una historia de sub

I didn’t say anything. He turned and walked into the house. He didn’t even look back to make sure I followed. I did, of course.

“We will have dinner tonight at the kitchen table,” he said as we entered the house. I spent most of my time watching his back. “You will consider the kitchen table as yours. You will take the majority of your meals there and when I join you, you may take it as an invitation to speak freely. Most of the time, you will serve me in the dining room, but I thought we should start the evening out on a…friendlier basis. I hope all this is clear.”

“Yes, Master.”

He turned and an angry ire was visible in his eyes. “No,” he said. “You have not yet earned the right to call me such. Until you do, you will address me as ‘sir’ or ‘Mr.’.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. “Sorry, sir.”

He resumed walking.

I made it into the kitchen, calling myself all kinds of stupid as we went. But forms of address were a gray area, I hadn’t known what to expect. At least he hadn’t seemed too upset.

“I need to take Jake outside. My room is upstairs, first door on the left. I will be there in fifteen minutes. You will be waiting for me.” His green eyes gazed steadily at me. “Page five, first paragraph.”

I’m not sure how I made it up the stairs, every step felt like ten. 

I pushed the door open to his room and gasped. Candles were everywhere. And in the middle of the room was a large bed, made of the same wrought iron of the kitchen table.

But according to page five, first paragraph, the bed wasn’t my concern. I looked down. The pillow between the bed and me was.

Beside the pillow was a sheer nightgown. My hands trembled as I changed. The gown hit right at my upper thighs and would show every part of my body. I folded my clothes and put them in a neat pile beside the door.

This is what you wanted. This is what you wanted.

I repeated that about twenty times and I finally calmed down. I went to the pillow, placed my knees on it, and sat with my butt resting on my heels. I stared down at the floor and waited.

He entered minutes later. 

“Very nice,” he said when he’d closed the bedroom door. “You may stand.”

I stood with my head down as he walked around me. I was glad of the dimmed light, certain a telltale flush colored my entire body.

“Strip the gown off and place it on the floor.”

I fumbled with the gown until I was finally able to pull it over my head. It fluttered to the ground.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

He waited until my eyes met his and then he slowly removed his belt. He gathered it in one hand and walked around me again. “What do you think? Shall I chastise you for your ‘Master’ remark?” He snapped the belt and it struck me. I jumped.

“Whatever you wish, sir,” I managed to choke out.

“Whatever I wish?” He continued walking until he stood before me. He unbuttoned his pants and pushed them down, along with his boxer briefs. “On your knees.”

La realidad me ha obligado a volver. 

Llevo -dos meses? tres meses?- encerrada en este cuarto. La rutina es agobiante a diferencia de lo que la mayoria piensa. Llegar al ultimo renglón y ver el ultimo punto y girar una y otra vez la misma última pagina buscando alguna palabra suelta que admita la nueva apertura. Así ha pasado ya tanto tiempo. Claramente he entrado a un circulo vicioso, donde arranco un libro para llenar el vacío que me ha dejado terminar otro. Así, el túnel, así la invención de morel, así la doble y unica mujer. Ha caído incluso en la cruel repetición de los favoritos, que solo agravia el proceso. He releído tortuosamente jane eyre, y cumbres borrascosas y crepúsculo (porque no me voy a andar haciendo la Borges que al fin y al cabo tampoco nadie me creería). Y ahora estaba a punto de terminar wide awake. El ultimo capitulo. Y de hecho me da miedo girar la pagina. Me pasé todo el día de ayer, y el día de hoy leyendo. Patiando responsabilidades y compromisos porque si empiezo tampoco me es comprensible demorar el cruel final. No se hasta que punto no será enfermedad, pero tampoco para ser melodramática. Debe de ser la falta de sueño. Mi hermana es la única que está preocupada. No entiende por qué no estoy comiendo, y le explicaría algo como que tengo un dolor en el pecho que no me deja, pero no me entendería porque ni yo misma me entiendo. Le deje pensar que conocí a alguien y no dije mas nada. 

