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As túas balas » Lancaster

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montañas

Ás veces as forzas desaparecen. Ou as necesidades máis inmediatas absorben todas as horas de computador. Ás veces entón este blo queda desatendido e médranlle as herbas bravas nos comentarios.
Pero logo un día, quizais sentado neste tren da virgin, diante dun rapaz paqui de grandes beizos e ollos coma pozos, á altura de lancaster, deixo a un lado o sono e tamén a angustia das preocupacións, saco un caderno onde teño escrito algúns anacos de posts, e fago limpeza. Ao meu redor, no sentido das agullas do reloxio, o rapaz indio dos ollos coma pozos, a fiestra que dá ás vacas ás ovellas ás árbores ás fábricas e outra vez ás vacas de lancaster, un señor de traxe e gravata lendo William Pitt the Younger de William Hague, ou William Hague, de William Pitt the Younger, unha bolsa do sainsbury’s, un dailymirror abandonado e as notas cos posts esquecidos. Comezo, unha vez máis, a escribir.