padre, pene, primero, pilar, pie, pararse, parlar, pendejo, pedante, pedo, proteger, puño, puñal, poder, puta, podrir, pobre, puerco, piedra, pared, partir.

no quiero sonar sexista, pero después de esta lista se me ocurre que no hay mucho más que decir acerca del género masculino. excepto :P

Sandy, mi manager, says

que cuando andas viajando you're much more open and receptive to everything. That's why it's easier, enamorarse y esas pendejadas; to have these intense amazing mirarse a los ojos y understand absolutamente todo. Is that why I feel perpetuamente en un trip psicodelico? Every tip of every nerve, vibrando y cantando. Pinche britishness que me hiere los ojos. Pinche belleza, all around.

and for every ounce of happiness would come shitloads of pain,

read the litany, but who ever listens to a thing like that when intoxicated on cherries and the spring?

Architecture invents silence; music invents space.

Cuando abrió la puerta, me pareció que había estado llorando. La mala arquitectura me molesta. Un espacio mal utilizado me molesta tanto como un mal poema: sus clichés, sus repeticiones, su falta de respeto por el silencio. Una ventanita esquinera me hizo sentir como la bruja de la colina. Las dos polacas de fleco y maquillaje dramático; yo intentando deshacerme de mis prejuicios; ellas sacudiendo sus pintadas cabelleras y haciendo pequeños gemidos de contento. Abrí primero la puerta del baño, luego del armario, luego del cuarto de un tipo barbudo, antes de poder encontrar la salida. Una ventana redonda, una falta de barandal. Hay una calle de Monterrey que extraño, quizá es Arteaga. Para qué fingir que no es cierto.

We speak of only the most honest things. We gaze into each other blatantly

in a standard, standoffish fashion. Polite proxemics and sufficient physical distance, asking questions in a safe environment behind the counters. We catalogue important dates, making sure we keep our taxonomies straight. Poetry is to be read only out of dictionaries. Discipline is to be attained.
We do not have a heart of slate; it is only our habits that have made us grow.
Slowly we pulled an ocean between ourselves and everything we thought we needed: life insurance, traffic jams, café late. Recently we discovered ourselves on a peculiar kind of island, not rooted to the core of the earth. Weights had to be put beneath it—we chose circumstance, randomness, the whispering science of clattering plates and other household chores. When this wasn’t enough we also hung weights from our arms and legs. Anything would do really. Pots and pans, turnip and ginger wrapped up in ribbons and bits of tinsel, a bottle of vinegar here and there. But he got the cereal boxes and I got the gin, and we had to sit long hours at the tailor’s, sticking needles beneath our nails to numb the pain of discrepancy.