It's fun to phone

Si alguien se molestó en leer el texto de la imagen de la entrada anterior, se habrá reído como yo – bueno, si la entendió, claro, es una publicidad de la Bell Telephone System al fin y al cabo. Por las dudas, o por si no son tan curiosos como para leer la letra chica, acá va en versión aumentada, más la transcripción del texto original.

Try it today when the dishes are done, beds made, clothes in the washer. You’ve earned a break.
So relax a little and pick up the telephone. Enjoy a cheerful visit with a friend or loved one. It’s so easy to do, whatever the miles may be. For no one is ever far away by telephone. It helps to make any day a happier day at both ends of the line.

“It’s fun to Phone”
Bell Telephone System

Más la traducción:

Pruébalo hoy, cuando los platos estén lavados, las camas hechas, la ropa en la lavadora. Te has ganado un recreo.
Así que relájate un poco y toma el teléfono. Disfruta de una agradable conversación con un amigo o alguien querido. Es fácil, no importa la distancia. Porque con un teléfono nadie está demasiado lejos. Ayuda a convertir cualquier día en un día más feliz, de ambos lados de la línea.

“Es divertido telefonear”
Bell Telephone System

¿No es maravilloso? La mujer es la imagen perfecta de una esposa de Stepford, desde el delantal a juego con el vestido (¿pueden decirme cómo hace para tener un delantal impecable?), y la taza de té (té, nada de bebidas espirituosas para el ama de casa ideal), hasta el portarretratos con la foto del marido en la mesita, seguramente para prevenir pensamientos impuros (hay que tener cuidado de esos alguienes queridos). Ah, y no olvidemos a la aspiradora, mostrando sus tentáculos, desde detrás del sillón.

Eso sí, ¡que no se le vaya a ocurrir levantar el teléfono mientras la casa no esté limpia!

Ahora, como dijera un comentarista gracioso en el sitio dónde encontré la foto... ¿y si el diálogo telefónico fuera el siguiente?

“Hola, ¿Martín? Sí, soy yo. Te llamaba porque ya terminé con la casa y tengo un par de horitas antes de que vuelva mi marido, ¿y si te venís un ratito? ¡Genial! Te espero.”

¡Es divertido telefonear!

Al teléfono

Tirada en el sofá, a oscuras, hablaba por teléfono. Él estaba lejos, pero las distancias se acortaban con la tecnología, haciendo más soportables las ausencias. A veces era Internet, entonces jugaba con las palabras como si fueran letras en un Scrabble, eternos ejercicios dialécticos que la divertían y la desafiaban, de resultados inesperados, pero casi siempre gratos. Otras veces, como esa noche, era su voz del otro lado del cable la que la hacía bullir y disolverse en líquido al mismo tiempo. Alguna risa perdida, algún susurro, siempre divertida y perpetuamente excitada.

“¿Sabés...?” le preguntó él muy serio, interrumpiendo la conversación que venían teniendo, casi como si hubiera estado guardándose algo difícil de contar y no pudiera esperar para sacárselo de adentro. Ella le dijo que no, que no sabía, y contuvo el aliento, un poco temerosa ante las innumerables y nefastas posibilidades. “Te puedo oler desde acá.”

La mujer se rió ante ese gran anuncio, aliviada y divertida a la vez. Relajándose nuevamente, arqueó una ceja y preguntó: “¿Me olés desde ahí? ¿Qué olés?”

“A vos.”

Ella insistió. “¿Y a qué huelo?”

Su voz sonaba irritada cuando contestó: “¡Mi Dios, olés a vos!”

La respuesta tenía tal convicción y autosuficiencia, que la mujer no pudo resistirse. Incorporándose en el sofá, se sentó a lo indio y enroscó el cable del telefono en su muñeca, casi como un estrangulador lo haría antes de atacar.

“Bueno, vos olés rico y picante. Es una mezcla de espuma, tabaco y el aroma propio de tu piel. Siempre el mismo, además. Olés sabroso, tibio y fresco a la vez.”

Deslizando sus dedos por el cable enredado, cual si fueran sus manos, siguió. “El olor a tabaco en tus dedos es más pronunciado, intenso y desvergonzado, casi pecaminoso. Es un olor que me enloquece.”

Él solo respondió con un 'ajá' extrañamente ronco, así que ella siguió provocando. “Tu sexo también tiene un olor especial, huele a... pan caliente, algo así, un olor familiar, seductor y sensual.”

“¿Sí?”

“Sí. Adoro su olor.” Ella sonrió y su sonrisa, reluciente en la oscuridad, ya se parecía a la del Gato de Cheshire. “Me encanta como hueles, pero cuando estamos juntos el olor de tu piel cambia, se enreda con el mío y se convierte en un aroma áspero y almizclado, casi empalagoso. Olor a sudor y pasión.”

Lo oyó exhalar; lo imaginaba con el tubo del teléfono presionado contra su oído, inmóvil, atrapado por sus palabras como un pez en un anzuelo verbal.

“Tu boca, tu aliento, huele a una mezcla de menta fresca y tabaco otra vez; ahí el olor se confunde con los sabores, claro. Tu saliva es limpia y dulce, como el agua.”

Ella esperó un par de segundos, disfrutando del sonido irregular de su respiración, antes de dar el golpe de gracia. “Así que cuando te pregunte a qué huelo, no me digas: '¡mi Dios, olés a vos!'”

Tuvo que apartar el tubo de su oído, tan fuerte fue la carcajada que le respondió, y ella le hizo eco con su propio deleite. Cuando dejaron de reír, pudo al fin preguntar:

“Te tapé la boca, ¿no?”

“Sí.” dijo él, casi sin aliento por la risa.

Sueños húmedos

La mano le acarició la espalda, bajo el camisón. Ella protestó y la aparto de sí. Caprichosa, la mano se acercó nuevamente, esta vez alrededor de su nuca, acariciante, seductora, apartando su cabello largo. La otra se unió a las caricias, recorriendo su espalda, descendiendo en círculos hasta su cintura. Ella se estremeció y sonrió, pero mantuvo los ojos cerrados y disfrutó del in crescendo de sensaciones. Luego las sintió subir su camisón, salvando piernas, torso y brazos, apenas rozándola los dedos a su paso, hasta forcejear con su cabeza y arrojarlo a un lado. Escuchó el ruido sordo de la prenda al caer junto a la cama.

Ella continuó inmóvil, fingiendo dormir.

