Un cuerpo ideal

Finally, I have the body that I want. That's a thing people really covet, it's hard to achieve, and I did. And I'm gonna tell how to have exactly the body that you want. You just have to want a shitty body. That's all it is. You have to want your own shitty, ugly, disgusting body.

(Por fin tengo el cuerpo que quiero. Es algo que la gente desea y que cuesta conseguir, y yo lo he hecho. Y os voy a decir cómo tener exactamente el cuerpo que queréis. Sólo tenéis que querer tener un cuerpo de mierda. Eso es todo. Tenéis que querer vuestro propio cuerpo de mierda, feo, repugnante.)

Louis C.K. en el tercer episodio de Louie.

Otra perla del colega:

Lullaby of Birdland

Coincido con quien subió el vídeo a Youtube: "In my humble opinion the best version of this classic song."

Lorraine's song

Yesterday I had a dream
I could fly through the sky
And I woke up in a sweat
Not dead yet but on the ground

I’m up in Johnson City, Tennessee
Looking for the way in me
Lord, fly me over Pontchartrain
Back to the land of sugar cane and summer rain

A good little girl is rarely told
Life was time and time was gold
She took a little every day
Until it went away
And she was old
And she cried ‘cause her gold was gone
She cried ‘cause she was all alone
Now she’s calling to you in the dark
Just a hunter with a lonely heart
A lonely heart.

She’s crying,
Never more shall we part
She’s crying,
Never more shall we part

And all those words I never said
Gently bled from my mouth
And I’m ready to embrace
This place where I belong

I’m afraid but I need to love
If I don’t I’m gone to flood
And I’m calling to you in the dark
Crying never more shall we part
Shall we part

She's crying,
Never more shall we part
Never more shall we part
She’s crying,
Never more shall we part

Grayson Capps

It's not love (but it's not bad)

She was always there each time I needed you,
Holding on to me like I held on to you,
We still don't have what you and I once had;
No, It's not love, but it's not bad.

No, It's not love, not like ours was. It's not love,
But it keeps love from driving me mad;
And I don't have to wonder who she's had.
No, It's not love, but it's not bad

I turn to her when you leave me alone,
Sometimes even when you're here, and you're still gone.
She'e slowly changing what you leave so sad;
No, It's not love, but it's not bad.

No, It's not love, not like ours was. It's not love,
But it keeps love from driving me mad;
And I don't have to wonder who she's had.
No, It's not love, but it's not bad.

(Ella siempre estaba ahí, cuando yo te necesitaba a ti
Aferrándose a mí, como yo lo hacía a ti
Aún no tenemos lo que tú y yo compartimos alguna vez;
No es amor, pero no está mal.

No, no es amor, no como lo fue el nuestro. No es amor,
pero consigue que el amor no me vuelva loco;
Y no tengo que andar preguntándome con quién estuvo.
No es amor, pero no está mal.

Me vuelco en ella cuando tú me dejas solo,
A veces incluso cuando estás aquí, pero sin estarlo.
Está cambiando poco a poco lo que tú dejas tan triste;
No es amor, pero no está mal.

No, no es amor, no como lo fue el nuestro. No es amor,
pero consigue que el amor no me vuelva loco;
Y no tengo que andar preguntándome con quién estuvo.
No es amor, pero no está mal.)

Merle Haggard

(Aunque yo sólo he escuchado la versión de Dayna Kurtz. Tremenda, como suele serlo.)

Ser aquele

Se estou só, quero não estar,
Se não estou, quero estar só,
Enfim, quero sempre estar
Da maneira que não estou.

Ser feliz é ser aquele,
E aquele não é feliz,
Porque pensa dentro dele
E não dentro do que eu quis.

A gente faz o que quer
Daquilo que não é nada,
Mas falha se o não fizer,
Fica perdido na estrada.

(Si estoy solo, quiero no estarlo,
si no lo estoy, quiero estar solo,
En fin, siempre quiero estar
de la manera en que no estoy.

Ser feliz es ser aquél.
Y aquél no es feliz,
porque piensa dentro de él
y no dentro de lo que yo quise.

La gente hace lo que quiere
de aquello que no es nada,
mas falla si no lo hiciere,
queda perdida en la calle.)

Fernando Pessoa

La semana pasada, en los Jardines de Sabatini, Camané nos cantó este poema de Pessoa que me gustó mucho, aunque no acabo de entender lo que significa la última estrofa.

[La traducción la encontré aquí.]