Cuando llegue, me atendió un tipo al cual le dije “Quiero leerme algo que sea extremadamente
bueno, mejor dicho que termine diciendo… ¡Que librazo!”, el tipo dijo “claro sígame” y lo que primero me mostro fue “The Girl with the dragon Tatoo”(leído) de Stieg Larsson, pero bueno, si esa fue su primera elección, parecía que el hombre sabía que era lo que esperaba del libro que quería comprarme, después de eso me mostro un par de libros de otros autores, hasta que llego a la sección de libros de Murakami. La primera vez que escuche algo sobre este autor fue por una amiga que estaba leyendo uno de sus libros y en alguna ocasión me leyó un pasaje que me pareció extremo lirico, así que no le preste mucha atención, pero pues últimamente lo había oído nombrar por varias personas que afirmaban que es un muy buen escritor. El primer libro que me mostro fue “Sputnik Sweetheart”, de primerazo el titulo me pareció súper sonoro y me agrado mucho a diferencia del precio jaja, pero bueno le dije que me mostrara uno más económico y selecciono otro del cual no recuerdo el título. En este momento decidí llevarme el segundo que me mostro, pero algo me decía que debía mejor seleccionar el Sputnik Sweetheart así que, justo cuando me disponía a llevar el segundo ,decidí obviar el tema del precio y me lleve el "Sputnik Sweetheart."y fue una de las mejores decisiones que pude haber tomado, pues resulto siendo un librazo. Particularmente, me gusta mucho como Murakami cuida cada uno de sus párrafos; Yo creo que él no continua escribiendo si el párrafo actual no es igual o supera al anterior en calidad.
A continuación le voy a mostrar unas notas del libro, y esta vez no se tiene que preocupar por un posible error en traducción, porque me lo leí en ingles, algo que hace rato quería volver a hacer, bueno basta de introducciones los dejo con el señor Murakami…ahh bueno, también he de decir que le dedico estas notas a mi “Sputnik Sweetheart” :)...
• Nothing could come between her and her faith in literature.
• Whenever she ran across lines she liked, she’d mark them in pencil and commit them to memory like they were holy writ.
• Sumire got something special about her, something that drew people to her. Defining that special something isn’t easy, but when you gazed into her eyes you could always find it, reflected deep down inside.
• If her stepmother hadn’t spoken up in her defense, Sumire might very well have been thrown out –penniless, without the necessary skills –into the wilderness of a somewhat humorless reality. Where the earth, after all, doesn’t creak and groan its way around the sun just so human beings can have a good time and chuckle.
• She had so many things she had to write, so many stories to tell. If she could only find the right outlet, heated thoughts and ideas would gush out like lava, congealing into a steady stream of inventive works the likes of which the world had never seen.
• I’d never run across anyone else who read so Avidly –so deeply, so widely– as Sumire, and I’m sure she felt the same.
• Writing novels is much the same. You gather up bones and make your gate but no matter how wonderful the gate might be, that alone doesn’t make it a living, breathing novel. A story is not something of this world. A real story requires a kind of magical baptism to link the world on this side with the world on the other side.
• Sumire frowned and shook her head a couple of times. “You’re a lot weirder than you look”
“Everybody’s got something weird about them” I said.
• Sumire frowned and sighed. “If they invent a car that runs on stupid jokes, you could go far “
• “ Tell me,” Sumire said, “ have you ever felt confused about what you’re doing, like it’s not right?
I spend more time being confused than not, I answered.
• “Sometimes you’re just the sweetest thing. Like Christmas summer vacations, and a brand new puppy all rolled into one.
• I loved reading novels to distraction but didn’t write well enough to be a novelist, being an editor or critic as out, too, since my tastes ran to extremes. Novels should be for pure personal enjoyment, I figured, not a part of your work or your study.
• Suddenly I found it hard to breathe, and my field of vision narrowed. Time stood still, spinning its wheels. Desire swelled up my in my trousers, hard as a rock. I was confused, bewildered. I tried to get a grip. I breathed in a lungful of fresh air, closed my eyes and in that incomprehensible darkness I slowly began counting. My urges were so overpowering that tears came into my eyes.
