double e and double t

while you're at it
start asking questions
i might never find
an answer to

it's supposed to be a whisper
but it always comes out loud
and it always tells you
that you're always wrong no matter what you do

she's condescending
in a way she says
she's masquerading
no way she says

it's a difficult shot
to find your eyes when they're so small
we're all so quiet
when it comes to playing
our last cards

about sudden rain and paperbacks

so there is this really funny irish-sounding man that sells used books on saturday mornings in the square near my house. i usually get up earlish on those days, because they are the brightest barcelonas you'll ever witness. everyone has sleep in their eyes, but they are so happy it's saturday.

the best about saturday, you see, is the unconscious knowledge that you're getting a second chance: your friday was crap, well, it'll go better tonight. she said no on that last step? well, on saturday she just can't..and even if your friday was awesome, well, let's see if you can't hit the drum even harder tonight.

but where was I? oh yes, the funny irish-sounding man that sells used books on George Orwell square.
he has a look in his eyes, like someone who left his wife for a teenager and then fell in love with his wife again.
this is all towards books though, he flips them, he knows them, he feels them.

"so you're back, where you've been?"
"i had some business in italy, you see"
"ah! i remember those days in Florence, won't you like this paperback edition?"
he's always picking out some books, he's always got a taste for what you might like, or for what he'd like you to like.

either way, it's the same.

i had started Thomas Mann's Bruddenbrooks in high school, having a slight resemblance to one of the author's earlier characters.
he hands me the book, with the usual caring gesture. it's old, almost 40 years old, the pages are of an ocher tint, they smell like the trains they've been into.
"the really old hard cover books, have a distinct morality. they have never really been in love, though. but paperbacks, oh paperbacks. they got mistreated, they've tried on themselves the promises of love that are always made on ships, or on docks."

either way, it's the same.

how many a time, they were promised to be kept as little treasures...how many times they heard "i'll never open them too much, i'll never crease them". but they always end up the same.
nevertheless, for this, they're stronger. they're books that know the uncertainness of life, the incompatibility of man's idealism with the slings and angers of outrageous fate.

and for sure, they know that, when you need an umbrella you only seem to find a paperback book.

written for g. or with g. on my mind. which ever came first.