Sin barreras ya, la boca se unió a las zalamerías esmeradas de las manos, depositando pequeños besos en su espalda desnuda y caliente. Tuvo que morderse los labios para contener una respuesta, sus propias manos contraídas sobre las sábanas arrugadas, mientras las otras continuaban concentradas en la piel de su espalda, de la nuca a la cintura, en silencio, con suavidad. Cuando trató de girar para responder, incapaz de contenerse más, las manos se endurecieron y la mantuvieron boca abajo, con firmeza. Ella suspiró y se abandonó al juego otra vez.

“Amor,” susurró, “yo...”

La boca se acercó para callarla con un beso. Ella mordió, hambrienta, pero la otra se retiró antes de que pudiera retenerla. Frustrada, volvió a intentar girar, solo para que la detuvieran una vez más. Ella gimió en anticipación.

Finalmente, sintió el cuerpo tenderse sobre ella, y simplemente quedarse así, quieto. Ella recibió con gusto ese peso tan familiar, disfrutándolo por algunos segundos, antes de estirarse hacia atrás, intentando ceñirlo. Las manos la detuvieron, tomaron las suyas y las volvieron a la cama, seguras y fuertes. Lo sintió tomar impulso, antes de hacerlos rodar a ambos con un movimiento rápido hasta invertir sus posiciones. Ahora estaba debajo de ella, pero aún de espaldas. Ella rió, y abandonando ya toda farsa de sometimiento, se desligó de sus manos y volteó para enfrentarlo.

Estaba muy oscuro, solo el reflejo pálido de la luna en el espejo de la pared iluminaba débilmente la habitación, sin embargo, era suficiente para ver a su amante, suficiente para ver sus ojos queridos reluciendo ambarinos en una cara familiar, pero extrañamente deformada.

“Hola querida,” dijo él, y empezó a reír.

Ella gritó.

Sus propios gritos la despertaron. Acurrucada, escudándose en las sábanas apretadas contra su pecho, miró a su alrededor, ubicándose en el aquí y ahora. Inspiró profundamente, buscando calmarse, mientras se repetía que solo había sido un sueño, un sueño sumamente vívido, pero un sueño al fin.

Con una mano temblorosa, acarició el espacio vacío donde él había dormido hasta hacía tan poco, y sus ojos se abrieron aterrados cuando notaron que su brazo largo y delgado resaltaba moreno en su desnudez contra la palidez de las sábanas. Frenética, miró a su alrededor, hasta encontrar el bulto arrugado de su camisón en el piso, al lado de la cama. Volvió a gritar, y esta vez no se detuvo.

Del otro lado de la ciudad, el vampiro perdió la conexión con su presa, pero siguió riendo.

Ode to Eris

Sing now, my muse, of the Goddess of Chaos,
Arising from primeval Quantum foam born,
Goddess of Entropy, Goddess of Anarchy,
She who creates and destroys innumerable cosmos
In the gap between dawn and the rise of the sun,
She who dances between unseen fractal dimensions,
In a small still place all enfolded in storm,
Where tempests so huge, lighting rends open the quasars,
So massive no light escapes from her shroud,
She who sunders our soul from our sweet earthly flesh,
And brings us rebirth with her ghastly sweet breath,

She dances a dance on the edge of a knife, and She never misses one step in the dark...

Lover of Death and Lover of Life,
She dances a dance on the edge of a knife,
A gulf of 10.000 light years on each side,
And She never misses one step in the dark,
Singularity bound, in a teardrop of light,
Cocooned in the smallest, suffused in the largest,
Immortal Chaos wreathed with broken planets and dust,
Thy name is Eris, world shattering Goddess,
We ride your wave breathless and are towed under again.
Singularity Goddess, you approach inverse zero,
Still more drowned worlds loom in Thy billowing shroud.
Asleep and awake she dreams our creation,
The sound of a bell in an dark empty cavern,
The scent of a rose in a room long abandoned,
The dance of the motes in the eye of the Goddess,
The touch of a breeze in the heat of the noon,
The taste of wine from an ancient tomb offering
She is there always, and not there ever,
Look and you will miss her,
Close your eyes and she is before you.
Most terrible and most beautiful name of the Goddess, Eris!

"Book of the Goddess"
Anna Livia Plurabelle

Faros

Mi locura por los faros ya es tan conocida - prefiero no pensar en sus orígenes, creo que me tildarían de fetichista - que hasta recibo colaboraciones por mail.

Muchas gracias, Frank, me encantó :)

Más señales

Me bañé. Me hice un baño de crema en la ducha mientras escuchaba al chico de Ipanema en la radio online; no bailé, el piso de mi baño no es apropiado para tanta musicalidad. Cuando salí me negué a secarme, dejé un rastro de charcos con forma de pies en mi camino al dormitorio. Me puse crema de baba de caracol en las mejillas y frente, colágeno aclarante en las ojeras – herencia de mi sangre italiana, loción de té verde en el cuerpo, y extra humectante de cacao en los pies; tengo una reputación de piel de bebé que mantener, al fin y al cabo. Ah, y me envolví en colonia con aroma a limón.

Volví al baño, intentando no resbalarme en el piso húmedo, y ataqué los excesos empecinados de mis cejas con una pincita, me puse una mascarilla de limpieza en la nariz y crema depilatoria para el bozo. Mi pelo volvió a recibir atención: aceite concentrado para puntas de WonderTex, ¿se acuerdan cuando casi que era la única crema de enjuague que había?, y spray para peinar para un cabello más manejable y brillante – también me han dicho que tengo pelo de comercial de shampoo, son demasiadas reputaciones por mantener, me siento presionada.

Por fin me vestí. Medias de lana colorada hasta la rodilla, ropa interior de algodón, de esa finita de uso pero cálida, cómoda y holgada, mi camisón ‘diva de coro negro – perdón, afroamericano – estadounidense’, una mañanita que mamá me tejió cuando nació Ale para darle de mamar calentita, así no me mojaba la espalda con el pelo húmedo y me enfriaba, y pantuflas de jirafa, sí, de esas como las de niña, pero número 38.

Me sentía satisfecha, limpia, relajada y linda por venir. Es bueno mimarse, y si Cronos se empecina en que no lo haga él, ni modo, lo hago yo. ¿Y saben qué? Cuando volví al living y miré la estufa, estaba prendida.

Señales

No prende la estufa. Apenas una llamita entre medio de todos esos troncos que se niegan a encender. Creo que es una señal. El fuego está triste, como yo.

Talk hard

Come in. Every night you enter me like a criminal. You break into my brain, but you're no ordinary criminal. You put your feet up, you drink your can of Pepsi, you start to party, you turn up my stereo. Songs I've never heard, but I move anyway.
You get me crazy, I say 'Do it. I don't care what, just do it. Jam me, jack me, push me, pull me - talk hard!'

