Madrid, 1987 Page #4

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Be more dramatic.

You sound like

you're giving the time.

Hey!

Please!

We're locked in here!

Help!

Please!

Can anybody help us?

Hey!

Can anybody hear me?

They must all be away

for the weekend

because of the heat.

No, stop.

Seriously.

Are we gonna let nothing happen?

Please, stop.

I just want to get out of here.

Is the interview over?

You've seen what I am

and don't like it.

Or have you seen what you are

and don't like it either7

Maybe you want to leave

because you don't like

what brought you here.

After all,

I've been honest the whole time.

You might have been lying all along.

Forget the door,

it's not going to open.

Don't be scared,

I won't do anything to you.

We'll tell the gorilla to forget it.

What were you hoping

to get from me?

Make off with some literary secret

few naive.

I wanted to f*** you from the beginning,

nothing else interested me.

Read the interview from start to finish

and you won't find a single word

or brilliant phrase

that doesn't really mean "F*** me,"

Let me f*** you,"

Get naked for me."

Your friend won't come.

Yeah, on Monday.

Monday...

he'll rescue us.

Like two castaways.

That's what we are, two castaways.

Two castaways.

I'm a dead body

washed up on the beach.

And you're... Well, you're...

still swimming,

desperately trying

to grab hold of something.

You're young and still think

there's something out there

floating...

that resembles dreams.

And there isn't.

There isn't, ask your sister.

This is it.

There you have it, the meaning! of ffe,

like two passing trains.

You're going...

and I'm coming.

This is like a mechanical problem

in the tunnel. Unexpected.

You and I...

were just destined to cross paths.

Each on a track,

headed in opposite directions.

Is sleeping with me

that important for you?

What is it, a victory?

I kissed up to people too.

I courted people who could help me up.

I praised people who didn't deserve it

to please the ears of those

who could

give me a leg up.

I took whatever steps I could.

A step here, another there...

Things were much tougher back then.

The corrupt press union,

the fascist party press, nepotism...

Today things get resolved

more cleanly.

Things are more... mercantile.

Supply and demand.

We were all feeling guilty

and then I came along

with my writing...

Young and free.

Like you are now.

I didn't come here

to ask you for anything.

I set out a pile of crap

to attract flies. It worked.

Can we please stop

and find a way out of here

Don't kid yourself, gorgeous.

Right now, I'd trade your thighs

for a cigarette

and your perfect tits

for a glass of whisky!

There you have it.

Everybody has their priorities.

Six o'clock.

Did you hear that?

What would you be doing

if you were out there?

It's Saturday.

Young people still believe

in the weekend.

I don't like going out

on Saturdays.

Too many people.

It makes you feel special.

Feeling special is important.

What makes you think you're special?

Isn't everybody?

You'd be surprised

by how many people

aspire to be completely normal.

Were a race apart.

You have to fight to the teeth

for not end up being one of them.

I think

the French Revolution

was wrong about

egalite, liberte, fraternite.

Fraternity with whom

The 20th century has shown us

with a good beating

that all men are not brothers.

Or do you believe that crap?

Only priests used to repeat it.

Now it's Coca-Cola,

the Olympic Games...

Do you read?

What do you read?

I don't know,

novels.

I read novels all the time.

Still I thought young people

only watched TV.

At school nobody even reads

the newspaper.

I do read.

What do you like?

I don't know.

Truman Capote, "la Old Blood."

And other Americans before him

Faulkner, Fitzgerald, Hemingway.

They invented the contemporary author

like others invented the automobile.

They conjugated everything

in first person singular.

The Great Gatsby,"

A Moveable Feast"...

I did read "The Great Gatsby."

And "This Side of Paradise."

I love "Portnoy's Complaint."

And Portrait of the Artist

as a Young Man.

I think that's when Joyce tells it

One day...

after Catholic School,

killing time,

walking along the dock

he sees a beautiful girl

walking in the water

with her skirt pulled up

and it's like a illumination.

An illumination that leads him to choose

life and art above everything else.

Even if life is disorder

and art is suffering.

What you read when youre young

is all you ever read.

They say we always write

the same book.

We certainly do always read

the same book.

Do you like the Latin Americans?

You make them sound like

a group of bolero singers.

Let's not discuss tastes.

How could we ever

understand each other?

It's like a 17lh century knight

meeting a rock singer.

Young people like impossible things.

And older people, the simplest.

It's like flying.

When you're young

you think you can fly.

Tfsag you car just fly away

Fly away I dbrft know.

From this country,

from this bathroom,

from this world.

The whole point of f***ing you

was to fly with your wings

fly a little while.

To get a little taste of youth.

Do you read Proust?

I tried.

Im

the only theme.

The passing of time.

You'll have to excuse me.

I need to pee.

Sex matters a lot to people.

But only one percent

of human bodily fluids

has anything to do with eroticism.

Hundreds, even thousands of songs

and poems have been written

about love and passion.

What about pissing?

Or what our kidneys do, or the liver

There's no literature about the crucial

labors performed by the lungs.

Literature eludes the truth

because it wants to compete with God

in the unknown.

With God and Disney.

Don't be afraid to talk about

things organic.

People who say

that writing well elevates us

are revolting sentimentalists.

Don't trust the abstract,

trust your senses.

About Stendhal.

A critic once said he wrote

like a concierge.

That's a virtue, not a defect.

Write plainly, tell what you see.

Hello!

Can anybody hear me

We're locked in here!

Neighbors!

What I have here

is a pretty typical human conflict.

To f***...

or not to f***.

If we do it, everything will become

less tense, less interesting.

Have you ever noticed

that when two lovers

desire each other and make love

their bodies are weightless

Its like they're floating

But once satisfied

they get heavy again.

They become real again,

like the flesh on a woman

in a Rubens.

But not doing it

makes you restless as well.

Being near you

is like sitting by a fountain

and not being able to run

my fingers through the water.

How long will this last?

I want to get out of here, damn it!

Somebody get me out of here!

I can't take it anymore!

I can't take it anymore.

I'm choking.

I'm choking, can't you see?

Why do you make me feel

like I'm alone?

I'm intolerable, I know.

I know I'm intolerable.

I can't stand myself.

I look in the mirror and see

a f***ing shadow of myself.

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