Y entonces hoy salí al mundo, tan enajenada, buscando ayuda, y parecería que nadie ha notado mi ausencia. Me ofendería, pero supongo que yo tampoco necesité a nadie por tanto tiempo. Y ni siquiera ahora, que el libro me llama, y que conscientemente sé, con toda seguridad, que apenas apriete -publicar entrada- habré sucumbido, y que ante el quiebre y dolor, me aferraré a Bolaño, y después a estrella distante, y después a lorenza, y después-, ni siquiera ahora, llamo a la ayuda. Porque es un ciclo, y porque es vicioso. 

quizas me di cuenta que, si tego que vivir así, por lo menos va a ser a la par de la literatura.

I was a quick wet boy, diving too deep for coins
All of your street light eyes wide on my plastic toys
Then when the cops closed the fair, I cut my long baby hair
Stole me a dog-eared map and called for you everywhere

Have I found you
Flightless bird, jealous, weeping or lost you, american mouth
Big pill looming

Now I'm a fat house cat
Nursing my sore blunt tongue
Watching the warm poison rats curl through the wide fence cracks
Pissing on magazine photos
Those fishing lures thrown in the cold
And clean blood of Christ mountain stream

Have I found you
Flightless bird, grounded, bleeding or lost you, american mouth
Big pill stuck going down

how did we get here when i used to know you so well?

You see someone on the street, and essentially what you notice about them is the flaw.

En el perecer de las malas películas, siempre quedan los golpes bajos.

"So, my sister and Robbie were never able to have the time together they both so longed for... and deserved. Which ever since I've... ever since I've always felt I prevented. But what sense of hope or satisfaction could a reader derive from an ending like that? So in the book, I wanted to give Robbie and Cecilia what they lost out on in life. I'd like to think this isn't weakness or... evasion... but a final act of kindness. I gave them their happiness."

Shakespeare es ilegible y está sobrevalorado. Pero la gente no quiere escuchar esto. Uno no puede atacar templos. Ha sido fijado a lo largo de los siglos. Uno puede decir que tal es un pésimo actor, pero no puede decir que Shakespeare es mierda. Cuando algo dura mucho tiempo, los snobs empiezan a aferrarse a él, como ventosas. Cuando los snobs sienten que algo es seguro, se aferran. Pero si les decís la verdad, se ponen salvajes. No pueden soportarlo. Es atacar su propio proceso de pensamiento. Me desagradan.

Paris


never
even in calmer times
have I ever
dreamed of
bicycling through that
city
wearing a
beret

and
Camus
always
pissed
me
off.

Charles Bukowski

He was like a sleeping elephant. You can do whatever you want around a sleeping elephant; whatever you want. But when he wakes up, he tramples everything.

soy re crack.

don't compromise yourself. you are all you've got

Nunca te vi así.
Te mire tantas veces, pero nunca eras para mí, y ahora:
tus ojos, tu piel, tu cara...

Para emprender esta investigación es necesario aceptar francamente desde el comienzo un principio limitativo. Este principio, es el principio de la pertinencia: se decide no describir los hechos reunidos mas que desde un solo punto de vista y por consiguiente, de no conservar en la masa heterogénea de los hechos mas que los rasgos que interesan a este punto de vista, con exclusión de cualquier otro.

what the hell.
life goes on.
maybe there won't be marriage. maybe there won't be sex.
but, by God, there'll be dancing.

No quiero respirar
Tenes que respirar
No. No quiero.
¿Por qué no?
Porque no. No me desconcentres. No quiero respirar
Si no respiras voy a tener que hablar yo con mamá y no quiero.
No me importa.
¿Ves que sos una egoísta?
¿Yo egoísta?
Sí, vos.
¿Yo que hice?
No queres respirar.
Pero si no quiero respirar es tema mío.
Tema tuyo y tema mío, Ludmila.
Bueno esta bien. No quiero tragar.
¿Cómo que no queres tragar?
Eso, que no quiero tragar.
¿Pero como no vas a tragar, Ludmila? ¿Y cuando venga mamá con la comida que le digo?
No sé, tema tuyo que le decís. Le decís que no tengo hambre.
¿Y mañana? ¿Y pasado?
Que ya comí, que comí en lo de la abuela.
¿Y voy a tener que estar defendiéndote constantemente?
¿Qué te cuesta?
Mucho Ludmila. ¿Yo que gano con todo esto?