'Eat me beat me' Lady

Pump up the volume

Piel ajena

Desnuda, se sentó sobre la alfombra mullida, asumiendo la posición de loto: las piernas cruzadas, las manos descansando sobre las rodillas. Cerró los ojos. La imagen de una pelirroja alta con la que se había cruzado en su camino a casa se dibujó claramente en su mente y se concentró en ella. Despacio, todos los sonidos externos se desvanecieron y solo pudo escuchar su propia respiración, pausada, casi letárgica.

Con solo pensarlo, sus genes se reacomodaron, como los colores de un cubo Rubik en las manos de un niño habilidoso, cambiando carne y hueso a su antojo. Casi sin esfuerzo, su piel se aclaró y sus miembros se extendieron y se moldearon con músculo; su rostro se transformó también, reflejando las facciones de la otra mujer, y su cabello oscuro y largo se disolvió en un casquete de encendido color rojo.

Cuando finalmente se levantó y fue a revisar su nueva apariencia en el espejo, una cara desconocida la esperaba. Su cabello ya no era negro, su piel, ahora blanca y pecosa, estaba perlada de transpiración por el cambio; su nariz era más larga, su boca más fina… y había crecido hasta superar ampliamente su usual estatura. Lo único reconocible en su rostro eran sus ojos: el mismo marrón aterciopelado de siempre la miraba desde el espejo, no el azul celeste del que los había pintado en su mente.

“Desprolijo, muy desprolijo,” se dijo, molesta; preguntándose por qué le resultaba tan difícil cambiar sus ojos, cuando traicionaban su naturaleza tan fácilmente a la hora menos deseada.

Media hora después, una pelirroja alta salió del apartamento y se dirigió a la calle. Con paso ágil, comenzó a recorrer la docena de cuadras que la separaban de su destino, incapaz de borrar la sonrisa de su rostro. A ella siempre le había gustado caminar en piel ajena; en esos momentos casi podía creer que era alguien más, alguien humano.

Solidaridad

Increíble, hoy llegué a las mil visitas, más rápido aún debido a la solidaridad del Amigo. Gracias, visitante 999, 1000 y 1001. Demoró en llegar pero ahora es recurrente.

Somebody else's skin. . .

Sliding to the thick carpet, the woman decided that it was time to start if she wanted to make it on time. She sat in the lotus position and closed her eyes, concentrating.

Slowly all external noises faded and all she was aware of was her own breathing. She clearly pictured an image in her head, a red haired woman she had seen in the street in her way home, willing her body to change. Genes were rearranged, like Rubik cube colors in the hands of a smart child, changing tissue and bones at her command. With almost no effort her skin lightened, her limbs extended and filled with muscle; her face changed as well, mirroring the features of the woman, and her dark tresses dissolved into a closely cut helmet of fiery red hair.

When she finally stood up and went to check her new looks, an unfamiliar face looked back from the mirror. Her hair was no longer black, her skin lighter and creamy and she stood much taller than her own five foot two. The only thing that remained the same were her eyes. They had stayed the same vivid green color, not the clear blue she had pictured in her head. *Sloppy, but it will have to do,* she thought, wondering why it was so hard for her to consciously change the color of her eyes, when they so easily betrayed her true nature when she less wanted. Her now freckled skin was pearled with perspiration after her exercises, so she took a shower before leaving the place.

She always liked walking in somebody else's skin

Half an hour later, a tall red haired woman left the woman's apartment and headed towards the street. With a light step she quickly walked the dozen blocks that separated her from her destination, unable to erase the smile from her face. She always liked walking in somebody else's skin, she could almost believe she was somebody else, somebody human.

Alessandra Hunt

Alessa era mi personaje en LA by Night, no sé bien por qué la dejé para el final. Tal vez porque fue la más importante de todas mis creaciones. Escribí a Alessa - sí, ya sé, el nombre de mi hija, definitivamente muy mala elección, pero ya está, no hay remedio - como tres años, más o menos, la ví crecer y evolucionar y supongo que hay un vínculo que no se romperá nunca. Alessa me permitió escribir sobre mí sin hacerlo. No es poco pedirle a un personaje, y ella respondió bien.


Character’s Name: Alessandra María Hunt
Race: half Verbati demon
Gender: Female
Birth date: 10/12/1919
Birth place: Santa María, Paraguay, in the border with Brazil and Argentina, South America.
Group Affiliation: The White Hats.

Description
Alessa resembles her mother’s human form, apart from her father eyes; she has dark hair and bronzed skin. Her mouth is full and her eyes are somewhat slanted, and green as a cat’s. She’s short and slim. Her skin, eyes and general appearance can change, though, for she is half a shapeshifter demon.

History
Alessa Hunt was an only child, she had a normal childhood in Santa María -a small village in Paraguay, South America- where her father, Alec Hunt, was working for an international company, until she was twelve and learned the truth about herself.

Leer más...

Alec had fallen in love with a beautiful native woman and had married against the will of either her family or his own. After the marriage Alec had noticed some strange things about his wife but he had been so blinded by love that he hadn’t paid much attention to them. Anyway, when his wife got pregnant she started to lose weight and seemed so preoccupied that his initial happiness turned to worry, but she wouldn’t tell him anything. However, when the pregnancy was coming to term the health of his wife turned extremely delicate and the night Alessa was born, María, her mother, finally told her husband the truth about herself. She was a Verbati Demon, and something about the pregnancy by a man was killing her; she wanted Alec to know about her true self.

This stunned Alec, and at first he didn’t believe it, but as labour got worse he saw glimpses of his wife’s true form, for Verbati Demons were shapeshifters and could take any form they wanted. María had seen Alec working and had fallen in love with him so she had taken human form to be with him. María made Alec promise to take her daughter to her kind when she was old enough to understand, and then, when the baby finally was born, she died.

Faithful to his promise, Alec raised the seemingly normal girl until the moment he presented her to her mother’s kind. This turned Alessa’s world upside down, she started to learn about herself and about the powers of Verbati Demons.

Alessa was lucky to grow up in South America. Her hometown, Santa María, in the border between Brazil and Paraguay, was a place where magic mingled with reality, and no one faulted a mixed blood. The rain forest was near and all knew that non-human things lived there. Alessa was not the first half demon in town, nor would she be the last, so she hadn’t grown up having to hide herself to survive.

Her father died long ago from old age, but together they had researched in the ways of the occult so Alessa has deep knowledge of demonic races and customs.

