Waltzing Matilda

I've been wandering around Madrid for a few days now, when I arrive at a zebra crossing instead of stopping, I feel like closing my eyes, throwing myself on the road and letting the car do the right thing. He throws me back, despite the clear poetic of dying on a verse, that confuse him with my farewell note. Letting Leiva write you the suicide note is something like your ex-husband plans your wedding. So I resign myself, I look to the right, to the left, a little down to read fast and I use the indignation to cross quickly.

Lately, I've been playing his game; I have taken the anthology of pop, rap and reggaeton Spanish and changed all the kisses by verses and vicebesa. And I must admit that I do not give a damn; I'm about to get them published.

I read a few days ago to Bolaño, and how Carlos Wieder, the transgressor pilot-poet Chilean (turbideces apart), wrote his verses in the air (as Apu a Manjula ) and they all freaked out, not just teenagers. He dominated both medium and content. Perhaps here is the question, that the medium precedes the content and that after the initial excitement for a good idea (of means), no one knows what they really wanted to tell.

To the collective Boa Mistura, of course, more and better creatives do not need them, development ideas, artists, illustrators, painters, photographers are overpowered ... they are brilliant, we all know it and I congratulate them for it , but they lack a strategist, or in their defect a poet of truth so that at least, the brilliance of its capacities is not trodden by the idiot that write.

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We carry phrases over our shoulders from side to side, empty, easy to understand, with some unfortunate copyright underneath. We spend hours waiting for us to knock on the door, (literal, because you can do a house-to-house), the phrase we want to hear, without specifications or dedications; a cancer patient shares the same copla as a boy with a love affair and my heart breaks.

I now remember a course I did with Oyer Corazón of graphic design; spoke of "zero poetry", said that no one was going to devote more than a minute to what we had done. Maybe it was misinterpreted ... we may have resigned ourselves and do things for quick acclaim, so that they are shared before it's time to be rebounded. Twenty seconds to see, half a minute to take the photo and 10 seconds to share.

It may also be that those who give permission to paint zebra steps have not spent more than a minute to approve the proposal.

It may even be that the only one that takes several hours to do this is me.

  • Adam Floyd