Category Archives: Scraps

Correspondències: José Luis Guerín – Jonas Mekas


come together

To is a preposition, come is a verb.
To is a preposition, come is a verb.
To is a preposition, come is a verb, the verb intransitive.
To come. To come.
I’ve heard these two words my whole adult life, and as a child when I thought I was sleeping. To come. To come.
It’s been like a big drum solo:
Didya come? Didya come good? Didya come good didya come good didya come good?
Recitatif: I come better with you sweetheart than with anyone in the whole goddamn world.
I really came so good. I really came so good ‘cause I love you.
Really came so good. I come better with you sweetheart, than anyone in the whole world, I really came so good. So good.
Don’t come in me.
Don’t come in me.
Don’t come imme, mimme mimme
don’t come imme mimme mimme
don’t come in me.
Cause you don’t love me, that’s why you can’t come.
I love you I just can’t come, that’s my hangup. I can’t come when I’m loaded, all right?
Cause you don’t love me.
Just what the hell is the matter with you? What has that got to do with loving you? I just can’t come, that’s all.
Now if anyone in this room or the world finds those two words decadent, obscene, immoral, amoral, asexual, the words “to come” really make you feel uncomfortable, if you think I’m rank for saying it to you, and you the beholder gets rank for listening to it…
You probably can’t come.
-Lenny Bruce

The writer’s song

I did not wish to work
I did not wish to earn
but to curl with my jar
in the sweet sorghum
I laid my mat among the reeds
I could hear the freemen call
oh my life
what does it matter
will the reed cease bending
will the leper turn
I had a horn I did not blow
I had a sake and another
I could hear the freemen
drunk with sky
what matter my cry
will the moon swell
will the flame shy
bonsai bonsai
it is better to write
then die
in the blue crater
set with straw
I could hear
the freemen call
the way is hard
the gate is narrow
what matter I say
with the new mown hay
my pillow
I had a sake and another
I did not care to own nor rove
I wrote my name upon the water
nothing but nothing above
bonsai bonsai
it is better to write
then die
a thousand souvenirs
a thousand prayers
set away in earthenware
we draw the jars
from the shelves
drink our parting
from ourselves
so be we king
or be we bum
the reed still whistles
the heart still hums

Patti SMITH, Auguries of Innocence

the flower lover

in the Valkerie Mountains
among the strutting peacocks
I found a flower
as large as my
and when I reached in to smell

I lost an ear lobe
part of my nose
one eye
and half a pack of

I came back
the next day
to hack the damned thing
but found it so
beautiful I
killed a

Severin, Severin, speak so slightly

—Pero ¿la moraleja?

—Que la mujer, tal y como la ha creado la naturaleza y como se relaciona en el presente con el hombre, es su enemigo, y sólo puede ser su esclava o su déspota, pero nunca su compañera.

»Ahora tenemos la elección entre ser martillo  o yunque, y yo fui un asno al hacerme el esclavo de una mujer, ¿lo entiendes?

»De ahí la moraleja de la historia: quien se deja azotar, merece que lo azoten.


STAHR: ¿En su despacho hay una estufa que se enciende con una cerilla?
BOXLEY: Creo que sí.
STAHR: Suponga que está en su despacho (…) Está agotado. Éste es usted. Entra una chica. Ella no le ve a usted. Se quita los guantes. Abre su bolso y lo vuelca sobre la mesa. Usted la contempla. Éste es usted. Y mientras, ella… Dos monedas de diez centavos, una caja de cerillas y una moneda de cinco centavos. Deja la moneda de cinco sobre la mesa, vuelve a meter las de diez centavos en su bolso. Coge los guantes. Son negros. Los mete dentro de la estufa. Enciende una cerilla. De repente, usted se da cuenta que hay otro hombre en la habitación, vigilando todos los movimientos de la chica.
(larga pausa)
BOXLEY: ¿Y qué pasa?
STAHR: ¡Ah! No lo sé. Yo sólo estaba haciendo una película.
BOXLEY: ¿Para qué eran los cinco centavos?
STAHR (se vuelve hacia un colega de Boxley que asiste a la escena): Jenny, ¿Para qué eran los cinco centavos?
JENNY: Los cinco centavos eran para el cine.
BOXLEY: ¿Para qué me paga usted? No comprendo esta condenada historia.
STAHR: Sí la comprende. O no hubiera preguntado por los cinco centavos.

El último magnate, Elia Kazan (1976)

The sentimental units

If only more people looked like Jerry Lieber we would all be a lot happier, I think.

It is May 17th, 17 is a strangely sonorous number, and I haven’t made out my income tax yet.

There is a man going by with his arm in a sling. I wish men could take care of themselves better.

Mahler is great, Bruckner is terrible.

Listen, I have to go out to get food. If you want some cigarettes, I’ll go out with you.

Where they’ve come from. We’re not even up to 23rd Street yet. Sings a little song in middle. “I hate driving.”

There are certainly enough finks in the world without going to a German restaurant.

Listen, I have to go on foot. Would you mind lending me your snow (hic) shoes?

I saw T. S. on the telly today. I find that he is one of the most intelligent writers of our “day.”

If you have to see Sporting Life it helped to make sense out of that movie. Read Radclyffie, he said.

Part 9 is an imitation of Joe Brainard.


Frank O’hara