancestrales" laura
la plática sobre caídas
las verduras hervidas insaboras
las patatas con mayonesa y/o valentina
ALF
"yo no quiero revisar esa nota" yo, pero cirze y mel tmb lo pensaron, lo puedo apostar
confundir a Michael Porter con Porter, la banda
mi inhabilidad para traducir de inglés a español lo que pasa en Harry Potter... y la inhabilidad de mel de entender el inglés, por ejemplo "oye dude" por "oye tú"
los incontables sinónimos de "dijo"
que todos los asistentes se vean iguales por atrás en el auditorio principal
la simpleza de las patatas (que seguro tenia frases risibles que ya no recuerdo)
descubrir que el jetón no se llamaba como pensaba y que según se parece al fulanito
no encontrarme al fulanito
los problemas de cirze con los jorges
enterarme que se valía ligarte a algún empresario hot "y una que se aguanta..."
luis miguel evitando que me acercara a "comprar"
el precio del libro Wikinomics y la planeación de un financiamiento por parte de la UP
descubrir la entrada secreta al Speaker's Room: la camioneta teletransportadora y el aire acondicionado falso que en realidad tmb teletransporta
la aparición de Zedillo bajo el aire acondicionado del metro
visitar el baño de Sanborns
cereal con agua (idea de mel)
las galletitas de Metro Polanco
las cinco mil revistas de Mujer Ejecutiva que nos ofrecieron
3 bolsas para "shopping" que tuvimos que tirar
gurú
"o sea... es un mesero"
mofeta
"o sea, es chacho de chachos"
perro en cuclillas
paranoias maternales
el cumple de cirze con caballos, apuestas de $10 y comer al caballo perdedor
la computadora despedida por posesión diabólica
y claro, no podían faltar los chismes... los cuales son incomunicables
Espero no me falte alguna.
La verdad, me divertí bastante. Las extrañaré mañana, super intelectuales.
"el fulanito es como que muy fulanito" Cirze
"es por Poullet" mel (sí, ya la hagamos de nuestro pollito)
"super intelectual" mel (al rato será como "está hot" o "no es sexy")
"solo! solo!" mel
"los viejitos ancestrales" laura
la plática sobre caídas
las verduras hervidas insaboras
las patatas con mayonesa y/o valentina
ALF
"yo no quiero revisar esa nota" yo, pero cirze y mel tmb lo pensaron, lo puedo apostar
confundir a Michael Porter con Porter, la banda
mi inhabilidad para traducir de inglés a español lo que pasa en Harry Potter... y la inhabilidad de mel de entender el inglés, por ejemplo "oye dude" por "oye tú"
los incontables sinónimos de "dijo"
que todos los asistentes se vean iguales por atrás en el auditorio principal
la simpleza de las patatas (que seguro tenia frases risibles que ya no recuerdo)
descubrir que el jetón no se llamaba como pensaba y que según se parece al fulanito
no encontrarme al fulanito
los problemas de cirze con los jorges
enterarme que se valía ligarte a algún empresario hot "y una que se aguanta..."
luis miguel evitando que me acercara a "comprar"
el precio del libro Wikinomics y la planeación de un financiamiento por parte de la UP
descubrir la entrada secreta al Speaker's Room: la camioneta teletransportadora y el aire acondicionado falso que en realidad tmb teletransporta
la aparición de Zedillo bajo el aire acondicionado del metro
visitar el baño de Sanborns
cereal con agua (idea de mel)
las galletitas de Metro Polanco
las cinco mil revistas de Mujer Ejecutiva que nos ofrecieron
3 bolsas para "shopping" que tuvimos que tirar
gurú
"o sea... es un mesero"
mofeta
"o sea, es chacho de chachos"
perro en cuclillas
paranoias maternales
el cumple de cirze con caballos, apuestas de $10 y comer al caballo perdedor
la computadora despedida por posesión diabólica
y claro, no podían faltar los chismes... los cuales son incomunicables
Espero no me falte alguna.
La verdad, me divertí bastante. Las extrañaré mañana, super intelectuales.
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