TALK / HABLAR
«Most of us hover dubiously between mute rebellion and prattling submission».
Khalil Gibran (1883-1931)
«La mayoría de nosotros flotamos dudosamente entre la rebelión silenciosa y el sumiso parloteo».
Khalil Gibran (1883-1931)
«Most of us hover dubiously between mute rebellion and prattling submission».
Khalil Gibran (1883-1931)
«La mayoría de nosotros flotamos dudosamente entre la rebelión silenciosa y el sumiso parloteo».
Khalil Gibran (1883-1931)
To put it on a wall, instead of a window, I’ve cut a little piece of sky, now it is still blue.
Para ponerl oen una pared, en lugar de una ventana, he recortado un trocito de cielo, ahora que todavía es azul.
«I fly because it releases my mind from the tyranny of petty things».
Antoine de Saint-Exupery (1900-1944)
«Vuelo porque libera mi mente de la tiranía de las cosas pequeñas».
Antoine de Saint-Exupery (1900-1944)
The whale was drawing by Darío, my son. The poor man, it’s mine.
La ballena la dibujó Darío, mi hijo. El pobre hombre, es mío.
Another of those drawings I improvised for my kids when I want them to stay calm while are waiting for dinner. In this case, a little crazy train, with eyes and nose in the locomotive, a hen that lays eggs that clogs the chimney, a fish driver, chips instead of coal to feed the boiler by a blind mole who is responsible for carrying it with a crane and a cold giraffe with her neck dislocated cos she needs to see all this craziness. Ah! And the beams of the routes are breads.
Otro de esos dibujos improvisados que hago a mis hijos cuando quiero que se queden tranquilos mientras esperan la cena. En este caso, un tren un poco loco, con ojos en la locomotora, una gallina que tapona con sus huevos la chimenea, un pez maquinista, patatas fritas en lugar de carbón para alimentar la caldera que se encarga de llevar con una grua un topo ciego y una jirafa resfriada que se disloca el cuello para ver toda esta chifladura. ¡Ah! Y los travesaños de las vías son barras de pan.
(…) And the people fell upon their knees in awe, and the nobles sheathed their swords and did homage, and the Bishop’s face grew pale, and his hands trembled. ‘A greater than I hath crowned thee,’ he cried, and he knelt before him. And the young King came down from the high altar, and passed home through the midst of the people. But no man dared look upon his face, for it was like the face of an angel.
Once upon a time in remote Transylvania, in the inhospitable Carphatian region, there was a misterious count, called Ticklishescu. He lived in a castle built on a hill overlooking a river of black water. Always had storms and howling wolves, which is not particularly liked by the count, but as had been the home of his parents, and above that of this of his grandparents… Well, he had taken some care of the castle and if he move away from it, he felt a great homesick. He loved to laugh and tickles was his greatest pleasure. So, unlike some of his cousins, who were dedicated to sucking the blood of the poor peasants (yuck), he came in through the window of the house and tickling the children, who laughed one’s head off. So this count, although extravagant, it was never an excuse to force children to go to sleep: they wanted to lie down and waited for the count… with a smile. Good night and sweet dreams.
Érase una vez, en la remota Transilvania, en la inhóspita región de los Cárpatos, hubo un misterioso conde, llamado Cosquilloscu. Vivía en un castillo levantado sobre una colina que daba a un río de aguas oscuras. Siempre había tormentas o aullaban los lobos, lo cual no le gustaba particularmente al conde, pero como había sido la casa de sus padres, y anteriormente la de sus abuelos, y anteriormente la de sus bisabuelos, y anteriormente la de sus tatarabuelos… había cogido al castillo cierto cariño y cada vez que se alejaba de él, sentía una gran morriña. Al conde le encantaba la risa y hacer cosquillas era su mayor placer. Así que, al contrario que algunos de sus primos, que se dedicaban a chupar la sangre de los pobres campesinos (qué asco), él se colaba por la ventana de las casas y les hacía cosquillas a los niños, quienes se reían a mandíbula partida. Así que aquel conde, aunque extravagante, nunca fue la excusa para obligar a los niños a ir a dormir, sino que ellos mismos, querían acostarse y esperaban al Cosquilloscu… con una sonrisa. Buenas noches y felices sueños.
Paul, the great little bear, was playing the drums in a dead tree trunk.
«Don’t be so punk, Paul! -Said the old owl- «I need a rest for my night hunting»
«Sorry, lady owl, I’ll try softer touch» –Paul replied-.
And Paul, the great little bear, began to drum with his sharp claws.
«That’s even more annoying, it’s like rain drops on my feathered head» –Cried the owl-.
«Okay, okay. Seek other dry trunk, to practice my music punk»
And he left, shaking his butt to the rhythm of the Sex Pistols’s hit and screaming:
«Should I stay or should I go…».