When she was about 40 years old, but looked like a teenager, Morris Giles, a Watcher, contacted her. He believed Alessa to be a vampire slayer potential so he started training her. The Council, however, decided against it for they believed that only full-blooded humans could be Slayers. Morris Giles continued believing her to be one though, and he kept on training and watching her. Therefore she also knows fighting techniques and has a good use of weapons.

Morris and Alessa also developed a relationship, living together until Morris died at the hands of a group of vampires. Her lover’s death left Alessa desolated, and she has been alone ever since.

After Morris Giles died, she went in search of his nephew, Rupert Giles. His track brought her to Sunnydale, where she met him and Buffy Summers. Anyway she hadn’t taken into account the bitterness the man felt for his own uncle. As the rest of the Watchers’ Council, he believed his uncle to be mad and had lost any respect for him. It didn’t help that the “demon” that had been his madness appeared on his front door. After such cold welcome Alessa decided to leave Sunnydale and return to South America.

However, after a couple of years trying to live a normal life in Santa María, her hometown, she decided that she needed to start anew in some other place. She decided to finally contact his father's family, or what remained of it, and thus travelled to the United States.

There, she settled on the city of Alhambra in L.A where she tries to live like an ordinary person, she got a job teaching Spanish in a downtown high school and is trying to lead an ordinary life, gathering strength to finally contact her niece and nephew. Instead, she met a group of people who would change her life: the White Hats.

Powers
Since Alessa isn't a pure blooded Verbati demon, she can't morph easily, thus she can't take animal or demon form and only after hours of concentration she can change into a different human body. She can easily take her demon appearance, nevertheless, but she doesn’t like to do so. She can also roughly camouflage herself, mostly unconsciously. Alessa usually tries to hide her demon nature from people. Anyway, when she experiences strong emotions, like fury, sadness or happiness, her eyes betray her feelings and change from their usually bright green to any colour that mirrors her emotions.

She's stronger and more agile than humans too, which sometimes surprises her opponents, given her size. As most demons, her senses are highly developed. Another side effect of her mixed blood is an extremely long life - she was born in the turn of the century but looks barely twenty something. She is mortal, nevertheless.

Lethan in disguise

The tall female Twi’lek danced at the center of the banquet room, the brilliant lights of the castle’s chandeliers mirroring the dance on her skin, the rare red shade of the Lethan race.

She spun in little circles, the leather straps of her dancer’s attire slapping against her body, making their own music. Her lokku, also wrapped in leather straps, curled and twirled around her head. The girl was skillful and graceful, her dance full of sensuality and promise. She danced, mesmerizing male and females alike. As usual.

The Lethan moved with her eyes closed, blocking the images of Vorgrell’s nobles and Imperial officers, socialites and wannabes. She didn’t need to look to know where everybody who was somebody was. Princess Zara Orsiri – the traitorous princess – was sitting behind the main table, in a raised dais in front of her. She was conversing softly with Grig Harkness, the appointed Imperial Commander to Vorgrell. She could almost feel the old man’s eyes on her. Besides the Princess, and sitting slightly to her back, was Lady Arella, her guardian dog.

The Twi’lek twisted, opening her eyes and looking over her shoulder at the courtiers sitting in the auxiliary tables at both sides of the main one. There was Lieutenant Akula, next to a noble lady of Vorgrell. She caught his eyes as she danced and closed hers, she could still feel his clammy hands on her from the last time she’d performed for the Princess. She had needed all her skills to evade him then. She spun again, the strips of leather lifting away from her legs with the motion.

As usual.

The music was exhilarating, pulsing through her body, and the girl threw back her head, lips parted, rendering the sensual performance of her kind. For a while, she forgot why she was there, all thoughts of retribution and plans of revenge fled from her mind. She just danced. Moving rhythmically, she rocked her hips and jumped, then sank down to her knees when the notes finally died.

The sound of clapping rewarded her efforts, and the girl got to her feet again, facing the hostess, Lady Zara Orsiri, Great Princess of Vorgrell. Her target. She bowed, letting her lokku fall forward and hang limply by her knees. The Princess smiled absently and nodded at the dancer, not aware that the gesture - a symbol of positive thoughts about the person or persons in front of whomever was bowing - had been completely neutralized by the almost imperceptible clockwise gyrating of her falling lokku. Only another Twi’lek could have understood the subtle change in meaning.

After a small gesture of dismissal from Princess Zara, she straightened and walked off the dance floor, her bare feet silent against the black and white marble tiles. She could feel the Lieutenant’s eyes on her again, and thanked that etiquette didn’t allow him to get up and follow her. Not in the middle of the second course.

Once she left the banquet room she walked quickly in the direction of the kitchens looking for the Orsiri Majordomo to collect her pay. She crossed her path with the armored guardians of the castle and smiled seductively at them, as usual. She was a familiar figure during the Princess parties.

After collecting her fees, she would be allowed to stay some more around the place and try the banquet’s preparations, as long as she didn’t get in the middle of the comings and goings of human and droid servants. She was particularly friendly with the First chef, a talkative plump woman from Nal Hutta. The woman was always happy to gossip with her while she moved around the kitchen.

The Twi’lek would use her time in the castle. As usual.

A couple of hours later, the Twi’lek stood under the vibroshower in her small cubicle. She passed her hands over her skin, slowly washing away the red dye that had covered her distinctive blue and yellowish colors.

Once clean, she stepped out of the refresher, walked past the scant dancer’s attire that she had left lying on the floor and sank onto her bunk. She fell asleep almost instantly and dreamt of vengeance. As usual.

(I borrowed the pic from here. Thank you, Rocketraygun)

Chau Xena. Hola Eris.

Hace un tiempo mencioné a Eris como el nuevo planeta enano, lo había escuchado en el informativo o lo había leído en algún diario, vaya a saber. Lo que no sabía era el por qué del bautismo.

el nuevo planeta fue originalmente identificado el 31 de octubre de 2003

El nuevo planeta, el décimo del Sistema Solar, fue originalmente identificado el 31 de octubre de 2003 por un equipo de astrónomos del Observatorio Palomar en San Diego, California, pero el anuncio fue retrasado un par de años mientras se hacían más estudios. Por fin, el 29 de julio de 2005 se anunció oficialmente el descubrimiento de un nuevo planeta y algún gracioso lo denominó Xena; ¿se acuerdan de la serie de televisión “Xena, Princesa guerrera”, con la amazónica Lucy Lawless? Bueno, por ella. Realmente un nombre nada apropiado en mi humilde opinión, aunque el nombre oficial, 2003UB(313), no era mucho mejor en realidad; parecía la matrícula de un coche.

la mano de Eris

Bueno, pues el año pasado por fin la Unión Astronómica Internacional se decidió por un nombre definitivo, y no tuvieron mejor idea que bautizarlo Eris, por nuestra querida diosa de la Discordia, y a su satélite Disnomia, hija de Eris y espíritu del desorden y la ilegalidad.

