SECRET COFFEE
17.03.10
I’d had been talking to someone all night about sexistism. The next day
I despair with a severe double A headache (Aries-Aries) and I was staggering
because of the insinuating streets of Poble Nou-Detroit looking for a cup of
coffee in which maybe I could read some lost key of my destiny…
Find the bar «Mar y Terra» open, located in a curvy corner of the Golden Age.
From the doorstep, and after pronouncing the magic formula: «A coffee, please»,
I had the dazzling idea that there is no more beautiful word than «ash» (in any
language) and immediately afterwards I noticed that it was only an unconscious
climax expression. As for ash, it is true that it had become my linguistic-semantic
ideal perhaps for the simple reason that I like to smoke 32 cigarettes a week,
without including weekends, when smoke comes from where you least expect it,
setting up fog rings, density, and disturbing alliances.
I lit a Gitanes.
While waiting for the coffee, with one foot in an another out of the bar
(not because I like to do gymnastic logarithms when I smoke, but because of
the infamous anti-smoking laws) I felt that my elementary particles were impatient
to send me a message, which however, I couldn´t hear because of the car noises
and their escapes. From beyond, Sigur Ros () Sigur 6 (untitled) for an eternal
moment.
I lost the message. Observing that the waitress was calling me from the other
side of the mirror, back in the bar without suspecting that a Poltergiest
phenomenon was about to materialize in such a violent and radical way who
seemed to defy all the usual perceptions of those we were present, and later,
testimony from collateral witnesses and renowned activists ad hoc would
recognize the media.
My latte in glass jumped in the air at the very moment the waitress was
approaching to leave it on the table. A strong smell of caffeine, broken
plates, white napkins in pre-tsunami position, spoons flying in paracentric
circles, open beer bottles completely flooding the 72m squares of the bar,
television without signal (however, the anntena emitting strange sounds)
probably coming from 19th century ghosts as they pass by, with no real
intentions of seeping into the twilight of a Sunday as daily as so many, and
drink a coffee in a place with no attraction, they had decided to participate
in a «ghostweekend» trying to adapt to the horror of the unknown.
I remember hearing one of them say who had never been past the 70s
before. I couldn´t help but think for years what the meaning of that phrase
would be, if he meant that in other lives he had never come to live beyond
the 70, or if what he meant, is that he would never have wanted to go beyond
the 70s, (1970s, 20th century) so I would have very much agreed , and more
than likely we would have shared countless mythical-psychedelic aspects,
as well as long candlelit conversations summertime.
I left the bar with a coffee to go still smoky, dense, bitter. Plasma foam in
perfect electromagnetic balance. Orbital. Aroma of the sea. On my wristwatch
Dior 8:56 p.m. México time. Guten Abend.
Today is Friday, bars and cafes will be open an hour longer than in their ususal
hours, depending of their position on the Greenwich meridian recently updated,
defiing the new order and the controversial „right to be forgotten“
I went to the only table on the terrace that was free coffee to go on fire, and
with one of those books I’d always wanted to read but that for some reason
I had let slip over and over again. Fortunately, I had now found it among the
newspapers and magazines at the bar. How many coffees to go I would have to
drink before I got to the middle of the book, in case my romantic-blood profile
didn´t cause an out of control arterial explosion? Con-text?
I decided to start with page 358.
After intense minutes of reading, I followed the path to Estación de Francia.
Arriving at the entrance gate, a strong wind, of a luminuos and versatile
intensity, gave way to the shadows that continued to watch over the continuity
of the magical riddles, leaving dark blue bursts and overseas reliefs in all that
in its wake, eternity let slip.
notasdeltiempocircular 