Traveling is a brutality. It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends.
You are constantly off balance. Nothing is yours except the essential things: air, sleep, dreams, sea, the sky - all things tending towards the eternal or what we imagine of it.
Frustrated? Yes. Why? Because it is impossible for me to be God -or the universal woman-and-man or anything much. I am what I feel and think and do. I want to express my being as fully as I can because I somewhere picked up the idea that I could justify my being alive that way. But if I am to express what I am, I must have a standard of life, a jumping off place, a technique - to make arbitrary and temporary organization of my own personal and pathetic little chaos. I am just beginning to realize how false and provincial that standard, or jumping off place, must be. That is what is so hard for me to face.
Afuera ladra un perro
a una sombra, a su eco
o a la luna
para hacer menos cruel la distancia.
Siempre es para huir que cerramos
es desierto la desnudez que no es promesa
de estar cerca sin tocarse
como bordes de la misma herida.
Adentro no cabe adentro,
no son mis ojos
los que pueden mirarme a los ojos,
son siempre los labios de otro
los que me anuncian mi nombre.
- Hugo Mujica
Es un segundo.
Te irás. Te alejarás. Ahora
es todo lo más claro
I AM GOING TO PHYSICALLY DIE FROM LAUGHING SO HARD. EVERYONE NEEDS TO WATCH THIS.
No hay que llorar porque las plantas crecen en tu balcón,
no hay que estar triste
si una vez más la rubia carrera de las nubes te reitera lo inmóvil,
ese permanecer en tanta fuga.
Pierdo todos los días un nombre en mi jardín.
I never get tired of this photo.
Ella Fitzgerald was not allowed to play at Mocambo because of her race. Then, one of Ella’s biggest fans made a telephone call that quite possibly changed the path of her career for good. Here, Ella tells the story of how Marilyn Monroe changed her life:
“I owe Marilyn Monroe a real debt… she personally called the owner of the Mocambo, and told him she wanted me booked immediately, and if he would do it, she would take a front table every night. She told him – and it was true, due to Marilyn’s superstar status – that the press would go wild. The owner said yes, and Marilyn was there, front table, every night. The press went overboard. After that, I never had to play a small jazz club again. She was an unusual woman – a little ahead of her times. And she didn’t know it.”