Obviamente, Eris no se iba a quedar tan tranquila frente a semejante halago, y lo celebró haciendo lo que mejor hace: sembrando discordia. En realidad creo que la discordia surgió primero y por eso le pusieron Eris, pero ¿quién puede decir que no fuera ella la responsable igualmente? Yo no.

El tema es que ‘Eris’ – el cuerpo celeste, no la diosa – es muy pequeño para planeta pero muy grande para asteroide; esto generó toda una disputa en la comunidad astronómica que llevó a una nueva y polémica definición de lo que es un planeta. Tanto es así que se creó una nueva clasificación: la de planeta enano , y allí fueron a parar tanto el antiguo 2003UB(313), como nuestro viejo y querido Plutón, quien, al parecer, es más pequeño aún que Eris, y Ceres, antes considerado un asteroide.

Así pues que el pobre Plutón (dios de los Infiernos) perdió status y Ceres (diosa de la Agricultura y Fertilidad) aumentó de categoría. No quiero ni pensar que estará pasando en el Olimpo luego de todos estos cambios sociales. No hay dudas, Eris es una diosa de temer.

Imagen artística de Eris, Disnomia y el Sol en la distancia.

Budín del Novecientos

Budín del Novecientos
Ingredientes:
6 huevos
1 taza de azúcar
1 taza de coco rallado
1 taza de queso rallado
½ litro de agua
Preparación:
Batir los huevos y mezclarlos con el azúcar, el coco y el queso rallados. Agregar el agua, mezclar y verter en budinera acaramelada. Llevar a horno moderado durante 45 o 50 minutos a baño María. Para servir con el té, pero ideal como postre.

La caja llegó de mañana, mientras dormía. Se levantó fastidiada, y fastidiada atendió al fletero. Era una caja grande y pesada, pero casi ni la miró mientras se esforzaba por ser cortés al recibirla. Ella ya sabía qué era, no necesitaba leer la carta que le entregaron para saberlo. Eran las cosas de la abuela.

Preparó su café y se sentó a la mesa, bebiendo despacio, antes de decidirse a poner manos a la obra. Cuando por fin tuvo fuerzas, abrió la caja con cuidado, y empezó a sacar cosas despacio, casi con reverencia.

Arriba de todo, embalado esmeradamente, encontró el juego de lunch de las rosas lilas. Sacó el gran plato de masas primero; las rositas lilas y violetas, entrelazadas con hojas de un verde suave, se asomaron desde el papel de embalaje arrugado y parecieron reconocerla. Las yemas de sus dedos las saludaron, trazando las figuras delicadas, y les dieron la bienvenida. Eran las rosas de su infancia.

Luego aparecieron el jarrón chino que había sobrevivido la caída desde el estante cuando se había trepado al aparador a los cinco años, y la pastora de porcelana de Lladró que había lucido la chimenea del living desde que tenía memoria. También había dos ceniceros de Cerámica del Carrito y un busto de Saravia de madera, cosas del abuelo, fumador empedernido y Blanco acérrimo.

Por último, medio escondidos debajo de todos esos tesoros, descubrió un palote de amasar, de madera dura y pesada, lustrado y brillante por décadas de uso, y los cuadernos de recetas.

‘Clara Ester López, 1925.’ rezaba con letra infantil el primero, el más viejo. La abuela debía tener entonces alrededor de diez años; en su cuaderno de niña, mezcladas con las recetas copiadas esmeradamente, había corazones, lazos y flores dibujadas. El siguiente saltaba al ‘32, y así avanzaban hasta el último, fechado en 1969, un año después de su nacimiento.

Años de recetas, años de vida. Entre esas líneas, descoloridas pero firmes, se podía adivinar la historia de la abuela, casi como un diario impersonal. Los dibujos de la niña daban lugar a los trucos de belleza de la jovencita: claras batidas para el cutis o agua de romero para oscurecer el pelo, y luego a las curas para el catarro o las indicaciones para remover manchas difíciles de la esposa y madre.

Había siete cuadernos en total, todos forrados con papel floreado y mucho uso. Se preguntó dónde estarían los restantes, no creía que la abuela hubiera simplemente dejado de recolectar recetas y trucos para el hogar. Probablemente los estaría descubriendo ahora alguna de sus primas, o su hermana, o tal vez hasta se los hubiera quedado su madre.

Pero estos eran suyos. Los acarició con amor y casi sintió la mano de la abuela escribiendo en ellos, cocinando en la mente, previendo para el futuro. Ella había sido muy buena cocinera y muy buena ama de casa; lo atestiguaban esos cuadernos, cuidados y gordos, y sus recuerdos de niña. ‘Cocinar no es solo leer recetas’. Su voz, cariñosa y paciente, le resonó en la memoria, y casi pudo verla mientras cocinaba y convertía diferentes ingredientes en masas suaves y mantecosas, galletitas deliciosas o bizcochuelos inflados.

“Cocinar no es solo leer recetas,” repitió en voz alta, y la aquejó una nostalgia tan grande que le dolió el pecho y se le llenaron los ojos de lágrimas. No había llorado cuando se enteró de que la abuela estaba mal, no había llorado durante las horas posteriores, ni lo había hecho después. Y no quería llorar en ese momento tampoco.

Para calmarse, empezó a leer y se transportó a una época donde no se contaban las calorías ni preocupaba el colesterol. Los cuadernos estaban llenos de confecciones deliciosas y nada fáciles; la cocina ‘práctica y económica para la mujer moderna’ no existía entonces. Manteca, huevos y azúcares generosos; crema de leche, nata agria, coco, chocolate, especias...

A medida que pasaba las páginas, amarillas de viejas, recreaba los platos y sus sabores. Recordaba los Bollitos de Mami y la Torta Ángel de Limón; el Acaramelado de Zapallo era el que comía golosa con leche para desayunar y el Merengue Cocido Exquisito era eso: exquisito. Igual que la Torta de Chocolate de la Tía Yoyó, de textura espumosa y perfumada, y el Budín del Novecientos... ¿Budín del Novecientos?