“I like you, too,” Sumire said. “In this whole big world, more than anyone else”.
• And it came to me then. That we were wonderful traveling companions but in the end no more than lonely lumps of metal in their own separate orbits. From far off look like beautiful shooting stars, but in reality there nothing more than prisons, where each of us is locked up alone, going nowhere. When the orbits of these two satellites of ours happened to cross paths, we could be together. Maybe even open our hearts to each other. But that was only for the briefest moment. In the next instant we’d be in absolute solitude. Until we burned up and became nothing.
• This woman loved Sumire. But couldn’t feel any sexual desire for her. I loved Sumire and felt sexual desire for her. Sumire liked me but didn’t love me, and didn’t fell any desire for me. I felt sexual desire for a woman who will remain anonymous. But I didn’t love her. It was all so complicated. Like something out of an existential play. Everything hit a dead end there, no alternatives left. And Sumire had exited stage right.
• When I didn’t understand something, I gathered up the words scattered at my feet, and line them up into sentences. If that didn’t help, I scatter them again, rearrange them in a different order. Repeat that a number of times, and I was able to think about things like most people. Writing for me was never difficult. Other children gathered pretty stones or acorns, and I wrote, AS naturally as breathing, I’d scribble down one sentence after another. And I’d think.
• Understanding is but the sum of misunderstandings.
• ¿Did you ever see anyone shot by a gun without bleeding?
• Without even trying, we grew close. Like a pair of young lovers undressing in front of each other. Sumire and I exposed our hearts to each other, and experience I’d never have with anyone else, anywhere. We cherished what we had together, thought we never put into words how very precious it was.
• ¿Why do people have to be this lonely? ¿What’s the point of it all? Millions of people in this world, all of the yearning, looking to others to satisfy them, yet isolating themselves. ¿Why? ¿Was the earth just put here just to nourish human loneliness?
• The world in books seemed so much more alive to me than anything outside. I could see things I’d never seen before. Books and music were my best friends.
• So that’s how we live our lives. No matter how deep and fatal the loss, no matter how important the thing that’s stolen from us –that’s snatched right out of our hands– even if we are left completely changed, with only the outer layer of skin from before, we continue to play out our lives this way, in silence. We draw ever nearer to the end of our allotted span of time, bidding it farewell as it trails of behind. Repeating, often adroitly, the endless deeds of the everyday. Leaving behind a feeling of immeasurable emptiness.
• “When I couldn’t see you anymore. I realized that. It was clear as if the planets all of a sudden lined up in a row for me. I really need you. You’re a part of me, I’m a part of you. You know somewhere –I’m not at all sure where–I think I cut something’s throat. Sharpening my knife, my heart a stone. Symbolically , like making a gate in China. ¿Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I think so”
“Then come and get me”.
Juanma es Collective Soul
"Und jetzt möchte ich, dass du mich liebst
ganz genauso wie ich wirklich bin"
- Das Große Erwachen -
Pd1: Las piernas de las tenistas siempre me han parecido demasado sexys. En la universidad tenía una amiga que jugaba y cuando se ponía blue jeans apretaditos se veía tan pero tan bien...
Pd2: La comida que venden adentro del estadio no puede ser mas fea y cara...
Pd3: Me mandaron a un proyecto y entonces he tnido que usar Transmilenio. Le va la madre a los hijos de la chingada que se quedan en la puerta esperando el bus que les sirve y no facilitan la entrada a losbuses.
Pd4: Tu todita just blew me out! asi de simple.
Pd5: Sin el animo de ofender a nadie, debo decir que me parecio muy aburridor el pendulo de Focault, por fin decidi abandonarlo...a veces sentía que estaba leyendo un ensayo sobre los caballeros templarios.
Pd6:Sería chevere trabajar en "La Luciernaga."
Pd7: Por fin abrieron el ITAMAE de Usauqen, justo al lado de la hamburguesería, restaurante totalmente recomendado.
Pd8: Ya me mame deponer post datas
Pd9: Lo siento no surgió ni una mas...
