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Madrid, 1987 Page #5
- Year:
- 1987
- 600 Views
I'm not f***ing impressed.
I'm not clever, I don't admire myself.
I disgust myself.
Physically.
And you're standing there like a muse,
mute and naked,
and instead of whispering verses
in my ear
you put a mirror in front of me.
If you see me as I do,
you must hate me.
Sleep with me.
What the hell were you thinking?
Are you that much of a climber?
What did you think you'd get from me?
It was a no-lose situation for me.
Look, my beard is growing.
They say sexual desire
makes your beard grow more quickly.
And fear.
Bullfighters' beards grow like crazy
the day of the bullfight.
If it didn't disgust me,
I'd shave with Luis' razor.
I'm going bald.
And nose hairs
are truly uncomfortable.
How absurd.
This is too damn absurd.
It's really no big deal.
The body is no big deal.
F***ing is no big deal.
Have you seen dogs in the street?
They sniff each other
and go right at it.
Why have we gone so astray?
Do we think we're that important
With our museums, our cathedrals
and our government advisors?
With you here in front of me
all that just gets right in the way
This is going to be a huge mess,
you know.
My enemies,
the ones I've made with eaeft success,
with each millimeter Ive taken
of their territory,
of what they consider theirs...
will have a field day.
Your father might have to kill me
as his final service to the homeland.
And my wife
might leave me,
more out of shame
than anything else,
I'll have to give up all the great
things about living with her...
And we've been together
for ages.
But there's a thing called...
Call it refuge, call it solace,
I don't really know.
It's a place far away
from the limelight
where it's very hard to find someone
who knows everything about you
and doesn't use it to destroy you,
rather
to put you back together
when you've fallen apart.
And you..
You'll forget me
in every body that awaits you.
The worst part is everyone will imagine
what we did in here all this time
and we won't be able to tell the truth
because it's too ridiculous.
The best comedies
are often based on the dirty old man
chasing after fresh, young meat
which is always unattainable
This absurd situation
is good for laughs.
But it reveals
that the distance between
insanity and balance
all comes down to
a single hair on your head.
Fear
that something similar
can happen to you.
Don't come inside.
Hungry
A little.
I hardly eat, I don't know why.
I ate terribly as a kid.
My mother would get extremely upset.
Please, eat or you'll die."
She'd cry on the table.
Back then eating was something else,
almost like breathing.
I was fat,
the fat girl in class.
One day my sister said.
Are you ready for what's coming"
She scared me.
She said,
Being fat at 14 is hell."
And I took her seriously.
So you've been hungry ever since.
Pretty much.
in movies and books.
Nobody goes to the movies
Well, they're wrong.
In movies and in literature,
and eat.
Bogart eating stew.
Exactly.
I really liked a French detective movie
I saw a while back.
Don't ask me the title
because I'm lousy with titles.
Jean Gabin was in it.
You know him
Jean Gabin
A blond French actor with a gut.
Sort of a virile Spencer Tracy.
Never mind.
It was an action movie,
with guns, stolen money,
the femme fatale must have been
Brigitte Bardot, super young,
or a girl just like her,
typical bombshell,
and guys chasing each other
the whole time.
All of a sudden
Gabin and his friend got home,
sat down in a chair
and started eating cheese and bread
with a knife
with a little wine.
Damn.
That made me happy.
In literature it's the same.
The great artists
accept people as they are.
They give them refuge, in any case.
But they don't try
to force the world
into being what they imagine
it should be.
Pio Baroja, for example, and says.
The street was long
and it smelled like fried pork."
Or Simenon.
Her eyes were like two deep puddles."
Damn...
It matters to you
because you understand.
Because it's real.
People are only moved
by what is true.
Don't look at me like that,
Besides,
what could I possibly teach you
Don't you get tired of writing every day
about what happens after so long
How could I
Different things happen every day.
But having to say something...
We used to go to the cafe.
And lots of us went with
witty things to say there.
I got more for my buck
and spared myself
a few obnoxious jerks.
But your opinion counts...
No, it doesn't.
If I write sh*t about a minister,
it matters to the minister.
People only care about
being left alone.
What about your style
Don't talk about style.
There's no such thing as style.
And if it does it's bad.
But you have it.
Well, it's bad.
You can tell you wrote something.
Or one of my imitators.
I do have them.
Sure.
Or maybe you're imitating yourself.
At times.
On bad days.
What is style
An escort. The museum guide.
A pain in the ass.
People have to fall in love
with what you write.
You introduce them.
Here's a story, here's a reader.
And you disappear.
Imagine a guy introduces you to a friend
and you become his friend's girlfriend
and the guy keeps hanging around
with you in the park
and gets in bed with you.
He sits at your feet and says,
I think you should turn your head
a little bit when you kiss."
His ass, you forgot
to stroke his ass.
That guy who won't go away
is style.
The writer waving his hands in the air
I understand what you're saying,
but you don't follow it.
Well, if I have style,
it's out of fatigue.
I've written so much that
I can't help it...
I dont know.
Everybody combines words
in their own way.
But once the vase is finished,
and start a new one the next day.
You don't think about
the people who read you
the company that pays me.
This profession is for cheapskates.
Cheapskates judging cheapskates.
Surgeons aren't allowed
because the emotional involvement
is a distraction.
This is the same thing.
You see the world like an outsider.
You have to grab the scalpel
and cut away.
is your responsibility too.
Don't tell me you're one
writing can change the world.
Why not?
The only thing a writer can do
It's a double feature tragedy.
They change the details,
but the plot is the same.
Of course a flood or an earthquake
always comes along to save the day.
If you want to move people,
but that doesn't interest me.
No.
What matters to me is saying,
The world is a joke.
A masquerade ball.
Come on, let's dance."
It's hard.
What's hard?
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"Madrid, 1987" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 29 Aug. 2024. <https://www.scripts.com/script/madrid,_1987_13151>.
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