No tenía presente ese budín, ¿cómo podía ser que no se acordara? Se fijó en la receta: coco y queso. Ella tenía coco y queso, así como huevos y azúcar y el resto de los ingredientes. La necesidad imperiosa de recordar el budín la hizo levantarse de la mesa e ir a la cocina. ¿Qué mejor manera de recordarlo que haciéndolo?

Minutos después se encontró rallando queso, batiendo huevos, midiendo el coco y acaramelando la budinera abollada; un poco más y el budín se horneaba alegremente a baño María. Mientras esperaba que estuviera listo siguió leyendo: Galletitas de Avena de Gladys, Pan de Miel Especiado, Torrejas de Dulce de Membrillo, Buñuelos de Manzana y Canela... las recetas parecían no acabar y a ella se le seguía antojando probarlas todas.

Se olvidó del mundo mientras cocinaba; descubría nuevas recetas y batía, picaba, amasaba y horneaba. Pronto la cocina se llenó de aromas: canela, vainilla y clavo, pesados y dulces; cítricos penetrantes, miel y manzanas delicadas, chocolate y café intensos... los colores y texturas, perfumes y sabores invadían los sentidos y se hacía difícil decidir cuál era más grato y seductor.

Cuando su marido llegó en la tarde la encontró aún cocinando, el pelo cubierto de harina, las manos dulces y los ojos brillantes. Miró hacia la mesa, y la descubrió colmada de platos de rosas lilas llenos de tortas esponjosas y budines acaramelados, galletitas doradas y flanes transparentes. Sin entender mucho, fue hacia ella y la abrazó, disfrutando el perfume a especias en la casa y en su mujer. Recién ahí notó que lloraba.

“¿Por qué estás llorando?” le preguntó, extrañado. “¿Y a qué se debe toda esta fiesta?”

Ella se tocó una mejilla y se sorprendió al encontrarla empapada. Lo miró confusa y se rió, un poco avergonzada.

“Ni cuenta me había dado. ¿Querés budín?”

Fire and Ice

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

Robert Frost

Pasión

Esa foto... es usted en ella.
Siempre me identifique con los faros.
No entiende.
Explíqueme.
Yo soy el faro, usted esa ola de pasión desbordante...

I am the lighthouse; you’re that wave of overwhelming passion...

Dando luz

Por si se preguntaban a qué me refería con pescar faros...

 

Lighthouse for Sale!

Pescando faros en la red me encontré con este anuncio increíble:

The opportunity of owning an historical lighthouse has just become available. Braddock Point Lighthouse built in 1895 is now for sale. This functional jewel was totally restored back to the beautiful Victorian keepers dwelling it was. By using the original Coast Guard blue prints of 1895, the meticulous renovation took 8 years. All mechanicals were replaced in this 3,000 sq. foot home. All rooms were remodeled as they were originally designed.

Located 15 miles west of Rochester, N.Y., on Lake Ontario, an easy 20 minute ride from Rochester International Airport. The lighthouse is in a very private, park like setting with mature trees, slate terraces and a circular driveway. The keepers dwelling consists of 3 or 4 bedrooms, 2 ½ baths, large eat in kitchen, butler’s pantry, 2nd pantry, formal dining room, parlor, keepers office and 3 fireplaces.

¡Es una gran oportunidad! ¿Cuánta gente – como yo – habrá soñado con vivir en un faro? Más un faro como éste, totalmente restaurado a su aspecto Victoriano original después de 8 años de meticulosa renovación.

Es totalmente funcional, a 15 millas de Rochester, Nueva York (ni idea dónde es eso, pero está en Nueva York...), y 20 minutos del aeropuerto, tiene cuatro dormitorios, dos baños y medio y tres, ¡tres!, estufas a leña. Sumémosle los atardeceres espectaculares sobre el Lago Ontario, una botella de medio y medio y buena compañía y estamos en el paraíso – lástima que el Amigo no viaje en avión. Seguro las veladas románticas vienen incluidas en el trato también.

Por dios, ¡me mudo a Nueva York ya! ¿Alguien me presta el dinero para comprarlo? Sale solamente un millón y medio de dólares. Una bicoca.

Tess Hawk

Ah, estoy inspirada, tanto que estoy por entrar a otro juego de rol... ya sé que eso significa que no voy a escribir mucho acá y hay gente que se queja, pero bueh... a mí me encanta esto. Este juego se ubica en un universo con metahumanos (algo así como los Xmen, digo, por si alguien no sabe a qué me refiero) Mi personaje es uno de ellos.


Profile
Real Name: Theresa Rivers
Official Name: Theresa Hawk
Nicknames: Tess, Tish
Species: meta-human
Date of birth: 10/8/1978
Place of birth: Petersburg, Virginia. USA
Height: 1.57 m
Weight: 50 k.
Eye color: dark brown
Hair color: black

History

A lone road going up the Appalachian mountains, 1980
The odometer needle steadily moved left as the man stepped on the gas. 100, 110, 120 … simultaneously, the voices raised in volume, and anger. It was night and the dark winding road systematically climbed the Appalachian Mountains, but the couple was oblivious of the danger, too engrossed in a much repeated discussion...

“I’m not leaving her, John! She’s my child, strange or not, and I won't be surrendering her to those… those…” furious, the woman couldn’t finish the sentence, her blue eyes full of anger.

“Good. Don’t! But she’s my child too, need I remind you?”

“Ha! If it were for you…”

“What? Say it, say it!” he dared, taking his eyes off the road to look at his wife.

“You’d gotten rid of her! There! I said it! You’d… John! Watch out!” she cried…

In the rear seat, a two year old girl slept in her baby chair, unaware of the drama that was playing. In her lap a little kitten was curled, a couple of squirrels hid in the back of her seat too and a small fox cub slept at her feet.

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From the moment she had been born it had been clear that Theresa Rivers was not an ordinary baby. In the hospital, the nurses had been horrified to find her crib full of all kind of vermin… ants, spiders and even a little mouse had crept near the infant, and yet the delicate skin of the newborn baby hadn't shown a bite or a scratch.

Once at home, those kind of things happened with regularity. It was not uncommon to find the baby’s diaper full of ants or discover her laughing at butterflies flying around her. Lesley’s nerves were always on edge until she realized that the little animals never harmed the baby, nor would Tess do them any harm. Her husband wasn’t so comprehensive though, and started buying insecticides or mice poison to get rid of the vermin, all the time trying to conceal his daughter’s strange traits.

As the baby grew, it became more and more difficult to hide her, though. Bigger animals, like cats, dogs, squirrels or rabbits started to gather around the Rivers’ house, making it impossible to conceal the situation any longer. It was then when he started to talk about taking the girl to a geneticist to see what was wrong with her. Lesley Rivers wouldn’t hear of it and finally they decided to move to Richmond, hoping that a big city anonymity helped them go unnoticed.

