lunes, 3 de octubre de 2011
(Barcelona, marzo de 1966)
They will try to instill into you that adulthood means holding sway over your offspring. Do not forget there always remain tiny nooks to stream through. There is no point in dusting off one’s mistakes in order to obtain recognition, to thrive in foreign guilt, before others' shameful reluctance to give up. If ever I hold my sacrifices against you, I shall expect you to speak out and inflict your unadulthood on me: Haber luchado por lo que querías cuando aún estabas a tiempo.
Don’t you dare discourage,
They will have you believe you won’t make it, for one doesn’t make a living out of pipe dreams such as working-class struggle, labour rights and the likes. A waste of time, they’ll brag. If ever I am so rotten as to talk you into conformism, I shall expect you to speak out and inflict your disdain for relinquishment on me: Si por ti fuera, seguiríamos viviendo en una dictadura.
don’t you dare absolve my averageness
They will sanctify wait, decency and other dubious virtues, but remember prudishness never got anybody far. They will be scornful at you when you accept straight off, when you don’t spare a thought for your physical exposure. Uninvited feelings of remorse will gladly run their fingers down your back when you let his eyes wander over your nudity. If ever I condemn our nature, I shall expect you to speak out and inflict your beautiful inexperience on me: Qué lástima de cuerpos aquellos que caen en el desuso.
and do please wear your skin out with humanness.
Posted by Paula at 0:34