However, soon they got notice of men visiting their old house in search of Tess. Lesley became hysterical, demanding that they left the city again in search of a safer place. They left that same night. Tiredness and fear was taking its toll when the accident happened. John didn’t take a turn and the car hit a tree on his side. He was instantly killed, the driving wheel getting into his rib cage. Lesley was knocked unconscious and wasn’t expelled from the car thanks to her seatbelt. Tess’ baby chair, however, didn’t resist the impact and flew from the open door to land on the damp earth a dozen meters ahead.

At such rough awakening, Tess’ frantic cries echoed in the lone woods. In no time, from different directions, three wild animals approached her. A big wolf, a cougar and an eagle gathered around the terrified toddler. Natural enemies, they stood side by side watching her. The cougar lowered its head and licked the tears, its raspy tongue ticking her into giggles.

“Mommy?” she asked as she stopped crying, not even afraid of the animals around her. The big cougar looked around, as if understanding. In two strong leaps it got to the car and pulled the unconscious woman out of it. Meanwhile the wolf attacked the baby chair straps until it freed the girl, who walked towards her mother.

“Mommy?” she asked, not getting any response; giggling she curled near her mother and fell asleep again. The wolf and cougar set around them as well, giving them warmth with their bodies, the eagle perched on a tree branch above the group. A wolf, cougar and eagle, sleeping together next to a woman and child.

It was like this that Sam “Lone” Hawk found them the next morning. He was a young Cherokee in his initiation trip. Lone Hawk was young for such trip, only 10 years old, but the spirits were strong in him and had told him to go. He wasn’t surprised to find the little girl sleeping peacefully among wild animals. His own totem animal, the Hawk, had told him he would.

Without fear, he approached the strange group. The animals instantly raised their heads to meet his gaze, fearless as well. He was so enthralled looking at the powerful totem animals that he didn’t notice the girl awakening. When he finally looked at her he inhaled sharply, mesmerized by her brown gaze and ready smile.

Lone Hawk had earned his name because of his isolation. His eyes often saw what wasn’t there but what the spirits showed him. This gift set him apart from the rest of the reservation children. However, when this little girl looked at him he felt connected, as if he already knew her. Kneeling next to her, he took her in his arms and raised her. The girl laughed and touched his face.

“Niz boy,” she said in her half tongue, and Lone Hawk laughed as well, not realizing that she had just baptized him. For her, he would be Niz from then on.

The kid then assessed the site, noticing the crashed car and the unconscious woman. The man in the car was dead but the woman was breathing steadily. He took the man out of the car and covered his body with rocks, then he carried the woman to the cougar, that had leaned for him to do so. He didn’t find it strange that an animal did so, it was afterwards one of the totem animals of the girl.

“What’s your name?” he asked the girl, taking her from her hand and leading them back towards the reservation. The wolf followed them a few steps behind and the eagle flew ahead.

“Tish,” she said, mispronouncing her own name, baptizing herself as well.

By the time Lone Hawk got to the reservation he knew the girl was special. Not only had she been saved by her totem animals (Three of them! Ordinary people only had one totem animal!) but a myriad of forest animals were following them, although when they got to the forest’s limits they stayed behind. Not so the cougar carrying Tess’ mother, nor the wolf of the eagle. They only returned to the wilderness when the old Reservation Shaman, Lone Hawk’s grandfather, received them, thanking the powerful animals with a deep bow of his head.

The Cherokees of the “Old Hill Reservation” accepted the girl, believing her a gift from the spirits. The Shaman took them to his home and nursed Lesley back to health. The Indians approached the local police and reported the accident and the man’s burial. They didn’t report the woman and child’s rescue though, and, given the animals trail marks and the state of the safety belts the official assumption was that scavengers had taken them.

In the following years Tess grew up in the Reservation’s safety, and was raised by Gray Cloud Hawk, the Shaman. With his guide the little girl learnt to control her power over animals. Gradually she could learn control her attraction and to consciously communicate with them. She had other powers as well, that appeared when she reached puberty; she could “enter” an animal’s body and see or hear from its eyes and ears, she could also enhance different traits in them, to improve their sight, ear, speed, etc. even their intelligence - always depending what they already had, she could make superior animals reach the level of intelligence of a small child.

Her animal totems, the wolf, cougar and eagle, never stayed very far, and were ready to appear when she needed them. Tess had special affinity on animals of any of her totem’s families: felines, canines and birds. Also their special traits were present on her. From the cougar she got independence and strength, from the wolf she got freedom and intelligence and from the eagle she had clarity of vision and judgment.

Animal totems

In earlier days we understood that we were simply a part of the earth. We knew we were only one small part. Now many think humans are the greatest and most important part. But still, we are only a part of the earth, only a part of nature, only a child of Mother, only a part of Spirit. We used to know respect of Nature and killed only what we ate and used only the skins of what we killed and ate. We did not waste life nor disrespect spirits but honored and thanked them for providing us with life, nourishment, and comfort.”

“In earlier days we used to recognize and pay our respects to the power of the animal spirits. We wore skins and masks, we sang and prayed to specific animals. We painted the animals on our homes and death chambers, and asked the Spirit to guide us and bless the animals we killed, we honored the spirit of our prey. These acts linked us to our animal guides and reminded us that all animals, were our sisters, brothers, and cousins and most importantly our teachers and our friends. It reminded us that we too are animals with spirit,” said Gray Cloud to Tess, with solemnity. He watched the girl closely, she wasn’t missing a word. Not too far from them was Lone Hawk, listening attentively too.

“Each animal has it's own special power and message, for each animal has a powerful spirit and its own skill. Animal Spirits choose a person to be their companion and their friend, not the other way around. The animal will choose you and make itself known to you.”

“Like my Wolf?” asked Tess, while petting the big creature’s mane. She was resting on his warm fur, her little hands playing with its ears, as the powerfull animal dozed on, not bothered by her touch.



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“Yes,” smiled the old indian. “Like your wolf, and your cougar and eagle. Only that they are not yours. You are as much theirs as them yours. They’ve chosen you, to teach you, to guide and help you. It’s a great blessing, but a great responsibility too. Having an animal totem means that you have lessons to learn and a powerful spiritual friend.”

At this Tess nodded, open eyed. She understood this, young as she was, her animals communicate with her, and although sometimes she didn’t understand them, she knew that she had much to learn. They had helped her too, like when she had fallen in the brook and couldn’t get out.

“Animals come to us because they have a lesson we need to learn, a power they are willing to share with a friend,” continued the Shaman. “The animals remind us that we are part of the earth; that each creature has a place; that each creature has a skill of it's own; that we have instincts given to us from Mother, wisdom born to us that we must awaken.”

“Skills… like my talking to animals?” asked the girl again, she was old enough now to know that not everybody could talk to animals like she did.

“That’s your skill, that’s your blessing. You have to use it wisely, that’s your responsibility.” At the confused look in the girl’s eyes, Gray Cloud added. “The Animal Totem that comes to you offers you power and wisdom if you will learn to communicate with it, with respect, trust, and understanding. Developing a relationship with a live animal totem takes time, practice, patience and could be very dangerous.”

“Wolf would never hurt me,” pouted Tess, embracing the big beast, who raised his head to look at the Shaman, sensing Tess’ distress.

“I never said he would, but you could hurt him. That’s what I meant when I talked about responsibility. Mistakenly people often think of animals as non-spiritual, uncultured, and less intelligent than humans. Some people do not even think animals have Spirit. And as beings with spirit, you can hurt them, not only physically but spiritually. When an animal chooses to follow you to the human world, you have the responsibility of protecting him as well.”

Hearing the Shaman, Tess embraced her beloved Wolf even more closely, promising him that she would always take care of him. After the incident at the brook, the beast had left the forest to dwell with the natives, always around the little girl. The beast licked the girls face to make her tickle, promising her that he would always be with her too.

Eris Ann Bruno

Bien!! Estoy contenta, acabo de crear un personaje para un nuevo juego de rol: Midnight Dawn. No pude evitar bautizarla Eris, se ve que estoy erisada en serio. Por si a alguien le interesa cómo es esto, acá va el perfil, sino: crucecita roja.


Profile
Name: Eris Ann Bruno
Race: Human, for now
Height: 5'7"
Weight: 115 lbs
Eye color: dark brown
Hair color: blonde
Date of Birth: 21st June 1985
Place of Birth: Española, New Mexico, USA
Occupations: waitress, cook

History:
Eris Ann Bruno was born in 1985 in Española, New Mexico, the daughter of Ann Bruno, a waitress in one of Española’s seedy saloons, and Mike Eris, a bounty hunter.


Ann and Mike had met when he was tracking one of his criminals, and Ann had fallen head over heels in love with him. He hadn’t known that she had been with child when he’d left behind yet another prey. Ann Bruno never tired of talking about her bounty hunter, she wanted her only child to know of her origins and instil in her a sense of pride on her father, even if she doubted he’d ever return. For all she knew, he could have been killed long ago, a distinct possibility in is line of work. Ann even named her daughter after her father’s surname, since it was a name anyway.

After Ann died when Eris was only twelve, the saloon’s owner, Teresa Ramírez, took pity on the girl and let her stay rather than send her to social security. She guessed that if Eris kept going to school and stayed out of trouble, authorities wouldn’t mind. Terrified of going to welfare and away from the only home she knew, Eris found the solution to her liking.

So the girl attended the Española Valley High School and lived above the bar with Teresa and Pedro, the cook, a placid ex-con who loved to read Shakespeare. In return, she helped Pedro in the kitchen, where it was safe for a girl to be around during the evenings, and stayed in her room most of the nights. In her gruffly way, Teresa loved the girl and tried to make life easier for her, kept her out of the clients way and taught her how to deal with those who wanted to spend a ‘good time’ with the attractive girl. With time, Eris learnt how to defend herself quite effectively on her own.

It was in one of these times when Eris saw her father for the first time. A big, hulking man had taken her from the wrist and pulled her to his lap, his beady eyes twinkling at Eris’ youthful beauty. He was so enthralled at what he thought was an easy catch that he didn’t notice Eris pulling a lighter from her jeans and lighting it just below his jellylike double chin. Taking advantage of her captor’s surprise, Eris jumped off his lap and walked backwards, her eyes hard and challenging, till he bumped onto another person. Surprised, Eris looked up and found herself staring into eyes as dark as hers. She recognized her father immediately.

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She didn’t need much to convince her father of who she was. The resemblance was remarkable, and besides, Ann had told her enough about his life to make her story ring true. After talking with the girl, Mike Eris was sure she was his daughter; he didn’t even bother to check her DNA. He had never forgotten Ann, although some thing or the other had prevented him from coming back to Española for years.

Having witnessed the kind of life Eris led, Mike was in a dilemma. He didn’t like his daughter living in a saloon and felling prey to drunkards, but his line of work wasn’t much better. He couldn’t take a sixteen year old along when he hunted. He guessed it was time to change, but he couldn’t do it right away.

So he made a bargain with Teresa: he would send the woman enough cash to keep Eris out of the saloon and at school at least until she graduated, while he tried to tie some loose ends in his life and decided what to do next.

Eris didn’t really like this solution. In her teenage mind, she thought of herself as a new ‘Domino’ and wanted to help her father in his unconventional business. She started taking self-defence classes in a local dojo and talked Pedro into teaching her to use a gun. She also continued living upon the bar and helping in the kitchen as she loved to cook, but she kept her side of the bargain and studied her way into college.

Tying ends took Mike longer than he thought. When he finally settled down with his own bar in the city of Rockford Springs, Eris was about to enter College, was in love with the school’s quarterback and didn’t want to move out of Española, much less to go to yet another bar! All her carefully laid plans to live an exciting and dangerous life as a bounty hunter had been destroyed. She kept in touch with her father, though, and promised she’d go after she finished the four-year degree program at Northern New Mexico College.

Eris soon found out that College life wasn’t at all what she thought it would be. She wasn’t fit to the strictures of campus life, her life had been way too atypical for her to function like that. Classes were interesting, but nothing actually hooked her. Her boyfriend was a disappointment too, and it really didn’t surprise her when she found out he was cheating on her with a former cheerleader. By the time she finished the basic two-year program at Northern, she had decided that she really didn’t want to study and wanted a change. It was time to move to Rockford Springs at last.

Llegó tan hondo el beso

Llegó tan hondo el beso
que traspasó y emocionó los muertos.

El beso trajo un brío
que arrebató la boca de los vivos.

El hondo beso grande
sintió breves los labios al ahondarse.

El beso aquel que quiso
cavar los muertos y sembrar los vivos.

Miguel Hernández

Cats

When my cats aren't happy, I'm not happy. Not because I care about their mood, but because I know they're just sitting there thinking up ways to get even.

Percy Bysshe Shelley